If You're Going To Do A Sunday Funday Don't Half-Ass It
A Sunday funday happens organically and gains momentum as you piss away the afternoon drinking and cavorting with your good-time buddies. It’s not an event that can be forced or planned in any way. And while a spur of the moment Sunday drinking marathon is a whole mess of fun in the moment, we all know that the subsequent Sunday evening come down is positively brutal.
I texted a friend of mine at 11:30 a.m. yesterday asking him about his plans for lunch. I was hungover when I sent the text and so was he, and I truly had no intention of drinking anything other than water and maybe an ice cold Coca-Cola classic. All I wanted to do was a grab a bite to eat and be back on my couch in the air conditioning before the Sunday night HBO lineup began.
We mutually agreed upon chicken wings, and an hour later I found myself driving to a location a few miles away from my apartment. I knew I was in trouble the second I got out of my car and saw my friend already seated on the patio, a pitcher of Bud Light in front of him and a grin on his face that could only be described as “shit eating.”
But this is how truly great Sundays always begin. It's always the times when there is no definitive plan that you end up drinking and laughing the most.
I groaned as I sat down across from him, and without speaking I motioned for him to pour me up a glass of beer from the frosty pitcher. We ended up ordering 40 wings for the two of us with some garlic fries on the side for good measure, and before I knew it we were two pitchers deep and texting others to link up and build on this day which was slowly but surely spiraling out of control.
The day becomes a bit blurry after finishing those chicken wings, but I vividly remember paying my half of the bill and trying to explain what Rumplemintz was to my friend, a shot which if you are unfamiliar, is positively debilitating. It's a magical and dangerous elixir that no one should be drinking on a Sunday.
It’s 100 proof mouthwash and has the ability to turn any drinking session completely on its head. We walked to a bar down the street from where we were eating wings, where two others joined us for shots of Rumple and more pitchers of beer.
Having already come to grips with the fact that I’d have to retrieve my car from the bar in the morning, I lost any shred of responsibility I had and fully committed to being drunk on a Sunday.
The problem with going 110% in on Sunday funday is that no one ever wants it to end - it’s treated like a Friday or Saturday night out. We pretend like there isn’t work to be done the next morning, taking any excuse to stay out and running with it.
Ten-ish beers and a few shots of Rumplemintz later I found myself sitting at a pizza place around 7:00 p.m. with two others drinking Moscow mules. I asked our waitress if she thought what we were doing was a good idea - she declined to comment, only saying that if it was her and she had work in the morning she'd be home in bed by that time.
I watched a wonderful jazz quartet play a free show at a bar down the street from that pizza place, and I stayed out until 2:00 a.m. drinking red bull vodkas.
This morning I woke up, had to Uber back to the original bar I was at to get my car, and then drive unshowered to work where I have been writhing in pain all day.
Was staying out until 2 a.m. on a Sunday ill-advised? Absolutely. But what option did I have? You never half-ass a Sunday funday. If you're doing it, then just fucking do it, ya know? Go balls to the wall and leave the repercussions of your actions for future-you to deal with.
Sundays aren't the best day of the week to go out, but every once in a while I think it's good to drink a bunch of liquor and be hungover as all hell at work the next day. In a sick, demented way, I'm enjoying this hangover that I've got right now.