Tag Archives: alcohol makes things fun

when Irish dudes are yelling

Today is St. Patrick’s Day, that lovely day when I get to celebrate being Irish by getting wasted and yelling about stuff.

If you know me then you know that this is the way I celebrate pretty much anything (you got the gum off your shoe? Let’s drink!  You found that stapler you lost? Let’s drink!) but today is different.

It’s separate from all my other drinking escapades (love that Janet Jackson song) because today is the one day when I am expected to yell about stuff.

In the last two weeks I’ve met some bloggers for the first time and afterward, on both occasions, I came away with a distinct feeling that maybe I should warn people about how loud I get when I drink.

It’s not like any of those people were offended or anything.  But I sense that people don’t really get that when I rant on this blog, it is because I rant like that in real life.  Just ask Ari, J.P. and my friend Dave, whose first memory of meeting me at work is having me yell about how they were planning to remake Robocop.

What can I say?  I have this unique ability to yell about pretty much anything, and that, one could say, is the Irish in me coming out.

If I had to list my top ten favorite Things To Do, yelling about stuff and drinking would definitely be in there.  It might even crack the top five.

Today, on St. Patrick’s Day, these two activities will not only be acceptable tonight after work, they will be welcomed with open arms. Hell, I’ll probably even sing/yell that one Irish song, Danny Boy.

Oh Danny Boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling!  From glen to glen and other stuff too!

God I love that song.

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making the dream a reality

Dear Head Dude at Roc-A-Fella Records, LLC,

My name is Chris and I am writing to inform you of a special, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.  Because today is my birthday, on Saturday evening myself and a collection of the finest individuals on the planet performed karaoke at a local establishment.  It was during this time that I realized I have Talent Of Epic Proportions.  As a label that has produced some of my favorite artists, I wanted to offer you the chance to be the first to witness my genius, and therefore sign me to a multi-year, multi-million dollar recording deal. I feel I possess all the attributes of any Fantastic Artist, and have provided photograpic evidence below.

For your consideration:

Passion.  I care so much, I am willing to raise my hand to the heavens.

Passion. I care so much, I am willing to raise my hand to the heavens.

Versatility. I can jam out if Jamming Out is needed.

Versatility. I can jam out if Jamming Out is needed.

Dedication. I am willing to go for three minutes at a time without alcohol.

Dedication. I am willing to stop drinking for thirty seconds at a time for dramatic effect.

Cohesiveness. I can even be part of a sexy boy band as long as I am the lead singer who everyone likes.

Cohesiveness. I can even be part of a sexy boy band as long as I am the lead singer who everyone likes.

Perseverance. Finally, I have the ability to sing when I consumed so much alcohol I can't even see straight, which is critical to all Talented Artists.

Perseverance. Finally, I have the ability to sing when I have consumed so much alcohol I can't even see straight. This is a key attribute of any talented artist.

As you can see, I am going to be wildly successful.  This is your first and last chance Head Dude.  Sign me or regret it for the rest of your life.  Roc-A-Fella will be forever known as the label that let “that one drunk guy” slip away.  I think we can both safely say that no one wants to see that happen.

Respectfully yours,

Chris

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picture day

I’m back!  Somehow, I made it through endless beers, amazing sunsets and naps immediately after eating to return to the civilized world.

I hope you’re in the mood for a good ol’ fashioned Look At Pictures Of My Vacation Because I’m Still Hungover From Consuming Vats Of Tequila Post, because that’s what you’re about to get.

With that said, I present to you, my awesome Mexico vacation – photographed!

Awesome.

Awesome.

This is the main area of the resort where we stayed.  It was unreal.  Like something out of a movie, one with a central plot line that goes like this: People eat.  People drink.  People yell some.  People swim.  People drink more.  People nap.  Repeat for seven days.  Fin.

 

Romantic or something.

Romantic or something.

This is a picture I took from the swinging porch seat on the deck of the main area.  It shows the pool where me and my future brother-in-law and our friend performed amazing feats of athleticism by catching a football in midair before hitting the water.  I’m thinking of sending in the pictures to the NFL, so I’ll let you know what happens.  If I get signed by a team, it was nice knowing you.  I promise to remember the little people.  Maybe.

 

Pathetic.

Pathetic.

I’m pointing at my lame attempt at a beard.  I know – you can’t even see it.  The dudes and I decided to have a Battle Of The Beards, but as you can see, I lost.  I took this picture right before I shaved it off on the last day we were there.  I tried for seven damn days to grow something resembling Jesus’ awesome beard, but ended up falling closer to Ashton Kutcher’s.  Which is punishment enough I think.

 

Nature is dumb.

Nature is dumb.

See that lizard?  Look closer dammit!  I need you to see him because I spent a good amount of time running after these iguanas that roamed around our resort, trying desperately to get a picture of one.  Did you know that lizards run really fast when a large white man with a camera rapidly approaches them yelling, “Hey!  Hey!  Come here, you!” Well you do now.  I finally snapped this one of Larry (a clever name I came up with for him) after six beers and two margaritas sharpened my focus.  Or maybe I just caught him while he was asleep.

 

Unhappy.

Unhappy.

This is a painting that was on the wall of the only bar in Troncones, Mexico that was playing the World Series on TV.  I thought it was kind of odd to have a sad turtle as the first thing people see when visiting your place of business, but maybe that’s the way all turtles are in Mexico.  I hope they don’t put that on any tourist brochures.  “Come to Mexico!  Our animals are frowning for you! Viva!”

 

That’s it for the pictures.  I have a ton more, but I’ve reached my limit for now.

I will leave you with the only Spanish that I remember from the trip – “Bien Borracho!” Which means “good drunk.”  Which I was, and I promise to continue to be.

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freedom and salsa

Saturday night Ari and I decided to go to our favorite Mexican restaurant, eat lots of food and drink so many margaritas that we’d laugh uncontrollably at each other’s jokes.

We settled in to a nice table outside and began eating and drinking when it became apparent that there was Something Different about the man sitting at the table next to us.

We both noticed at the same time.

The man was on wheels.

No doubt he buffs these before every outing.

No doubt he buffs these before every outing.

I don’t know what would have possessed him to make him want to do this, but there he was.

He was a casually-dressed white male in his early to mid forties, wearing roller blades while eating at a restaurant.

Now Mary Ann’s is not a classy joint, so I’m not knocking the man for his lack of proper attire. I was really just stunned by the fact that because he chose skates over Keds this eve, he actually had to roll through the restaurant to get to his table.

He rolled by people eating.

He rolled by the various wait staff.

He rolled by the salsa.

He decided when he was leaving his apartment, that no matter what events unfolded in front of him, no matter where his travels took him, he would meet it all with a roll and a smile.

He laughed in the face of laces and he was not looking back.

Ari and I enjoyed his choice, and when it came time for him and the woman he was with to leave, she reached down and – to our delight – strapped on a pair of roller blades too.

We watched them roll on to their next adventure, exiting the restaurant like rolling angels.

Not a care in the world.

Just the sound of their wheels hitting the floor, the wind bustling through their hair, and nothing but the open road ahead.

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victory

On Friday, a couple of friends and I went out after work for happy hour.

We went to a place in Murray Hill, which is an area of the city crawling with young professionals who think they are cooler than they really are.

After about an hour, a tall model-type woman approached the three of us, and just started rambling. She thought that because she was hot, she was able to act like a total bitch and patronize us.

She didn’t know who she was dealing with.

Tall Stupid Model Woman: [Looking at none of us, in a Stupid Accent] “Hello. Do you work around here?”

[The three of us look at each other, and I wait for the single guy I’m with to give it a go]

Single Guy: “Yeah, right over on Madison and 32nd.”

Tall Stupid Model Woman: [Still not looking at anyone, and making it obvious that she was not impressed] “Oh. Where is that?”

Me: [Pointing in the direction of our building] “It’s right over there.”

[I’m already annoyed that she has not looked at one of us yet]

Tall Stupid Model Woman: “And what do you do there?”

Me: “We write about advertising.”

Tall Stupid Model Woman: [Sighs with obvious disinterest] “Oh. Does that pay a lot?”

[We laugh a little because of how bitchy that was, and my anger grows]

Me: “Uh, it pays enough. And what do you do?”

[I’m glaring at her now]

Tall Stupid Model Woman: [Raising her eyebrows] “I do not work.”

Me: [Laughing at her] “Oh, right. Of course you don’t. And how do you pay your bills?”

Tall Stupid Model Woman: [Looks up into the sky] “I have no bills.”

[We all start laughing now]

Me: [Throwing my hands in the air] “Oh! You have no bills?” [Turning to the crowd of people on the roof deck] “This woman has no bills! None!”

Me: [Thinking it’s time to really have some fun] “So you have no bills. You’re not real, is what you’re telling me. So where do you live?”

Tall Stupid Model Woman: “I grew up in Brooklyn.”

Me: [Throwing my hands in the air once again, and yelling] “Nope! No you didn’t! You’re telling me that you grew up in Brooklyn and you don’t know where Madison Avenue is??? No. No, you did not grow up in Brooklyn.”

[She grows red and tries to shrug it off by starting to say something else]

Me: [Cutting her off] “So I just met a woman who has no bills and grew up in Brooklyn but has no idea where Madison Avenue is??? This must be my lucky day! Thank you! Thank you so much for talking with us today!”

At this point, she turns around and leaves. We are all laughing our asses off and the bouncer who was behind us the entire time is just shaking his head.

I think I won one for all the men out there that have been shit on by women who dupe them into doing Stupid Things just because they are hot.

Not on Friday.

On Friday the Normal Dudes won and the Hot Women lost.

Don’t make me have to do it again.

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idle hands are the devil’s tools

Yesterday, because I am A Patriot, I celebrated Memorial Day by drinking too many beers and eating semi-edible tofu dogs.

Ari and I went to J.P.’s place in the Bronx, which is basically as far away from our apartment in Brooklyn as it gets, but I’ve known him for 16 years now and he told me he was having a BBQ and that he even mowed his lawn, so we were going.

Once we got there we lit the new grill that J.P. had bought.

Totally awesome.

We looked at this for at least fifteen minutes.

Here is Ari looking cooler than fire.

Try and look cooler than fire, I dare you.

Not many people can pull it off.

When the fire died down J.P. manned the grill because that is what Men do – they Cook Things With Fire.

Not shown is our friend Jim yelling, “My hand is on fire!” and J.P. telling him to “Bun it! You’ve got to Bun it you fool!!!”

Jim did not Bun It and he paid the price. Bronx BBQs are not for the lighthearted.

I bet you’re asking yourself, “Well where were you while all of this was happening?” If you’re not, please do so now.

Thanks.

I, once we got to J.P.’s, found a nice chair and proceeded to sit in it for about three hours and forty-five minutes of the four hours we were there.

I did manage to say Helpful Things like, “Dude grab me another beer!” “You should close the lid now, let the burgers cook” and “Time for another ice cream sandwich!”

I think the chair next to me was empty as a signal that maybe people weren’t too happy with me, but I’m probably reading too much into it.

(New links are up on the Okay Playa! page, please go check them out and support these great blogs.)

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another time, another place

Last night I went out to meet up with some bloggers (Lacey, Arielle and The Brooklyn Boy) for trivia night at a bar in the East Village.

It was fun, but we finished third.

Which means we lost.

That will not happen again because I plan on doing A Lot Of Research beforehand to make sure I’m prepared. Or maybe I’ll just cheat.

Before I met up with them I met J.P. for a drink or five.

After some time discussing the finer points of quantum physics and how the Bullets never should have changed their name to the Wizards even though Bullets is not that great of a name for a city with a high murder rate, I had to take a piss.

I walked into the bathroom and was assaulted by Someone’s Mistake.

Some dude or girl had shit in the only bathroom. And it was a bad shit too. One of those that you can tell the person was not the same after it happened.

I don’t understand people who do this.

If you’re at a bar, and you feel A Little Uneasy Down There, it is time to go home.

No more shots for you friend – that is your stomach telling you it is not happy with your decisions.

The bar will be there tomorrow, I promise.

Lets be nice to others and go to our respective apartments when we feel like we might make A Bad Thing Happen In Public.

It will make the world a better place.

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