Observations From A Sober Guy – Tailgating

3 06 2010

Ahhh…I love the smell of BBQ and beer in the morning.  When you’re in college, a sporting event isn’t a four hour activity.  It’s an all day marathon. From sunrise to way past sunset.  In most cases, heavy drinking would be in store.  But not today my friends. Today, I will be observing this wonderful activity from the eyes of a sober guy.

It’s 7:00am and I am woken from a deep slumber by the sounds of “Rocky Top” blaring from upstairs.  Really?  7am?  Give me a freaking break.  The game doesn’t start until 8 tonight.  Maybe I can sleep through this.  Just before I train my ears to withstand this sensual onslaught, my door swings open.  My roommate slides in wearing nothing but socks, boxers, and sunglasses playing air guitar with a handle of Jim Beam.  Dude.  I tell him to leave and let me sleep a little longer.  He replies with, “Go ahead and try, see what happens”, then leaves the room.  I decide to call his bluff.  Big mistake.  Just when I am about to fall back asleep, the music stops.  Thank God.  It is a premature shout out to the big man upstairs, as “Tarzan Boy” starts blaring.  For those of you unfamiliar with “Tarzan Boy”:

Fine, I’ll get up.  I head upstairs to get some breakfast and all five of my roomies are outside drinking off the keg left over from last night.  Reminder, it’s about 7:30…am. I’m pretty sure they just picked up where they left off last night seeing as two hours of sleep really doesn’t kill any buzz from a solid Friday.  Animals.  They are chatting amongst themselves about how the night will turn out.  “Dude, there are gonna be sooo many fine girls at the fraternity house, and I am going to hit on all of them.”  Or, “Dude, the Velcro Pygmies are playing at the bar after the game, there are gonna be sooo many fine girls there, and I’m going to hit on all of them.”  Aspirations that are sure to fail.  I think to myself, alright we’ve got 5 guys here.  All of which are about to drink their body weight in alcohol.  Hmmm…according to my math, two will not make it to the game, due to exhaustion from drinking all day, of course.  One will make it to the game, but will pass out in a shrub on the walk back.  One will make it back to the house to change before heading to the bar, but will pass out with his shirt halfway on and one leg in his pants.  And the last will come ever so close to his goal.  He will not only make it to the bar, but he will talk to some of these women.  In his mind it will be going great, but with sober eyes I will see the truth.  I will cover this later.

Everybody is dressed, drinks are prepared, time to head to the fraternity house for some tailgating. One of the best parts of being in a fraternity is a personal driver.  Yes, it’s true.  It is known as Beeper.  Give this poor guy a call and he will come to your doorstep and take you wherever you’d like to go.  In this case we are going to do some tailgating.  A buddy makes the call: “Beeper!  If you’re not here in 5 minutes you’re f****d!”.   This is an impossible request seeing as it will take at least 30 minutes to arrive with all of the game day traffic.  But you can just imagine the look on that poor pledge’s face.  Priceless.  Since we have some time to kill, I’ll just sit back and listen to my friends rant and rave”.

For the five years I was enrolled in college, my friends and I had the same conversation over and over and over again.  We just never realized it.  Here are some examples.  “Dude, did you see Dave at the bar last night?  Yeah, he pissed himself and didn’t realize it”.  “Henry drank so much last night, he dropped his handle of Jager and cut himself while he was picking up the pieces.  After that he puked and pissed himself, and then shit his pants while cleaning up”.  (True story).   “You should have seen the woofer that Tim hooked up with last night.  After they were done, he had to wash his hands with Evan Williams to get the smell off”. (Unfortunately, another true story).  It’s incredible that we all have degrees now.

Beeper arrives.  Time to head to the fraternity house to pregame.  We pack 6 guys and 4 girls that we picked up on the drive over in a 1999 Ford Taurus.  Talk about uncomfortable.  I pretty much know the exact anatomy of the girl on my lap since we are crammed in so tight.  We get to the house and one by one we pop out of the car. One friend yells, “Beeper, if you’re not here at this exact spot ten minutes after the game to pick me up, you’re f****d!”  He will hear this same request twenty more times. None of which will be at this exact spot.

Inside the house, there are a plethora of girls and guys dressed in orange and white.  A beautiful sight.  One girl has already hit the drinking circuit hard.  I know this because she is keeled over on the couch with five people standing around her taking pictures. Poor girl.  She will probably swear off drinking.  Good luck with that.  I follow my friends around to get in some good sober observation time but nothing is really happening.

Fast forward 2 hours.  Lots of things are happening.  I look outside and the token fat pledge is dancing to “My Humps” on the front porch.  By himself.  300+ pounds of Black Eyed Peas magic jiggling around.  Someone chucks a beer can from the above balcony and it hits him in the head.  He doesn’t even flinch.  On the front lawn there are two guys fighting.  I can’t tell if they are serious or not.  They pause, and one throws up. They laugh.  I guess they weren’t serious.  Girls are trolling around the house looking for free booze. Vultures.  It must be nice to have a vagina sometimes.  You NEVER have to pay for drinks.  But then you have to give labor so I’ll stick with my penis.

Game time draws close and I decide to sit back and gauge the intoxication level of these die hard fans.  Wow. I guess I’ve never realized before how serious some people take this.  Drinking comes first before the game.  College is awesome.  We head to the stadium where we wait in a 30 minute line to get through the gates.  This should provide some solid observations. I watch as the police pull beers, airplane bottles, and fifths out of pants, purses, and cowboy boots.  Here’s a tip for those lucky enough to still be in college: Pour your liquor of choice into a ziploc bag and tuck it in the front you your pants.  Sneakery that is guaranteed to work. We make it through the gauntlet of patrons and get to our seats.  I guess you can call these seats. More like middle school bleachers that sway every time someone sneezes. There is a guy passed out underneath these bleachers to my right.  Ziploc bags are being pulled from pants all over.  Let the game begin.

We make it to halftime and it is HOT.  I’m sweating more than a prostitute in church. And so is everyone else.  There are some guys with their shirts off that put “My Humps” to shame.  The guy behind me opens his mustard packet to load up his hot dog.  He is so hammered that he squeezes the wrong end and mustard shoots all over the back of my neck.  Duuudeee.  Had I been in my usual game day state this would not have bothered me.  But I’m sober.  And this is miserable.  I decide to call it a day and head back home until the after party.

Fast forward five hours and we are at the band party at the local joint on the strip.  The Velcro Pygmies.  Few words get Tennessee students more pumped that the name of this band:

This aged 80’s cover band is the tits.  They pack the first five rows with some unbelievable talent.  Some of these ladies will be lucky enough to have a lollipop put in their mouth by the lead singer.  Classy.  And what else screams class like having a song in their repertoire called “Pussy Whipped”.  Instead of clapping, the crowd makes vaginas with their hands and waves them around.

There are people stumbling around all over this bar.  Some probably don’t even realize that there is a band playing at an ear drum busting level.  Shouts of “FREEBIRD!” ring out.  Wrong genre, but I’m pretty sure the guys that yell this would do so at a Madonna concert.  “My Humps” still has his shirt off, elbowing girls to get to the front row.  He’s like a steamroller.  I bet he lost his shirt.  I called it.  Only one of my friends actually made it to the bar.  He is working his magic on some ugly chick in the shadows.  I move in for a closer look.  Yeah,  this girl is ugly.  He probably thinks that she looks like Heidi Klum so I decide to let him be.  Is that drool hanging from the corner of his mouth? Yep, it’s drool.  And is he petting her?  Yep, he most certainly is.  Good thing she’s just as drunk and doesn’t realize that he is treating her like his Golden Retriever. Uh oh.  Here comes her friend.  She’s definitely the DUFF.  If you aren’t sure what a DUFF is, here the definition from Urban Dictionary:

DUFF: Designated Ugly Fat Friend

Two hot chicks at a bar will have a really nasty fat ugly bitch hanging out with them, refered to as a “DUFF”.

This spells doom.  She grabs the girl’s arm and sweeps her away.  My buddy stares in disappointment with his tongue hanging out, drool and all.  There are plenty more fish in the sea.  Don’t be discouraged.

All in all it was a solid day of sober observations.  I got to uncover a side of tailgating that I rarely see.  The debauchery is abundant.  The girls are hot.  And the drinking is out of control.  I wouldn’t have it any other way.

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Wedding Season

21 05 2010

We are gonna have tons and tons of opportunities to meet gorgeous ladies that get so aroused by the thought of marriage that they’ll throw their inhibitions to the wind. And who’s gonna be there to catch them? Grab that net and catch that beautiful butterfly, pal! What do you like better, Christmas or Wedding Season? Mr. Grey? Yes. The answer would be, um, Wedding Season?

Alright kind of a lame and overused intro to the post, but it really captures the excitement of this wonderful time of year.  With many friends getting married soon, I figured now would be an appropriate time for a Top 10 list.

It’s Wedding Season!  Alright…I’ll Stop.  But here is my list of the Top 10 Reasons weddings are so awesome.

1. Reuniting With Friends: Catching up with your buddies from college is great.  You go right back to freshman year.  You get to see who’s put on the most lbs.  And you get to relive the glory days with those who were there.  “Dude, do you remember that time in the hot tub with (insert freshman year slut here)?  So tits”.  Or, “Dude, do you remember that time you woke up cuddling a Shop Vac?  Even more tits”.

2. Music/Dancing: 50 white dudes dancing their hearts out to “Shout” in an alcohol induced stupor is a beautiful sight.  You can dance as terribly as you want and no one cares.  Not to mention the oodles of beautiful women dancing with you. Just give them a little twirl and your in like sin.  I’m not much of a dancer, but by God, I can do a nasty “Soljah Boy” at a wedding.

3. Girls: Probably the best part of wedding season.  All shapes, sizes, and colors of women dressed to kill.  If you are fortunate to be single, wedding season is like the opening of duck season.  Like the quote from “Wedding Crashers” states, these women really are super aroused by the thought of getting married.  It’s almost not fair.  Like shooting fish in a barrel.

4. Hotel Rooms:  Coupled with the amount of hotties, hotel rooms just add to the ease of picking up women at weddings.  Make a good connection?  Just head up three floors to the hotel room.  It can’t get much more convenient than that.  Just make sure you take care of business before the three other guys sharing the room with you come stumbling in.

5. Finger Food: Phenomenal finger food at that.  Free phenomenal finger food.  Mini sandwiches, meatballs, shrimp cocktails, it’s all golden.  Feel free to stuff in as much as you can.  You’re gonna need to fill that belly before you hit the open bar.  Just don’t fill it up too much, you don’t want to ralph on a girl while doing the “Soljah Boy”.

6. Open Bar: Sooooo tits.  The only thing better than free food is free beer.  And as much you can drink.  Let me reiterate just how incredible Wedding Season is.  Lots of women, hotel rooms, and an unlimited supply of alcohol and food.  Am I in heaven?  I believe so.

7. Destinations: Weddings are always better when you have to travel to get to them. It also ensures that there will be hotels rooms, which we have already gone over.  Feel free to explore a city you’ve never been to.  Check out the bar scene and the locals. Unless you happen to have a wedding in, say, Pulaski, Tennessee.  Don’t explore the locals there.

8. Pre-Wedding Get Together: In most cases there will be a “social” gathering the night before the wedding.  This usually occurs at the hotel bar.  It’s pretty much a pregame for the wedding.  Give your buddy as much shit as you can for getting married because in about 15 hours, you won’t be able to ever again.

9. Bachelor Parties: I don’t really need to go into detail with this one.  We ALL know just how amazing bachelor parties can be.  Instead I will provide the readers with this incredible movie quote:

Hello. How ’bout that ride in? I guess that’s why they call it Sin City. You guys might not know this, but I consider myself a bit of a loner. I tend to think of myself as a one-man wolf pack. But when my sister brought Doug home, I knew he was one of my own. And my wolf pack… it grew by one. So there… there were two of us in the wolf pack… I was alone first in the pack, and then Doug joined in later. And six months ago, when Doug introduced me to you guys, I thought, “Wait a second, could it be?” And now I know for sure, I just added two more guys to my wolf pack. Four of us wolves, running around the desert together, in Las Vegas, looking for strippers and cocaine. So tonight, I make a toast!

10. Watching a Buddy Get the Ole’ Ball and Chain: Cue taps.  Your friend is about to bite the dust.  Gone are the nights of staying up til 4 am.  Gone are the crazy party days.  But this is what it’s all about.  The reason for the season.





Shia LaBeouf – Revenge of Walgreens

19 05 2010

Who would have guessed that young Lewis on Disney’s “Even Stevens” would produce a mugshot like this?  At least he looks happy.  The realization that jail is not as funny as it sounds must not have hit him yet.  It probably did hit him when he had to sit down next to a guy named Sheckles, who got locked up for biting his girlfriend’s ear in a domestic dispute.

In November of 2007, LaBeouf was arrested…in Walgreens.  Pretty awesome.  He celebrated his 21st birthday in 21st birthday fashion.  After a fiasco with pimple creme, cigarettes, and a security guard, he ended up in the slammer.  I’ll let Shia do the explaining.

 





Observations From A Sober Guy – The Bar

19 05 2010

Going to the bar sober can be a surreal experience.  An eye opening one at that.  “Is that what I look like every weekend?  Jesus”.  These are my observations from a sober night out at the bars:

I join a group of my buddies pregaming before heading out to the bars.  What a crazy concept. Let’s drink before we go out and drink.  Ahhhh, the carry over of the college lifestyle.  Will we ever grow up?  I listen as my buddies talk amongst themselves about chasing skirt and stories from the last bar crusades.  I really think we put our bodies through this torture just to have stories in the morning.  And does alcohol always make everyone louder.  It’s like a Motley Crue concert in this apartment.  Someone grabs a laptop to play some music.  “What do you guys wanna hear?”  Shouts of Lil Wayne, I’m On a Boat, and Garth Brooks ring out.  Do we always have this terrible taste in music?  I guess so.  Oh well.  Let’s listen to “I’m on a Boat” fifteen times in a row.  But make sure we rewind it a few times so everyone hears T-Pain say “I Fucked a Mermaid”. It’s still funny after 536 times.  “Who wants to shotgun!?”.  Well since I’m staying sober tonight, not me, but I watch three guys give high fives at the thought.  This is like something from Van Wilder. Hooray for perpetuating stereotypes.  I observe my cronies shotgun these beers.  One of them pukes in the sink immediately.  That will stay there for a few days.  Dishes will probably gather on top of it.  My two other buddies point and laugh. Barbarians.  Laughing at this poor guy.  I guess he did it to himself though. I point and laugh.  I notice pregaming comes with a routine.  Drink a beer, listen to a few songs, then go out to the porch to blast a cig.  Repeat.  After a solid couple hours of drinking before drinking, the group decides on where to head for the night. One friend yells out lets go to (insert bar here).  The crowd is rattled by this request.  “What, are you insane? There are NEVER any girls there”.  He would like that bar.  Idiot.  Like it honestly matters where we end up going.  I realize this in my state of soberness. It’s not like the atmosphere is going to matter.  In a couple of hours most of these guys will not be able to see straight and will have developed their own blackout language.  A language that can only be understood by fellow heavy drinkers.  I can’ wait to see this.  I smile at the thought.

We arrive at the bar.  God, this place stinks.  Does it always smell like this? I watch my friends head to the bar and find a place out of the way to sit and make some more observations.  There is a table full of girls to my right.  A birthday party.  I know this because one of the girls has a sign around her neck and a crown on her head.  Must be a 21st birthday.  We will know in about an hour if they are carrying her out.  The solo guitar player sings Wagon Wheel.  I know I will hear this song at least three more times before we leave.  My buddies come and join me at the table, most are double fisting.  A liquor drink and a beer.  Animals.  The bar is filled with smoke.  I wonder how many years I have lost on my life by hanging out in places like this.  The thought escapes me when a girl walks by in a mini skirt.  I wonder if she knows her underwear is showing. Probably not.  One of my buddies stares with is tongue hanging out.  He’s got that zombie-like stare going on.  You know the one from “Dawn of the Dead”.  He holds this stare for half a minute before returning to his cigarette.  He fumbles it, drops it to the ground, and attempts to put it back in his mouth the wrong way.  He catches his mistake before it’s too late. Disaster averted.

The bar is full of girls and guys alike.  Most dressed the exact same way.  It’s like a Polo army in here.  I imagine to myself an army full of men wearing polos and khakis. Intimidating.  I look to my left and one of my friends is crying  holding his cell phone. C’mon dude, you serious right now? I block him from the crowds to save the embarrassment. I ask him what’s wrong and all I get from his mumbling is girl, guy, and bar. Sounds like a serious problem. He forgets his issues when someone places an Irish Car Bomb on the table. He takes it down.  Irish Car Bomb, what an awesome name for a drink.

The night is coming to an end.  I watch one of my buddies trip and fall on a table, knocking over ten drinks.  He gets back up and continues stumbling towards the bar, knocking shoulders with everyone he passes.  I watch another patron take a shot at the bar, bend over in his bar stool, throw up, and then put his credit card up for another round.  What a trooper.  I head to the bathroom to relive myself.  I realize that I would have already made four or five trips had I not been sober.  There is a line of guys at the “trough” swaying back and forth talking gibberish. “Duuuuddeee, did you see the girl in the mini skirt?” The bathroom trough, one of the most uncomfortable peeing situations ever invented.  I come to the realization that my pee anxiety will overcome me.  I decide to hold it.  I head back to the table where my buddies are preparing to leave.  Blackout language engaged.  Time for late night.

We head to the local fried chicken joint.  Someone stumbles out into the street where he is almost hit by car.  He screams profanities at the driver for getting in his way.  I’m pretty sure he would try and fight the car if given the chance.  We make the five block journey to eat late night.  For those unfamiliar with late night, it is the greasiest, most unhealthy food you could imagine consuming after a night of drinking.  Fried chicken is perfect.  We enter the “restaraunt” and all my buddies place their orders.  The food arrives and the carnage begins.  I watch as one of my friends drops ketchup and mustard all over his white polo.  You literally just dropped half of your food on your shirt.  He rubs it in and continues ravishing his food.  This place is almost as rowdy as the bar.  People fighting left and right. I feel sorry for the employees.  I bet they’ve compiled some great sober observations. Bellies full, the group makes its way home.

The race is on to find the best spot to pass out.  I am thankful that I have a bed to sleep in.  One friend drops to the linoleum ten feet inside the door.  He won’t move until the morning, and will probably piss himself.  When your young, you pee the bed all the time.  There is about a 16 year hiatus, and due to alcohol consumption, you resume pissing yourself.  What a timeline.  I think to myself, what if our kids could see this when we are fathers.  “Daddy, what were you like when you were younger?”.  “Well son, I regularly drank to the point where my body shut down”.  I wore out my body’s natural defense mechanisms to where I would occasionally blackout”.  “I also regularly wet myself like you do now”.  Yeah, my friends won’t be telling that story.