The Drunken Blog

I know my mom reads my blog, but I don’t think my grandma does, so I should be OK in writing this. This past weekend (please note, this was originally written back in August) it was my grandfather’s 80th birthday, which means that his children and grandchildren from across the country congregated to celebrate this calculated event. But as with most birthday parties, there was an ulterior motive for their gathering – deciding whether or not my grandmother (who divorced my grandfather years and years ago) and who lives alone, should continue to live alone, or if they should put her in a home.

Apparently cooking steak in a toaster oven isn’t considered normal.
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I was in DC recently for Lisa’s birthday party. The plan initially was to start at Rumor’s and barhop. I had a feeling the barhopping wouldn’t happen because it’s hard to coordinate a large group of people leaving one bar and going to another bar.

We stayed at Rumor’s the entire night, and through the process I become somewhat intoxicated, so much so, in fact, that I decided to lower my standards. I spotted two girls that weren’t ugly by any means, but they weren’t exactly Perfect 10s, and they might have been a bit on the “meatier” side, although I wouldn’t go so far as to call them fat, despite the fact that I called one of them “Fat Tina Fey.”

I got Will to come with me, since there were two of them and we started dancing. The one girl didn’t want anything to do with Will, which was odd, since Will was out of her league. But I continued dancing with my girl, who I quickly dubbed Fat Tina Fey. Tina Fey, of course, was one of the lead writers for SNL, she also did the Daily Update, and most recently she is on the show 30 Rock, which happens to be one of my favorites.
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If you’ll recall, Ghost Writer was a pedophilic ghost who would help middle school kids solve mysteries in a twisted game of hangman by revealing only certain words or letters and making the kids guess who the deviant was. You can basically think of Ghost Writer as the live action version of Scooby Doo, where the ghost would be Scooby Doo, except replace “stoner” with “pedifiliac”.

You might have assumed that a ghost did not actually write this because I’m not in middle school, and therefore Ghost Writer wouldn’t waste his time with me, but what you may not have guessed is that I have a team of real live writers dedicated to making me look good through the written word.

I fired them.

Really, it was about hygiene, keeping a room full of monkeys with typewriters is downright disgusting. Too often they would start arguing over the phrasing of a particular sentence and before you know it the feces flinging would begin. I was spending half of my ad revenue on bleach and toothbrushes (don’t ask). I figure that while my writing may be less entertaining now and therefore garner less income for me, the drop won’t be 50% and I’ll still be ahead of my monkey-poo depleted net income.
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Jake and Jules had a combined birthday party recently. It made sense, they went to high school together, they have a lot of the same friends, why not combine their resources to make one cool party, as opposed to two mediocre-to-cool parties?

The plan was simple; since everybody was tired of the Ballroom, find a new location for the party. That new location happened to be very convenient for Jake and me; that new location was our building. Not our apartment, mind you, but the two rooms that we rented out in our building for this specific event.

One of the rooms was a game room. It had several TVs, a pool table, a foosball table, a dart board, several tables and a chic couch. It was a pretty swanky place to have a party. But Jake was afraid that it would be too cramped in there and/or there would not be enough entertainment for everybody.

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I don’t really think of myself as a good writer. I’m very critical of what I write to the point that it becomes tedious and arduous to read, so generally I don’t read what I write. If I’m lucky I’ll proofread a story to make sure that while I was changing thoughts mid-sentence that I remembered to go back and make the rest of the sentence cohesive. Recently, however, I was forced to go back and read a story that I had written.

The story was about a housewarming party and it apparently made me some enemies. Somebody disliked that story enough to give me a mild death threat in the comments section. The reason that I went back to read that story is because I randomly ran into the person that sent me the death threat. Let me explain.
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An interesting side effect to going out drinking at veritable hole in the wall establishments is that it’s often slow and the servers can be pretty bored. And just like anybody when they are bored, they turn to TV to fill the void, unless of course you are a girl server in a place that only has sports on the TVs; they have to become more creative to overcome their boredness.

It’s been my experience that they will typically try to talk in order to spice things up a bit. Sometimes they do it because they are bored, other times they do it because they are trying to extract as large a tip as possible from you. You can usually tell when the conversation is genuine, however, when what they say is not exactly what you want to hear.
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Vegas day 3 started off with a bang. I had stumbled back to my place at around 5 AM and I passed out almost as soon as my head hit the pillow. The next two hours were the most glorious two hours of my life, because after those two hours, I was awakened. Not in the normal way one would expect to be awakened, though, no, in Vegas everything is done up, and having people wake you up is no exception.

Apparently my friends decided that it would be a lot of fun not to sleep at all that night, so they stayed out until about 7 and then came back to the room. My buddy Ahab was deliriously tired. He ran into the room yelling “wake up, bitches!” So, begrudgingly, I complied. You see, it was our plan to go to Rehab, which is a pool party at one of the Casinos. Not just any pool party, though, this is an exclusive pool party, so exclusive that it costs $40 to get in, and you have to wait 3 hours in line to get in. The pool opened at 11, so we wanted to get in line around 8AM to be among the first ones in.
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One interesting fact about Oh, Vegas, is that you’re always hungover. It’s not a great feeling, but it kind of goes with the territory. The key, then, is to overcome the hangover. There are numerous ways to do this; the most common is to continue drinking. On Saturday morning we did a combination move to get rid of our headaches. We went to the pool, drank some, and passed out.

Well, some of us passed out, and others didn’t drink, but collectively, we drank and passed out. It’s been my experience that the only sin in Sin City is to sleep at night. Sleeping during the day is fine, that’s the cheapest way to pass the time until you can go out the next night, but if you go to sleep before 5am your friends are going to laugh at you.
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Every once in a while people come up with something that my friend James terms as “a million dollar idea.” He meant it in the literal sense, where you come up with a product and are able to sell that product for a million dollars, like the pet rock. My idea is not marketable, but that doesn’t make it any less valuable. They often say that necessity is the mother of invention, so let me give you some background on my mother.

This past weekend was the last summer concert of the year, which is a bit odd because I wouldn’t really consider October to be the summer (apparently people that make calendars agree with me), but then again, I also don’t think of country music as music, so I guess it all works out in the end. This concert was Brad Paisley. I have no clue what his “hit” is; if I hadn’t gone to this concert I wouldn’t even be able to pick him out of the crowd if he was wearing a nametag. Such is my devotion for the fine art of country music.
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Sin City, or as my good friends call it, “Oh, Vegas,” certainly is a sight to behold. Flying in on the plane at 2AM EST, the area around Vegas was completely dark. The city itself was lit, and surprisingly flat. I didn’t really realize how big Vegas was when I drove there several years ago, I had always been confined to the strip, which contains very tall and grandiose buildings. Flying into Vegas, though, you quickly realize that there are people that live in Vegas, and surprisingly they don’t live in high rises.

Vegas, by definition, is a debacle, but this particular trip would have an elevated debauchery level. We got a hotel room in Caesar’s Palace, in the new tower which has an exquisite view of the Bellagio fountains. The room we got was normally $500 a night, we got it for half that thanks to a friend I have living in Vegas. However, because we went through somewhat unconventional means to secure our reservations (two rooms for three nights for seven people), the group wasn’t sure if the trip would even pan out, or if my friend would fall through.
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