How to manage my favorite part of drinking holidays: the walk of shame

If you have kids, blog about breast feeding, and use your wedding picture as your desktop background, I just want to say… thank you for reading. I rag on happy parents and perfect couples, and today is an exception. Today is about nostalgia for you. Think back to your booze soaked college years, and let’s reminisce about your walks of shame from yesteryear while I dissect mine from last week. See, we are still so much alike!

Taking advantage of day drinking is very important on auxiliary drinking holidays that America has mutated for its own debaucherous purposes… St. Patrick’s Day, Fourth of July, Memorial and Labor Day, Halloween, and the quickly approaching Cinco de Mayo. And as much as I love day drinking, nothing thrills me more than my personal post-holiday tradition of watching walks of shame… (I almost want to call them “walk of shames” but that sounds like a fundraising charity event that involves a 5k). So this Cinco de Mayo, go ahead, grab your closest friends, hit an early brunch patio (preferably near a college campus), and revel in the fantastically messy aftermath of twenty somethings stumbling home. I personally avoid these “morning after” holidays and opt for more discreet events. It’s a Tuesday at 9am? What a perfect time to walk home a tiny dress with eyeliner on my forehead. And whether it’s picking up a gatorade at the local gas station so you can double up on your birth control dosage, or running into your most recent ex while picking up coffee, you can almost always guarantee a good time.

The challenge is, of course, that the relationship of the quality of sex to the awkwardness of the walk home is directly proportional. For those of you who aren’t math geeks, I created a chart:

You see that the better the sex, the worse the walk. And nothing demonstrates this theory quite like the morning after Halloween: a drunken combination of sexy costumes, platform heels, fancy fishnets, and an extreme amount of dry ice laden punch. If you’ve never enjoyed a one night stand with a sexy Rainbow Brite in blue crotchless fishnets, make that your October resolution. A sloppy bumblebee with one wing broken, an angel with a missing halo, or a devil with a crooked tail and only one boot… this is the stuff blogs are made for. The lesson, ladies, so you don’t look like an extra from Law and Order: SVU, is to bring a back-up sex bag. This phenomena is something I have been clued in on relatively recently, and it is quite brilliant. No, don’t bring a toothbrush, that’s fucking creepy. Instead, pack some back-up tights so you aren’t walking down the main drag with rips all the way down your legs. Also, don’t forget your birth control, and pack some protection. No, not condoms… some mace. You can’t take down a creepy attacker with a prophylactic.

If you need me this upcoming Sunday morning (right after Cinco de Mayo), I will be day drinking on a porch near the biggest college campus in the state of Ohio. Pictures to follow. Stay safe and fuck people who have sweatpants you can borrow for your walk home.

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