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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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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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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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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Have you ever obligated yourself to meet up with somebody that you know in your heart of hearts is just a plain bad idea, but somehow in a moment of weakness you did anyway? This usually happens with an ex when you are intoxicated, but that’s not always the case. I know personally there are some people that I like more when I’m in a certain kind of mood. I don’t know who those people are, or what that mood is, specifically, but I know it happens.

After you realize what you’ve done, you try desperately to get out of it, if you’re like most people. I, however, would rather sit through an awkward encounter than try to weasel my way out of it. If I say I am going to do something, I am going to do it, even if I’m drunk when I say it – as long as I remember. An example of this would be the other night when I was coming home from a happy hour in DC. I wasn’t driving, because I was drunk, and I tried to put on Mary’s bracelet as a necklace. The scary thing about that situation was the fact that it actually fit over my head and around my neck. The problem was that it didn’t fit on the way off. So I broke her brand new pearl bracelet the first time she got to wear it. I felt really bad about it and I told her I would replace it for her. She didn’t take me seriously, but the next day I sent her a tracking number for the new bracelet.

Of course, there was also guilt motivating me there, but in general if I say something I stick to it because I don’t like it when other people say they are going to do something just to assuage you when they really have no intention of doing said action at all. I’d rather just be told “No, I don’t think I’m going to do that.”
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I awoke to the gentle music of my roommate’s alarm clock, it was 8am. This can’t be right, I thought to myself. Why am I awake? I had only been asleep for four hours when I heard the alarm. I thought I would be able to sleep despite the fact that it was on. I was mistaken. I was ridiculously tired, I still had a cold, and that damn music was still playing. It took me a while to figure out what the music was; after all, my roommate was out of town. I thought it was a dream at first, and then I heard it was country music, and I thought it was a nightmare. Then I realized that I was actually awake and I thought that perhaps my neighbors were having a raging country music party at eight in the morning.

I’m not exactly the best thinker first thing in the morning.

I turned on my computer. I was too tired to take a shower. I checked my e-mail, I had a message from my dad, it was about going to Atlantic City. He wanted to go at 10. I assumed that since he wanted to go, that’s when we were going to go. I played Guitar Hero; it was extremely difficult to do. I stopped playing and opted instead to sit. For an extended period of time. Eventually I called my dad to set things up, then I took a shower. The shower was amazing; it made me 8% more awake. I was still tired. And now I was hungry. I wanted food but my dad said he was bringing some sandwiches. I wanted some Chick-Fil-A. I told him this. He said to go and we would eat the sandwiches later. I was happy, but I was still hungry.

I called Mary. We had talked the day before and she said that she would come with me. I had a feeling that she might not. She did not come. That is sad. I went to Chick-Fil-A, it was still early so they only had breakfast. I was disappointed, but then I ate the food and I felt better. My dad was late coming to pick me up. We took his car but we should have taken mine. I have a EZ Pass which allows me to speed through tolls. There were a lot of tolls along the way.

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I have a subtle competitiveness that most don’t seem to notice. Or, if they do notice, they seem to call it something else more along the lines of “let the other person win.” Of course, that’s not actually the case, but in my long and eventful life, I’ve learned that when somebody is really good at something, and they are able to completely trounce you, you have much less incentive to continue competing with that person in that event. The problem here is that I like competing in events in which I do well, but if I do too well, whomever I am competing against will stop competing if they feel they have no chance at beating me. So often times I won’t go all out, which leads many people to believe that I am mediocre at best in many areas.

I lavish in the thought of people calling me mediocre, it makes it just that much easier to for me to impress people; making other people have low standards of you is very important to impressing them. That’s horrible life advice, but when it’s just you and a ten year old competing for the coveted title of “Best Diver at Jake’s Parent’s Marina’s Pool Party,” I pull out all of the stops. Allow me to explain.

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This is going to sound wrong, but bear with me. I often wonder what it would be like to be the most attractive girl in a room. What I mean by that is to be actively pursued by all of the eligible people in the room, and I specified attractive girl because if I was the most attractive guy in the room, well, girls typically don’t approach guys in the same way that a guy will approach an attractive girl. Also, you could go up to ten different girls and they would all give you a different definition of what a hot guy looks like (among the layman, anyway), unless it is someone universally hot like Brad Pitt. But, if you go up to 10 guys and ask what a hot girl looks like, they will all give you almost the same exact description, and the best part is, that description is not of some supermodel or Hollywood actress, it could be the porn star that’s in the room with you right now.

And while I will never know what if feels like to have everybody in the room pine over me, I did get a small taste of it the other night, and I have to say, it was odd. Being actively pursued, being the one that gets to say yes or no, that is an odd feeling.

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Not surprisingly, I was tired all day Friday from going out on Thursday. Fortunately, I didn’t have to work so I was able to relax. I did, however, have some errands to run so I completed them, saw Ratatouille with Mary, who was also enjoying a vacation before she started her new job on Monday as well.

After the movie I took a quasi-nap to get ready for that night’s festivities. I was informed that we would be doing a Reston bar crawl. I wasn’t too excited about this because, to be honest, I’m not a hug fan of the Reston bar scene. The crowd is not what I’m used to; it’s an older more sophisticated crowd. I enjoy the uncomplicated debaucheries of college-aged kids. Additionally, the bars are priced like DC junior, that is to say the drinks ain’t cheap. They aren’t horribly expensive, either, but they require you to pregame heavily before you begin your drinking adventure.

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I feel as if this post is going to be the staple post for this blog. I am somewhat intoxicated - forgive me for typos and incoherent sentences /paragraphs /thoughts /ideas /words /etc. (apparently sober enough to drive home 30 miles, though), talking about an event that involved alcohol, and also lesbians. I don’t think I have had a more definitive post yet.

There is one deciding factor that makes a party great; one single thing that can make horrible party awesome, and at the same time make an awesome party. That thing, of course, is a potential prospect. Somebody that you feel that you have a chance to hook up with. Whether or not you actually hook up with this person is irrelevant, the fact that you think you might makes or breaks a party.

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