Thursday, June 25, 2015

Fired: A comprehensive ranking of my unceremonious exits

Ed note: I will not include projects that I worked on that were cancelled (start-ups or television shows) or shows I was not asked back to because I had sex with the wrong people. Ok? Ok! Onward.

"You think losing is funny?"

"Well not at first, but once you get the hang of it."

That's the first interaction Gordon Bombay has with the rag tag group that would become The Mighty Ducks. In a way, it's a poignant outlook on life. The first time you go through a negative experience, it can be traumatic, but after repetition it becomes less and less shitty. Your first break up is the hardest, the first experience with death is the most devastating. Over time, you grow a type of armor that numbs the pain of these stressful life events. Losing one's job is the same.

I'm sure I was fired from plenty of things growing up, be it no longer being able to babysit the neighbors after the parents found out I let them watch a scary movie, perhaps it was when Skiles Test Baseball League didn't have me back after I ejected a coach and publicly questioned if he had a drinking problem. This is all peanuts though. Everyone has been asked to leave the concession stand after they were caught stealing Sour Patch kids; but I'm going to focus on real life firing. Like I had a job not because I was bored in the summer, but because I needed to make money. These are jobs that gave a paycheck, made you fill out an i9. Let's start with the first time I dealt with job loss...

The Gap - 2005
Believe it or not, once upon a time I worked retail in the mall. I would fold the shit out of jeans, fuck around on the walkie talkie and chit chat with customers while working the register. But there was one thing I did not do...sell Gap cards. I remember the first conversation I had with my boss about it.
"David, we need to talk about your Gap card numbers. Well they're at 0."

"I guess I don't understand the value? Do they get like a discount if they sign up for one?"


"Then why would they get one?"

"Well because they don't have to pay today."

"But that's essentially how all credit cards work...but most give you cash back."

"This is a new credit card, so if their other credit cards are maxed out, they can buy something today that they couldn't otherwise afford."

"So you're praying on the weak and poor with a shopping problem, that sounds pretty horrible."

"Just do it. Ok? Ask them three times. I'm not going to tell you again."

The inciting incident...
We were closing up for the night and there was a large metal display sign out back, 10% off back to school special or some shit. There was no one in the store. I was told to bring in the display sign, but my manager did not approve of my form.

"You're going to knock something over, or worse scratch the floor."

I proceeded to carry the display like a cross and made a reference to Jesus and started singing the Nas song "You can hate me now."

I was fired on the spot for making a religiously insensitive joke. Unbeknownst to me, my boss was the one Jewish person in Indiana and she thought persecution jokes were unacceptable. Whatever dude, you guys killed him.

2008 Phillip Morris USA
The summer I returned from Europe before my Senior Year, I landed a coveted internship with Phillip Morris. While every other intern was assigned to a small town in the midwest I demanded a Chicago territory so that I could work in Wrigleyville. The entire program bent over backwards in order to accommodate me. Apparently they thought I was some hot shot sales guy. The program started off easy enough, I would walk into gas stations in downtown Chicago, shoot the shit with the Indian guys and tell them to buy more Marlboro Lights and we would offer a bigger discount.

The problems started to arise when we had our biweekly conferences in Lisle, IL. I had never lived in Chicago before and I went out every single night that summer with Paul Bird. Getting to the far western suburbs by 9am was a bit of a problem. What became worse was when we would have conferences and get hotel rooms I would get consistently wrecked and miss all morning meetings. I once showed up in half of a seer sucker suit and was sent back to my room to 'sleep it off.'

The inciting incident...
At the end of the summer all of the interns around the country are sent to Richmond, Virginia to tour the Phillip Morris headquarters and give a final presentation. There are also bars next to the hotel and as 21 year olds are wont to do, there is some fraternizing among the interns. It remains the one and only time I used the line "It's ok, we can smoke cigarettes in my room" in order to get laid.

A week later during my exit interview I was told you need to grow up, but don't worry, we won't make you pay the $500 cleaning fee that we were charged by the hotel.

2011 Computer Discount Warehouse
Pretty much everyone knows this story. It will likely be the lead story in my debut novel 8 Balls and Food Stamps, but to sum up, after striking out on every final round interview my senior year of college I was given an ultimatum by my father, either find a job in a week or go work for Kraft in rural Kentucky. This was not appealing. On a whim, I interview for this sales job and accept it without really figuring out what I would be doing.

The day after I started work there I found out that I would be cold calling people and also that a warrant had been issued for my arrest, which convinced me that I would never pass another background check again so I decided I would be miserable for the foreseeable future.

In my time there I started this blog and while I was supposed to be on the phone 'smiling and dialing' I would call companies that had automated answering services, sit on hold all day and write.

The inciting incident...
The blog was darker then because I was pretty miserable. I was making $25,000 a year working 2 hours from home at a job I hate. The topics were things like...
"Jenna's wearing a tight shirt today, I can't wait to go in the secret restroom and jack off."

"Alyssa's daughter has lice again, I wonder if it's because they both look like The Toxic Avenger."

"This guy wants IBM but I'm going to get him some HP because I'll get a kick back and then I can buy the coke this weekend. Yay."

But apart from all of that I was also really bad at my job. I would take 2 hour lunches, drink like 3 cocktails, show up at 10, leave at 4. I didn't sell shit, and I never was on the phone. I was universally reviled. But as it turns out, it is pretty difficult to get fired from a massive corporation, I slipped through the cracks for 2 entire years. But one day after I was 2 hours late (it was raining!) and about two leave two hours early (Chase 5k! I was in comically short shorts and a wife beater when the following went down) I was called into a conference room on the third floor.

When I got there, the entire HR department and a few representatives from the legal team were sitting across a long table from me. They had 500 sheets of paper stacked in front of them.

"Tell me about your blog..."


They then proceeded to read page after page, stopping after every paragraph to ask a simple question.

"Do you confirm or deny that you wrote this."

This went on for several hours until I finally said.

"I wrote it all. Every single word, now can we end this?"

We'll be in touch.

I was put on paid admin leave for a week and then I received a phone call offering me a small severance in order to terminate my contract with the company. I took it, partied all summer and moved to LA.

2013 - King Trivia
Despite my often terrible behavior, I have never been fired from a production gig in LA. Kiefer Sutherland sent me home from a wrap party for being too drunk, sure. And I may have been but on a one day contract that was renewed every day on the show Ironside because I showed up 5 hours late the day after the Hawks won the cup, but I have never ACTUALLY been relieved of my duties.


One time while I was on hiatus I picked up a side gig as a trivia master, you know the guy that runs bar trivia. Since I was new, I always got the shittiest games, namely a Lucky Strike in Orange County on Monday nights. No one would ever go, I would have to make an ass out of myself trying to get the bowlers to play. No one gave two shits about me and my shitty game.

The inciting incident...
After a while I found another production gig and was acting as a production secretary on a pilot. I would come in an 6am and leave at 6pm, plenty of time to get down to OC by 9p. One particular day, no one was in the office but for me and one PA. We had always been flirty, but I had a few not great experiences dating coworkers. I believe it was the last day of the shoot and we find out there is going to be a little mini-wrap party after we finish shooting at 10pm. This girl really wants me to go and will not take no for an answer. Somehow she finds a rogue 6 pack in the fridge and convinces me to at least have a beer with her. I oblige.

I'm looking at the clock, it is now 7pm and I will really be pushing it to get to Anaheim by 9.

"If you come to the wrap party I will blow you in the copy room, right now."

Haha. What?

"I'm serious."

She starts rubbing my thigh and pops a single boob out of her shirt.

I grab my phone and call my boss Mr King if you will.

"Uh, hey man. I can't make it tonight."

"What...what do you mean? Someone has to run the game."

"I'm having car trouble."

"Borrow a car, take a cab!"

"Look man, no one is going to be there anyway, I'm not going to take a $100 cab to Anaheim to make 50 bucks."

"Do you understand how hard it is to sell trivia into these bars? If you no show tonight, they will cancel the service and that costs me money...where are you, I'll pick you up and take you myself."

The hand moves further up my thigh.

"Dude, the truth is. I'm about to get a blowjob from a coworker in the copy room."

"Oh, well I hope it's a good one, because you're fired."

It was terrific.

Tuesday, June 23, 2015

The Perks of Being a Douchebag

Douchebags are hygienic products, I take that as a compliment.
"Ok everyone it's your favorite part of the night. Let's get some free shots going!"

This is not my favorite part of going to pub trivia mostly because the categories for this round are usually bullshit that appeal to the fat 30somethings around me. 'Famous Star Trek characters' 'Classic tv theme songs from the 50's!' But it's usually for the best, because this is typically the point in the night where a DUI goes from unlikely to a very real possibility.

No, I never win the free shots round, if I'm feeling saucy, I'll buy my own thanks. I prefer the catharsis of winning the game when I correctly double down on the top 10 grossing Vin Diesel movies. Yes, I remembered The Pacifier.

"Tonight we're going to try something new. I want you to come up here and do something, ANYTHING that you don't think anyone else can do. Last team standing gets free drinks!!!"

Oh! Well this is interesting, no mandatory knowledge of Klingon or a subplot of I Love Lucy. I can probably beat these former high school punching bags in almost anything, so what should I do...

A girl goes to the stage and does the splits. It's moderately impressive. I'm sure I can do something better.

Someone does a standing back flip, but doesn't quite stick the landing. The Russian judge will dock him for that.

A girl licks her elbow, a guy dislocates his's really starting to look like a bit on a late night talk show.

Finally the spotlight comes to me. My team looks to be as they typically do not because I'm necessarily the best, but I typically have a plan in these situations.

"Um, I got nothing guys."


"Ya, I can't do anything...I mean maybe if the waitress brought me a beer I could chug it faster than anyone in here, but that would be hard to measure."

"Ok Stegonaut, what's your hidden talent?"

I'm starting to feel like Eminem at the beginning of 8 Mile when Papa Doc forces him to choke. Luckily one of my teammates jumps up and says the alphabet backward in about 3 seconds. It's pretty cool, we move on but ultimately lose the free drinks.

We end up losing the game but having a fun Wednesday. That's what it's all about right? Getting together with your buds on a school night to break up the week? But it stayed with me. Among all the things in the world that could have popped into my head my mind went to "chug a beer at speed."

In the coming days I thought of a few more things that I'm adequate at...

-Writing profanity laced rants (but see I use the profanity and shock as a crutch because I'm secretly not a very good writer)
-Partying (Dancing, acquiring drugs and alcohol, making girls smile, improving the mood of a room)

And that's about it.

My entire skill set is based on my ability to drink and my ability to write about said drinking. It is amazing how much of my future will be predicated on whether or not this skill turns out to be culturally relevant.

In fact I'm pretty horrible at most things. I'm terrible at relationships with both men and women. I'm dishonest and I always take the path of least resistance.

I'm an atrocious employee, here is a real conversation that happened to me last week with one of my superiors (but not one with any power)

"Hey will, you let me know when you aren't working on anything so you can help me out?"

"No, that's a conflict of interest."

"What? How so?"

"If I tell you I'm not working on anything you will ask me to help you with stuff and I would prefer to read Deadspin or work on my pilot."

I did that. Like for real, I was not kidding...and you know what? She stormed off in a huff, and nothing happened I couldn't believe it. But I knew it wouldn't. Our boss likes having me around the office for comic relief, the editors enjoy my weekend stories and even though I don't actually contribute much of anything at all, I'm probably the most popular person in my office.

Then I realized it. I am a douchebag.

I'm charming to the people that matter, I'm fun to be around, I tell witty jokes, I call people nicknames they didn't ask for or bro if I forget their name. I talk to everyone like they're 22. I'm never serious and carry myself with a very laissez faire attitude. Yep, under the blonde hair and the crooked smile it's just a lot of misplaced arrogance and not much else.

I mean look at this blog??? In a world where it is cool to care about real issues, I have essentially gone the other way. I DID DRUGS AND BANGED A CHICK LAST NIGHT; here's a nice cum shot of LIGAF!

Urban Dictionary defines a douchebag as...

"Someone who has surpassed the levels of jerk or asshole, but not yet motherfucker."

That's an interesting scale, can we see it used in a sentence for context?

Rob: This guy kept hitting on my girlfriend at the party, he just wouldn't leave her alone.
Sam: God, what a douchebag.
Oh, ya. That's totally me. Sometimes if the girl is into it I will openly hit on her in front of her boyfriend, especially if he is short. I straight up stole a guy's Coachella date on the first night and continued to use his camp site while she moved into my tent for the next 3 nights, and there was nothing he could do about it because he was 5'2. I should probably watch it though, that might be getting into motherfucker territory (and how murder/suicides happen)

The truth is, deep down I do have a soul. I know right from wrong, and I have a general sense of how I want to treat people and how I want to be treated. But sometimes playing the heel is fun. It's nice to be the bad guy sometimes, and when people call you 'asshole' or 'douchebag' it just plays into it. Oh they must be jealous! I have something they want! It goes back to the whole frat guy/GDI thing. Ha whatever, all you douchebags pay for your friends. Sure buddy, whatever helps you sleep at night.

I don't want to be a douche. I want to be good at stuff. I want to be smart, I want to achieve my goals and dreams. I want to become a contributing member of society. My idols are not Entourage characters or sleazy investment bankers; they're writers visionaries, people that do the things that I could never dream of doing.

But for now with my current skill set, at my age, in this city, I think my peak happiness is right in the douche zone. Recklessly spend money and live in excess like the world is's low hanging fruit. I was audited by the IRS last month and instead of just paying my tax debt, I filed a 120 day extension and booked a trip to Europe, because like what if I died in a car accident in September? As I was laying there in the wreckage waiting for my car to explode, do you think that I would be glad I settled that debt instead of going on a kick ass vacation?

This is how the mind of a douchebag works. It's certainly not sustainable, eventually douchedom catches up with everyone lest they change their ways. And I hope I won't always be this way, in fact I can feel the tide starting to change a bit. I focus on bettering myself in other ways besides collecting the most 'epic' stories. But, it's where I am now, and despite what the haters's not the worst place to be. I suppose while I'm here, I might as well embrace it.

Friday, June 19, 2015

Walk of Shame/Fame

Part I.

She's still here. Hmm.

It's not that i wanted her to be gone per se, it's just that there would have been a lot fewer variables if she was gone.

Now I run through the range of questions.

Do I poke her with this morning wood and see what happens?
Do I offer her a ride home?
Do I take a long shower and hope that she is at least dressed and ready when I get out?
Is my roommate's car blocking me in...Oh thank God it is. I'll get her an Uber...Uberx is sufficient right?

Or maybe she's an Uber plus girl...
Or maybe I'll just take my roommate's car and maybe we can get breakfast or something.

I have a terrible poker face at 7 o'clock in the morning.

Dripping with sweat on the dance floor at midnight, I am a magician. I can convince almost anyone to come home with me. Ok that's a lie. But I will say anything that I think will help my cause. I will make a girl feel special.

At 7am when I look to my right I usually panic and think of some excuse to jettison myself from the situation. Oh fuck...I forgot! Can I run you home really quick? If you want to know where you stand with me, count the seconds it takes me to become uncomfortable in the morning, if you last more than 5 minutes, I probably do not regret the decision.

All of this said, I imagine that when a girl wakes up in a strange place, she panics. Immediate goal, GTFO and be seen by as few people as possible.

In college, the move was to text all of your friends to see who could come pick you up. It was like a mom in a minivan picking all of her kids up from soccer practice. Except it wasn't soccer practice, it was a shacker shuttle picking up all the chicks who got slammed by some over-confident frat guy. I loved coming to the door so I could see who else was in the car and make a mental note for the future of who did and did not have questionable morals.

In Chicago, this continued to a certain extent, people still live together, but fewer people had cars. It was typically ask for a ride/grab a cab...possibly even walk, the TRUE walk of shame, moving to a real city that is spread out to a certain extent lowers the probability of running into someone you know. Still walking home is less than ideal.

Now that I live in LA, the move is almost always offer a ride home. I'm 28, it's time to be a gentleman, though I often fail to even hold up the lowest quality of service in this regard. I am the worst.


I rarely bring girls to my house. It's messy, it smells sometimes. I have a female roommate and the truth is, the shacker is the one with the power. No friends I embrace the away game, and unlike many of my female counter parts, I revel in the walk of shame. I live for it.

Part II.

This bed is comfortable AF. I should get a bed like this, or maybe a nice 2000 thread count duvet.

"Holy shit, is that bacon?"

At this moment, I have two options. I can just leave, sneak out if I want. Take a leisurely stroll home, call a car if I'm too hungover. Regardless, I will smile and wave at strangers, I may whistle a song on the way home. Why? Well because I had unprotected sex with a white girl last night! That means she (probably) doesn't have stds and (definitely) is on birth control. Oh what a lovely day!

But today, I decide I want some of that bacon. I walk out of the bedroom wearing last night's jeans and an under shirt. One of her roommates is cooking breakfast.

"Hi, I'm Kat."

Kat is wearing an "All who wander are not lost" t-shirt. That's nice, that means she's still on her parents' dime and does cocaine. I bet she gives blowjobs to random dudes she meets at yacht week, and swallows. But none of that matters because this morning, Kat is cooking me breakfast. I wonder if she knows that quote is from a poem in the Lord of the Rings. I bet now, she probably saw it on some bullshit instagram motivational poster and used it as validation when she quit her job at Chase to pursue a voice-acting career. Good luck with that Kat.

Oh, what's this? Kat had a shacker too! He looks Italian, I bet this makes her feel interesting. Eduardo introduces himself and it reminds me of when I used to shack at sororities in college. All the rival frat guys shared tis common bond. They would all eat together while whoever they banged the night before was putting on make-up or whatever.

Oh Moeller, who were you with last night? No way! Fist pound.

Eduardo does not ask me who I was with last night. Being as this is a two bedroom apartment, I suppose it is quite obvious. 

I ask everyone what their plans are for the day, my girl lazily slugs out of her room, somewhat surprised that I am still there. I totally get it, I bet she was hoping that if she laid in bed long enough I would leave to avoid this awkward moment. That way Kat could be like "You slut, who was that?" But instead she finds Eduardo and I exchanging study abroad stories.

"Ya man, I got too turnt in Amsterdam and missed my flight, I sat in shame at the Brussels airport for 18 hours waiting for the next flight to Italy."

"That's total shit man, my friends left me passed out in a field in Germany, I missed the train, went back to the pub."

Strong move. High five. Eduardo and I are now besties.

I find out that Kat and Eduardo did ecstasy last night. Eduardo isn't feeling too hot but Kat is surprisingly doing great.

Eduardo rented a boat in Marina Del Rey and I receive a text informing me that my golfing foursome fell apart.

"Do you want to come?"

What? Oh on the boat? No I should head back and do some laundry and maybe go for a run.


It's the girl I stayed over with. I now notice that she's pretty cute, and although she probably wanted me gone 20 minutes ago, she has warmed to me.

I now have two decisions, I can pull the rip cord on this morning, never call her again and go about my life.

Or I can get on the boat.

The most interesting answer I ever got to a: "So do you want a ride home..."

"or we could go back to Kirloy's"

Or we could go to Kilroy's. Of course I get on the boat.

Always get on the boat.

Wednesday, June 17, 2015

Single Dude Mailbag #1

Dear Single Dude,
So I’ve had this crush on a coworker for a while now. We flirt all day on Gchat and just recently after a work happy hour we left together and made out in a shared Uber back to her place (it was a school night so I too went home) What are your experiences dating a coworker? Great idea? Terrible idea? I’m fairly sure she is open to the idea, but I wanted some advice.

Thanks for reaching out anonymous! I’m certain that every advice column ever has posed a version of this question, but I probably have a different answer than most. I have dated in some form or another a coworker at every job I’ve ever had with varying results. Best case scenario, my roommate ended up fucking her, worst case scenario, I had my heart broken.

It always starts off fun, because it’s a bit taboo. I had sex in the copy room once, I got road head after a Pier concert WHILE SHE WAS DRIVING. This is cool. What comes next is not. Part of the glory of dating someone in your 20’s is getting to go home to your own space and your own shit. Hell, even if you live with someone, going to work can be a respite. YOU NEED THESE BREAKS. If you see someone at the office every day, you will grow to be annoyed with them and eventually hate them.

First it will start as some petty work related argument, but then other shit will come up. “You never file these reports right, JUST LIKE YOU NEVER EMPTY THE DISHWASHER!” It always ends in despair or her blaming you for giving her herpes (only to call you back later to say it was only an ingrown hair.) Avoid the work place romance, but if you absolutely have to, stick to a blowjob. A blowjob is like N Sync, No Strings Attached.

Yo Broeller,
I’m thinking about moving to LA. Talk me out of it/into it.

Fuck yes you should move to LA. Living anywhere else in the world is irrational!

I’m kidding, well kind of...let’s just walk that back a bit to start.

Why do you want to move to LA? I just wrote Monday about the dangers of moving somewhere on a whim due to a Quarter Life Crisis. Did you go through a bad break up and want to reinvent yourself? If so, you can still move to LA but I would urge some due diligence before uprooting your life.

But maybe you’re just bored in Chicago and there is nothing left there for you. Your company has an office out here and would be more than willing to let you transfer? Come Septemeber 1st, enjoy that Chi Town summer.

Here’s the deal: LA (specifically the West Side) is almost perfect. Every day is a post card and the people are almost mellow to the level of annoyance. Everything is a bit more expensive, but a lot of the shit people do here (hike, surf, bike) is free. We have free concerts on the beach. The women (and men) are gorgeous and there is constantly something to do. I hate the cold weather unless I’m shredding the gnar and generally enjoy going to the beach. I also have zero familial commitments back home (nieces/nephews a girlfriend) I have a go bag packed and I could bounce at any moment and be gone for a year.

But know this: if you are stuck in a rut at KPMG and you want to quit your job to become a screenwriter you will essentially reset your life to 22. Nothing you have done the past 4-8 years matters. You will get an entry level job and all of your friends will be 22. I lived in Chicago for 2 years that were essentially a waste. I moved here at 24 and now every single one of my friends (that I met out here) is 2 years younger than me. (Which I secretly dig because it let’s me mature slower) SO if you are 29, just saw the Entourage movie and now you want to be super agent Ari Gold, you will be the weird old friend in the group forever. It’s not that bad, it’s like pledging as a Sophomore, you’ll generally be accepted but something will always be off.

That said, the drugs are pretty cheap, no one is getting married and banging younger more attractive chicks isn’t frowned upon. I live 4 blocks from the beach in a dope apartment and pay $800 a month and Uber is so cheap here that my shackers don’t even ask for rides home.

What the fuck am I talking about? You should definitely move to LA.

You can e-mail (fuck ya I still have my college email address) to have your questions answered in the Single Dude mailbag.

Tuesday, June 16, 2015

ONE GOAL: Ranking the impending mayhem each Blackhawk will cause this summer

Summer does not officially begin for five days, but for the Chicago Blackhawks and the rest of the NHL, the offseason has arrived. While every other franchise has been sent golfing, the Hawks took their third Stanley Cup in 6 years directly to the club; more specifically The Mid. For the uninitiated, The Mid is a nightclub on a seedy stretch of Halsted that hosts EDM acts every night. It is where you go to pop Molly on a Tuesday.

I posited last night that judging from Johnny Oduya's on ice celebration, he probably loved EDM music and MDMA. He is Swedish after all. Not 3 hours after I posted that tweet, he appeared shirtless (and fucking jacked) at the Mid. He also appeared to be sweaty AF. The evidence may be circumstancial, but I feel more confident than not, that my original hypothesis was correct.

In a year where an LA Kings player already got arrested for a couple 8 balls at Wet Republic and studies coming out about the increased recreational drug abuse among players in the NHL, it is safe to assume that the Blackhawks are going to burn Chicago to the ground this summer. A city that hibernates for 9 months only to go on a 90 day bender that also boasts one of Buffalo's two biggest partyers? Things could get interesting. Let's rank the Hawks roster, based on who is most likely to cause to most carnage by the beginning of training camp on October 8th.

Healthy Scratch:
Scott Darling
Antii Raanta
Bryan Bickell
Michael Roszival
Kyle Cumiskey
Joakim Nordstrom
and the rest of the guys who sat out most of the playoffs...

Most of these guys won't get their names on the cup and contributed little during the playoff run (or were hurt) In favor of keeping this column under a billion words, they remain unranked. (Though I would love to go out drinking with Bicks)


Kimmo Timonen- The 40 year old sails off into retirement capturing the cup on his last try. Homey didn't play most of the year dealing with life threatening blood clots. I'm sure he'll have a good time this week with his family, but this third pairing blue liner is past his prime both athletically and at hitting the bottle.

Teuvo Teravainen- From the oldest Hawk, to the youngest; this Finnish stud better have a fake ID if he wants to party at Underground all summer. It's rumored the Blackhawks brass gave the 20 year old sparkling grape juice for the locker room celebration. 

Patrick Sharp- Patrick Sharp is the shit. For a long time he was my favorite Hawk. He is probably the best looking guy in the NHL and slams chicks accordingly including a certain rumored IU sorority girl. That said, Patrick Sharp does have a wife and a kid...and he'll be moving this summer. Sharpie will be part of the collateral damage due to severe salary cap issues. He will undoubtedly be in a different sweater next year, but we will love him forever.

Brandon Saad- Brandon Saad is American. Brandon Saad is from Pittsburgh. Pittsburgh has a bar that houses a midget in a dog house that will slide down a fireman's pole and pour vodka in everybody's mouth if someone puts a ten dollar bill on the bar. Brandon will party this summer but also will likely become a victim to the Hawks cap issues. Rumors are swirling that he may head home to the Penguins to strengthen their attack. The truth is with big pay bumps coming to Kane and Toewes, a lot of young talent will unfortunately scatter this off season.

Marcus Kruger - Kruges is looking like one of a few Blackhawks (including Kris Versteeg and Johnny Oduya; more on them later) who may need to go under the knife this summer. All three played the finals with injuries. If that is the case, Kruger will likely spend a week or so doing the stadium tour of Chicago and then spending a fair amount of time recovering and popping vicodin.

Potentially overserved...

Kris Versteeg- I saw Steeger out at Social 25 (remember that place?) after they won their first cup in 2010 (he was shipped off shortly thereafter to the Maple Leafs) he was with a trio of blonds and he caught my eye. "Which one?" He mouthed to me. I pointed to the one on the left, the tallest and skinniest, built like a model. He winked at me and put his arm around her before exiting the bar and hopping on a trolley. "OMG. I just picked which girl Versteeg is going to fuck tonight." I foresee more of the same shananigans this summer.

Duncan Keith- In 2010 Duncan Keith quipped at the Hawks Parade "Anyone know a dentist?" In case you have forgotten, Dunc took a puck to the face that obliterated about 20 of his teeth, sending some straight down his throat. (Imagine shitting out your own teeth...yikes) This year he will not have any dental procedures to worry about and he has the added bonus of the Conn Smythe. But at this point, along with a couple Gold Medals and 2 other cups, winning is old hat for the perennial Norris Trophy nominee.

Brent Seabrook- I have stated before that there are only really two reasons to go out. 1. Get fucked up with your friends. 2. Find something to fuck. Brent likes to drink, and will have a good time doing so this summer. However, Brent also has a wife that is hot AF, so does he really need to kick down the door at Hangge Uppe at 4am when he's got a wife just dying to ride his dick all night? I think not.

Brad Richards- Richards won the cup (and Conn Smythe) for the Lightning in 2004. He was a young man back then, probably got lots of STDs in Tampa that summer. Now he's 35. But, Brad grew up on Prince Edward Island, the most obscure Canadian province. It's like their Delaware, not much to do but get shit faced. Old Brad will have quite a few pops this summer, just don't expect any Deadspin stories about DUI arrests.

Andrew Desjardins- Did you see how badly he wanted that empty netter last night after committing a stupid penalty with 3 minutes to play? He clanked it off the post, fortunately neither gaffe cost the Hawks. Andrew is 28, he's a first time cup champion and when he cuts off his horrendous beard he is actually a decent looking guy. That said, he is expendable. He will take fireball shots this summer, he might snort some vodka (big among Ontario hockey guys) he will likely land a fair amount of tail. But he also cannot get in trouble. As a borderline 3rd/4th line guy AD is expendable because 88 doesn't need any bad influences.

Better make that a triple...

Jonathan Toewes - Oh is surprises you to see Captain Serious this high on the list? Listen here, the smartest thing the devil ever did was convince the world he didn't exist. And the best thing that ever happened for Toeweser's reputation was the behavior of his road roommate. Make no mistake about it, JT parties hard. My buddy got his phone number a few years ago somehow and called him up, convincing him that we had bonded at a wedding. We made plans to hang out when he got back in town. The bro is a black out king. Do not be fooled by this picture, this is not someone who is bored, this is a man on a bad drug come down.

Antoine Vermette- If there is anyone less trustworthy than the French it's a French Canadian. Vermy came over at the trade deadline with a hefty price tag and didn't do a fucking thing all season. He was a healthy scratch several times over the first couple rounds of the playoffs. Then this motherfucker decides to come alive and basically win the cup for Chicago with two unlikely game winners. The ego on this guy will be so big this summer. 'Oui Oui bitches, I save my magic for when it counts!' I think he will average at least 2.5 Lincoln Park blowjobs a week through June/July/August.

Niklas Hjalmarsson- Hammer is secretly the most important player on the Blackhawks in my opinion. He blocks so many shots that after a game his body typically looks like the dead corpse of a pre-Robocop Alex Murphy. It's only fair then when he bangs trust fund coeds wearing ill fitting cubs shirts in the bathrooms at Wrigley.

Corey Crawford- Earlier this season Corey Crawford missed a few weeks because he fell down the stairs at the House of Blues But why was he at a Rise Against show in the first place? Likely to finger blast some West Loop honey he picked up at Haymarket. Goalies know how to party.

Marian Hossa- It has been debated for quite some time to whether the Slovakian demigod is a Hall of Famer. That debate is now over. He knows this. I predict the summer of Hossa.

Do ya wanna buy some snow man?

Andrew Shaw- I mean are you kidding. Aside from starting to look more like a rising hockey star and less like a pest I have it on good authority that Andrew Shaw likes to party. Specifically he loves to have fat chicks sit on his face. It's rumored he went to a rub and tug last time the Hawks won the cup and had the fattest masseuse sit on him while the receptionist jerked him off. Also he looks like the type of guy that requires a punch in the face to get amped up to party.

Johnny Oduya- Just look at this fucking picture.

Trevor van Riemsdyk- Trevor may have only averaged about 6 minutes a game in the finals, but this bro is a rich kid from Jersey, 23, 6'2 190. I mean you're ready to fuck him right? This guy will slam more New Trier tail this summer than a junior exec at Groupon. He probably ditched the team party at The Mid last night in favor of Chicken and Porn at evil olive. Why? Because he knows that the chicks that do anal live west of the freeway.

A League of his own

Patrick Kane- Was it ever a question? The guy is a god damn legend when it comes to partying. He once challenged Gronk to a shot taking competition even though he gives over 100 pounds to the guy. He then proceeded to beat down a cab driver over .25 cents. He went on a well reported rampage in Madison a few years ago. He showed up asleep in a bed on Deadspin a while back. I know the girl he fucked! In fact I think I helped that girl move that bed into that very apartment. Kaner's exploits are well known, but he has seemed to settle down a bit as of late. Apparently he has a girlfriend now, there are fewer tales of his Gold Coast debauchery. Hell he may have even bought a house and move to the suburbs.

But according to a giant HBO billboard I've been driving by all week, legends don't retire, they reinvent. Kaner will be back this summer and bigger than ever. I foresee a trip to Burning Man. I smell a brief tryst with Taylor Swift, hell she might write a song about him. Kaner may go full LeBron and try to get a little acting career going. Do you know how much blow Patrick Kane and Zac Efron could go through together? There would be a state wide disco dust shortage in California. You may think that Kane's biggest partying days are behind him, but a lot of people also thought Jordan was done when he came back with jersey 45. Cue an even more impressive threepeat. Kane isn't done, he's just getting started. Chicago will look like ground zero on September 12th once ole Patty K decides to hang up his shotglass. Long live Patrick Kane, God of partying. Be weary young virgins of Bucktown, no one is safe.

Monday, June 15, 2015

How to Survive a Quarter Life Crisis

At my wrap party this past Monday I did something I haven't done more than 3 times since I moved to LA; I wore a suit. Fellow crew members were shocked as this was a strong departure from my usual outfits of flip flops and board shorts. I'm usually respectful enough to leave the bro tanks at home, but outside of a few laundry days, I probably didn't even wear a collar all season.

"Where are you from man?" Asks our camera operator.

"I live over in Venice."

"Haha, of course, you have to be the most LA person I have ever met. Only makes sense you grew up in Dogtown."

"Oh, I mean I grew up in Indiana and technically Dogtown is in Santa Monica."

"Wow, could have fooled me."


In 2010 I was essentially fired from a major corporation in Chicago for this very blog. I've talked about it before, but I was given the Stephen Glass treatment where I sat in front of a board of HR personnel while they read to me my very words:

"Some days my only motivation to come to work is the hope that (redacted) is wearing a tight fitting shirt so I can go to the secret bathroom on the 4th floor and jerk off."

It was rough.

I was given a small buy out to avoid litigation and instead of saving that money and looking for a new job I spent the entire summer partying. At the end of the summer, I was pennyless but had accepted a position for a small start-up with the promise of getting me to Los Angeles. So on a warm night in August, I left in the middle of a Deadmau5 Lollapalooza concert to drive back to my parents' house in Indianapols. I got in at 5 o clock in the morning, I had to be at work by 8.

Over the next month both of my Chicago roommates found out that HSBC was shutting down North American operations and they would be shipped out of the country. There was a high profile break up in my social circle resulting in the inevitable schism of relationships that comes in a bitter divorce. I was partying heavily, involved in a torrid affair and then in early September I set fire to my entire existence in the midwest, hoping to rise like a phoenix from the ashes when I landed on the west coast.

The first few months were rough. After sleeping  on every couch imaginable, I moved in with a married lesbian couple in the valley. The start-up I worked for ceased operations and suddenly I was unemployed and the house I was living in was put on the market so that my landlords could move home to Russia.

I was beginning to think that this whole LA experiment was a mistake. I had taken a full measure without thinking of the consequences of my actions. Broke, alone and 2000 miles from home is a tough adjustment to make, and here I thought pressing the reset button on life would be easy.

Eventually, I found a job working on the movie Paranormal Activity 4, my first real job in entertainment. I found a place in Venice with a couple buddies who were also in the process of getting evicted from their Hollywood apartment. With things looking better and having money for the first time in a year we took a ski trip to Breckenridge. Upon return we find out that our shady landlord to be had ripped up our lease when someone outbid us. Also the next movie I was planning to work on had fallen through, put into turn around by the studio. With just 24 hours before I had to move out of Encino, I was utterly fucked.

But then I wasn't. We were able to find another apartment (where I live now) and move in that day. A new job came up and I just kinda lived happily ever after. I survived my quarter life crisis, even if just barely. I now have a life I love in Venice, with people I care about greatly. I wouldn't say I'm "crushing it" in life. I'm still barely an assistant/coordinator and every 6 months I have to find a new show to work on, but I'm happy. That said, sometimes it makes me sad that almost every remnant of my old life is gone, I talk to only a handful of people from college and even fewer from high school. I never go home, I'm a Venetian now. (That said, I still have love for those back home, you're always welcome to visit.)

This tale may not sound too extreme compared with the people that quit their jobs and move to Australia to pick berries or go on an Eat, Pray, Love-esque self-discovery journey, but it was my journey and now I feel uniquely qualified to tell you NOT to blow it all up. Take a half measure, life isn't Breaking Bad after all. The following are some useful tips to get out of a rut without destroying your life as you know it.

1. DO! Change your physical appearance.

You would be shocked how much fun it is to toy with the way you look. Grow your hair out, chop it off, hit the gym and get ridiculously cut, get a tattoo, grow a beard. Sure, a drastic change in appearance has always been code for, I'm vulnerable right now and will probably have sex with you if you give me attention...but is that such a bad thing?

At the moment, we are young and lots of small decisions won't have long term consequences. You can't have surfer hair when you're 40, so I'll enjoy my flow now. Getting a tattoo of the zip code you grew up in will not make sense when you're 55. But for now, you can explain that shit as "so I never forget where I come from" and 9 out of 10 people will think it's fucking rad.

2. DO NOT! Get into drugs.

Such a're better than that.

3. DO! Question your relationships. All of them.

As you get older things people grow apart, one of the symptoms of being in a rut is "more of the same." If you are dating someone just because you've been dating forever, quit that shit. There were probably a generation of slave owners that thought it was OK because, well they had just been doing it a long time. The same can be said for toxic friendships. If you have a friend that you kind of dread hanging out with, peace out homie! Join a bowling league with some of your work friends, join a new crew, don't let your entire social existence be dictated by what you're used to. Diversify that portfolio.

4. DO! Stupidly throw some money around.

Have you ever been to Denmark? No. Have you ever had a desire to go to Denmark? Not particularly. Is there a roundtrip flight from your hometown to Denmark for under $600. Ha, actually there is? Fucking go to Denmark! Stay in a hostel, have sex with a local, drink yourself retarded. Sometimes getting out of your basic routine and expanding your horizons is just the thing you need to get back on track.

5. DO NOT! Impulsively quit your job.

Instead half ass it and spend every possible waking minute at work searching for your new job. I know the idea of quitting a job sounds so tempting, like removing a noose from your neck...but you know what noose is ten times tighter? Financial obligations and debt (just kidding, personal bankruptcy laws got your back son)

6. DO! Start doing something new

I was pissed off last week and bought myself scuba lessons. I've never had a burning desire to scuba dive but it seems fun enough. Maybe I'll get really into it and spend one less weekend a month blowing all of my money and liver cells at the bars. I also want to take an improv class, maybe I'll meet some new people. I've flirted with the idea of joining the military reserves, supplemental income and hey, cool Army buddies! A new pastime that turns into a passion can change everything. Maybe start a blog and realize how much you like to write...then that secret novel you're writing at home will get you through those shitty days at that job you hate.

7. DO/DO NOT! Blindly move somewhere

Denver was the big one for a while, now it seems to be shifting more to California. Oh, the big what you ask? Place people would blindly move thinking it would fix everything. No game plan, just a hail mary reach for the ejection cord hoping that your parachute would land in a better situation in which you could live happily ever after.

It's a terrible idea, but also it works sometimes. See the above paragraph? That's exactly what I did and it sorta worked out, however it is risky AF. Some people can run from their problems and achieve a blissful existence, some people are doomed to repeat their past mistakes, but hey you can always just move again, how do you think criminals run from warrants so easily? But know this, moving is a colossal pain in the ass. Moving across the country is worse than passing a kidney stone.

8. DO NOT! Listen to me...

I mean every piece of advice I have given in this column, I did the opposite. What do I know? I was so fucked up Saturday night that I took a shit on the beach and kicked some sand over it because I didn't think I would make it home in time. That is not someone who has their shit together (ha pun!) So by all means, quit your job, start doing shrooms and pick a direction to drive. Maybe it will all work out.

Monday, June 8, 2015

Sunday Scaries

Yesterday morning while laying in bed I had a fantasy.

Once my shacker leaves, I can sit around my apartment all day and do nothing. I can order Chinese delivery, I can watch women's world cup action. Hell, I may spend 4 to 5 hours on Netflix. I haven't rewatched the OC pilot in a few months. Oh boy, what a day I had planned.

Typically I have anxiety about plugging my phone in Sunday morning. I have usually blacked out and offended someone Saturday night. Be it a girl, a friend, a drug dealer that I fell asleep on; I have almost always wronged someone. But this Saturday was different! After a relatively tame outing at the Dodger game, I just went to bed. No one could possibly be mad at me. Let's power up this phone, GUILT FREE!

But then the second worst thing happened.

"Dude, brunch, come to the roof top now."

"Hey bro, we're going to write at the pool today."

"NBA/GoT bbq 5pm, wear a Hawaiian shirt."

All dreams of horizontal utopia vanished. The fantasy of a sober Sunday evaporated into thin air. I was going to begrudgingly have to do shit today, I was going to drink today. And do you know why?

Because the Sunday Scaries are real.

What are the Sunday Scaries you ask? Oh you know them. You know that creeping anxiety you get around 7pm every Sunday, when the crushing inevitability of Monday and life's inherent bullshit become more and more apparent. The reason you stay up super late hoping that insomnia is a sure fire way to defeat the impending doom of Monday Morning. These are the Sunday Scaries.

Once upon a time, I loved Sundays. I never hated school that much and the idea of lounging around all day with limited responsibility was appealing to me. But that was before increasing life responsibilities became a reality and two day hangovers became the norm. The three certainties for me in life are death, taxes and I will feel like shit on Mondays. I hate Mondays.

I am not alone.

Most people do not like Mondays. Even if you love your job, I doubt many people spring out of bed at 7am on Monday ready to conquer the day. Hell, I wish there were a 24 hour period in between Sunday and Monday where the government mandated that everyone stay in their home all day and do nothing. The 8th day of the week, Recovery day! In fact this is what Sunday SHOULD be for, but instead people use this strange anxiety based FOMO to attempt to beat the Scaries. Many methods have been attempted. Almost all have failed. What follows is an exercise in futility, because try as I might, I have never won the battle.

The oldest trick in the book. One rumored way to prevent the arrival of Monday is to get up super early on Sunday and keep partying. Logically it makes sense, if you wake up at 9am instead of noon, technically there is more time between you and Sunday. In practice, your refusal to acknowledge your hangover only doubles down on the pain and anguish you will feel Monday morning.

Sure, I enjoy a bloody and a mimosa as much as the next guy. I even revel in the half cocked ideas that come out of brunch. "Let's go rent a fucking boat." Just know that if you start an AM Sunday Funday, you are only going to end up down a rabbit hole of debauchery and hate yourself until at least the following Wednesday. Proceed with caution.

The classic 'let's mask the fact that we're day drinking by saying we're cooking outdoors purely to enjoy the weather.' It's a lie. You are having a day party, there just happens to be burgers. A BBQ is little kids swimming in the pool while the adults grill...not seeing how many times you can get your buddy to fall for the old Smirnoff Ice on the grill trick. (It will always work) I understand why you want to drink outside, Viking chugs can get messy, and when you show up to work with a little sunburn it is generally accepted that you had a fun weekend, but just don't lie to yourself ok?

Yes I know the avacado bar next to the burger station was a nice touch, but no matter how carmelized those onions are, you're still going to feel like donkey dick in the morning.

Beach Day-
You've got me here. If there is anything guaranteed to ensure a productive Monday morning it is an 8 hour monster volleyball session in the sand whilst chugging vodka gatorades. I know it's practical because the cops can't tell. I know it's fun to jump in the ocean in between games. I understand that June has the longest days of the year so you can bocce until the 8pm sunset and then retreat to someone's house to watch HBO.

But you know that the only thing that can lead to a hangover quicker than Sake bombs and Boone's Farm is dehydration. Throw on some SPF buddy, and how about a cup of water for every third Fireball shot Misty May.

Dinner Party-
Oh look at how civilized you are? Did you take 2 minutes of your life and prepare a queso dip? That's so grown up and mature. I can't imagine how difficult it was for you to throw a block of Velveeta and rotel in a microwave and hit the 5 button. But Dave, we made a homemade Parmesan glaze for the Kale salad...and opened 6 bottles of Malbec.

I get it, a 747 does not turn off the jets during its descent. You have to slow a machine down before outright cutting the power, but drowning yourself in Tyrionesque amounts of red on Sunday evening does not make you classy, it makes you scared. What's that quote from The Dark Knight Rises?

"What do you know about Monday?"
"I know you should be as afraid of it as I am."

Watch the game-
Many years ago I wrote a column about excuses to drink alone. Sometimes there is a sporting event that you want to watch and you may not get the channel, this is an excuse to go to a bar and drink alone. No one will think this is weird. Is it preferable to recruit a buddy? Sure, but most definitely not mandatory.

That said, if you go to a pub to watch a Bills game at 10am and then proceed to go on a 12 hour bar crawl up Washington, this is a meek attempt to fend off the Scaries. I get it. Whaler is fun on Sunday afternoon, Hinano has a great burger and shit, it is fun to use the honor bar at C&O's, but let's call a spade a spade, you didn't give a shit about that AFC East battle, this is a thinly veiled Sunday Funday. You passed out early Saturday night and think that you can redeem yourself by pulling someone home from the Baja Cantina Sunday at 9. "I get HBO" is not a good pick-up line. Neither is "The bathrooms here are great for recreational drug use."

Of course they are. Everyone knows this. But Jesus Christ man, it's Sunday get your shit together and go home. Grab yourself a Smart Water, set five alarms and sleep on the couch. The Sunday Scaries are a legit dynasty that is undefeated since the beginning of time. Your best bet? Acquire some Zoloft maybe some Xanax and make sure you are asleep before 10pm, wake up Monday morning and ride the wave of despair until you get home Monday night. Only then will things start to look up.

It gets better. I promise.

Thursday, June 4, 2015

What if a hurricane hadn't ruined my weekend...

I took some molly Saturday night.

I didn't plan on it. I didn't wake up Saturday and think, OMG the day is finally here, I'm going to roll my balls of, oh happy day!

No, Saturday I rolled out of bed, walked home (ohhhhh shit buried the lede there) and proceeded to commence my hangover on the couch.

I dicked around, got some Chipotle planned my Euro trip and generally worried about the impeding Blackhawks game. At no point did I think, I should do some molly today.

Eventually I mustered the energy to walk to my second favorite Venice bar that would be closing the very next day. I was sad. I was nervous. I thought the Blackhawks might lose.

But then we drank 34 pitchers, the Blackhawks won and someone offered me a little mdma.

As if I even have the capacity of saying no.

What followed was a fairly mellow evening, I just kind of rode the wave of positive vibes, had a few beers at an apartment and chilled.

Except for the part where my friend called her boss and demanded that he buy me a flight to Mexico.

Ah yes, at some point during the evening a girl I have been friends with forever called her boss and basically read him the riot act.

"It's bullshit that girls with boyfriends get to bring them to Mexico this weekend."

Why do you have someone you want to bring?

"Ya, I have a boyfriend now...I'll text you his name."

Fast forward to Monday night I had a round trip ticket to Cabo san Lucas, a hotel room, all because of a schedule 1 amphetamine.

I spent all day Tuesday trying to come up with ways to skip out on work Monday. I'm not really in an industry where I can take a vacation day or even call in sick. If I don't pick up the raw footage in Burbank Monday morning and deliver it to our editors they stand around and make $90 an hour to do nothing. This would not sit well with any of the producers. And I didn't expect them to be sympathetic to my cause either with this "free" vacation. Because of weird production rules I make more money that most of the people in the office and since I've started this particular show I have gone on trips to Park City, Palm Springs, Coachella, Joshua Tree, Vegas and Lake Tahoe.

And now I was about to go get drunk in Mexico while the rest of them saved their money for shit like valley mortgages and Honest Company diapers.

I decided my best course of action was to pay some random kid $100 to do my job for the morning, beg my boss to say yes and take it from there. I was so nervous she would deny me I put together a powerpoint presentation outlining my proposal and then I got the following text.

Mexico is off, Cat 5 Hurricane coming.

Wait what?

Is it even hurricane season right now? Hurricanes hit Mexico? Can't we just risk it? What kind of GDI hurricane goes after a resort town. Go somewhere unimportant like Honduras.

Nope, hotel cancelled our res, they're shutting down entirely.

I did a little digging and hurricanes do in fact hit Mexico. Just last fall Cabo was destroyed by a category 4 storm. Many of the hotels JUST reopened for the summer and now they are about to get slammed again. The following is what my weekend could have looked like if it weren't for Hurricane Blanca, the cuntiest of tropical storms...

Friday night-

Around 5:30pm I would have put on my straw hat. Wearing a straw hat tells people you mean business, it says 'I'm ready to party, I'm clearly only here because you miserable cunts haven't released me yet.' Wearing the straw hat makes people feel shitty about their impending mediocre weekend and will likely get you sent home quicker because they do not want a constant reminder of their inferiority.

Next stop Gate 4. American. Like me. You know what Gate 4 has? A fucking lemonade. You know what else it has? A rock n roll themed terminal bar that blasts 80's music and serves tall Goose Island IPAs. I'll have 4 please.

On the airplane. Business class (sure my tickets are coach, but when you're with a platinum member there is always a chance) I did some quick math (I will not show my work) and I deduced that I could knock back six margaritas in the 2 hr 40 min flight time. We land at 11:40 and the hotel is about 30 minutes from the airport, this seems like a hotel party night...

...and hotel party it is. Some hero called ahead and had 10 cases of Sol sent to his room. He puts the new Haim and Calvin Harris song on repeat. Omg, I have a bromance on this guy. He's so cool. Must be a Tau. This is just like a formal, except it's international and now I'm 28. Wasn't the main theme of Gatsby you can't relive the past? Why of course you can old sport.

But instead...
At 7pm my boss sends me to Hollywood, only to call me when I'm halfway there and reroute me to San Pedro...wait did I say San Pedro? I meant Northridge. I finally get home from work at 11pm. I try to go see the Entourage movie by myself at 1140pm at the ArcLight Beach Cities. It's sold out. I end up going home to jerk off. But my Ukranian cleaning guy walks in on me and makes eye contact. He now owns my soul. What the fuck was he doing cleaning my apartment on a Friday at midnight? He thought I was in Mexico and Sarah was at Bungalow. A perfect time to clean.

Fuck hurricanes.

My cool new ATO friend knocks on my door at atound 1030am. He gives me a Corona and an Adderall. 'We're heading to the beach to play a little volleyball. The chicks are going to get henna tattoos or some shit. After a couple hours of quality Top Gun-esque volley, we go join the chicks for a 2 hr sashimi lunch. The guy in charge of our group, wanting to show off, throws down his American Express card and screams something like 'fuck it, I'm drowning in points' we head down the way to another resort that offers surf rentals. We're all hammered but we decide, 'fuck it, why not.'

While on the water struggling to even stay on my board I see a bunch of my friends. Wait...wait. What are you guys doing here? There's a wedding this weekend? An IU wedding? An Alpha Phi wedding? We make plans to meet at Squid Roe later that night and get into some extreme trouble.

Back at our resort, someone has acquired a 12 pack of Smirnoff Ice. The hot tub is in full effect. We decide to bypass dinner in favor of drinking more. Someone decides that a series of cabs will not do for transportation into town and orders a Hummer limo. We dance at Squid Roe until 2 in the morning and then I go to the walk-thru Burger King and order one of everything on the menu. I then decide to take a piss outside and get caught by a federale. But he takes a 5 piece nugget as a bribe and sends me on my way.

But instead...
Feeling super pissed off about not going to Mexico and wanting to do something similarly epic, I pay $500 for scuba diving lessons. The first day goes ok. Afterward I decide to go to the Dodgers/Cardinals game. The Cardinals get beat 22-0, I get a DUI on the way home and contract a rare skin disease.

Fuck hurricanes.

We have so much fun with the wedding party Saturday night that they invite us to the wedding on Sunday. After the wedding, party buses take us to Nowhere Bar for the reception. While at Nowhere Bar we meet Rob Gronkowski who invites us onto a star studded yacht party in the marina. We take the boat out and sip very dry martinis. Leo is there. We become good friends. We exchange numbers. He asks me if I want to come to Italy with him, I tell him I can't go because I have to get back to work tomorrow. He asks me how much I would stand to lose by getting fired. I tell him $10,000. He hands me $9,000 in cash and a $1,000 chip to Le Casino in Monte Carlo. "I guess we'll have to swing through the French Riviera as well."

Leo and I stay in Europe with his entourage until July and then we hit up Yacht Week before coming back to LA for Burning Man. Afterward he puts me in touch with his dentist and his personal trainer, I get a new set of veneers and a six pack and we go on to star in a buddy comedy about playboys traveling the world doing molly. My dream of fame is complete.

But instead...
I wake up in jail and do not get released until 10am. I miss day two of my scuba appointment and lose all of my money. Dejected, I swear off drugs and alcohol forever. I decide to hike the Bridge to Nowhere out in Asuza so I can bungee jump. Bungee jumping is epic right? The weekend won't be a total waste. I'll tell my coworkers I jumped off a bridge on Monday. That will make them understand I have a better life than them right? Moments before I jump I look into my iPhone and say "The only law that matters is gravity." I then fall backward. It looks really cool.

But then my line snaps and I splat on a jagged rock and die.

Fuck hurricanes.

Fuck the Miami Hurricanes.

Fuck this guy. (It's close)

Fuck the color white. Fuck Walter White.

Fuck the character Bianca from 10 things I hate about you. (Bianca looks like Blanca is you accidentally capitalize the i)

I could have met Leo and become famous.

Hurricanes are the worst. Watch this piece of shit not even make landfall.

Monday, June 1, 2015


"You brought a drone?" Asks my friend Kevin.

Ya, why not. Fuck it. I also brought a potato cannon, my golf clubs and this frisbee. Oh and I got some squirt guns and a Four Loko at a Target back in Redlands.

"Wow, you really are a 12 year old."

At this point there is some yelling from the kitchen. Why are all of the boys sitting around drinking while the girls work on lunch? (It's as if they don't understand gender roles)

Yo I'll go grab the drone from the car, you start the grill.

He gets up to do so.

But there is something this person does not know about that Target back in Redlands. Directly under the Four Loko, was something even more sinister...

"God Dammit!"

Staring up at him from the grill is a 22 oz bottle of Watermelon Mimosa flavored Smirnoff Ice.

And that my friends, is how you fire off a weekend in Palm Springs.


A few years ago we discovered that if you can get a group of about 8 people together, you can go to Palm Springs for next to nothing. (Next to nothing in spoiled Millenial speak is roughly $200 plus expenses for the weekend) That $ will get you typically a 4 bedroom house with a pool, hot tub and a bad ass outdoor party area. A little more you can get a tennis court. A lot more you can get a lazy river that acts as a moat. The following will be your guide to dominating Palm Springs on a long weekend, but we know I'm typically an unreliable narrator, so please take this all with a grain of salt.

1. DO NOT leave on a Friday.
Don't even fucking think about it. (Unless it's a long weekend when you have Friday off, then don't leave on Thursday) I know what you're thinking...3 nights of partying instead of 2. It sounds good in theory right? In practice, the two hour drive turns into 6. It doesn't matter that you think you're ducking out of work early, you will not beat traffic. There are about a million gay guys heading there this weekend and they are more successful than you and left work earlier. YOU WILL LOSE THIS TRAFFIC GAME. Also the 3rd day of partying is the day you crash and burn. Better to stay in and go to a movie on Friday night and then get up early Saturday morning, bringing me to my next point.

2. STAY IN the night before.
Or you know, party lightly. I pretty much qualify staying in as any night that you don't do hard drugs or black out, thus going to the Landmark, ordering a 750 ML Fin du Monde (for $11!!!!) and watching Mad Max totally counts as staying in. It also gave us a battle cry for the entire weekend and a name for this blog post. Oh and if you rock a FitBit totally wear it to this movie, I'm pretty sure my heart rate was above 140 the entire time. (More on the FitBit later)

We brought a potato gun, a drone, a Go Pro, a bunch of squirt guns, cards, and a frisbee. Someone crashed the drone and broke it and the Go Pro drowned...but squirt guns are fun as shit and frisbees make surprisingly good trays to snort Adderall XR out of.

On a trip in which you are aggressively taking shots at 7am, mistakes are bound to happen. Perhaps you try to throw one of your friends in the pool and she slips and rips her knee open. I'm not saying that EXACT scenario happened, but I'm saying that there was a point in which I had to use one of my Hawaiian shirts as a tourniquet.

I'm just letting you all one is safe. None of you. This is the summer of Smirnoff. I buy into the long con. I may visit your house for a seemingly innocent reason. "Let's watch Game of Thrones." Secretly I'm going into your activity closet, finding your snowboard bag, and planting a grenade that you will find in 6 months. Opening up the bag at 7am for first tracks? Take a knee bitch, love Dave.

I am terrible at golf, but there is no denying that hitting the links in Palm Springs is a god dam rite of passage. The three inevitabilities of Palm Springs: Golf, Gays and heat. You need to indulge in all three. Plus the golf course is a wonderful place to get loaded. On the first 9 holes I was playing bogey, bogey and a half golf. By the back 9 I was openly trying to pit maneuver the other cart and routinely putting up snowmen (8) on par 3's. Plus it's an excuse to get away from the women for a few hours. Nothing makes you feel like a man like sending the women antique shopping whilst you go bro out with a case of bud heavy and cigars.

Your Palm Springs house will have a pool, it will have a hot tub and it will have a dope grill and a nice outdoor dinner table. USE THE SHIT OUT OF THIS. Grill steaks, make sides, enjoy cocktails whilst you cook. Grilling is fun. Grilling is American. You can party in the pool while you're waiting for the food to be prepared. Grilling is always dope, but when you're in a 2 million dollar palace in the desert with 10 of your best friends, it's maybe the greatest thing in the world.

I will openly admit I blacked out both nights in Palm Springs over MDW. I am nearly certain I smoked a pack of cigarettes, almost positive I charged hundreds of dollars of shots on my corporate card and it's entirely possible that I gave my number out to a few gay guys. The Ace Hotel is amazing. It's like if a trashy version of Bungalow and The Roosevelt had a baby and added men that wanted to take me home. I'm pretty sure I jumped in the pool.

Actually I'm pretty sure I jumped in the pool at Waterloo in the Bahamas, the Roosevelt Pool and the Ace. It's just my thing. When I'm striking out with chicks (or dudes) I just jump into the pool and expect someone to freak out. Oddly they never do.

8a. NOTHING TASTES AS GOOD as skinny feels
The Sunday we were in Palm Springs I was wearing my Fitbit and burned 9000 calories by doing nothing but party. I now understand how I am able to eat and drink like a complete degenerate and still say relatively fit. Let's bust out a little math.

Let's estimate that I had 30 beers Sunday. This is probably a little high, but whatever. At 100 per can, that's 3000 calories. Let's say I had 10 shots of fireball at 108 per. That's 1080.
3000 + 1080 = 4080.

I believe we grilled tacos that night. According to a crude Google search there are 156 calories in a standard taco. But I like big tacos, let's round up to 200. I probably had 3, let's call it 5. That's another 1,000 calories. We're now at 5080 calories consumed.

How many calories in a Smirnoff Ice? 256...256??? 2.5x a coors light. Let's say I got iced three times and maybe drank half of one just for kicks. Call it a thousand...


Oh there was also a giant tub of flavor blasted goldfish that I ate at least half of. 140 calories per serving...28 servings per box. (*.5) = 14 * it another 2,000.

8,080...9000 > 8080

So even if we take the highest most ludicrous estimates of my consumption that day, I'm still walking ahead WELL below net zero. Do you know how skinny you bitches can get if you burn 1000 more calories than you eat every day?

NEW LA FAD's called fucking raging.

9. THE HOT TUB has no curfew
The Ace will close at 2. They will send you home. An older gay man or a cougar will invite you up to their hotel room to "listen to music." I advise against that. Go home. There is beer in that fridge. You know the people that went back early? They did that so they could have loud sex without worrying about waking up the rest of the house. They're done now. Wake their asses up and send them to the hot tub. If you go to bed before 5am when you are on vacation with nothing to do in the morning, you are a failure.

Oh you didn't know? One of the best parts of Palm Springs is that you go there to literally do nothing. There are no fresh tracks to get in the morning. No wake boarding to be done before the lake gets crowded. Sure you can golf, once. There is a gondola. I hear the hikes are adequate. We passed some ATV rentals on the way in. But you can also sit around and do whatever the fuck you want. Palm Springs houses are the lake houses for LA people. But LA people typically work 60-80 hours a week, so they drive to the desert to relax. My version of relaxing involves taking shots of Fireball with breakfast, if you prefer to lay out and read a magazine, hey man you do you.

Old Jewish people and middle aged gay men have figured it out. Palm Springs is the shit. Follow those ten simple rules, acquire a few friends, and you too can have a good time in Riverside County.