Thursday, September 24, 2015

Party in the First

First-degree murder is any intentional murder that is willful and premeditated with malice aforethought

I’ve noticed as I’ve grown older there has been a distinct move away from the anticipatory joy of getting obliterated.

“I can’t wait to get fucking BLASTED at this pregame, do a metric ton of coke, rip it up at the club and then after party until the sun rises!”

has been replaced by…

“I was thinking of having a mellow dinner with friends, great wine and fun conversation.”

The truth is that the two above people often have a similar night. You can put out some shrimp cocktail at a pregame and call it a dinner party. You can finish an 8ball and discuss world geo-politics. You can smoke cigarettes on a patio with strangers until 7 o clock in the morning and just pretend you’re acting European.

The difference is intent. Trying to smooth down the implications of your partying is a natural progression as you age. There is an inherent shame in getting fucked up just for the hell of it. It seems irresponsible and dare I say, immature. Lots of people don’t aspire to be either of those things.

I am not most people.

I committed party in the first degree this weekend.

This is the story…

While it may not be apparent at first glance, I am a fairly well rounded individual with lots of hobbies. I like to cycle, I’ve run a few triathlons, I play tennis and I just started scuba diving.

Do you know what each of these activities have in common? The aforementioned sports are populated by wealthy people. If I ever want to marry up into high society and knock up some chick (this is the white person equivalent of an anchor baby) I figure it best to involve myself in pastimes that put me in close proximity of them.

5am Saturday I depart for Laguna Beach. I stayed in on Friday it was the only responsible thing I did all weekend. Literally my responsibility stopped at 5:01am, because despite staying in, I was tired AF. What do you do when you’re tired and have a 60 mile drive ahead? You snort an Addy bomb obviously. Oh what’s that you say? It’s important to be able to breathe through your nose when scuba diving? Why clog it with orange disco dust? Because I am a savage, and I routinely get away with my personal failings.

But whatever, I go on two dives, I’m in a 7mm suit, it’s 90 degrees out and after I’m done I am ready to die, BUT I PRESS ON there is pregaming to be done before the USC tailgate. I get to Manhattan Beach around 11am where I am issued 40 mg of Ritalin (did not know it still existed) and 6 shots of Jack Daniel’s. It’s a good start. Working a good buzz we hop in an Uber to University Park.

2pm: My jaw is moving back and forth like a crack addict and my lips are severely chapped. I arrive at a buddy’s tailgate and have my first run in with KIRKLAND LIGHT. Have you ever heard this before?
“Kirkland vodka is actually just Grey Goose re-packaged”
Me too! Kirkland vodka is great! That said, Kirkland Beer is actually the skunked urine of an aging alcoholic repackaged. It is that bad. I would not advise bonging it, especially 3 times in a row.

4pm: As the tailgate winds down and people head to the game I start to wander around the field poaching half empty cases of beer. You know the homeless people that look for cans that they turn in for .10 cents? I assume that’s what I look like during this quest. I find about 12 beers and a half empty bottle of Fireball, this can’t be sanitary. I also found an abandoned ice luge at this juncture in the day, I proceeded to destroy it.

530p: The people I came with have gone to the game, but new friends have arrived. We go to a bar at USC called ‘The Lab.” I’m probably 25 drinks deep at this point. Did I mention I have a concert at LA Live tonight? I’m going to see OAR, this entire day is serving as my pregame.

8p: LOL, USC lost. We ubered to Hollywood to go to ‘Good Times at Davey Wain’s’ This bar isn’t really that cool. You go in through a fake refrigerator and order beers out of an old Winnebago out back. At this point, I am beginning to crash. I knew I should have planned ahead and ordered drugs Friday night. I begin to loudly complain about my lack of cocaine, one of my friends says he thinks he has a solution and offers me a giant bag of Molly. Great, this is a good start.

9pm: I am back downtown now at LA Live, a homeless man outside asks me for a dollar. “I’ll give you 20 dollars if you have some coke.” He thinks for a moment. Buying cocaine from a homeless man is never a good idea, but I was pretty far in the bag at this point. I had been drinking for 10 hours and had at least 3 more to go.
“I don’t have any coke, but I’ll take $20 for this bag of shrooms.” He holds up an eighter of shrooms, I had him my 20 and ingest the whole bag in one gulp. Am I the only weirdo that actually likes the taste?

9:30pm: I am in the front row and OAR just opened with Untitled. I am rolling my face off and just dumped a beer on my head. I can’t tell if everyone in my immediate vicinity is loving me or that is just the overconfidence induced by the shrooms.

10:11pm: Just spilled my fourth beer of the evening, then slipped and fell on the floor. I swear the lead singer shot a concerned look my way. The chick that was dancing next to me just told me to open my mouth and poured beer in the direction of my mouth while I lay on the floor. This is the best night ever.

12am: Ok the concert ended and I’m heading to WeHo now to see some DJ or something. My friends checked with the bouncer to make sure it was ok for me to show up in shorts and sandals smelling like the inside of a dumpster.

12:21am: “Are you Dave?”
-Yes. How could you tell?
“Your friends said you’re on a lot of drugs and would probably be sweating, they’re in the back.”
I go to the back and immediately take 5 tequila shots and this is when I remember that I have to go back to Laguna again at 5am to go scuba diving again in the morning to complete my certification.
Whatever, I’ll just uber home with my friends and sleep for a couple of hours before I go.

1:38am: Lights just went on. I’m having trouble standing, also remembered my car is not in Venice. It’s in Manhattan Beach. Fuck.

2:10am: I am in an uber with 3 chicks. 2 of them are feeling me, one is definitely not. I just played Bieber, Taylor Swift and Katy Perry in a row…she wants to put on Tame Impala, I told her to go fuck herself, now she’s trying to get me thrown out of the uber.

2:41am: Well, now I’m about a mile from my car. I got kicked out of the uber after I solicited a threesome from 2 of the girls in the back seat and called the other girl a cunt. It’s ok, I had to pee.

3:30am I found my car, time to sleep for 30 minutes…sometimes I have snacks in my glove box, I’m really hoping for a bag of Cheetos or someth—OMG an old half gram that I hid that one time I got pulled over in Silver Lake. Christmas has come early!

4:30am I haven’t been able to sleep but I did listen to the entire soundtrack of High School Musical 2. What happened to Ashley Tisdale, are there any nude pictures of her floating around on the internet. I better right that down on my to do list for later. I might as well drive down to Laguna now, I’m probably sober…

I got to Laguna and did my last two certification dives. It was difficult and I also sliced my hand open on a piece of coral. It’s crazy watching yourself bleed underwater. I was positive a shark was coming to eat me but he did not. After the dive, I took my test and miraculously passed! I’m a certified scuba diver, yay! Now if I can just get home without dying, everything should be cool. Have I mentioned I start a new job tomorrow?

I get back to Venice around 2pm, roughly 32 hours after I woke up Saturday morning. I’ve had a long day (and a half) I snuggle up with a blanket, Xanax and a bottle of Dimeatapp, I feel as if I’ve earned it. No more alcohol, no more shrooms, no more molly, no more cocaine. Straight living for me for the next 5ish days. I’m going to wake up and exercise, I’m going to read up on world news and write inspired content. Tomorrow when I wake up I am going to grab the world by the balls and assert my place in it. I have been under achieving, it’s time to fuck shit up…

Until Saturday! There is talk of going to a water park. Water parks are fun right?

What if we get some edibles involved? What if we sneak in a flash to raging waters? What if we make purple drank? Let’s do it. I party with explicit intent and I should warn you that I am a repeat offender; I typically get away with it, just like a rapist with a Conn Smythe trophy.

Tuesday, September 8, 2015


The last thing I needed after a bender in Europe that consisted of Hulk Hogan bachelor parties and xanax fueled debauchery through the streets of London...I mean the absolute last thing I needed after going to this fucking wedding was to continue drinking.

It's been 30 days since I last worked in any regular capacity and I've done some expensive traveling and some extensive partying. Sure Labor Day Weekend is supposed to be one last salute to summer before we become heavily entrenched in football season and the looming inevitability of winter. But this is LA, every day is summer. And I don't even have a fucking job, why am I getting jazzed up for a three day weekend? Every week is a three day weekend when you're unemployed. Hell it's a 7 day weekend, I could start drinking right now and there would be limited consequences.

Lots of people were out of town, most of my friends had prior commitments. Oh, and my starting account balance was $112.68 Thursday afternoon. This is the story of my easy, low key Labor Day Weekend told one dollar at a time.

$112.68 Well it's Thursday night and there are only two pier concerts left. Everyone on my group chat is talking about the cheeses they are going to bring, there has been no mention of alcohol. I know I talked about staying soberish this weekend, but I mean come on...going to the pier and not drinking is like wearing a condom during sex. I'll get 2 (cheap bottles) so there is at least a little bit of wine flowing at our picnic. End Balance: $104.71

$104.71 I dropped a bottle while getting out of the car. God dammit. Now I'm going to show up with one cheap ass bottle of wine and look like a fucking shmuck. The homeless man that lives in my alley offered to help me clean it up, but I ran away because then he'll want something. I just sent a snap of the broken bottle and no one in my group laughed. They must be pissed, I better get another bottle. The liquor store by me doesn't have any cheap wine...I'm already over budget for the night. Ending balance: $92.80

$92.80 So my entire group brought at least one bottle of wine to the pier, WAY TO BURY THE LEDE GUYS. Are there really people that get more excited about our varied cracker selections than they do about the wine? I didn't have to get that second bottle...and now we are all extremely drunk, so drunk that we go to Big Dean's, it's ok beers are cheapish here. I got one round and my ending balance was...$72.80.

$72.80 Jesus I don't know what the fuck happened to me last night. It's not Friday morning and I am drenched in sweat. I now remember when I got home I started texting ex-girlfriends song lyrics and posting Wicked videos on social media. What is it with my black out affection for musicals, my phone is telling me I played "One Day More" seven times at 3 o clock in the morning. I am hungry now, but I just spent a quarter of my money at a stupid Jazz concert. Time to walk to Ralph's and buy 2 things of ramen, one for lunch, one for dinner. End Balance: $72.10

$72.10 I wrote a pilot! I am proud of myself! I wrote an entire fucking pilot about that god damn wedding and it only took me three hours. I deserve a beer. I'm going to Waterfront for Happy Hour. And guess what? We only stayed for one beer and someone bought it for me! Success! Ending balance $72.10.

$72.10b Turned out one beer wasn't enough. We decided to do a BYOB dinner afterward. Mao's is cheap as shit and you don't HAVE to drink to go there. But going to a BYOB restaurant and not drinking is like having sex with a condom, I'll get us a couple bottles of shitty wine. End balance $58.73

$58.73 Dinner was fun as always and even better? It was like $5 a person. God Bless you Mao's Chinese Kitchen. End balance $53.73.

$53.73 So I could have just called it a night after Mao's, but my neighbor was drinking with 2 other girls, obviously I stopped by for a drink and THEN we decided to go out for a night cap. A guy it hitting on one of my friends, uh oh. Now she has told this large Mexican that the two of us are dating. He moves onto one of the other girls. She tells him she is also dating me. He moves onto the third, she is also dating me. "What the fuck is going on?" It's Venice man, we're weird here. He still thinks he's being fucked with, I hand him a shot of tequila as a peace offering? He accepts. He now tells all of his buddies to 'check out this pimp with the three hot bitches.' These Lawndale imports are fascinated by me and buy me shots all night long. "How you do it homes?' 'You must have a huge dick.' 'You rich or something?' 'Tell me your secrets!' Um...I listen, it's all about listening boys. End Balance: $37.21

$37.21 It's now Saturday morning and I'm hungover again. Why? Why did I drink a bunch of tequila with a bunch of idiots from East LA that took the bus into Venice to pray on white girls? Because I am a savage with no self control, that's why. Anyway, we are going tailgating today at USC, yay! Obviously you don't need to drink in order to hang out on campus, but tailgating without alcohol is like having sex with a condom. After train tickets, a fifth of fireball (split 2 ways) and a stick of beef jerky (my meal for the day) ending balance is $25.20.

$25.20 I just drank a bottle of Fireball, I bonged two beers at the ZBT tailgate, they are asking me about ZBTs from IU, how do I tell him politely that I didn't kick it with a lot of jews? I shotgunned a beer and almost threw up. I feel unwell. But we're downtown, this is rare, this is fun! Let's go to a bar. We go to a little spot called Public School downtown. Looks expensive, I was lobbying for a shitty hole in the wall. Two microbrews later...$5.00

$5.00 It's now Sunday morning, all hope is lost. I have enough money in money in my account for 15 things of ramen. A check is supposed to arrive on Tuesday, maybe Wednesday. That will pull me out of my dire financial straights. I'm also realizing that I was a tad more intoxicated than I thought last night, I can't find my wallet. For some reason I find it in the freezer, my cards are stuck in it. I shake everything out of my wallet and a small miracle occurs. Laying on the counter is a $25 Kroger gift card. I'm fucking back baby. I go to Kroger and pick up 2 bottles of $12 wine and 3 things of ramen.
Ending balance: $5.00 cash Gift Card $0.02

$5.00b I roll up to a Labor Day eve bbq with my wine in tow. People seem pleased with my selection. We drink and eat salmon, life is awesome! We play cards against humanity, people make insensitive jokes, life is awesome! We find an old Nintendo 64 and play Smash Bros, life is awesome! I leave at 2 o clock in the morning and expect to go home and go straight to bed. WRONG. At 2:30am I get a text from an old coworker. "I'm outside your house in a car, get in." And you know what? Because I'm a fucking idiot, I go outside and get in! He takes me to a Culver City rave, I don't drink anything more but he slips me a molly. I dance my face off and lose 10 pounds in water weight. I make my buddy stop at a 7-11 on the way home so I can get a water. This is at 8am. Ending Balance: $4.00

$4.00 Well it's Monday now, around 2pm. Everyone is enjoying their hard earned day off, I am depleting one of my last tangible assets, more ramen noodles. I think I'll just sit here all day and watch US Open. That sounds fun, maybe I'll do some laundry and clean my pathetic excuse for an apartment. "Come to Hermosa.' Hmm...This seems like a fairly innocent text, I have been sitting on my ass all day. I grab a bike and roll down to Hermosa Beach for their annual Labor Day party.  I look fucking ridiculous in an American Flag bandana, a Kilroy's shirt and compression shorts. I arrive to a Stevie Nicks cover band just as a 60 year old woman croons "Landslide" everyone there is my parents' age and they are dancing like no one is watching. I hope I'm that cool when I'm older. Nearby an Ohio State game starts, I pop into the bar for a beer. It's Happy Hour, only 3 bucks, I can even tip this guy. Ending Balance: $0.00

$0.00 I'm now riding my bike back to Venice as the summer sun dips behind the Santa Monica mountains one last time. Thus closes another chapter in my life, a chaotic summer that will be firmly rooted in nostalgia for me one day. I pull up to my apartment and take one look at my thrashed kitchen and the landfill of dirty clothes populating my room. I consider spending the evening getting my life together, preparing for the challenges of the week ahead, but I long for that sweet sweet ramen. Tomorrow the beaches will be empty, the tourists will be gone and I will still be unemployed, plenty of time to do some dishes then. But for now I'm going to lay on this couch, throw on Mad Max for the 3rd time this week and eat a bowl of 33 cent noodles. Man I hope that check shows up tomorrow.

Tuesday, September 1, 2015

Prodigal Son

I'm starting this at 11:15 AM PDT on Tuesday, September 1st. It has been roughly 55 hours since I finished my weekend by smoking a blunt in Smallwood at 5 Sunday morning.

I'm still not ok. Far from it in fact.

And to be honest, I don't even know where to begin. This will probably be my most read post of all time and I fear I will fold under the pressure. So what do I do? Do I water this down knowing adults will be reading it after the husband of the groom directed everyone at the wedding to this website for a recap? Do I service my long time fans with a brutally unflinching account of exactly what happened?

It's a tough call. Relationships could end over what I'm about to write. Jobs could be lost.

I suppose I'll do my best to honestly recap the weekend; the good, the bad and the bloody.

That said, let's establish a few ground rules before moving forward...

If you have a significant other that went to the wedding without you...I strongly recommend you bail now. I'm not going to name names, but it's probably best you just go the rest of your life thinking we all drank and had a good time. I'm serious. This will not go well for you.

Adults (40+) without a sense of humor...pull the rip cord. Please. If you don't think that casual drug use and wanton alcohol abuse are acceptable on special occasions, this is not for you. You are not safe here. Please seek shelter here. 

If you have that weird empathy disorder I read about on NPR, this post will likely give you PTSD. This link will take you to some cute kittens.

Ok, last chance to exit through the gift shop. The word 'f*ck' will be present throughout. My grammar is suspect at best. This post will make Sunday night's VMAs look like this.

Whatever man, you've been warned.

Holy fuck. What a weekend.

November 11th last year the official 'Save the Date' email went out. What immediately followed was an epic group frat text that went something like this...

-Did you guys get the email?


-We're going back to college!!!

-This is going to be insanity.

-We are all so fucked...

For anyone that doesn't know my association to the bride and groom. Jake and I were the same year in the fraternity. We lived together Senior year, we moved to Chicago together and moved into a three story party palace together...

And when I say together, I together, in the same room. For two years in Chicago Jake and I more or less lived in a master bedroom in bunk beds. Once Holly and Jake started dating seriously, she essentially lived with us too. Quarters were cramped, sometimes we would fight, but we were 22 with a three story brownstone on one of the most expensive streets in Chicago. We had a pool table, a steam room, a sauna and most importantly a deaf neighbor.

Also along for the ride were Hunter and 9 other roommates that cycled through the 3rd bedroom.

It can be tough to start a career when your roommates routinely stay up until 5 o'clock in the morning on a Wednesday.

I was the first to leave Chicago after I was fired from my job for writing this blog. After I took the severance they gave me and burned through it in a matter of three months, I packed my bags and moved to LA.

I continued to come back and hang with my fraternity brothers in Chicago, kick it on the couch at our old place, but one day HSBC ate a fat dick and let everyone know they would be transferred out of America.

First Hunter, then Jake The Burling house that had been used as party central for three years was no more. The entire time we had lived there, we never locked the door. On any given night anywhere between 3 and 8 people would be sleeping on a combination of couches, air mattresses and floors. Paul preferred our walk-in closet. 1618 Burling was the heart and soul of our crew in Chicago. We were idiots, we would throw couches off the 2nd floor balcony. We would sleep in our front lawn if we locked ourselves out (that door is supposed to be unlocked dammit!) We would set fire to old Christmas trees. We would call in sick on Thursdays and go back to the same bar from the night before.

Morons...all of us. But we were morons together.

When that house fell out of the crew people started to grow up a bit. Jake got a place in Gold Coast with Holly. Hunter moved to London, a bunch of people moved to 1 or 2 bedroom apartments in Wicker Park. Hell, some people even bought places. Our early 20's were over. It was one of the sad inevitabilities of growing up. Don't be sad because it's over, be happy because it happened.

So when that email came out in November, I lost my fucking mind. We were all going to be back together for the first time in probably 4 years.

Would it be different, had everyone changed? Or do those relationships you make in your formative years last a lifetime...

Thursday morning I picked up our buddy Ben at the Indy airport.

"Paul isn't going to make it, delayed in Philly."

Learning point: Take the red-eye the night before, you can work a full day and not worry about missing out.

We drove down to Bloomington and immediately noticed the face lift the city has received in our absence. Where small mom and pop stores once thrived are now mid rise hotels with the names Hyatt, Marriott, Hilton. We drove a quick lap of the campus, yelled at some chicks, heckled the ATOs, it was good to be back.
Our Senior House, Shingles. I got arrested there once.
Immediately upon arriving at the Hyatt Place a cheerful student sends us to the fifth floor. It's 11am and a full pregame is underway. I see a guy carrying a case of champagne and a 1000 Watt amp down the hall, I follow him to a room full of guys rolling joints while facing Fireball shots.

Happy Bachelor Party!

25 of us board a bus heading to boats. About half of the RSVP'd people had to drop out last minute because, well we're all frat guys and that makes us flakey as fuck.

I helped take inventory of the booze, 15 cases of beer, 10 handles, one case of champagne, 30 joints, a dozen cigars, a carton of cigs (probably why I still have no voice) an unknown amount of blow and one Turkey sandwich.

"It's not enough, we need to stop!" Proclaimed the best man.

Thank God, I thought to myself. If we're out there 4 hours, we're going to need at least 10 Turkey sandwiches, maybe some Pringles?

"I'm getting out at Kroger to get 5 more cases and 5 more handles."

For those of you keeping score at home our new total was .8 cases of beer per person, .6 handles per person, 1.2 joints per person and .04 Turkey Sandwiches per person.

If you aren't good at fractions, that is roughly 20 beers,  21 shots, 1 joint and 0 to eat per person.

Ya, nothing had changed.

We board the boats and do what 25 dudes and no chicks do on boars. There was heavy drinking, there was smoking, there were back flips and there was a lot of pissing off the top deck.

No one drowned.

No one got a BUI.

What is that off in the distance? Oh, the bachelorette party. They have a boat too? Great.

We then did what 25 dudes and 25 chicks do on boats. Tied up...poorly. Lots of high risk tosses of glass handles, some drinking games, some cigars, and people trying to surf down the water slide.

Don't do that. That has to be responsible for at least half of my unknown bruises.

No one drowned.

No one got a BUI.

But as you could imagine there was lots of chanting, LOTS of drinking and not much eating. But that's ok. We have dinner after boats, that should sop up some of the booze floating around in there.

On the bus I blacked out, I came to with a start at a strangely familiar place, but not the Farm. Holy fuck had I blacked out all of dinner?

"Where are we?"

-Oh! You're awake?

", when is dinner. How did I get here."

-We carried you in the front, they didn't want to let you in, but then they saw who you were and we told them it was a bachelor party and we threw you into a booth for a while. Dinner is cancelled.


-Ya, we took the dinner money and bought these 5 bottles. This is Kilroy's, new back, take a shot.

I guess there will be no eating today.

Apparently, all of the people that had missed boats had made an executive decision to get bottles at Kilroy's the resulting aftermath...

and then before Sports, things like this.

and things like "Hey Moeller, I just bought 20 shots for $60...they're basically giving it away, here take 4."

I woke up on the floor.

0 Casualties
0 Bridesmaids
0 Undergrads

Thursday was a bro night, but it wouldn't stay that way for long.



Oh God, it's the police, we must have killed someone last night.

I begrudgingly stand up, open the door to our hotel room. A whiskey bottle is shoved in my face.

I guess it's not the police. It's Jake.

"Kyle passed out in an alley behind Sports. He lost his phone. Does that count as a casualty?"

Well he made it to Sports, and he didn't go to jail...I'll give him a half point.

"We found Al sleeping on the floor of Jimmy John's, half of a Turkey Tom in his mouth. We carried him home. What about that?"

He didn't get arrested?

"No," Jake's phone buzzes. "Kyle, it's your girlfriend, she just ran find my iphone. Apparently it's still in the alley."

Zero casualties, but that sounds like two close calls.

"Ok Moeller wake up Paul and Knox, come to the lobby in 10 we're going to Crazy Horse."

I close the door. I hope there is a back exit for me to sneak out. I'm going golfing.


After shooting about a 60 on 9 holes and smashing a Datwich, I make it back to the hotel. There is a note for me on the bed.

"Stop being a pussy and take these. Come to Crazy Horse."

There is a red pill and a blue pill. In the Matrix, Neo had to chose, but I wasn't in the choosing mood so I took both. I would later find out it was an Adderall and a Xanax. You know what happens in weather when you combine a warm front and a cold front? Ya taking an upper and a downer is essentially the same. I walked across the street to find the entire wedding party waiting for busses to the rehearsal dinner. I think I took 12 tequila shots in 30 minutes. This was going to be a good night.

We board busses to Oliver Winery around 4pm. The wedding has rented out the entire winery. Inside are tasting flights, outside wine by the glass.

We arrived at around 4:30, by 4:45 an usher had already been sent home. By 6, most of the wedding party had been cut off. By 7 there were questionable activities taking place in the bathroom.

During the welcoming toast, the groom's father greeted the wedding party and the out of town guests (which was everyone) and invited everyone to read this blog.

He would later parade me around the dinner as if I were some sort of celebrity. Really I'm just an unemployed writer in LA with a blog that averages maybe 700 hits a post. He even tried to pimp me off to a distant cousin. Maybe I just imagined it but I could have sworn he winked at me and mouthed 'don't worry, she's legal.'

I guess now would be a good time to give a breakdown of the wedding party and my initial thoughts on them...

You have the Phi Psis, large portions of pledge classes from graduating classes '08, '09 and '10. We all lived in Chicago at some point and I described most of what we're about in the intro.

Then there were the Michigan dudes. I didn't know much about them going in, but I figured they couldn't be as out of their minds as us. I was wrong. These guys are fucking legends. I would find out later that one of them fell off a table at Thursday night...on his face. He put two teeth through his fucking lip and still managed to allegedly take home a bridesmaid.

On the female side we had a mash up of DZs from Indiana and friends from Southern Indiana. Conventional wisdom would say that most of these girls were much more reserved and wholesome than their savage counterparts. This was not necessarily true, but more on that later.

Oh and this entire wedding was like 80% kids. If you are planning on getting married any time soon, leave the neighbors at home. Bob from work can sit this one out. I think one of the reasons this wedding was so dope is because like everyone I know was there. I don't know Bob from work. Sorry Bob.

One last thing, the rehearsal dinner was fucking gorgeous. Do a Bloomington wedding, do the dinner at Oliver, your friends will be talking about it for the rest of their lives.

I don't remember much after the dinner, we went to Sports. We walked to the front of the line and just said "We're in the wedding" and were able to cut a 45 minute line. If you're ever worried about getting into a place, just wear a suit and drop that line, it worked for us all weekend.

The big takeaway from Friday night is the table next to us was occupied by Mark fucking Cuban. I really called my shot last week. If you see him at the bar moving forward, I'll go ahead and let you pictures in the bar, you'll have to step outside.
Best man Kevin and Cuban at Bloomington airport.

My last memory from Friday is Paul convincing me to do a stuntman...don't worry, that's salt.

But allegedly after this incident the entire wedding party bought cases of champagne and had a squirt gun fight. Miraculously none of us were kicked out for this. Someone even gave me a champagne shower with Fireball, I surprisingly didn't go blind but my hair was so sticky in the morning you could crack it in half.

I didn't even make it back to the right room Friday night, but I do know that we deemed ourselves too drunk to walk one city block, hence an email from Uber the next day telling us about our 45 second ride.

Casualties: 0
Bridesmaids: ?
Undergrads: 0


I woke up on the floor again, I was in my LA roommate's room. I realize in a panic that I have 45 minutes to be in my wedding suit for pictures. I'm not wearing a shirt.

Fuck it.

I sprint back to the Hyatt from the Springhill suites in nothing but a pair of Grey pants. I had lost my shoes (at Sports) but thankfully not been given drugs by some Jewish kids at Smallwood afterward. So I get back to the Hyatt, there is another not for me.

"Stop being a pussy. Take these. Come to Crazy Horse." There are 2 red pills and two blue pills. Neo only had to take one red or one blue in The Matrix but I was on the 3rd day of an epic bender and hadn't lost a phone or wallet yet.

I take all 4 and walk across the street to Crazy Horse. I get funny looks from everyone in the lobby along the way. Something happened here last night, something I don't know about.

I get to the bar and find out we'll be drinking Moscow Mule's today. Don't spill on your suit.

The inside of the bar looked like a middle school dance. All of the guys on one side, girls on the other, no mingling.

Rumors swirled.

"I hear we're getting kicked out of the hotel."

"Holly's brother puked on someone's face."

"The best man doesn't have a suit."

"The Acacia kid was wandering through the hall naked blasting a speaker and knocking on random doors asking for cocaine."

"One of the bridesmaids was seen walk-of-shaming from the Courtyard."

"Winks took 300 milligrams of Vivance yesterday, he hasn't been seen since."

Hospitals were called, jails were called. Both gave similar answers.

"We've received several calls asking if we have anyone from the wedding, we don't."

The bride walks into the bar all smiles, things can't be that bad if she is still smiling.

"Get on the bus, it's time for pictures."

We roll over to the sample gates where a professional photographer has us do all the classic poses. The girls all look gorgeous. The guys are all sweating profusely, 48 hours of sin seeping out of their pores. And then it happened, the stern talking to we'd been dreading all morning.

"Guys, there were some complaints last night. Three people vomited, a couple was found having sex at the indoor pool, there is blood all over the elevator and someone broke into the hotel bar last night and stole 4 bottles of gin."

How can they prove it was us? Asks the best man, who did lose his suit.

"We are literally the only people staying there. Well us and Mark Cuban. Get your shit together guys. Remember it isn't about you,"

After those sage words of wisdom we decide that it would be best to go to Kilroy's for a shot before getting back on the bus. Clearly we took the words to heart.

Once on the bus, one of the Detroit guys dishes everyone a bottle of champagne, mind you we still have 2 hours until the wedding. I would later find out one of the bottles was spiked with Xanax, one was spiked with molly. I don't know who drank what but there was at least one person rolling through the entire ceremony.

The wedding venue was a farm on the outskirts on Bloomington, there was a 2 hour cocktail hour for the wedding party BEFORE the wedding. Looking back this may have been a mistake. I stole a golf cart and took it for a joy ride before the vows had even taken place.

One of the usher's had a nervous breakdown while waiting for the ceremony to begin, the entire male side of the wedding was approaching sloppy status. I'd like to give a big shout out to our bridesmaids for holding us together, if not for their strength someone certainly would have face planted on their walk down the aisle.

The ceremony itself was beautiful and extraordinary. Holly looked incredible in her dress and Jake managed to not fuck anything up. Half of the bridal party was in tears, let's attribute that to the power of love and not more nefarious factors.

Immediately after the ceremony, one of Holly's brothers somehow sliced his hand in half and had to be taken to the emergency room. After that, someone gave us a shit ton of sparklers and allowed us to pick the new couple up in chairs. This seems dangerous, especially since I personally ate shit between 5 and 6 times on that dance floor. Hey, dress shoes can be slippery.

We did a dinner, both bride and groom's father gave splendid speeches. Kevin and Vogel crushed it as well, things seemed to be calming down. This was a wedding after all, not a contest to see who could commit the most debauchery.

A band kept the party rockin' for a few hours after dinner. We danced, we laughed, I think I had a permanent smile glued to my face. Busses arrived to take us back to campus, what a weekend.

But wait...there's more. The busses actually took us back to Sports, where Jake's sister and her boyfriend (Holla at Moose and Bear) did a two hour DJ set. I had been pretty confident up to this point in the evening that I had a chick coming home with me, but then M&B played "Where are U now" and I had to climb a table to dance on it.

Of course I slipped and fell off said table because there is only so much abuse the human body can take. I cracked my head open a little bit but instead of sending me home, Jake's cousin handed me a bottle of Grey Goose and told me to take a sip for the pain.

God I love these guys.

At 6am, I got back to my room. One casualty. Still an unknown amount of Bridesmaids and students bedded. Maybe we were just too fucked up for hook ups this weekend, not that there's anything wrong with that.


Well somehow even though I made it back to my room without blacking out I wake up on the Goddam floor again. Our room smells like a decomposing AIDS body, but I have more to worry about. The crushing anxiety of Sunday is hitting me like a MAC truck, all I want to do is crawl into a hole and die.

I survey the damage of the room: used condoms, empty beer cans, a sign that was stolen off of the wall at Sports. When the fuck did this happen? It looks like a grenade landed in here.

Somehow I am suckered into going to Crazy Horse one more time. This time I am assured it will be for food only. I begrudgingly accept.

Of course 3 bottles of wine are ordered, I have to fucking drive today, but whatever.

"Holly, Jake, thanks so much for having was the greatest weekend of my life."

Everyone around the table nods in agreement, I chime in.

"Ya, you know I wasn't quite sure how it was going to go. It seems like it was more of a bro weekend with not that many scandalous hook-ups."

"Lol are you serious Moeller? I think everyone except for you in the wedding party got laid last night. And you probably would have if you wouldn't have been the drunkest one there."

"Oh shit is anyone mad?"

As it turns out almost every male and female got it in on Saturday night. Some were scandalous, some weren't, but I think we'll leave the details of that in Bloomington. Although I will tip my cap to the Michigan guys, I didn't know you had it in you.

On my way out of Bloomington, I make the guys stop at Buffalouie's with me. I'm taking them back to my house in Geist so I don't have to go through this dark day alone. I come crashing down to Earth on the drive home. Depression sets in, I don't want to go back to the real world. I don't have a flight back to LA. My account appears to be negative and I'll be leaving a lion's share of the people from the weekend behind.

"When is the next one guys?"

I don't know, but we'll do it again soon, right?

Probably not. This weekend will never be recreated. Jake and Holly caught us all at the perfect time in our lives to come back for an all out bender. They had the perfect cross section of friends and open minded parents that allowed this weekend to be the greatest weekend of my life.

I'm sure I will see most of these people again, well some of them again. I would like to see them all, but that's not how life works. Even if there were to be another Bloomington wedding, circumstances change. Some one will have a kid. Some one will fall out of touch and not be invited, someone could die. It's sad, but that's life. This just happened to be a seminal moment in my life, in the bride and grooms lives that can never be repeated. It's just a memory that will live fondly in my mind for the rest of my life.

Don't be sad that it's over, be happy that it happened. That's supposed to be something you tell someone after a tough break up, or a major life crisis, but for me it will be the people I had the pleasure of spending this weekend with. You will always occupy a major place in my heart.

I have lived in LA now for 4+ years. I have new friends out here, I have moved on to a certain extent, but truth be told it will never be the same as it was with us. You are the people I spent the craziest and fondest years of my life with. I appreciate and love the shit out of each and every one of you.

We've been through some shit, and we all came out mostly OK on the other side.

Best of luck to everyone, I hope we don't spend another 4 years without kicking it, but if we do, know that I'll be thinking about you from time to time. Thanks to the Seidmans and the Begles for throwing the best party of all time. And to Jake and Holly, it goes without saying, but you two are the fucking best.

Final statistics:
No one died.
A bunch of people had sex.
Everyone had fun.

It's now 2:30PM PDT on Tuesday, September 1st. It's been roughly 58 hours since I ended my weekend and I've got some shit to deal with, but I think I'll be all right.

Ed. Note: If you would like to see pictures of the stunning bride and passable groom at the ceremony please check out Jake or Holly's facebook. The pictures of the ceremony are dope.