It’s that time of year again… Bells are ringing, lights are being hung and thousands are invading the malls, prepared for epic battle, in search of the perfect gift.  No, it’s not wedding season… It’s Christmas.  And with it comes those perfect occasions we all dread, at least in some small capacity, in the deepest recesses in the pits of our stomachs: The Christmas Party.    Be it at home with our relatives or at the office with the co-workers, it’s go time for awkwardness.

You probably thought it couldn’t get much worse than Thanksgiving… But it can… And it will.  Family gatherings can be a lot like a bad relationship after you’re out of it… You look back and remember the good parts with complete amnesia about all the bad parts.  But then, as soon as you walk back in the door, it all comes flooding back to you.  And all of a sudden, you want out.  Where’s my jacket?  “I think someone has $#!% on the coats!”  Office parties aren’t any better.  What’s worse than being paid to spend all day with people you can barely stand in the first place?  Not being paid to spend a night with people you can barely stand in the first place.  You might be thinking right now “No way.  I love my family and I have great co-workers.”  But deep down, you know it’s true.  And so, in the spirit of giving, in this episode I will share with you some tips for surviving those maladroit moments.

Tip #1: Don’t Get Drunk.  This is number one because it’s usually people’s biggest mistake.  Notice, I didn’t say “don’t drink.”  For one thing, this is the drunken blog and I’m pretty sure telling you not to drink is against the rules.  Alcohol is a social lubricant.  But too much lube can make you slip and bust your arse.  Get wasted with your friends.  Not in front of grandma or your boss.  Getting drunk will put you well on your way to Christmas Party infamy.  You’ll do something or say something you’ll regret.   From that moment on, whenever the subject of the Christmas Party comes up, some d-bag will say “Remember that year, when…”  Don’t be that guy.  Let someone else be that guy… Then be that d-bag who says “Remember that year, when Meredith got wasted and flashed Michael in his office?  I wonder what happened to that picture he took.”

Tip #2: Don’t Don Juan.  This isn’t the time for romance.  Lots of people are lonely around the holidays and being around people you’re familiar with at an office party can lull you into a false sense of security.  I’m about as big of a The Office fan as there is out there, but you’ll go into it thinking you’re pulling a Jim and Pam and end up pulling an Andy and Angela.  For you non-Office aficionados, that’s bad.  Delay your declaration to your soul mate of your true love for a more private setting.  It’ll help limit witnesses for the sexual harassment lawsuit.  By the way, this is also true for family Christmas Parties.  Don’t think you’d ever slip up and hit on that cute cousin?*  Just refer back to Tip #1.

Tip #3: Know Your Audience.  At some point, you will hit that point where you’re standing face-to-face with someone after exchanging a brief greeting and realize you have absolutely nothing to talk about with this person.  That’s when you panic and blurt out something along the lines of “So… How about that (local sports team)?  They were quite impressive the other day in defeating (the visitors.)” or “Been cold lately, hasn’t it?”  In December?  Imagine that.  Plan ahead.  Think about a few things to talk about with everyone you know will be there.  And also think about what not to talk about.  Cousin Eddie in the process of becoming Cousin Edna ?  Don’t ask Auntie Marie how his(her?) love life is going.  And at work, this will keep you from talking shop.  It’s a party.  Who wants to talk about work?  If you just don’t know… or care… about your co-workers, then come up with a few canned topics to talk about that are fail safe… ie, not politics, religion or the chances the receptionist has contracted an STD.

Tip #4:  Pull You Weight.  Chances are, you’re not the only one who doesn’t want to be there.  But it doesn’t have to be that way.  Everyone can, and should, contribute to a Christmas party.  Of course, each person will have their own unique talents.  If you’re the music guy, make a sweet Christmas mix.  If you’re a great cook, then bake your buns off. (I apologize for that one, I couldn’t resist.)  If you’re the life of the party, then bring a party game that everyone will enjoy.  Even just being the host is contribution enough.  However, this tip has a caveat: don’t force it.  The line between party superhero and epic fail can be thin on this one.  Not everybody defines a great Christmas mix as Jay-Z’s greatest hits.  Even the best cook can miss the mark by making enchiladas for a Christmas party. And for you hard chargers, I doubt your grandma is interested in a game of Kings Cup.  Just remember Tip #3: Know Your Audience.

Tip #5: Dress the Part.  Ladies: Nobody wants to see you celebrate the birth of a beautiful, 8 pound, 6 ounce Baby Jesus (A man who died for the redemption of your sins) by wearing an 8-inch skirt, stilettos, a tube top and enough makeup to paint a barn.  Gentlemen:   You have to dress up.  At least a little bit.  I know, it sucks.  But this is one of those occasions where it’s best to over dress than show up in your tattered jeans and that Back To The Future t-shirt you found on the net.  Look sharp.  Trust me, it’ll get you prepared for Tip #6.

Tip #6: Have an Escape Plan.  By the end of the night, you’ll be considering fashioning a rope out of bath towels and rappelling out of a window to get out of there.  Yup.  At some point, you’ll look around and the most exciting thing in the room will be Great Uncle Pete drooling, half passed out in front of the TV watching reruns of Frazier.  That’s your cue to exit, stage left.  If you don’t plan this right, you can really offend your host.  Since that’s probably a close relative or your boss, you’ll want to avoid that. 

Come up with an exit strategy before you get there and make sure you hint at it as soon as possible.  If you can, bring it up before the party.  You’ll have to be casual about it at first.  But when the time comes, commit to it and never look back.  I tend to double book Christmas Parties whenever possible.  I’ll plan to go to the less stimulating event first, then wait for the moment to strike.  Just make sure your excuse is believable and you don’t pull the trigger too soon.  Sorry, but 30 minutes in is just too soon.  Rule of thumb: Someone will have a legitimate excuse to leave.  Wait 15 minutes until after the first person leaves, then go for it.  If nobody leaves, you may have to bite the bullet.  But remember: Commit and don’t look back.

Following these simple tips may not make it the best Christmas Party ever, but it will keep you out of trouble.  Save the shenanigans for your friends.  They already know what a degenerate you are.  Just remember, in the immortal words of Chevy Chase in National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation: ”Where do you think you’re going? Nobody’s leaving. Nobody’s walking out on this fun old fashioned family Christmas. No, no. We’re all in this together. This is a full-blown, four-alarm holiday emergency here. We’re going to press on, and we’re going to have the hap-hap-happiest Christmas since Bing Crosby tap-danced with Danny f*cking Kaye. And when Santa squeezes his fat white ass down that chimney tonight, he’s going to find the jolliest bunch of assholes this side of the nut house.”

 *If you’re reading this from West Virginia, I guess that’s technically legal, but I still don’t recommend it.

So, I know what you’re thinking.  It’s been a while.  And I apologize.   Allow me to explain.  You see, I’ve been away.  Far away.  On the other side of the world, in fact.  I spent the last year in the Oriental paradise known as South Korea.  What can I say?  My job takes me crazy places sometimes.  And I know what you’re thinking, now.  What more interesting to blog about than living abroad?  Well, to be honest, the majority of my time there was spent working… not sightseeing.  So, I figured I would spare us both the effort and avoid the exercise in futility.

Now, I’ve been trying to decide an appropriate topic for my anticipated return (well… anticipated by one or two people, anyway).  There are plenty of blog-worthy topics out there right now just waiting to be expounded upon.  But none were grand enough an entrance.  Then, finally, it hit me.  What better topic for a new beginning… than the end?  The end of the world.

Believe it or not, this conversation has been coming up a lot lately in conversations.  I think it has a lot to do with all the press that’s been going around for the end of the Mayan Calendar.  Every time I get into this conversation, I find myself trying to explain how the Mayan Calendar is coming to an end and that people believe its end could mean the end of the world.  So, I figured I’d write this blog about it so, in the future, I can save my breath and send a link.

As with all my blogs, I have researched this topic in great depth… in between the commercials on my favorite TV shows (My TiVo is broken right now, so I have to suffer through them).  It turns out there are a few other theories that add to the assumption that the world will end in 2012.  This guy has done a nice job of summing up some of the more… ahem… popular theories for our impending demise.  Hence, I figure it’s only fair to quote him and then add my two cents.

1. Mayan Calendar

“The first mob to predict 2012 as the end of the world were the Mayans, a bloodthirsty race that were good at two things:

Building highly accurate astrological equipment out of stone and
Sacrificing Virgins.

Thousands of years ago they managed to calculate the length of the lunar moon as 329.53020 days, only 34 seconds out. The Mayan calendar predicts that the Earth will end on December 21, 2012. Given that they were pretty close to the mark with the lunar cycle, it’s likely they’ve got the end of the world right as well.”
 

Ok, the Mayans have never said the earth will end.  They have said there will be a major event.  Some people think that’s good, some people think that’s bad.  But, really, what we’re looking at is the end of a really long calendar.  Let’s think about it… What happens when our calendar year ends?  It resets and starts again… December 31^st leads to January 1^st.  Granted, it’s a much larger calendar than ours, but what did we think when our millennium came to an end?  Anyone remember Y2K?  Where were you when the ball dropped January 1^st, 2000?  If the answer is a bunker filled with beanie weenies and “D” batteries, this theory is for you.  I guess we can call this Y2K2… or something.
2. Sun Storms
“Solar experts from around the world monitoring the sun have made a startling discovery: our sun is in a bit of strife. The energy output of the sun is, like most things in nature, cyclic, and it’s supposed to be in the middle of a period of relative stability. However, recent solar storms have been bombarding the Earth with so much radiation energy, it’s been knocking out power grids and destroying satellites. This activity is predicted to get worse, and calculations suggest it’ll reach its deadly peak sometime in 2012.”
 

All right, seriously.  This theory is about half a century ahead of “The Sun God is going to smite us.”  Short of our sun having a heart attack, this one ain’t happening.  However, if the 3G network going down is akin to the world ending for you, you may have something to worry about.  Still, if Armageddon and Deep Impact have taught me anything, it’s that any celestial being wrought to destroy the world will quickly be identified and the crisis averted by astronauts… and off-shore drillers. 
 

3. The Atom Smasher

“Scientists in Europe have been building the world’s largest particle accelerator. Basically its a 27km tunnel designed to smash atoms together to find out what makes the Universe tick. However, the mega-gadget has caused serious concern, with some scientists suggesting that it’s properly even a bad idea to turn it on in the first place. They’re predicting all manner of deadly results, including mini black holes. So when this machine is fired up for its first serious experiment in 2012, the world could be crushed into a super-dense blob the size of a basketball.”
 

Otherwise known as the Large Hadron Collider, this particle accelerator isn’t legitimately believed to be harmful to our universe.  I mean, really, are we supposed to believe some mad scientist bent on the destruction of the world is orchestrating this while trying to fend off bad PR?  I think Superman can sit this one out.  I read somewhere that Stephen Hawking bet someone a hundred bucks that this thing wouldn’t destroy the world.  I’m taking Stephen Hawking’s side on this one.  In case you don’t trust Stephen Hawking like I do, you can always check out this website for updates: http://www.hasthelhcdestroyedtheearth.com/
 

4. The Bible says…

“If having scientists warning us about the end of the world isn’t bad enough,religious folks are getting in on the act as well. Interpretations of the Christian Bible reveal that the date for Armageddon, the final battle between Good an Evil, has been set down for 2012. The I Ching, also known as the Chinese book of Changes, says the same thing, as do various sections of the Hindu teachings.”
 

Uhm… I’m going to go with No on this one.  This is one of those Nostradamus theories.  Sure, Nostradamus’ predictions can be applied to a lot of things… Because they’re so broad.  But really, apocalypse enthusiasts, do you have to bring up the second coming every time people start getting hot and bothered about the end of the world?  At least these other theories are fresh.  You’re like a Britney Spears album… the same song over and over.
 

5. Super Volcano
“Yellowstone National Park in the United States is famous for its thermal springs and Old Faithful geyser. The reason for this is simple - it’s sitting on top of the world’s biggest volcano, and geological experts are beginning to get nervous sweats. The Yellowstone volcano has a pattern of erupting every 650,000 years or so, and we’re many years overdue for an explosion that will fill the atmosphere with ash, blocking the sun and plunging the Earth into a frozen winter that could last up to 15,000 years. The pressure under the Yellowstone is building steadily, and geologists have set 2012 as a likely date for the big bang.”
 

Does this remind anyone else of a CBS movie of the week?  I can already see the poor production quality and cheesy acting.  I think the TV networks dreamed this one up so they’d have something for the Nielsen Ratings. 
 

6. The Physicists

“This one’s a case of bog-simple mathematics. Physicists at Berekely Uni  have been crunching the numbers. and they’ve determined that the Earth is well overdue for a major catastrophic event. Even worse, they’re claiming their calculations prove, that we’re all going to die, very soon - while also saying their prediction comes with a certainty of 99 percent- and 2012 just happens to be the best guess as to when it occurs.”
 

Yeah… or you could just be wrong.  Whoops, forgot to carry the 3.  I mean, come on, Berkeley?  They were probably high when they wrote that.

7. Slip-Slop-Slap-BANG!

“We all know the Earth is surrounded by a magnetic field that sheilds us from most of the sun’s radiation. What you might not know is that the magnetic poles we call north and south have a nasty habit of swapping places every 750,000 years or so - and right now we’re about 30,000 years overdue. Scientists have noted that the poles are drifting apart roughly 20-30kms each year, much faster than ever before, which points to a pole-shift being right around the corner. While the pole shift is underway, the magnetic field is disrupted and will eventually disappear, sometimes for up to 100 years. The result is enough UV outdoors to crisp your skin in seconds, killing everything it touches.”
 

If this happens, it’s because Arthur Petrelli ultimately succeeds in destroying the world.  Save the cheerleader, save the world.   But, honestly, if this happens every 750,000 years and UV rays go turning life on earth into beef jerky, how is life on earth still around?  Although, that may explain why alligators have such leathery skin.

Ok, so there were a few old faithful methods of the apocalypse missing in there: asteroids, global warming, nuclear war, aliens… But we’ve had so many movies about those that they just don’t stick anymore.  So my bet is the world won’t end.  But if you’re going the other way, save a copy of this blog for me and use it to show future generations how awesome I was.  We’ve got another good 4 years to either live life to its fullest or stockpile for the end of days.  And if it does, in fact, come to an end in 2012, my guess is it will happen something like this.

I’ve always wanted to be a lawyer.  At least, my mom has always wanted me to be a lawyer, or a doctor, or an astronaut, or the President.  I guess that’s what mom’s do, hope that their children take up amazing professions and make lots of money so that the parents will be taken care of in their old age.  Well, I considered being a lawyer, I even took the LSAT, which is the admittance test for law school.

The LSAT, as it tends to do, didn’t even have the common decency to lube up before it had its way with me.  It was not a pleasant experience.  And yet, I’m still considering going into law school, and I have several friends who agree with that notion.  It would fit in well with my current career, but of course, it’s expensive and takes a lot of time.

And why bother going to law school when you can sue somebody without going?  You just have to make sure you sue somebody for less than $5000, which is what I’m doing.

Here’s the story.  It all started about six months ago, the condo where my girlfriend lives instituted a new parking policy.  There are about 20 communal parking spots, and they were switched from a free-for-all to a permit-only visitor’s lot.  Every unit was issued a parking pass, except the royal “they” had a list of all of the cars of the residents, so no resident could use the visitor’s pass, unless they didn’t register their car.

The parking lot went from being empty during the day, but mostly full at night, to being empty all the time.  Since none of the three people living in the apartment could use the visitor’s lot, I got to use it every time I came over (I should mention that there are three people living in that apartment, and only two parking spots - the third person is forced to park a quarter of a mile away on county roads).

So I parked without any problems.  And then in July cars starting getting towed.  First one roommate - that’s how we figured out they had a list of resident’s cars.  Then the other roommate - she parked in another visitor’s lot for which her pass apparently did not grant access.  Both of them were reasonably towed, they were residents and residents aren’t allowed to park there.  It’s a horrendous policy, but it is policy.

Then I was towed.

I was displaying a valid pass at the time, which was still hanging in my window when I picked up my car from the impound.  I asked the guy there why I had been towed and he told me it was because of a management request.  I asked him who specifically requested it, because the passes are issued by the Condo Association, but the lot is monitored by the Homeowners Association.  He didn’t know, but he gave me the contact information for a guy at the location where the HOA had their towing contract.

That guy was no help.

Then I called the Condo Association.  They were no help.  Then I called the Homeowners Association, and finally I got somewhere.  She said that somebody on the Board of Directors requested my car be towed.  She of course couldn’t say who that was, but I suspect it is the neighbor that sits in his garage at night with the lights out monitoring the parking lot.

I hope I am not like that when I grow old.  So sad and pathetic that I have to monitor a parking lot that doesn’t require monitoring.  Or so drunk for power that I need to see cars get towed to appease my desire to get back at my boss for exerting his authority over me.  Who knows what his problem is.

So now, despite the fact that I should be able to park in the visitor’s lot, I am unable and I have to park a quarter of a mile away on county roads.  And wouldn’t you know it, a day after that happens, my car gets broken into.

So I write a letter to the Board of Directors.  I ask them to reimburse me for my towing and the cost of the window.  I figured I wouldn’t get back the cost of the window, but I am entitled to the money from the towing.

I get all of my evidence together, type out a nice succinct, factually explicit three page letter, and send everything in.  I get in front of the board and plead my case.  I tell them that the clause they cited as a reason to tow me:

“A vehicle may be parked in a visitor space for a maximum of 72 hours.“

can only be interpreted to mean 72 consecutive hours.  Well, after berating me for several minutes about how it’s inappropriate to be an overnight guest so frequently, the President of the Board then tells me that the clause in the policy applies to the life of a vehicle.  So if I parked there for ten hours a week, on the eighth week, I would be breaking the policy.

Two people on the Board agreed with him, and the vote was split 3-3.  They revoted and got the same result.  It was explained to me that this meant that I lost.

I tried to resolve this amicably with them, but they were not reasonable, so I was forced to sue them.  I found out in the process that they are incorporated, so I am actually suing their attorney in the name of the HOA.

I just filed the suit today, it cost me $53, and I get to go to court the day after my birthday.

I can tell you one thing for sure, no matter how this turns out, I am getting silly that night.

Have you ever heard a phrase, most likely carelessly juxtaposed, and thought, “that needs to be the title for something – I don’t know what; I don’t know why, but it must be.” A quick Google search tells me that apparently I am unique in this thought.

One would think in the seemingly infinite amount of Simpson’s episodes that Homer would have inexplicably muttered the phrase, though I imagine that “sex”, for the sake of appeasement, would have been replaced with “Mmm” (my book antiqua font doesn’t do the word justice, but pretend it is moaned in a sexy woman’s voice) and French toast with “beer” and you’ll see that, in fact, Homer has been saying this phrase for year – they just haven’t named any episodes after it.

Since the slate is clear it allows me to have complete artistic freedom in my aptly titled piece – and you would think with my apparent six month hiatus that I would have plenty to say and the words would flow from my fingertips like sweat down the crack of a fat man in a sauna. If you used this analogy, you would be 100% correct – the words are flowing very awkwardly and grossly.

You may be wondering what I have been doing for the last six months or so. Some totally within-the-realm-of-possibility thoughts to that end might include:
• Solving world hunger
• Writing on another blog which is much better than this one
• Vacationing with all the ad revenue I have made from previously mentioned better blog
• Dying
• Opening a flower shop

If you thought one or more of these thoughts, you are absolutely correct. Plus many more things that you thought of that I didn’t mention – I did them all, and doing all those things precluded me from writing in this blog.

I don’t foresee the situation getting much better – I have planned to do all of the things you will have thought I was doing after you read this post. And it will be amazing.

In all seriousness – I am formulating, in my mind, a post about flowers, but I don’t think getting a girlfriend has changed me at all.

[update: the picture wasn’t showing in IE for some reason, I have obviously fixed it, but sorry for any confusion.]

I work in one of the main buildings for a rather large consulting firm. We don’t have the entire building, but we do have our name on the outside of it, which means that we pay the most rent and have the majority of the building. There are 18 floors and I work on the fifth.

Now, I mentioned that I work for a consulting firm, but just like any other consulting firm, they do other things as well. But the fact that we are mainly consultants makes for a certain work environment. Most of the people working here are young professionals, recently graduated from college and pretty bright. The problem is, all of these cats work on the client site as opposed to the home office. That means that all of the kids my age don’t actually work in my building, for the most part.

The people that work in my building are generally accountants, HR, senior executives, etc. Basically an older crowd; a crowd you would expect to be more professional than the young guns going out getting plastered every night and crawling their way into work the next day. The people that you see around the office are pretty much the stereotypical people you would expect to see when you think of “the business world”.

One thing that is important to mention is that the company for which I work prides itself on hiring smart, capable people. It’s not shy about letting people know that. And so when a company tells its employees that they are all smart and capable, a cut above the rest, those employees start to parrot that message and begin to think that they are better and smarter than their counterparts.

I haven’t been here long enough to be fully absorbed into that culture, so I think that means that it’s ok for me to say that I wish I had the mental acuity to be able to use “dick wipe” in a sentence as a double entendre. The sign pictured above was placed directly above the urinal in the fifth floor men’s bathroom.

I’m sure whoever came up with the sign thought they were extremely clever. After all, everybody has heard the phrase “dick wipe” before, or possibly “ass wipe” (aka toilet paper), or the female version, “douche” (aka vag wipe), but how many times have you actually used the term to indicate a person who is actually participating in that action? That is to say, the last time you called somebody an “ass wipe” did you call them that because the only distinguishing trait about the person was the fact that they were currently wiping their ass?

It’s even rarer to be able to use dick wipe appropriately, after all, who even wipes their dick with toilet paper? The pure cleverness of how this letter is addressed reminds me of one of my favorite movies:

Tyler Durden: Did you know that if you mix equal parts of gasoline and frozen orange juice concentrate you can make napalm?
Jack*: No, I did not know that; is that true?
Tyler Durden: That’s right… One could make all kinds of explosives, using simple household items.
Jack: Really…?
Tyler Durden: If one were so inclined.
Jack: Tyler, you are by far the most interesting single-serving friend I’ve ever met… see I have this thing: everything on a plane is single-serving…
Tyler Durden: Oh I get it, it’s very clever.
Jack: Thank you.
Tyler Durden: How’s that working out for you?
Jack: What?
Tyler Durden: Being clever.
Jack: Great.
Tyler Durden: Keep it up then… Right up.

*Note: Jack is not actually his name, he is never given a name in the movie, I only list his name as Jack for the of sake convenience.

But even more amazing to me than the cleverness of the addressing of the letter was the location, and I’m not talking about above the urinal, that’s exactly where I would expect a letter about clogging urinals to be. No, I’m talking about the building itself. This is a sign that I would expect to see above the urinal at a seedy bar, albeit, I would expect the note to be hand written, held up with dip, and stained with urine. However, I would not expect to see a sign such as this in one of the main buildings of a multi-billion dollar consulting firm.

I find it amusing that the note writer was so irked by this dick wipe that he decided he would take the time to go to his computer after relieving himself, type up the note, print it out, and then go back to the bathroom, with three pieces of tape, to post his notice.

At first I thought it was a member of the cleaning crew that posted the notice, but if you look closely, you’ll notice that there aren’t any egregious misspellings or grammatical errors – this was clearly a white collar affair.

Also of note is the fact that instead of just pointing out the problem and politely asking the person to stop, the writer of this letter offered an alternative solution – now that’s a real go-getter!

I do have to take points away for the use of all caps. Don’t get me wrong, whoever is putting toilet paper in the urinal deserves to be talked to in all caps, but I’m not the culprit here, and I don’t like being yelled at by an anonymous sign as I evacuate my bladder.

This year was different. The Patriots went into the game 18-0, all they needed to do was win one more game to make meaning of their undefeated season up to that point. With every fiber of my being I wanted the Patriots to lose. Normally I wouldn’t care about an AFC team, and as much as I like the ’72 Dolphins, I don’t really care about their record remaining intact. But after what the Patriots did to the Redskins, running up the score 52-7, converting twice on fourth down when they were already up by 20+ points, I lost all respect for Bill Belichick and wanted nothing more than to see the Patriots go down.

In my fantasy the Patriots would win every single game except for one; that one loss would come from the, at the time, winless Dolphins. The irony would be magnificent. The Dolphins didn’t pull that one out and so I just kept rooting against the Patriots; each game I hoped and prayed that they would lose. Eventually I ran out of games to cheer against them in and they had still not lost a game and they were in the Super Bowl, playing none other than the New York Football Giants.

The Giants are a divisional rival to the Redskins so it was extremely difficult to root for them. I justified it by telling myself that I wasn’t actually rooting for the Giants, but I was rooting against the Patriots; this made me feel slightly better. Since my perfect world was crushed when the Patriots unceremoniously beat the Dolphins, I crafted a new fantasy.

I decided that I wanted the Patriots to lose, and the Giants not to win. I’m not sure how that would work out exactly, but a boy can dream, can’t he? So after three quarters of extremely mundane football, the fourth quarter exploded with action, down by three and with 10 seconds left Tom Brady threw a Hail Mary pass on fourth and ten and missed it. The Giants had won the game – or so they thought. The team rushed the field – the celebration had begun, but there was still 1 second left on the clock, and the game wouldn’t be over until the Giants took that last snap. My fantasy was on its way to becoming a reality. The Patriots lost the game and the Giants didn’t actually win it.

Of course, the joy of that realization was short lived and five minutes later the officials somehow managed to clear the field and the Giants got off the last play of the Super Bowl. I was hoping since Belichick left the field before the game was over, showing what little sportsmanship he actually has, that the Patriots would simply forfeit the game. Maybe next year.

The day of service began with a four hour brainwashing meeting to get us in the mood for the day. We basically learned how good MLK was and how good my company is, then we learned how good we all could be if we just did more things for our community.

When registering for this event they gave me a choice of locales that I could work in. I chose the closest they had to me, Fairfax. The week prior to MLK day they sent out a list of the locales and what projects people would be doing in each of them. I looked up Fairfax on the list and I saw that I would be going to a hospital and working with kids in the pediatric ward to do some arts and crafts.

Having run the birthday parties for several years at Jungle Golf, the place I worked throughout high school, I felt content that this would be a fairly easy gig for me. For some inexplicable reason, kids seem to like me.

So it was much to my surprise when I showed up to the meeting (which was all the way in downtown DC) only to find out that my service would actually be at the Red Cross and there would be no entertaining children involved. What was even worse was the description of what I would be doing: “Sorting mail to be sent out to deployed soldiers.” I thought the post office had machines for things like this.

When I got to the Red Cross building around noon I learned many things. I learned that the Red Cross is pretty inefficient, since all of the cards that I was sorting three weeks into January were Christmas cards. I learned that all volunteer work is extremely menial. I learned that all mail to deployed soldiers could be separated into three colored bins, and I also learned that Yossarian is not so crazy.

As I said, I sorted Christmas cards that day. You may ask why I had to sort them, and I will tell you now. We had to open up every single letter and card and read through it. If it had a religious tone to it it went in the yellow “religion” bin; if it said “get well soon” it went in the blue “wounded” bin; if it had anything in it anti-war or political it went in the red “rejected” bin. We were also told to separate out any Spanish cards and any cards requesting a response from the soldier. These didn’t get their own bins, so I’m convinced that they ended up in the red bin.

Reading mail intended for soldiers to screen out the riff raff seems good intentioned enough. They gave us markers and told us to black out last names and any contact information. This is what made me feel like Yossarian from Catch 22. In the opening of the book Yossarian is in the medical ward, but since he is an officer they have to put him to work, so they make him censor letters. He is supposed to take out anything that might give away sensitive information, such as location or troop numbers. He quickly gets bored with this, however, and begins censoring much more interesting things. In one letter he takes out every single pronoun. He mused that it would make the letters seem infinitely more interesting with the recipients not knowing what was censored nor why.

In my four hour shift I went through roughly 1000 letters. Most were from little kids, done in school. There were some letters that the same person would send 10 or 15 times. All in all I was touched by the cards, but there was one that got to me in particular.

It was a child’s letter, he didn’t talk about anything in particular, just the sort of thing that a kid forced to write a letter might. This child talked about how he used to live in Texas and that he moved to Virginia. He talked about how he loved the Cowboys, but he also watched the Redskins and hoped that they would lose. Being a diehard Redskins fan I couldn’t let this indiscretion pass. I figured I had two options, I could either put the letter directly in the red bin, or I could do a bit of creative censoring to make for a more Redskins-friendly letter.

Not wanting the tyke’s hard work to go to waste, I chose the latter option. Through my creative editing, the final output was something along the lines of “I moved from Texas to Virginia. I really like … watching … the Redskins…”. Of course, substitute the ellipses for long passages of blacked out words and you get a sense of what this lucky soldier will see.

I can imagine some of you being upset about me unnecessarily censoring this letter, but in my defense, I sorted over 1000 letters, having fun with one out of those thousands doesn’t seem so bad. Besides, soldiers have a sense of humor (they have to), this soldier could have either gotten a letter from this kid about two football teams he probably doesn’t care about, or he could become intrigued as to why somebody thought that it was necessary to edit this letter. What possible information could have been contained behind those sturdy black lines? Those are the types of questions that get people excited, and more importantly, get their minds off the fact that they are getting a Christmas card a month late and still aren’t home with their families or friends.

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.

Anyway, on Saturday night most of the family congregated at the hotel where my mom was staying. We chatted for a while before we figured that we finally had to head out, the problem was, nobody knew where the restaurant, Flaming Pit, was located. One of my uncles offered to put the name of the restaurant in his GPS unit and see what came up. I told him that would not wield valid results as it would probably give directions to the gay district. Zing.

Luckily one of my other uncles knew where it was and gave everybody else directions. Well, whenever there are group caravans like this I always like to race and beat everybody else there. It’s simply an affirmation of my great driving abilities when I arrive first. What I failed to realize, however, was that the sooner I got to the restaurant, the sooner and longer I would have to hang out with my blind grandfather.

Needless to say, I was the first person there. Luckily my uncle showed up about the same time as I did (even though he left before me!) so I wasn’t by myself for very long. Dinner took longer than I thought it would, but about the time you would expect for 20 people. I tried to do a juggling act of drinking enough alcohol to be sociable and yet not drinking so much that I wouldn’t be able to drive home and go out drinking even more that night.

Before I made my early exit I noticed that one of the carafes of wine that we had ordered had gone completely untouched. I had been drinking beer that night, but if I wasn’t driving I definitely would have gone for the gusto and attempted to leave no alcohol behind. I suggested to my mom that we ask for some sippy cups (i.e., cups that had lids on them, not actual sippy cups) and pour the wine in them. We mentioned this to the waitress but she would have none of it. She told us just to take the entire glass carafe as long as we “promised” to bring it back. She brought out some saran wrap and some tin foil to avoid any splashing on the way home.

I took the carafe of white wine and I was gone.

I drove thirty minutes home only to be greeted by quite possibly the best way that anybody can ever be greeted after a long day of whatever – there was a party going on in my place. I guess it wasn’t actually a party per se, but Jake was there and so were five other girls. Awesome. Having been through the adventure that was a family gathering, I made myself a drink. What I should have realized was that since I had just driven back from Maryland that everybody would assume I was sober enough to drive everybody that night. Unfortunately, I was that sober.

Whereas normally I would have had about 3 more drinks before heading out, that night it was just the singular drink, which I only drank because I had already poured it. However, I did have fun forcing my newly acquired wine down the throats of these five girls. The carafe held about 4 man-sized glasses of wine. That is to say, it filled four bigger than average wine glasses pretty much to the top.

We were kind of in a hurry so we didn’t wait for all of the wine to be finished; instead we brought a solo cup with some wine in it which I had the pleasure of chugging once we got to the Ballroom. As we were walking in Jessie told me that she intended to dance with me. Now, I have nothing against dancing, but I do have problems dancing with the girl that my roommate is hooking up with. It’s a bit of a moral quandary, so instead of dealing with it, I told her that us dancing together would not be happening.

She, however, was not content with leaving well enough alone and more or less zeroed in on me any time she saw me on the dance floor. Eventually she found another poor sap to dance with her and it looked like she was having a grand old time trying to make Jake jealous. Making Jake jealous is analogous to streaking at an NFL game, you don’t know that it’s happening until the commentators mention it, and even then you still can’t actually tell that anything is going on at all.

I didn’t hear the commentators mention any streaking going on that night, but I’m pretty sure the two did have a private “huddle” that night.

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.

Really the only reason I called her Fat Tina Fey was because she had on similar glasses. The manner in which she dressed was also reminiscent of the way Tina’s character dresses on 30 Rock.

I was getting pretty drunk and FTF wanted to leave so I walked over with her to the area near the door. She started telling me where she lived and I started mulling over if I wanted to leave with her. After some clarification she told me she lived off the red line, which is part of the DC Metro. I live off the orange line, and while the two are relatively close, it requires a train transfer and would therefore be very inconvenient for me. As soon as she said she was off the red line I just wanted to get away from her and luckily Caitlyn was there to facilitate that extraction and I never saw FTF again.

Several days later I was having a conversation with Will, this is how it went:

(3:32:32 PM) Will: i have a feeling tonight’s going to be crazy

(3:32:39 PM) Will: and i’m usually right about these feelings

(3:32:58 PM) Justin: oh man, but I said I would take it easy tonight!

(3:33:04 PM) Will: look

(3:33:11 PM) Will: why did you say that?

(3:33:29 PM) Justin: Because, I figured I wouldn’t want to be a bump on a log at [redacted]’s party tomorrow

(3:33:33 PM) Will: you can take it easy, and it can still be a crazy night

(3:34:24 PM) Justin: That’s true

(3:34:33 PM) Justin: But generally when things start to go crazy, I drink a lot

(3:34:34 PM) Justin: ha

(3:34:58 PM) Will: hahha

(3:35:02 PM) Will: its a state of mind

(3:35:12 PM) Will: hahaa

(3:35:17 PM) Will: its all in your head

(3:35:34 PM) Justin: I’m so ready to go home

(3:35:41 PM) Justin: I have a water in front of me

(3:35:45 PM) Justin: but I want it to be a rum and coke

(3:35:45 PM) Justin: ha

(3:35:53 PM) Justin: Jesus can do that, right?

(3:36:00 PM) Will: hahahaah

(3:36:11 PM) Will: but you know what i’ve learn over the years

(3:36:23 PM) Will: if tonight presents itself as being a good night…i won’t hold back

(3:36:32 PM) Will: because you never know what the party tomorrow will bring

(3:36:47 PM) Justin: That’s how I’ve been partying recently

(3:36:56 PM) Justin: Except my initial assessments have been off

(3:37:02 PM) Justin: e.g., Fat Tina Fey

(3:37:11 PM) Will: LOL

(3:37:27 PM) Will: there’s nothing wrong with Fat Tina Fey

(3:37:42 PM) Will: you just didn’t capitalize on that cause you were worried what we would say

(3:37:56 PM) Justin: And she was all the way up on the red line

(3:37:59 PM) Will: hahahaha

(3:38:01 PM) Justin: ha ha

(3:38:13 PM) Will: that’s not that far if you think you might get some action

(3:38:14 PM) Will: hahahah

(3:38:46 PM) Justin: She wasn’t red line-hot

(3:38:57 PM) Justin: She was barely even an orange line-hot

And so with that a new hotness scale was born.

Obviously the scope of this scale is very limited and can vary among people in the same city, but among my friends this is how it will be known.

Orange Line-Hot – There aren’t many girls that aren’t orange line-hot. This is a girl who is attractive to the point where you would only hook up with her if it was extremely convenient for you. She’s not pretty enough for you to go out of your way, but let’s face it, if she’s going your way, you’d do her.

Blue Line-Hot – The blue line runs on the same track as the orange line for the majority of its route, so you don’t really have to go that far out of your way for one of these girls, but it still requires some effort so it’s a slight step up from the orange line. This is the line that most girls fit into, which is to say that most guys will go out of their way for sex regardless of the attractiveness of a girl.

Yellow Line-Hot – The yellow line requires a transfer at Metro Center, which as the name implies, is in the center of the entire Metro. This is inconvenient because you have to go all the way to the heart of the city before you can get your ass hauled to where you actually need to go – the land of rainbows and unicorns, aka, a girl’s bedroom. The yellow line partially overlaps with the blue line which can make a shortcut home, depending on the location of your lady friend’s actual abode. A yellow line girl could require multiple transfers so she has to have a great “personality” to keep your attention. Just as an aside, imagine me cupping my chest when I say “personality.”

Red Line-Hot - The red line also requires a transfer at Metro Center to go up north. A red line-hot girl is very attractive; hopefully you will be in the heavy make-out stage of the night, because you’re going to have a lot of idle time waiting for and on trains to get anywhere on the red line. The red line actually covers the most land in the entire system and it goes all the way up into Maryland. This girl has to be attractive enough to cross state lines for, just keep that in mind.

Green Line-Hot – The green line actually shares some track with the yellow line, but instead of curving back towards the orange line, it goes the exact opposite direction. Green line-hot is as hot as they come, because not only is it going to take forever to get back to her place, but you’ll probably have to double padlock the door on your way in, but you’d die a happy man if your last action was hooking up with a green line-hot girl.