Mistakes Were Made (Part One)

I’m sure it comes as no surprise to anyone that I love to drink (I’m almost always drunk when I write something for this blog. Hence the litany of typos that I refuse to change even after I sober up because I don’t care and no one reads these devil words that closely anyway).

I’m pretty sure I’ve consumed just about every type of alcohol available, and if you’re like me (an alcoholic) then you have probably made some drink combinations that were vile and could peel the paint off a boat, but you probably also finished said drink only to have some sort of negative consequences. This is one of my favorite times.

(Frat story approaching just FYI)

So two of my brothers, Ken and Adam (neither of their real names), were going on simultaneous trips and I had a rule at our house, if you go to another state you have to bring back a local beer (I’m a huge fan of cool local brews if you’ve never read my yelp page which I highly recommend). Instead of beer, they both brought me something much better. Ken brought Everclear (the real stuff not that cheap garbage they sell in Minnesota) and Adam brought a bottle of absinthe (I’m assuming not legit absinthe that makes you hallucinate and shit but it was still pretty damn cool.) Naturally, my reaction was like when I’d wake up on Christmas morning and my parents had stayed awake all night to build some giant elaborate toy or structure for my siblings and I. Alcohol is adult Christmas. God bless my parents and God bless my former housemates.

First thing I did was rip the cap off the Everclear and pour shots (because I’m a sadist.) Now, regular vodka is bad enough to do shots with but Everclear should not be allowed on store shelves, this shit serves no purpose except to make large batch death brew for an awful party. Ken and Adam immediately refused the shots but being the housemaster (and much larger) I made them. They both wretched at the smell and nearly died from the taste while I couldn’t control my violent laughter.

“Let’s try the absinthe!” I shouted like a viking warlord thirsty for blood. They both responded with pained groans but ultimately agreed.

Absinthe is so cool. It came with this medieval spoon and it’s fucking green! It looks like something from a science fiction movie. I pulled the cork out and started to pour a drink for myself.

“I don’t think that’s how it works,”  Ken said hesitantly.

“Yeah he’s right bro,” Adam chimed in, “You have to use that spoon and pour it over sugar.”

“Sugar?!” I yell/ask.

“Yeah bro, sugar.”

“Well fuck that! I’m on Atkins!” I yelled as I continued to pour the absinthe into the nearest vessel by me. (SIDE NOTE: I was not on Atkins and I have no idea what Atkins is even to this day).

The green liquid smelled awful,for those that don’t know, absinthe has a very distinct black liquorice flavor, but that didn’t stop me from downing the green substance in one painful swallow.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Adam said.

“Fuck you, it’s the best idea,”I’m such a clever drunk.

Adam then proceeded to place a sugar cube on the fancy spoon and pour the absinthe over it into another glass and it became clear! Fucking clear! This stuff is so cool. It tasted much better with the sugar. I was proven wrong once again.

END OF PART ONE.

Deal with it. Part two will be out shortly. I didn’t want to write one long alcohol saga so I made a multi part epic. Enjoy this while I sleep off my hangover.

 

After School Special

“Come on man, you’re going to love it I promise,” Jake said while holding a marijuana pipe in his hand.

I had never done anything beyond having too much to drink so this was quite a new experience for me despite being in my twenties. The idea of drugs still seemed scary and dangerous as all those teachers in grade school had made it seem. Indeed, I was a truly ignorant child.

“I swear, you’re going to love it,” Jake assured once more as he handed me his pipe.

“I don’t even know what to do,” I said both honestly and ashamed at my inexperience.

“It’s easy, just put your thumb over the hole on the side, light the top, and take a big inhale. It’s just that easy.” I did just as he instructed.

As the smoke traveled through my mouth down my throat it felt as if a thousand very sharp knives were stabbing my esophagus. I coughed instantly and Jake began laughing hysterically.

“That was really good,” he said, the pride beaming from his eyes knowing he had taken my narcotics virginity.

“Let’s go for a drive,” he said with a big grin on his face.

We jumped in his hot rod and began cruising down country roads taking rips off his pipe. I felt like I was the coolest person in the universe.

I wish I could say we got into all sorts of drug addled shenanigans or got arrested and make this a cautionary tale, but we didn’t. We drove around, smoked pot, went home and watched a television documentary about super volcanoes. At some point in the night I switched to alcohol and passed out on the couch. I woke up the next morning to find Jake sleeping in the bath tub. Apparently he finished our vodka and thought the tub was a safe place to sleep. Moral of the story, drugs are fun.

Please Don’t.

This is another story from my fraternity years.

Do any of you have a friend (or friends perhaps?) that are absolutely clueless? I certainly do. His name is Matt (not his real name) and Matt is a nice guy, but he’s about as intelligent as a wet rock.

I was throwing a party many years ago and I invited one of best friends and personal adviser Sarah (also not her real name). A little background on Sarah, she was about five feet tall, if not shorter, and she was very very very pretty, like crazy beautiful. She always took great care of herself and dressed to the nines, HOWEVER Sarah was also a lesbian. TWIST RIGHT?! And when I say lesbian, I’m not talking about some college girl that’s a “casual lesbian” and makes out with her friends after one too many tequila shots. I’m talking about the fact Sarah has (probably) fucked more girls than me, and I’m a human petri dish.

SIDE NOTE: Guys, if you want to get laid beyond all belief, like so much your dick’s going to fall off, have a girl as your wing man, trust me. Ladies, what makes you more comfortable: another girl or some sweaty dude named Chad?? I rest my case.

ANYWAY: flash forward to my party featuring clueless Matt and very gay Sarah. Sarah looks amazing and Matt, well, looks like Matt. Matt sees Sarah across the room and instantly falls in love with her.

“Dude, who’s that?” Matt asks me.

“Oh, that’s my friend Sarah. She fucking awesome.” I say very casually.

“Have you ever, you know… done stuff?” Matt asks very seriously while I attempt to stifle my laughter.

“No. No we have not.” I say with a straight face.

“Do you mind if I ask her out?”

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN: A CONUNDRUM.

Do I tell Matt about Sarah being crazy gay, or do I let him off his normally short and quiet leash and experience the sweet satisfaction of life?

“Fuck no dude, go for it,” I say. Looking back on it… I have no regrets.

Matt approaches Sarah and starts talking to her, and surprisingly it’s going very well. It’s natural, it’s fun, I’m in the background praying Sarah doesn’t kick this guy’s ass for asking her out.

Matt finally makes his move: “Would you want to go out sometime?” His face was so pure and innocent, and Sarah starts to laugh which makes me laugh HARD.

“I’m really sorry man,” Sarah starts, “But I’m gay.” Matt looks like he’s never heard that word before.

“So… is that a no?” Matt responds. In a fit of hysterical laughter I drag Matt away before he got his ass kicked by a small woman.

Welp, I Tried

I try so hard not to talk about people I don’t like or disagree with. The sheer fact of acknowledging someone that’s an idiot is only feeding their ego and placating their most ridiculous of life choices. BUT there is one recent occurrence that is so asinine, I feel obligated to hop on my computer and type an article that dozens of people might scroll past.

READER BEWARE this is ultimately going to be a sports installment.

For those that follow the world of athleticals such as myself, there is a man that has shoved his way to the forefront of obnoxious loud mouths, Lavar Ball, the father of the VERY talented basketball players the Ball brothers. Mr. Ball has taken it upon himself, like most celebrity parents, to manage his children’s’ professional careers, and shocker, it’s not going well.

The eldest son, Lonzo, was turned away by EVERY major shoe company because of his father’s insane demands. As a result, the father made his own shoe for his son and is asking for A LOT of money. This is so stupid it hurts my soul. Lonzo, if you don’t feel safe at home, please contact the authorities, because your father is killing your career before you’ve even had the opportunity to HAVE a career.

The patriarch of this family is a sociopath looking for a reality TV show, and has no idea how badly he is destroying his own children’s careers. I apologize for the article rife with personal opinions I promise, this will never happen again.

Gains

Intro: Unfortunately, this story is very real. This is an actual conversation I had with my brother, remembered to the best of my recollection, and I still feel bad about it to this day. I’m a part time boxing instructor so fitness has always been important to me, especially when it concerns my family.

“You haven’t lost a single pound?” The question stupidly rolls through my lips despite my full knowledge of the answer that is soon to follow.

“Well no, but they say muscle weighs more than fat,” The moronic look on my brother’s face implies he truly believes the spectacular level of idiocy he’s preaching.

“True, but how much do you weigh currently?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Bullshit, you know, but you don’t want t tell me because you think I’m going to judge you.”

“Will you?” He asks without looking at me.

“Will I what?”

“Judge me. Will you judge me when I tell how much I weigh?”

“Probably yes, but if it helps you’ll have no idea, it’ll be silent judgment. I won’t tell anyone I’m just curious.”

“480.”

“480?”

“Yeah, 480 that’s my weight.” I try to stifle my obvious surprise at such a shockingly large number.

“There’s worse,” I say trying to hide my high level disgust that my own brother could allow himself to be so fucking vile. “Shit man, that’s not even a TV special there’s plenty of people bigger than you,” while this statement is true I don’t believe it in the slightest.  

“Thanks, I appreciate that.”

“How often are you going to the gym?” I ask.

“About five times.”

“Five times a week?”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck man that’s more than me, what are you eating? You should be dropping weight like crazy if you’re working out that much.”

“I think it’s my thyroid,” My brother says obviously trying to change the subject.

“Shut the fuck up, it’s not your thyroid. What are you eating,” my voice gets increasingly more aggressive.

“Weight gain is a side effect of this new medication I’m on.”

“Is your new medication made out of ice cream?” I’m intentionally being mean at this point.

“I’m really trying my best.”

“What are you eating? What did you have for breakfast today?” I ask knowing I’m not going to like the answer.

“I had a whole wheat bagel,” he says this as if he’s proud of himself.

“Awesome, that’s a solid breakfast. What else did you have?”

“What do you mean?”

“What else did you have for breakfast? What did you put on that bagel?”

“I put peanut butter on the bagel.”

“Okay.”

“And a little bit of honey.”

“Okay, what else?”

“I made three eggs and some bacon.”

“Okay, egg whites?”

“No whole eggs.”

“Okay, what else?”

“I had a banana.”

“Well that’s good.”

“Yeah!” He sounds so proud it’s stupid. “But I also had a bowl of cereal and two donuts.”

“Okay,” I take a moment to gather my thoughts. I’m going to have to handle this situation tactfully.

“You indicated in your food log that you had a whole wheat bagel for breakfast?”

“Yeah, I did have a bagel.”

“But what about the other stuff?”

“What other stuff?”

“The grocery list you just mentioned.”

“Oh that stuff?”

“Yeah, that stuff.”

“Well,” I can tell my brother is trying concoct some sort of fat person excuse, “I guess I didn’t think about it.”

“You didn’t think about it? Not at any point while you were consuming nearly a day’s worth of calories?”

“It’s not that much.”

“It’s quite a bit.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

“Well, let’s find out,” I slide my chair back and go into the living room.

“Where are you going?” my brother asks.

“I’m getting a notepad and a calculator.” I return to my seat with both items and I begin making notes on a blank page.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m rewriting your food log for yesterday. So you started with a bagel, how many calories were in the bagel?”

“About 300 I think?”

“Fair enough, and you put honey and peanut butter on the bagel correct?”

“Yes.”

“So let’s say another 200 calories, give or take.”

“That doesn’t sound right.”

“Do you want to fact check my math?”

“No,” my brother’s eyes drop to the floor.

“After that you had three eggs and bacon, so let’s say another 350, sound fair?”

“I have no idea.”

“We’ll say 350, and you capped that off with a bowl of cereal and two donuts, which to be perfectly honest, I have no idea how many calories to say, let’s put down another 500.”

“We really don’t have to do this.”

“You’re goddamn right we do,” I take a moment to add all the numbers together. ‘We’re looking at about 1350 calories for breakfast.” My brother says nothing and I’m starting to feel like an asshole.

“I suppose it could be worse, but you need to get ahold of this shit man. You’re 32 and you’re going to fucking die soon.” My brother starts to cry and I officially feel like an asshole. I never know how to react when people are upset, so I leave and go for a walk. I never said I was a good person.