Thursday, March 31, 2011

In my projects: Lincoln Park

I started posting these links to twitter a while back so people didn't have to check the site every day and be disappointed to not see something new. Today I said whatever, my relatives on Facebook probably won't read it, and if they do they'll just get their minds blown so why not. 500 fucking views between 2-4. Either I am really fuckign good, or you guys all hate your jobs as much as I do. Anyway that said, all of you deserve more. You don't deserve one or two diatribes a week about drinking and masked metaphors that target one or two people. You need me to bring that hot shit constantly. Now that my boss has announced he is peacing and is in effect a lame duck, and the only thing on TV is the Spring Premier of Secret Life of the American Teen, I have a shit ton of time to focus on this pathetic little blog.

Last night I introduced after hours, which will surely get me in trouble some day when I come home and talk shit about whoever denied me that night. Today I'm introducing "In my projects" I will go through every neighborhood stereotyping the people that live there, their background, how they want to be perceived, I might even create a character (that will not be based on anyone I actually know...maybe) I focus a lot of time on this blog talking about me (the single dude) it's time to give Chicago the limelight. Without further ado, let's have a crack at these crazy white kids from the north shore who get 5 bedroom condos on Clark...

Bro, last night at Beaumont I was grinding that little DePaul student so hard I almost blew a load. Good thing I didn't because then I took her back to our obnoxiously awesome apartment that our parents pay rent for and waxed for like 3 hours.
"That's awesome man. Where was she this morning, did you drive her home, give her money for a cab?"
No way man when I woke up I realized she wasn't worth me A. Getting out of bed to drive her B. Me handing her a 20, so I handed her 9 quarters and told her to take the bus! AWESOME *high fives*

Welcome to Lincoln Park. A curious mixture of college students, yuppies and families. Full of bars, restaraunts and quaint shopping boutiques. It's really the best a midwest girl can do if she wants to live a Carrie Bradshaw lifestyle. Full of wealth most of it's residents are from wealthy upper-middleclass families somewhere in the midwest. Either you are from a near north or west suburb and you needed to get out of your parents house, or you grew up in Indiana, went to IU and needed to get THE FUCK out of Indianapolis. Most of these kids run around town spending money like they are CEO's taking girls to Alinea on a first date not realizing that lots of families eat boxed pasta and rice 4 nights a week.

I'm going to spend every fucking day at North Avenue Beach this summer, I'll probably be on at least 2 softball teams and a volleyball squad. I'll be the foursquare mayor of Zella so fucking fast they will be paying me to go there. This summer is going to kick ass man. I will probably go out 6 nights a week and never even leave Lincoln Park. Tuesday Joes, Wednesday Kincades, Thursday Mcgee's I can pick up a new girl every night and then it's the weekend and I can go nuts. I can drink until 2 in the morning throw on a suit take an axe shower and stumble to the el in the morning. Although I butter it up for chicks and my parents' friends I'm really just a sales assistant at a financial services firm, but my office is at 101 S Wacker so who gives a shit?

Lincoln Park is bordered by the poor hipsters to the west, the gays and Wrigley crowd to the north, the lake to the East and the "pretending they are too cool to live in Lincoln Park" to the south. BYOB is totally a chic thing to do with a group of girls (OMG sushi and wine pregame at Ringo!) and there have to be at least 100 bars on Lincoln in between Armitage and Wrightwood, then there is the whole lost section of LP up on Clark that no one really even knows about. Needless to say, people in this neighborhood get extremely out of hand on almost a nightly basis, if you want to find it you can. This is totally the top 40 B96 crowd. I would venture to guess about 90% white, and 90% of them are wearing an outfit valued at over $200 right now. Most of them run around proudly sporting their 847 area codes that they will never change (although the only thing cooler than 847 is 312) that way when they meet a girl at a bar and give them their number they might as well give them a business card that says "my dad is a lawyer, doctor AND owns a dealership. There is nothing wrong with being a spoiled brat though, Lincoln Park has outstanding parks, good areas to run, go dime spotting, walk a dog, bust out some rollerblades or ride a bike. The people are generally a good time and there is always something going on. There is a reason anyone who can afford it moves here after college.

I just watched Ferris Bueller's Day Off at movies in the park. Pretty accurate portrayal of Chicago. I mean they NAILED New Trier, when we didn't feel like going to class we used to steal your dad's ferarri and go to Cubs games too! What are we doing tonight, live band Karaoke at Stanley's? Cool see ya there.

Whether you are drinking, exercising, eating or just strolling around one of the near northside's wealthiest neighborhood. It's a fun place to be especially in the summer, and if you see a couple coeds puking out the side of a trolley window, well hey, you gotta take the good with the bad.

Rules of Engagement

Hollywood rom-com states that there will be a meet cute in the first act, the 2 characters for whatever reason can't or shouldn't be together. The second act will show their "forbidden love" blossoming until ultimately some sort of conflict will tear them apart, dramatic proclomation of love, happily ever after...unless it's (500) days of summer and Zooey Deschanel is just a stupid cunt and JGL gets Minka Kelly in the end anyway, win. Similarly, the classic relationship would have a couple meeting, perhaps through a mutual friend, maybe at some social engagement or even through work. Numbers are exchanged, phone calls and casual dates are set up. Whilst the two are in their dating phase they learn about one another, their likes, dislikes, compatibility. After a while the couple in question begins a romantic relationship.

Flash forward to today, let's revisit that classic scenario. Hammered guy meets hammered girl in a bar. Somehow pries her number out of her, they begin texting. Constantly. They start gchatting at work. Sometimes when one of the two is a bit imbibed the texts will get hot and racy. The 2am "come over" will be seen on the girl's phone any night that male goes out. Mind you these two have been in constant communication since that one fateful night at the bar, but really have only seen eachother once, and probably don't have a good grasp of what the other looked like. On the side, they are both probably going out with their friends, getting theirs if they are fortuitous enough to do so. But one night the 2am text works. The awkwardness of the late night arrival is overshadowed by the massive intoxication of both parties involved. They fuck, they have an awkward morning...this is the beginning of a 21st century relationship.

Chivalry has been dead for quite some time, but the impersonal nature of relationships has changed the rules of engagement forever. Gone is the pestering some girl to go out to dinner with you, why even bother when it's been proven that witty texts and sexual innuendo are the true way to a girl's heart. There is a youtube video called "Texting your way to love" that pretty much nails this entire scenario. However, this brings us to the next question, is responding to a text basically an agreement to a sexual advance? Is it polite? What is a girl to do if a guy acquires her number and suffocates her via text? I would advise to not respond, even the most aggressive and persistent guy will eventually get tired of texting a brick wall.

So what's the next step, you met, you exchanged numbers, you had the 2am hookup you either end it or continue this charade and try to morph in into a normal relationship. But due to the nature of the circumstances in whcih you met, this usually just results in a 3 month fuck buddies stage. No rules, no strings, eventually someone will get bored the texts will become more infrequent and the gchatting will stop. No more cute emails, you see eachother out and it's kind of weird, you talk and maybe if you get drunk enough you go home together, maybe you don't the flame is gone. Thus is the story arc of "new relationship" meet, number, drunk hook-up, sober hookup, boredom, calls screened, break-up. Depressing right? Well you can easily start another string of this exact same situation immediately after, it's pretty easy to get a girl/guy's number and start an aggressive regiment of humorous and implied texting. In fact you can carry on a few of these faux relationships on at a time if you cover your tracks and plan accordingly, and if you get caught, whatever, you're an asshole sure. No worries.

It can work though. I'm sure there are couples out there who have fallen in love over a drunken "send me naughty pics" text at 5 in the morning. "I promise I won't show them to your friends." (Sidenote: that is a lie that every guy will tell you. Any girl who has ever sent naughty pics to one of my friends has showed me and everyone else that person knows the pics, how fucking stupid can you be? In fact, many of you reading this blog...I've seen those pictures your boyfriend PROMISED he would never show anyone)

But ya, maybe they fall in love and start doing real couple things, get in a real relationship that would require a real break-up not just a cold shoulder from the cell phone. And maybe it will be an embarassing story, how did you meet? Your dad would text me 100 times a day and one night I got drunk enough to go blow him...well it's better than meeting on

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

After hours part I

I've decided to write a new segment called after hours. It will be my incoherent ramblings when i get home after copious amounts of drinking with no coed in tow aka 98.7% of every night I drink. So if you are a member of the 1.3% at least you can take solace in the fact that you are probably disease free. Grammar is out the window, no filter and if you are in any way related to me you must never read these.

I went out for a casual drink tonight and that turned into 7, which turned into going to Kincades, which is full of jailbait, which begs the question...what am I doing here? Kincades is a college bar for DePaul students, who I'm convinced are all raging sluts from the north shore who refused to go too far from daddy's money. There was literally a white guy with Pauly D hair and he probably took home the hottest girl there. Is it weird that I can't tell the difference between an Italian girl and a Jew? They are both tan with black hair and seem to have strong opinions. Erroneous, I don't even know how to hit on 19 year olds anymore, what do you say? Have you heard how cool my frat is? Um, fuck off this is Chicago...ok, I have a sick pad in Lincoln Park. Yep so do I, my dad got me a sick loft. How in the fuck did i do this 5 years ago...shot, shot, shot, shot shot....*stumbles, falls down stairs, recovers, sings terrible rendition of Bon Jovi, fist pumps* thats it! It was all unintentional back then. This requires a blackout and no thought.

On the refreshing side, these self centered c muscles won't ask me about my job, they will talk about how their father's hedge fund and how fucked up they get at Congress Theatre shows. I can relate, maybe I have found my target market, they are just as mature as me. I'm glad I live in a city where I can roll with college kids and lie about my age.

Random thought of the night: All Groupon employees fuck each other like on the reg. Why do I work in Lake Forest with a bunch of geriatric patients?

Conclusion: My blog from earlier was ineffective I'm sleeping on the couch tonight.

But on a positive note: Instead of going for one of these children at the bar I decided a foot long meatball sub would be much more satisfactory. I came home and checked my blog stats and found out that I had 1000 hits the past 3 weeks. You guys validate my immaturity every day. Peter Pan out.

MacBook Heir

Why hello there commonfolk. I made an acquisition over lunch today of the highly esteemed Macbook Air. I will now be blogging outside of work hours on my extremely expensive netbook. You may also catch me at local independent coffee houses drinking soy non-fat lattes, wearing skinny ties, cardigan sweaters and perhaps even a monocle. I have stepped into the realm of classy sophisticated bloggers and I will be bringing this shit to you 24 fucking 7. I might even post some chapters of my literature for my highly educated fanbase to critique and review. Those of you with PC's can't come over to play anymore and must immediately stop following me on twitter, you broke bastards.


Uh oh, here it comes, a 2000 word onslaught of how fucking lame it is to have a girlfriend when you could be out sleeping with half the city and telling tales of legend to your friends while chugging beers and collecting high fives. Right? I mean single dude in Chicago? That's what it's all about, tallying that number skyward to compete with the likes of Hank Moody, Easy-E and Magic Johnson. Unfortunately I don't want to let you down, that's not what this post is about. You may choose to basically be married at this point but remain legally single, you may choose to live a lifestyle where "a bitch can't tell you shit" and that's fine as well. Summer is coming and every "bro" blog will tell you to end your hibernation, get to the beach and pick up some ripe tale, I just want to have a frank discussion about how to behave with a girlfriend, a little protocol to keep in mind. So without further adu, my rules for girlfriend etiquette.

To the rest of the world your girlfriend is just another chick that your boys are not allowed to hook-up with. Let's be honest, she doesn't add a lot of value to your friends. She is just another body on the couch Monday-Friday, another voice talking over the TV, an excuse your buddy has for not coming out with you on a Wednesday. No matter how cool your girlfriend thinks she is, I guarantee she falls short. Wants to come over and watch football and demonstrate her knowledge of the sport, great now I can't say the word cunt out loud. No, but it's cool she doesn't care if you talk about how drunk you got last night, or call other girls names, she's one of the guys! No she's fucking not.

Now let's not turn this into a boys and girls are incapable of being platonic friends, but if it's your boy's girl, that is a slippery slope. Let's be honest, every guy has had a platonic female friend who eventually they have fallen for (see any romantic comedy ever made) it's just a bad idea. Befriending your buddy's chick turns into texting, turns into flirting, turns into how can we start fucking without getting caught and potentially murdered. Now that we have that out of the way, what good is your buddy's girlfriend?

Well she can cook and clean for the guys. The quickest way to a guys heart is his stomach and then if he can be lazy and not move afetr feasting double bonus. This isn't to say you have to be a slave to your boyfriend's friends, just think of it as your rent payment. You are breathing their air, showering at their place, watching TV taking up space..I mean at least when I go to a girl's house for an overnighter I bring enough wine for her female roommates while we watch Gossip Girl and Glee.

But even providing a service such as food prep or waste management isn't enough, the main thing you are taking away from his friends is his time. They miss their buddy? How do you make up for this aggregious offense? Duh, enter your friends, your secret weapon. The best way to satisfy a pissed off group of male roommates who feel that you have stolen their friend is to throw an army of sluts at them to get them preoccupied. This is probably the second best way outside of coworkers to expand one's social circle, friend starts dating girl, girl introduces friends, you meet her friends' coworkers and then you meet Kevin Bacon BOOM!

Just remember, everything is great in small doses, if you overtake the castle and move some of your shit in, MAJOR turnoff. Like it is logical to have a bag of your stuff there and perhaps a shower kit but it shows a stinging sense of entitlement. You are not entitled to shit. You may blow 1/5 of the roommates, but the other 4 will come to hate you. And then they will turn on you, and girls don't stand a chance against a unified front of angry friends. Trust me, I have played Avril Lavigne's "Girlfriend" on repeat until my friend lost his mind and eventually did what had to be done, it will get very very bad. At least annoy in equal doses, I'm sure the girlfriend's female friends equally despise my roommate, but at least if they trade off every other, the hate is evenly distributed. The coolest girlfriends are the kind you see once a week at a bar with a group of her friends, and I understand that we're getting older and it's time to get more serious, but until you get a place together it's best to not be seen nor heard from.

Monday, March 28, 2011

$30 bracelet

Do you like my new bracelet? Yes it's made of paper and it is a hideous shade of neon green, but this bracelet makes a statement to everyone that will see me tonight and for days to come. I am here to fucking party. This bracelet, or wristband if you will sends a message out to anyone that I will see tonight that I paid a flat rate to drink as much as humanly possible. It can equally be assumed that since I am on some sort of time constraint and I want to get my money's worth I must do so as efficiently as possible. No time for small talk, fuck off stop crowding my bar space. Bartender, I am going to give you an upfront tip right now of $10. That $10 means for the next 3 hours I want you to pass ma drinks at an alarming rate, don't bother watering down my gin and tonics, you are going to lose money on me. I realize that I am here for a birthday party at this bar, and that you do a wristband deal to make it easier on everyone and not necesarily so I can sit here pounding drinks alone and then staring down the bartender until I am granted a refill. You see bartender, I didn't want to come to this all you can drink "happy hour" from 9-12. I wanted to have a pregame at my buddy's house and play the music that I like and take vodka shots out of a bottle. Is that too much to ask? No it was much simpler to just phone it in and craft a "wristband deal" facebook event.

But I am here, and I realize that if I drink 30 cocktails in the next 3 hours I will bring my unit cost per drink down to about $1. That is a reality I can live with. Even though you shylocks are only giving me like .75 ounces of vodka per cocktail, I assure you I will get drunk. However, then you will rudely cut me off at midnight and start charging me $8 again for something that was in essence free the past 3 hours. I might as well be at home drinking alone. Any person I engage in any sort of meaningful conversation with will assume that I am irate at their very presence. Perhaps on a normal day I would choose to engage in a 15 minute conversation about this person and their job, and a cute story about their coworkers cat. Not fucking today! That story about Cuddles the kitten just cost me 10 minutes and possibly 2 full drinks...GO AWAY!

Oh great here comes the asshole who is going to buy a bunch of stuff not included in the package. Clearly he wasn't going to drink well cocktails and draft beer when he can order shots for the whole party...oh but what do I care, why am I so bitter? This is all supposed to be fun right? It's a birthday party at a bar, the idea of this when I was 17 would have blown my mind, now it's just a day in the life of a yuppie on Hubbard.

Fucking yuppies on Hubbard, it is kinda great. Every girl here is DTF for sure. None of these chicks appear to have any morals and they are all sporting $300 dresses and heels that probably cost more...and it's not even like they are trying to find a rich guy to be their sugar daddy, they are just here on the shallow hedonistic grounds of finding a d for the evening. All the chicks that go to Social, 51, Rockit, Hubbard Inn, they have jobs, they have wealthy parents. If they didn't they wouldn't be rolling in river north. Viagara Triangle is the home of the trash poking holes in condums, people around here, they just like to rage. Seriously take a look around, large groups of chicks falling over drunk with their friends, deciding whether or not they will let the roided out jersey shore clone propping them up, take them home or not...actually you know what, these are the girls that bring you home, and make you sneak out at 8am the next day, clearly they aren't in the mood for brunch.

All over the country people my age and younger are growing up or at least pretending to do adult things. Even the biggest trainwreck you knew 3 years ago may be living in the small town he or she grew up in or may have gone somewhere completely knew, they are engaged looking into buying a house, possibly adopting a pet with their partner. That shit doesn't happen here. Saturday night is about which bar's patio you will be drinking on during the day and who will be the first to get kicked out for puking under the table. On one hand it's pretty pathetic, but on one hand it's kind of awesome, I suppose whatever floats your boat.

Is it any coincidence though that the places that are keeping gen Y forever young are the major metropolitan areas? Chicago, New York and LA. You've got a bunch of failure to launch ex-frat guys running around in Chicago acting like Depaul students spening money like they aren't working entry level bullshit. In New York you have a bunch of wannabe Carrie Bradshaws pretending that they are going to be the next big thing in fashion or PR or make a name for themselves writing the About Last Night section on page 6. In LA everyone thinks they will be famous sooner or later and people that read about them later will be so surprised they hit it big. It's all an illusion, but I admire everyone's ambition to do something.

One thing they all have in common is that Saturday night, no one really cares about the bullshit that happened during the week, whether their rent check will clear, if their girlfriend knows about what happened Wednesday night, it's all an escape from the reality we have unwillingly entered. So take a chill pill on your solo boozathon once in a while to take in your surroundings. You didn't really see it coming but this is your world now, you are a young urban professional, but that doesn't mean you can't act like a child every once in a while.

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

A Cinderella story

Today a departure from my tales of debaucherous antics and discussion of all things fun to focus on March Madness and what the real meaning of it all is. If you are anything like me, you picked a lot of the favorites and picked a few upsets based on absolutely no knowledge of the sport and now your bracket is inexplicably fucked. A few people picked the Morehead state upset because it is synonymous with oral sex and a few people picked Richmond because on the day they filled out their bracket they listened to one guy on AM radio say it was a good pick. No one probably picked a bunch of scrubby juco guys from Marquette or a bunch of white farmboys from Indianapolis...and why would you? They look like shit on paper. Butler had a bad regular season, lost their star player from a year ago and their live bulldog mascot isn't allowed to come to tournament games. Marquette's 4 juco players didn't go to large glossy programs because they probably come from broken homes or played at schools that didn't gain them national exposure or they were flat out retarded.

You look at the rich traditions of the big schools who apparently have it all together: Louisville, Syracuse, Pitt, Purdue all outstanding teams that are well coached with superior talent to the mid majors. Of course we pick them, they are supposed to win. These are the high school captains of the state championship team, the trust fund babies that you grew up with and loved going over to their house because they had a pool and an indoor basketball court. These are the kids that your parents tell you to associate with when you're growing up, they had everything going for them but for some reason they dropped the ball.

March is crazy, everyone loves a Cindarella story. Unless you are a Pitt grad, the entire world was pulling for the underdog Saturday night. There is no way that anyone could have predicted that finish. Pitt was supposed to win, they had it won...but they tripped over destiny on their way. Sometimes things happen for a reason and no one can explain why? How are two shitty schools from Richmond, one of which is coached by some guy named Shaka in the sweet 16, playing eachother? Last time I knew a shocker his name was "Silkk the" and he's in jail. Do you care anymore about your bracket? Is the $50 you are going to win in your office pool if Duke beats Kansas enough for you to sell your soul?

I used to cheer for the bad guys. I wanted the mouse in "Mouse Hunt" to die, I thought that Ralph Macchio was a pussy and should have gotten his ass kicked...I don't know maybe I thought I was one of those "golden child" types that would go play at Duke. Something happened along the way though and now I'm in the corner of the underdog. I literally stood and cheered and chugged beer as I watched my bracket catch flame as Notre Dame fell apart Sunday night. (Not to say that anyone should ever root for Notre Dame) And even if you went to evil empire hq Purdue how can you not be a little excited for the Virginia Commonwealth team that every expert trashed on selection Sunday saying "they didn't belong." I don't get told that I don't belong that often, but I realize that like these little guys I am flawed on paper, I'm much more of an underdog now than I ever thought I would be...and just because some evil fuck like Duke will pass over me for promotions some day or a Jayhawk will get the girl that I want, doesn't mean I give up hope.

March Madness is in the air and literally anything can happen, and while my Butlers and Jimmers may not lift that trophy during "One Shining Moment," I'm sure as shit that it won't be some fuck named Hummel.

Tuesday, March 15, 2011


Are you a professional athlete that lives to compete? Do you agonize in every loss and cherish every win as if it could be your last? Are you looking for a supplement to give you a cutting edge when you are on the court but turn your adrenaline into near alcohol poisoning the second the final bell rings? Look no further, Kanerade the Sports drink that metabolizes all of your extra energy into aggression for one last late game push, amping you up for late game heroics and then releases into your blood stream immediately thereafter causing a euphoric feeling so you can truly party like a rockstar! The patent mixture of Caffeine, vitamin B12 and compound c17h21NO4 is proven, just ask spokesman Patrick Kane?

Patrick Kane- "Kanerade is pretty much the best stuff in the planet. Last night I scored my 100th goal then went to District until 5 in the morning, drank an entire Jagerator and convinced 3 girls to play Magical chairs with my dick."

Kanerade isn't just for professional athletes. It's effects can be used after a spat of day drinking with friends to perk up for the night's activities. Before a trivial philisophical debate with an old friend, or for someone trying to save money at dinner by drinking only!

(voice gets very fast) Kanerademaycauseseveralhealthproblemsincludingfeelingsofnauseachestpainsandpossiblyanexplodingheart.

(Rich beautiful people drink Kanerade over a montage of smiles and success)

Drink the sports drink of the rich and famous! Kanerade at a local street corner now near you!!!


I was going to just do that whole bit as an intro to why Patrick Kane and all of hockey is badass but I got carried away and turned it into a pretty lame parody SNL commercial.

Monday, March 14, 2011

Another 48 hours

I was under the impression that as I grew older, I would eventually become immune to the effects of alcohol. Everyone knows a story about some alcoholic that can kill a bottle of whiskey by noon, and still somehow be even keel. (not that I aspire to be that way, but whatever) On the contrary my alcoholic tolerance peaked right around the Spring of my Senior year. Presumably this is because when you go out 5-6 nights a week for 4 years straight and average on a pretty hard night 25-30 drinks, one would build up a pretty solid resistance to the "side-effects" if you will. In college I never woke up with hangovers, never took a night off and pretty consistently made it to class. I wouldn't even do anything in class other than text people and play brickbreaker but I'm convinced that all you have to do to achieve moderate success in college is just show up. That's neither here nor there though, what I want to discuss today is the phenomenon of the 48 hour hangover.

It's not like I stopped drinking when I graduated. I pretty much did nothing for the next 6 months but drink. Even when I was forced to get a job and moved here I had about a 12 month honeymoon phase that had me going strong wednesday-sunday. But right around the time I turned 23 it started getting harder. Shots didn't go down as easy as they once did. 3 morning cups of coffee turned into 13. I have spent 4 of my sick days the past 12 months on Mondays following an epic Saturday binge. I almost did it today after passing out at about 7pm. What is happening to me? I used to fly to vegas for the weekend and drive straight to work after rocking the Sunday night red-eye. These aren't your average "omg my head hurts" these are like I have a small bomb in my brain that was just detonated, my eyes are melting from the inside out and someone is performing Chinese water torture on my neck, KILL ME NOW. I just wanted to write a short 500 words today to let you know that I'm not invincible. I sat on the couch for 12 hours yesterday without moving. I watched all of Season 1 of the Wire and drank 6 gallons of water without eating once. Today I physically couldn't operate at work. I simply walked back and forth from the coffee pot, to my desk. Thankfully I am about 1 hour from the time I stopped drinking on Saturday. Another 48 hours has come and gone. Looks like I could be ready for trivia night tomorrow after all.

Friday, March 11, 2011

Green with envy

It has already started. Those little shitheads that are still in paradise are taking a vacation from their current vacation (college is a vacation) to go to Mexico or some other moderately safe place to blow stacks and stacks of their parents' loot. If you actually had to pay for college and therefore went home and "relaxed" aka cried about missing out on fun because daddy couldn't get any overtime at the factory I cannot relate to you. Well I couldn't until now. FUCK am I jealous. The only thing that gets me through a work week is the combination of Facebook and twitter. Now all I am going to read are snarky ass tweets from all thos kids on vacation. "10AM blacked out on the beach, thanks for spending 3gs so I can hang out with all my friends in Mexico dad." Fuck you it's 10AM I just had my 3rd cup of coffee and finished my tater tots, the highlight of my day.

Then there will be the crazy roadtrip down to Daytona with 4 frat guys and a brick of weed, you'll get a bunch of twitpics and wall posts about trannys and blowjobs and live action urine all crazy horrible stuff that I actually miss. I lived for Spring Break, I went on Spring Break every year from 3 until now and I can recount every single one of them...ok 3-12 were Disney World, my dad isn't really known for his creative trip planning. But they were all totally bad ass and I can think of great stories from all of them. They always include near arrests, violence, shameful hookups and a D list rapper performing at a shitty night club. The only thing I can take solace in is the fact that while all these children are taking their crew to some sort of exotic location in the world, myself and my carefully selected elitists from top tier Greek organizations of Indiana University that moved to Chicago and literally like 4 others that were lucky to get added have St. Patty's Day.

BOOM! Green with Envy, see what I did there? God dammit I should get paid to write.

I am seriously considering staying in tonight. I did it last Friday and then ripped a 24 hour drinking binge Saturday which was nothing short of incredible. Realistically I could order Chinese food tonight watch 5 episodes of the Wire go to sleep, wake up and go to a bar for 23 hours tomorrow.

Fun Fact: Because of the time change Mcfaddens will be staying open until 6am and they are open at 7am...the hour of 2 o clock wont actually ever happen, but if you pull a 22 hour open to close, I will build a shrine to you.

Alas, I will be pregame hopping (I hate the term house party because it associates with GDI's. Indiana has pitch-ins Illinois has pot lucks. Gdis have house parties we have pregames.) From probably 7am to around 11ish. I probably won't have fun at any of them because I will be so worried about getting to the next party as not to offend anyone, so fuck you all for not coordinating this better. But what I will do is get extremely intoxicated on vodka and orange juice...I might even get drunk enough to give bacon a second shot. After the soggy bacon incident of 2006 I swore it off forever, but I'm a forgiving guy.

Anyway, what's the play tomorrow? Go to the parade? Watch the river dye green? Bars...hubbard, division, wrigley?

You really can't go wrong drinking ever anywhere. I could sit in a basement with skunked Keystones and rats and I would have a generally decent time, but my reccomendation would be to get as close to the action as possible. Wrigley is good for Cubs games, TBOX and Beadfest...the parade it for children, and why see a river dyed green when they are pouring you green beers at Butch McGuire's. You may even run into a New Trier grad there! I swear to god I am going to start having unprotected sex with every girl I bring home from there on the probability that she is a rich girl from Kenilworth and knocking her up will force her dad to give me a better job.

So there you have it, stay up as late as you can and meet me at Nookies 2 at 6am. I'll hide a case in that alley early in the night and we can drink there for the last hour to make it the full 24. Bet you clowns didn't even know Nooks was byob.

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

Exit Through the Thrift Shop

Nope I'm not sending you to boystown to get some "fabulous new threads" at the Hollywood Mirror. I am going to draw an extended metaphor to how pregaming effectively can save you a lot of money while boozing in Chicago...also I wanted to let it be known that it isn't THAT hard to come up with a whitty title to a Gossip Girl episode (If you haven't noticed they are all a play on words on some work of lit, tv, movies etc.)

Last night a friend reccomends trivia at State. It's an outstanding venue for team trivia, and it's a chance for people like me that sit around reading blogs all day and playing sporcle, to flex some of their mental floss. Unfortunately the owner of State is a greedy cunt and doesn't believe in Tuesday specials because he knows the unattainable $1000 top prize is enough to draw the most Ken Jenningsest pub trivia players in the greater Chicagoland area. Thus $5 bud light bottles and $13 pitchers. Also the Tuesday policy is no split tabs, as if the Depaul students and twentysomethings will be fighting over the check when it comes. 90% of them will be walking to the bathroom and hoping it "gets figured out."

A rational group will decide to evenly split the tab at the end of the night and get a bunch of pitchers, the problem is...a pitcher holds like 3 1/3 beers each. So the trick is to drink as much of the community beer without appearing to drink more than your fair share. The only thing worse than not being able to get drunk at a bar without dropping a c-note is being labeled as "that guy" at the trivia table. Usually I am given a pass on this because I am undoubtedly our star player and well, you wouldn't yell at Derek Rose for taking the last gatorade.

Pro tip: constantly keep your glass full, when it is 1/3 empty top yourself off...this way you never appear to be sucking down beers at collegiate speeds. can disregard everything I have said so far and do the single most effective partying technique for anyone under 30. Pregame effectively.

Lately, before I go to any drinking establishment, 10 shots or 2 four lokos before I walk out of the house are an absolute minimum. I use those because they are quick and effective. If you aren't behind the 8 ball cocktails are a good solution too, but there is nothing better than the adrenaline rush that accompanies a few lightning rounds of pass the handle. Now I know what you're thinking, 10 shots is kind of a lot, especially in 20 minutes. First of all, you are a pussy, leave my blog. Second of all, that's the point; to be completely shithoused and not wake up in the morning with buyers remorse. If you see the guy who is desperately chugging the last sips of vodka before he heads out to Beaumonts on a Saturday and call him pathetic, you are the fool. He is a smart consumer, and he is going to buy those new Sperry's at Nordstrom tomorrow because he dodn't have to spend an additional 60 bucks to get properly blacked out upon arrival. He was already tounge deep in a Freshman on the dance floor, while you were akwardly buying rounds of shots because you didn't know how to handle that lair of sin with a semi-clear mind.

So...this Saturday is unofficial St. Patty's Day in Chicago (Fuck you U of I don't start with me, your campus looks like a full toilet bowl that was just victim to a 40 minute stall session of Angry Birds, streaks and all) Conventional wisdom would tell you to go downtown really early, go to a bar, drink green beer, see the river dyed...wrong wrong WRONG. Go to a pregame at 7 am with all your friends, take an unsocial ammount of drinks, do things that you couldnt do at most bars i.e. shotgun beers, lay a seed with the girl you later want to fuck, and when you think that if you take one more drink you won't be able to remember your own name...go to Division St. You'll have plenty of time to act a fool once you get there. You are going to need that extra cash to grease the door guy when he tosses you out for public urination...or to hand your slam piece for a cab ride home in the morning.

Stay tuned for a more detailed blog about St. Patty's day, but just remember, drinking an entire fifth before you go out is not anti-social and stupid, it is just Fiscal conservatism at its finest.

Friday, March 4, 2011

Mardi Gras

We'll get this out of the way up front and early. I have never been to New Orleans, I'm sure it is infinitely better and I am a huge pussy for never having been. But at least St. Louis can handle some fucking rain. Like honestly I don't understand how a "flood" could ever endanger someone. I understand that it would suck to have your shit destroyed, but if you didn't grow up taking swimming lessons at your local country club, you probably deserve to drown anyway.

Anyway, 5 years ago when there was a bad thunderstorm in Louisiana and George Bush declared his hatred of black people to Kanye West, St. Louis decided to pick up the torch and have a Mardi Gras celebration. I stayed at SLU last year with a friend and we woke up at 6am, went to a bar for kegs and eggs and got bussed to and from the district in which the festivities take place. The parade is really nothing special, the whole day is just kind of like Chicago's Beadquest bar crawl with more sluts and about 10,000 more people.

The drive to St. Louis may be the only thing worse than the drive through Ohio, if you are from Indiana and any surly Chicago fuck ever gives you shit for being born in a cornfield, tell that asshat to take a hike down 55 and treat himself to a glass of shut the fuck up. The horrid stretch of misery that is Central and Southern Illinois will put a driver to sleep. (Although whatever river that Springfield resides on looks like it could be fun to visit maybe once, it looks like a good river for drinking)

I have a horrible problem of sleepwalking when I get ragingly drunk in an unfamiliar place. I know it sounds weird, but it is an extremely serious problem. I have woken up in boxers in socks in all corners of the world including Barcelona, Munich, Jim Shiel's mom's closet and St. Louis. Needless to say last year was a bad one. I came to on the SLU soccer field more or less naked at 4am. Fortunately for me, the bars were opening at 5 and a college campus is understanding to the whole black out and sleepwalk think. Also because the guy that I was staying with was cool (pro tip: only surround yourself with other extremely popular people) the peeps at the bar knew where he lived. I had been in his apt long enough to drop my shit off, I didn't recall where it was. Thus, I was able to return home, brush my teeth and put on pants and grabbed a handful of plastic colored necklaces to taunt 19 year old girls to show me their boobs. (This never works, you will see a pregnant 42 year olds drooping chest and thats about it...unless you are with Paul Bird who can convince two twins to scissor on camera for beads)

I would make a strong recomendation to go hard early because if you don't down 15-20 screwdrivers before you get to the bar district at 10am its going to be a $200 day. $8 a drink, and if you don't know how to pull tail without buying girls and their friends shots, it could be more like a $400 day. (Obviously you should only approach a girl that looks to have seperated from her friends with a full drink)

A few random notes from my experience last year
-Dress up, if you don't you will look like a douche. I wore a yellow polo pullover and felt completely inadequate. I bet I felt like how fat people feel day in and day out, if they could just lose 20 pounds everything would be so much if I would have been wearing a purple feathery boa and a mask.

-Charge your phones. Sounds like a no-brainer but if you are on a 12 hour bar crawl you need all the battery you can hack. This means no telling your friends back home ho much fun you are having, no calling your significant other you miss them. Fuck them, they didn't come. People that call people on their adventures to tell them how much fun they are having, are not really having a good time. You wandered off alone to call some1 because you are bored and no one is talking to you. I lost my roommate last year, and if it were not for him trading batteries with a comatose person with a similar phone, I doubt he would have ever been found.

-Pill up son. You will need your stimulant of choice be it rockstar, 5 hour, loko,'s a long day with lots of drinking. You don't want to be the assclown that makes your entire party go home because you can't stay awake at a bar. If this happens to someone in your group, I would find it perfectly acceptable to hide their body somewhere safe while they sleep it off and you continue to have a good time.

-Just say fuck it. Mardi Gras is a celebration of hedonistic pleasures. No one cares about your boyfriend, wife, kids. They want to know how drunk they can get, maintain a pulse and if you are in fact DTF. Go in with an open attitude and treat it like a weekend in Vegas, just a lot colder and with no gambling. But if you really go to Vegas for the sun and the gambling, you're in the wrong place. You can visit one of Michael Vick's properties in Virginia for sun and gambling.

I'll be there again this year, hope to party with you if you will be making the trip likewise. Bring some madlibs and a Game Boy Color for the car ride, or if you are the passenger like me, just bring a case of beer and some empty plastic bottles to fill.

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

March Madness

My God Charlie Sheen please don't ever stop. You are singlehandedly validating everything I believe in. If you are a big enough asshole my pathetic culture will respond, because there is a frat boy in all of us that wants to praise you as a king.

While I have no plans on actually bowing down to a mediocre 45 year old actor. I find it extremely interesting that Charlie Sheen has captivated our nation. We are hanging on every single word he says like it will bring some new enlightenment upon us. The pathetic thing is, he's right. He does a ton of blow, fucked Denise Richards for about as long as one can plug a supermodel before inevitably getting bored with her, now he's in the Bahamas with 2 porn stars probably shooting remakes to 2 girls one cup while he puppeteers the entire internet. The reason why we are so obsessed with this story is we are jealous and bored. I live a boring life compared to Charlie Sheen, and so do you. He is entertaining, he is rich and he doesn't give a fuck about what you think. And should he? The guy has made a career of of unapologetically partying his ass off and look at what he has done the past 24 hours. He gained 100,000 twitter followers in about 20 minutes without saying a thing, a re-run episode of his hit show Two and a Half Men won the ratings race Monday night, beating the 2nd to last episode of this season's The Bachelor. Every single media outlet is talking about him, sound boards are popping up everywhere so mindless drones of corporate America (such as myself) can make 5 oclock show up that much quicker. The guy is a fucking genius and if he does die in the next few weeks, he will be immortalized in awesome, going out at the top of his game. A bunch of "concerned" public will rant and rave about how he shouldn't be rewarded and Psychologists will talk about his addiction spiraling out of control, but this is just a projection of their envy they live with because they play by the rules and aren't rich and famous.

Enough of that, how great is it that it is finally March. I almost had a beer at lunch today it was so nice out. The Hawks and Bulls are kicking ass, we get more than 4 hours of sunlight and best of all female eating disorders are about to kick in hard core in favor of beach bodies. I may sit outside tonight, cook a steak, read Glass Castle and drink a beer I'm so excited. March is a bit of a cocktease of a month but it symbolizes a light at the end of the tunnel. Spring is officially less than 3 weeks away. Which means softball and volleyball and rollerblading along the beach are 3 weeks away. Flip flops, Monday night blackouts and all the guys dumping their hibernation girlfriend are 3 weeks away. LOVE.

This weekend I'm going to St. Louis for Mardi Gras, where I will revert to "14 year old in Panama City Beach" status and unabbashedly throw beads at chicks and demand to see tits. It's going to be fantastic, I will probably end up making out with someone or something adn getting into a bar fight, it's the little things that count.

*Quick side story*
Last year after ging to Sullard (sp?) for the parade and daytime barcrawling, I made it back to the SLU campus and decided that I MUST go bowling. Of course we were put in a lane next to a young couple on a first date. I proceeded to beligerantly toss my ball down their lane on accident and get a strike, while my roommate tried to pick up said girl on date. I can only imagine there was not a second date involved.

Anyway, after that ammount of lunacy I'm hoping I can ride out a hangover until about Thursday of the next week which is BAM you guessed it St. Patty's Day. Despite the fact that there are 2 parties that I have committed to at 7am that day I am going to clone myself so I can go to both and be Bi-Winning. And I'm thinking by the time we all wake up the following Sunday it will be basically spring right?

I have one speed, Go! I'll do a more detailed St. Louis blog later this week. See ya.