Illustration for article titled The Time You Went on Vacation to Bone
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A few days ago I spoke to a friend who told me he’s planning a trip to San Francisco to reconnect with a woman from his past. By “reconnect,” I assume he meant “bone,” but he said he’s not sure (his roommate assured me that they have been texting about boning, so I assume he just didn’t want to seem too eager in front of me). That made me recall a time I went to Toronto to bone a cute Canadian boy for about a week, which made me realize that this is not an unusual phenomenon. Like, people take trips to bone all the time. If this sounds like you, I’d love to hear about the time you took a trip to get lucky. If this doesn’t sound like you, perhaps you and a significant other (past and/or present) took a sexy vacation solely for the purpose of fucking. I’ll hear those stories too, thanks, and however else you’d like to define “the time you went on vacation to fuck.” The warm months aren’t too far off anyway, right?

But first, let’s check out last week’s winners: these are the best stories from your wildest sporting event parties.

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AngryQueerLawyr, you are next level:

I have a very small extended family, only seven cousins including me on both sides of the family combined. But, my mom’s college roommate married dad’s college roommate and mom married dad! So every year, the original four women and their families get together at a really rural cabin. Have up to 30 people some years in a four bedroom place (they borrow the nearby neighborhood lodge/community center for people to also sleep in). Pontooning, tubing, waterskiing, and paddle boarding along with such heavy drinking I am honestly surprised no one has DROWNED in 40 years of doing it. It’s like having aunts and cousins besides.

But, we also play sports and games and LOVE competition. This ranges from the fairly normal (sand volleyball), to the somewhat unusual (spikeball, a really silly water game that involves knocking beer bottles off poles driven into sand under shallow water with Frisbees, various variants of “let’s bother the dogs,” a distance swim from the middle of the small lake to back in), to the downright STUPID.

The stupid event is the Great Shoe Race of 2019. Neighbors and any hangers on are also invited to participate and/or watch, since the more shows the better. The neighborhood makes an event of our annual party weekend, often watching to see what those crazies will do next.

So anyway, game time! Our group of about 20 goes to a large patch of open grass, with an even larger party of people watching and drinking and cheering. Everyone over about 14 is drunk.

The neighbors and those who didn’t want to play make a huge circle around the 15 or so players. The players are all in my generation ish except for my very fit mom and one aunt. All players remove their shoes and an impartial party chucks them into a pile at the opposite end of the field. The object is to be the first to find and retrieve your own shoes.

I am so short I immediately see the problem with this, as four of the players are at or over 6’3”. So I line up with the others to start and hatch a plan.

Coming off the line, I immediately trip the 6’6” cousin of mine. He is surprised and running next to his twin brother, who he instinctively grabs for and thus trips. They start fighting as each believes they tripped each other. My brother stops to break them up. My aunt is the first to reach the shoe pile and starts THROWING OTHER PEOPLE’S SHOES over the heads of the laughing crowd to stop the other players from getting to them. My mom gets there next. They started arguing, which escalated into a shoving match. Several players go to angrily retrieve their shoes from what was thrown into the land of Far Far Away. Someone there trips someone else, falls into the crowd. More arguments. More thrown shoes. A few spectators decide to confuse things by throwing their own shoes in. Some shoes hit people.

Someone grabs a SuperSoaker to break up the fights, accidentally hits me in the ear. Literal water spray right into the eardrum. I scream and wrest the damn thing out of the guy’s hand.

Finally, my uncle has the bright idea to run back to the dock and grab an air horn from the boat. And between the air horn blasts and many more water sprays, everyone finally stops yelling and fighting.

The totals:

20 minutes rounding up shoes

Two black eyes

One ear infection (me)

one sprained ankle,

And one shoe never found again.

mocena, this is real:

I watched the Super Bowl in a crowded bar once. Except it was a gay bar. And it was the Super Bowl in which Madonna performed the halftime show. No one paid attention to the football at all but when Madonna came on, everyone got deadly quiet and watched like it was church. 90% of attendees left after the halftime show. It was the gayest experience I’ve ever had and I posit that even if I started to have sex with other women, I could not have a gayer experience than that.

Lesbionic, this counts:

I’ve been to a few european student dancing competitions, that are 2,5 days of ballroom dancing and booze. 350 people? I’ve even attempted a Viennese waltz after 7 glasses of sekt (sparkling wine). I did not fall.

The German teams always insisted on a mixed gender shower. If there wasn’t one they would hang there own sign. In that shower there were entire teams and more sekt to celebrate the wins.

Does that count?

katie_keys, I love a good Texas story. Thank you for this one:

Oh man. Let me tell you about this one time I scored tickets to an after party at Rodeo Austin.

Big Texas rodeos are usually paired with a concert act, like a double header. I always went to the actual rodeo part and picked the days I went based on the concert, but it wasn’t unusual for the crowd to be very light during the rodeo and then fill up for the concert. I was no longer living there but visiting and I took my friends to see Kevin Fowler, who is a popular Texas artist.

What I didn’t know what that the rodeo association has a yearly party for members. And one of my friend’s mom’s not only partied enough to know someone to get her in, she got us all in. So after drinking beers for the rodeo and concert we went in. They had a huge free buffet and all you could drink Coors Light and by the time of the night everyone was just sloshed. There were guys dancing on the bar with their shirts off. My one friend didn’t want to stay too late, so then I just decided to find out how many free Coors Light I could drink before she made us leave. Because they were free.

Six. In an hour and a half? I’m lucky I didn’t get alcohol poisoning. We stopped for What-a-burger on the way home, which must have helped. I was still in my 20s so the hangover was only wretched. It would kill me now.

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Get steamy and nostalgic in the comments below.

Senior Writer, Jezebel. My debut book, LARGER THAN LIFE: A History of Boy Bands from NKOTB to BTS, is out 7/21/20.

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