Winning your wrap party

"Wait until they see how awesome I am…"

This was my initial thought. I was convinced that once people knew saw me operate at a party they would want to make all of my dreams come true. Look how fucking cool this dude is. He has killer dance moves. He just taught me a great drinking game. I better promote him.

No, my entire plan for success in a career as a screenwriter hinged on people enjoying drinking with me.

That plan had flaws.

My first wrap party wasn't even really a party. It was a Happy Hour on a Thursday night after filming. I proceeded to black out and be sent home by this guy.

My second wrap party was at a bowling alley. Again I blacked out. I tried to make out with Minnie Driver. I used some especially lewd dance moves with out 78 year old Script Supervisor. I split my suit pants and I lost my shoes. I'm pretty sure cocaine was involved.

The next day women wouldn't look me in the eye and the guys on the crew started calling me Superman not because I was cool but because I was so drunk I looked like a quadriplegic.

The girl that I was kinda sorta seeing immediately cut things off and essentially said "I realized who you actually are and it wasn't the guy you were pretending to be around me."

Ouch.

But whatever, I'm sure there are chicks out there capable of loving an unapologetic bro.

I went as a plus one to a couple Bones wrap parties and not wanting to make a total asshole out of myself, I restrained myself a bit. I met some people, got some good contacts and actually had a few job offers come out of it.

For my third wrap party, I finally figured it out. I brought a date, drank heavily, but not embarrassingly, talked to all of the people that I wanted to and then I left a little early to go have sex with my date.

The next day at work everyone complimented how hot my date was, how much fun they had with me and no one compared me to Christopher Reeve.

I have mastered the wrap party. And you can too. Just follow this simple step by step guide and avoid the mistakes of my youth.

WRAP PARTY 101 - Work gathering basics

So you've been spending 60 hours a week with a group of people for 9 months and you're finally going to get together on a weekend night to let the hair down a little. Sounds fun, right? WRONG. Wrap parties can be stressful as fuck. If you make an ass out of yourself in front of your bosses they will not soon forget it. 

Stories are still told about the guy that pissed himself at the Modern Family Season 3 party. Don't be that guy and don't do all the dumb shit that I did. Instead follow these very basic principles.

1. Stay social early

Look I get it. You want to let it rip. But the truth is, most of your coworkers are old as fuck. They drove to the venue and valeted. Do you know what that means? They are going to stay soberish enough to DRIVE home. You can never assume that your behavior at a party will be forgotten simply because 'everyone was as drunk as you.' That is often not the case. Not everyone is like us.

2. Bring the right date

There is no shame in bringing a friend to a work party. If you don't have a wife or girlfriend, it might be the best move. Think of it this way. If you are on a third date with a girl, does she really want to meet a bunch of people she doesn't know and have forced awkward conversations with them? It will be miserable.

"Oh tell me what it's like to be a set medic? You give hungover people Advil? THATS SO INTERESTING!"

Bring a bro or a lady bro who is also in the industry and knows a handful of the people, you'll have more fun.

3. Dress to impress

You can roll into the office wearing a wrinkly Polo every day but if you show up to the party looking like a slob, people will judge you. I recommend a classic black 2 button suit with a dark shirt. Open collar, no tie. It's a good look.

WRAP PARTY 201 - Intermediate wrap party theory

If you use what you learned in 101, you will have a fine time and offend no one. But for those looking to make a bit more of a splash here are some mid-level tricks to maximize your experience.

1. Host the pregame

On every show there are a handful of young people: the PAs, the assistants, maybe casting, maybe costumes, possibly one or two staff writers. A good way to ingratiate yourself to your peers is have them all over for a drink before the party. This way you can all share a fleet of ubers and arrive together after taking the dye off with a whiskey or two. This also establishes your crew for the night. It's essentially the same motivation you would use for a normal pre game (minus the cost savings) but now you don't need to worry about when to show up and who to hang with at the party.

Note: Arrive at the party 1 hour after the open bar starts.

2. Seek out a few targets

Obviously everyone is going to be trying to get time with the executives and producers, but early in the night find some more approachable people. A department head, a mid level writer. Talk about something other than work, feign interest in that person's date. 'Oh you write ad jingles for children's toothpaste, how quaint! How did you get into that?" Then if it comes up organically, 'Hey I've been kicking the tires on this pilot and I have a draft, would you mind giving it a read?'

There is a 100% chance they will say yes. Then the next day when you send it to them this person will be thinking, 'Dave is awesome, he likes scuba diving, he was really nice to my wife. I'm going to read this pilot and help him as much as I can.'

3. Get the dance floor going

Despite what I said about making an ass out of myself on the dance floor earlier, the dance floor instigator is ALWAYS appreciated. Pretty much the number one indicator of any party/wedding: How lit was the dance floor?

If you followed my previous advice, you will have a clique of 8-10 people already from your pre game that can start things off. Don't be afraid to bust out some old favorites: Limbo, The Double Dutch or even the soul train. This shows the people that are paying for the party that you are fun AND a team player.

Wrap Party 301 - Advanced independent study 

If you pass 201 you will be remembered fondly. You may have strengthened some coworker relationships and you may even meet up for a drink some day. That executive story editor will probably give you some nice notes on your script. It probably ends there. If you want to win your wrap party, follow these steps. But tread lightly my friends, experts only.

1. Go hard late

In 101, we learned to socially drink early. Talk to people, maybe eat some light apps. In 201, we learned it's ok to start the dance floor, just don't be an asshat. In 301, I want you to know that after a certain hour, it's ok to throw all that shit out the window.

The older folks who drove to the party will leave. Even the 30somethings will probably hit the road, they probably have young kids and a babysitter that they need to relieve. And here's the deal, the open bar may 'officially close at 11' but without fail a producer will hand their credit card to the bartender and say 'keep it open all night for the kids.' This is when you and your midnight marauders can really rip it up. Turn in the cocktails, wine and beer for some shots. Bust out some of those R-rated dance moves. Take some regrettable pics in the photo booth. Pull the jacket off, drop a couple buttons, you've earned it.

2. After party

Eventually, around 1230ish, the open bar will end. Your venue is likely not a bar but a banquet hall that isn't accustomed to staying open until 2am. There will probably be 10 or so of you that want to keep it going. While I would never shame you for hitting up the Avalon or another Hollywood late night staple, you can never go wrong with a house party. If you get back to someone's house and SOMEONE else brings up drugs, this AND ONLY THIS is when you bust out what you've held in your pocket all night.

It's like inception guys, it always has to seem like someone else's idea. Maybe after this you head to a rooftop pool deck. The back door at 8811 Burton Way never locks. Maybe you finish the night by getting a Grand Slam at Denny's. You could do worse.

Wrap Party 401 - Elective

Concerning the elephant in the room…

I told you if you didn't have a wife or girlfriend to maybe bring a buddy because it would be awkward to bring a new chick to a work function. 

Well there was also another reason for this.

ON EXTREME OCCASION, there is a single girl that you have been quasi flirting with all season. Maybe she also brings a friend to the wrap party. Your question of course is: should we hook up?

The obvious answer is: no you shouldn't.

But if you pre game together, dance together, after party together…the thirst is going to be out of control and you might not be able to help yourself. My advice, use discretion. The last thing you want to be part of on  Monday morning is a salacious story about you banging the costume PA in a broom closet at Bugatta. Whisper in her ear on the dance floor, if you want to do this, get in a cab and take it around the block and come back.

That way there are witnesses to her departure. Always have someone to corroborate your story.

Monday morning, get in early looking incredibly chipper. Some people will be moping around hungover. Compliment an older woman on her dance moves. Ask someone how their wife enjoyed the party and when you see the girl that you eventually spent the night with make no mention of it, but give her the smallest wink, a smile and keep walking.

Should you go to Coachella?

Last week our script supervisor broke her ankle. Knowing this would delay filming and in turn my weekend, I selfishly volunteered to fill in. For whatever reason, I was heralded as a hero. "You saved the show!" I did nothing. I literally sat in a chair, watched a monitor and wrote in a notebook stuff like, "She holds her coffee in left hand."

Apparently the person that does this is in a union and makes $400 a day. I was informed because of my altruistic sacrifice that I would be getting a pay bump. I immediately decided on the spot that I would use that money for a Coachella ticket.

I also have three use it or lose it sick days so I can easily make my Coachella trip a 5 day weekend, so fuck it, I'm going.

However, you may not have a script supervisor that breaks her ankle. You may not have a bunch of sick days. Or you may care enough about your job that you won't call in sick when you are blatantly going somewhere to do drugs.

That's ok. That's why I'm here.

Welcome to the 2016 Coachella decision guide.

First take this brief questionnaire.

1. Are you under 30?
2. If you were dropped in the middle of a field would you be able to make your way home?
3. Can you party 4 days in a row?
4. Do you love neon?
5. Are you generally a fan of hedonistic raves?
6. Do you use snap chat filters?
7. Are you voting for Bernie Sanders?

If you answered no to any of the above questions, you might want to skip out on the whole process. Maybe take a flier on burning man in the fall. But if you answered yes, congratulations you're a millennial! No need to check your privilege here my WASPy friend. Get your bitmojis and flash tats ready, you're going to the desert!

Step 1: Weekend one or weekend two?

Ah, the fundamental question as old as time. Summer or Anna…Boobs or ass…blow jobs or cheese…weekend 1 or weekend 2?

Full disclosure: In my three Coachellas I have never gone to weekend one. It's not that I don't want to vape it up with Leo or roll balls with Kendall Jenner. It comes down to the fact that television production usually wraps mid April so it's easier for me to jet to the desert for weekend 2.

Weekend 2 is also a lot cheaper. I have never paid for than $275 for a ticket and if you so chose, you can save about 30% on a house the second weekend.

That said, some people swear by weekend 1. People will be talking about weekend 1. There will be tumblrs and think pieces. There will be surprises. Weekend one is when the cool kids go.

But weekend 2 is always a bit more of a shit show. You won't find any Harvard Westlake girls on Spring Break at weekend 2. More like burners and rave girls telling stories about Lightning in a Bottle and Beyond Wonderland.

Simply put: Weekend one is a Bungalow crowd. Weekend 2 is a warehouse party crowd.

Some people like to see and be seen with the pretty people. Others like to stay up until 4 in the morning doing acid. Choose your own adventure. They're both pretty dope and you will have fun regardless.

Step 2: House, hotel or camp?

Probably the most important decision you will make in your life. You can divorce your wife, you can disown your children, but once you make a lodging decision in Indio, you're stuck.

Obviously a house and hotel will be more comfortable. Renting a 14 bedroom house in Palm Spring with 2 pools, a hot tub, a tiki bar and all that shit is great.

BUT. You rely on shuttles that come every 30 minutes. You will probably have a 15 minute walk to the shuttle stop. The shuttle to Coachella is 45 minutes. THEN there is another 20 minute walk to the venue. It kinda blows. Imagine making that reverse commute when your Molly is wearing off.

What ends up happening when you rent a house is a really fun day party at your house, then at 2 someone says "Hey I wanna see fuckbuttons at 3!" But no one is ready to go, so you miss fuck buttons. Then someone says "Hey I want to see the ferret avengers at 5!" By the time you have all motivated and get to the show it's 6 and the ferret avengers are done. Then you sit in the beer garden for 2 hours drinking 20 dollar beers until the headliners come on. Then the girls you are with will want to leave early because they're sobering up and want to beat the foot traffic to the shuttle.

By the second day you will just appoint sober drivers. By the third we considered not even going to the show. Renting a house in Palm Springs is awesome but it's not always the best play for Coachella. If you're going to rent a house shoot for something walking distance to the venue. It's worth the extra cost. But even if you are right next door, you won't realistically be able to go in and out, it's legit a 2 mile walk to get inside the grounds.

Hotel is similar to a house, but there will be random people to party with, so in case you don't have 14 friends, this might be an intriguing play.

But my recommendation will always be to camp.

Does it suck sleeping in a tent and waking up at 6 o clock in the morning to thumping bass? Yes.

Will you care? No.

Camping is the only way to truly experience Coachella. You will be sun burned, you will be dehydrated, you will smell. You may go down on a girl who hasn't showered in 2 days. But then when you hit the silent disco or get a 100 person game of flip cup going at 9am you will know it was all worth it.

That is unless you are heroes and get a house AND a campground. Rookies need not apply. (RVs and off-site camping are also intriguing veteran plays)

Step 3: When to leave

You'll want to work a half day Thursday and then have your friends pick you up at work (unless you're doing the whole sick day thing) this maximizes your obnoxiousness. I would recommend even changing into some raver gear before walking out the front door.

The campground opens at around 4 on Thursday and it's a good night to meet your neighbors, plant a few seeds, set up camp.

I would strongly discourage raging. Resist the temptation to start doing hard drugs. Your body can handle 3 days of partying on a semi-annual basis, pushing it to 4 might cause you to break Sunday evening.

If you opt for a house or a hotel the Thursday night house warming party will be fun, but again cap it at 10 drinks, Rome wasn't built in a day.

On the back end, take Monday off. Leave the campsite around 9 on Monday. It will take 4 hours to get back to LA it will suck, you will be hungover. You will be sad, your body devoid of endorphins. But you know what is worse? Leaving at 2am and driving straight to work on Monday. Never attempt this.

Step 4: What to bring

Obviously this will differ depending on your living arrangements, so I'll focus on a few of the intangibles you might forget.

Bring more beer than liquor. You can always make your beer cold, but if it's 100 degrees out no one is going to feel like slugging warm vodka. Bring a fuck ton of bluetooth speakers. It's probably the most important thing you can bring.

Whether you're in a house or not, bring a camping pad to sleep on. There may not be an available couch or bed when you get home. I slept on a pool floatie on a hardwood floor once. A camping pad would have been better.

Hot dogs are incredibly easy to cook and you can eat them cold in a pinch.

You should obviously spend at least a week picking out your coachella outfits but bring some sensible shit too. You're in the desert, it can inexplicably become freezing overnight. Bring some warm shit to sleep in. Also you might get fucked up and forget sunscreen day 1. You'll want some long sleeves to prevent skin cancer on day 2.

Also bring sun screen…a lot. And water…a lot.

If you have a shower bag that would save you a long shower line if you're a camper.

House or camp, bring games. Games are the shit. Cornhole, a beer pong table, even a deck of cards can go a long way, and it's key to making friends.

Oh and you'll want 6 pills per person…and some Advil, definitely Advil.

Step 5: Who to see/What to do:
Jack U, GNR, Zedd, ASAP Rocky, Calvin Harris, Flume, Sia, Miike Snow (Galantis!) Matt and Kim. Go see the headliners, don't be a hero.

Any time there is a lull in your schedule check out the Do Lab or return to a campsite to drink for free. Don't forget to eat. I always forget to eat when I'm partying. The easiest way to sneak drugs in is in the lining of a dude's swimsuit literally under his balls.

Always wear war paint.

Never go to bed early.

Stay with the group, it's always more fun than going to see The Lawyr's Sriracha Revival by yourself.

Make some memories, your 20's are finite and they will be over sooner than you think. You'll never want to grow up, but some day you just might have to.

Oh and PS I need a ticket. HIT ME UP and I'll see you there.

Emo

"What exactly do you want me to do?"

"I don't know...stand over there by that tree or something. If anyone tries to walk past that tree, tell them no."

It's my first day in the entertainment industry. I'm on the set of Paranormal Activity 4. We're in a remote neighborhood of Los Angeles called Santa Clarita. It is highly unlikely that someone is going to walk past this tree.

My boss is some thirtysomething who was probably one lucky break away from a career as a successful screenwriter. Now he line produces commercials and independent films. He hands me a $20 bill and tells me to go pick up a 6 pack of Lagunitas for the director.

"But don't turn this receipt in. Pick something up in the parking lot of a grocery store. We can't expense alcohol."

I got this job because my friend Eric works on a tv show with this guy's wife. I interviewed with her but didn't get the job. Some producer's kid got it instead. But the consolation prize is that I get to be a producer's assistant on a promo for the 4th installment of a bad horror movie franchise.

When I get back to set with the 6 pack, a PA is violently waving her arms at me. I park my car and get out.

"WE WERE ROLLING, YOU RUINED THE SHOT!"

I don't know what this means, but I'm convinced I'm going to be fired. I walk up to my boss, 6 pack in hand and prepare to profusely apologize.

"Oh dude...don't worry about that. Only three things matter in entertainment. Show up on time and don't fuck up lunch or wrap gifts. People love free shit."

That movie was weird. Since it was so far from LA proper, most of the crew lived in the house. There was a pool and batting cage in the backyard. One day at lunch I threw on a swimsuit and showed everyone my mad skills off of the diving board. I know how to do a full gainer (inward flip) something I thought would be impressive to the crew. I am also an excellent baseball hitter. I broke the camera man's nose by hitting the ball back at him. He was not pleased.

I ended up working for this guy for about 6 months and then he pawned me off to his wife who worked at Fox.

"You've been called up to the big leagues Dave."

"I promise I won't fuck up the food or wrap gifts."

It was a rough transition to network TV. My first day on the job I told someone that the traffic getting in was 'worse than cancer.' Her dad had died the previous week from cancer. My uncle had died that day from cancer. Obviously traffic is not worse than cancer, I just say things sometimes to shock people.

I made a lot of mistakes on that show, Keifer Sutherland sent me home from the wrap party because I was too drunk and I was convinced I would never work again.

I went back to work for my original boss after Touch got cancelled. We were doing a Cadillac commercial. I had to drive a 7am tech scout on a Sunday morning but I had friends in town that weekend. We got a room at the Roosevelt hotel in Hollywood. We stayed up until 4 o clock in the morning doing questionable things with women of ambiguous morals in the hot tub. I was two hours late to work.

When I showed up at 9am, my boss looked at me and said, "You know it never changes right?"

"What do you mean it never changes..."

"You don't just wake up one day and say 'I'm not attracted to skinny 21 year old girls anymore' you will always want to stay up until 4am and bang sorority girls it's just that some day you're not allowed to anymore."

I shockingly never got fired from a movie, tv show or commercial in Los Angeles. I am about as reliable as a herpes outbreak and not generally good at anything.

I haven't blown up in any capacity though and am still at the moment a 29 year old assistant barely above the poverty line.

I don't remember when I decided that I was something special. The first 10 years of my life I was a nerd. I went to special schools because my mental aptitude was frighteningly high for Indiana. The next 10 years I was a bit of a loser. I tried to roll with the popular kids and was consistently left in the dust. I was picked last in pick up sports and would sometimes sit alone at lunch. Inexplicably the last ten years I decided that I was some sort of party God that you would all bow to. It's incredible what above average dance moves and an impressive alcohol tolerance will do...but I was convinced I was going to be famous.

My two neighbors growing up got famous. One is in the NFL, the other is a closer in Major League Baseball. Maybe Bowline Drive was just blessed with talent.

But it didn't happen for me. I would often sit around and think about every decision I made in my life. What if I wouldn't have blacked out in Manhattan the day before my Leo Burnett interview? What if I would have never changed my major to Marketing because I wanted to prove to people I could do it? What if I never left Chicago? What if I learned how to hit a curve ball?

And yet here I am, in Venice Beach, living in a three bedroom apartment with dirty clothes on the ground.

My mom used to come to Bloomington and do my laundry. It was great.

But here's the deal. I might never make it. It's entirely possible that I will live in a 3 bedroom apartment in Venice until it's long past the point in time that is socially acceptable to have roommates.

But...

Who cares?

I went bowling tonight with buddies. I wore a beer stained shirt that looked like it was covered in cum due to the black light. It was hilarious.

We went dancing in a basement bar. I was so hot and sweaty, I almost passed out.

And now I'm drunkenly writing an emo post at 2am to parrot my old boss's sentiment.

I'm still happy here. I didn't wake up today and decide I wanted to have a family, I woke up today hoping for an adventure.

Tomorrow I'll play bad golf on a 9 hole course. I'll probably have too many beers. Then I'll go to a boozy brunch on the beach. I hope there is an Easter Egg hunt. At some point I'll have to make it to improv class, I'm kinda dreading it. But whatever.

The important thing is that tomorrow will be awesome. My life is awesome. LA is a fucking dream. If I make it as a professional writer that would be great, but if I don't?

It could be worse.

An Open Letter to Face Swappers

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Always Exfoliate

"What the fuck happened to you?"

I'm staring at my friend and his face is purple and his nose is bleeding. It looks like he has either been punched several times in the face or he is Joffrey Baratheon on his wedding day.

"This happens to me sometimes. I puked so hard that all of the blood vessels in my face exploded. I think I need to go home."

Home is not 'home' of course. We are standing at a bar in West Lafayette, IN and it's approximately 8 o clock in the morning. I am wearing a Boy Scouts Troop 444 vest and some extremely short shorts that I had procured at Goodwill the day before. At 19 I was convinced that I was in excellent shape so I would routinely wear as little clothing as possible to show off.

"Here is a key to Sig Ep, go sleep on Brad's couch, and for fuck's sake put on some make up or maybe find a mask."

So then it's just me and a bunch of kids from my high school standing around at the Wabash Yacht Club aka Stacks for Purdue's famous 'Breakfast Club' tradition. As much shit as I constantly give Purdue, it's the one thing they consistently got right. Instead of going to the tailgate fields at the ungodly hour of 5am, they would go to the bars for a while and THEN tailgate. Everyone wore ridiculous costumes and was shitfaced by 10am.

Cut to: 12 hours later I'm at a frat party at maybe Fiji? Perhaps AGR? Whatever frat had the fucking semi-truck converted to a DJ booth in it's basement.

I came out of a blackout, making out with some chick in aforementioned DJ booth. Being the enterprising young man that I am, I immediately tried to go upstairs and find an unattended room to borrow. Don't judge me.

Upstairs I found rooms of people taking shots, rooms of people doing drugs and notably a room of people doing a video cumshot power hour (yes, it's exactly what it sounds like, Purdue is weird)

I eventually decided to go back to that chick's dorm room.

I get back to my friend Brad's place the next day at 9am and he gives me Axe Snake Peel.

"I only use this when I feel the need to physically exorcise my demons from the weekend."

"What do you mean? Like it rips your skin off?"

"No they're just exfoliating beads. It's a metaphor. It makes me feel less guilty about one night stands."

I thought this was one of the funniest things I had ever heard. My buddy kept special soap around to use after the most debaucherous of evenings.

Unfortunately the Snake Peel didn't work and I ended up with Mono. I couldn't drink for two weeks.

It was awful.

Several months passed and I didn't think much about Brad or his shame soap. Until I went home for Easter that year.

Despite the fact that I was 19, my mom would still hide Easter Eggs in our yard, They would contain things like gift cards, $20 bills and candy. The last egg would include instructions on where to find our Easter baskets that would have some larger gift items that wouldn't fit in an egg.

When I found my basket behind the TV it was full of things you would give a college student. Cash, easy mac, a 4 pack of Red Bull, an Adderall refill and a giant bottle of fucking Axe Snake Peel.

To this day, I exfoliate after certain treacherous evenings.

***

Ten years have passed since that Easter and I still try to fit an entire week's worth of fun into every Saturday. And my friends are indeed planning a big celebration for the holiday. But this year instead of going to church like a good little Christian and then spending the night drinking to the resurrection of Christ; I will spend the day hungover dreading my impending improv class.

Friendly reminder: never make binding plans on a Sunday.

But if you ARE planning some Easter fun, I've whipped together a handy guide for your Easter party.

1. Easter Egg Hunt
If you and your friends don't do an Easter Egg hunt full of mini bottles, you need a new group of friends. If the plastic eggs you buy don't fit a mini bottle, you can always adjust them like so…

I also recommend hiding some Smirnoff Ice along with the eggs. What's funnier than reaching into the mailbox for an egg only to take a knee and chug a wine cooler?

2. Croquet
Spring is here, WASPS everywhere rejoice! Croquet is the perfect afternoon leisure sport to be played preferably in sweater vests and boat shoes. Remember, since March 21st has passed pastels aren't only acceptable, they are encouraged.


3. Day Daqs
Remember the first nice day in college? Everyone would take the day off and throw on shorts. One enterprising guy would drive to CVS to pick up a blender, 3 bags of ice, some daiquiri mix and a fuck ton of rum. Of course everyone will bring something to your pot luck party, but the guy that will be the biggest hit is the one who brings that daiquiri station.


4. Don't forget the games
Two elite eight games will be played on Sunday afternoon, possibly including your Indiana Hoosiers (***knocks furiously on wood) At this point you can go ahead and just pour yourself glasses of straight rum.


5. Fuck it, go out
I usually don't recommend hitting the town hard on a Sunday night. But whatever, it's Spring. It's Easter! The weather is nice, you look good, you're having fun! Just remember, no matter how drunk you are, try to be in bed by midnight…and if you go home with a random, remember to exfoliate with some Snake Peel in the morning. Happy Holidays!

The Purple Rose of Culver

I apologize for the lateness of this article. I did some recreational drinking on Saturday night. That's probably underselling it. I got 'forget how to use a map' drunk on Saturday night. I've been incapable of doing anything other that watch tv since. I'll just briefly encapsulate my evening for you.

My neighbor had a dinner party because she thinks she's classy or some shit. We were going to have a nice dinner, some wine and then go to this weird ass warehouse party type thing called Purple 33. I took the opportunity to mold her evening into something more to my liking, because while I am pretty bad at planning things, I am great at instigating mischief.

There's a scene in The Dark Knight where the Joker says 'Look what I did with a few drums of gas and a couple bullets." That's me at your party. Look what I did with a few bottles of whiskey and a couple grams.

I blacked out at the pre game, came out of my black out and realized almost everyone was gone. While a less enterprising young man may have taken that as a sign that it was probably time to just call it a night, your hero decided that it was time to load in an uber and chase the night.

Purple 33 is located, well to be honest, I'm not quite sure. It's in Culver City somewhere, but not in fun downtown Culver, more like Inglewood adjacent Culver City by the Fox Hills Mall and the secret Chick Fil A. That said, I took a total of 3 ubers to go maybe 5 total miles. Apparently when you pass a certain point of drunkenness you lose complete ability to read a map. I would jump out at stoplights and think, I MUST be close, only for my traveling companions to tell me that we were still 3 miles away.

We finally arrived to Purple 33 a 'member's club' that is able to stay open and serve drinks until 6 o clock in the morning. They don't take cash or card, instead you 'make donations' for mysterious tokens that can then be exchanged for drinks at a later time in the evening.

So here I am, wandering around this treehouse of a building in the rotten underbelly of LA's raver sub culture. It's like the magic castle but with less light. There are trap doors and hidden rooms, secret stair cases that take you to exclusive areas. All the time you are holding this big ass coin hoping you find a bar and don't get jumped by the creepy burning man types all around you. Wait a second, you know what the best example is?

Purple 33 is like a very drunk version of Legends of the Hidden Temple.

At around 3 o clock in the morning I found myself in a sub basement that only contained neon green. I felt like I was in some sort of Wizard of Oz themed Emerald City acid trip, but not necessarily a good one. I needed to get out. On the way out I felt a jingle in my pocket. I had two tokens left, apparently none of the temple guards had shaken me down for my pendants. I asked for 2 tequila shots to go.

"We don't do that here."

She looked at me like the savage I am. I scowled. I bet she wouldn't say that to me if I was wearing my Blue Barracudas shirt.

"Whatever, I'll take them here."

"But you're leaving, maybe you should just stop?"

I reached behind the bar and poured myself a double shot of vodka and flipped her my coins. I couldn't tell if she was horrified or impressed. I saw something that I wanted and I took it, because that's how I live my life.

Like a true Baratheon. Do you know who is definitely not a Baratheon? Ben Higgins.

***

Your head is probably spinning right now. You're thinking, wait, that 700 word diatribe about after hours bars in LA and Legends of the Hidden Temple was only an intro into a something that will be tangentially related to Game of Thrones? 700 words is like double the length of an entire Buzzfeed article. Why don't you just split it up into multiple pieces of content?

This is not Buzzfeed my friends. This IS however my final Bachelor recap of the season.

Benny Higgins just couldn't help himself. He flirted with the idea of taking Jojo and half of her trust fund, but at the end of the day, he just couldn't do it. Ben Higgins is a good guy.

Ben Higgins is a Stark. He's just a simple man from the North who believes in some core principles such as loyalty and honesty. Hell, he lives in Denver now where Winter is always coming.

The episode itself was a bore. Ben introduced each girl to his parents and neither girl completely embarrassed herself. Then he took each girl on a date and they cried because they found out he was in love with two people. There were lots of 'I'm scared,' and a bunch of bullshit from Ben about how HE IS GOING TO PROPOSE TO ONE OF THESE WOMEN TOMORROW.

Spare me Ben. It's a fucking reality show.

Instead of spending his last few hours in Jamaica back flipping off of waterfalls and getting wasted in hot tubs, Ben pulled his old "Tell me how you're feeling!" SHARE YOUR EMOTIONS WITH ME. It appears to be the only way he knows how to connect with women, he's like a bad therapist.

Anyway, eventually Ben goes to talk to the jewelry guy and picks a truly hideous ring that 'speaks to him.' Upon talking to the ring he is convinced of who he now needs to pick. This was the moment I became convinced that Ben was an unusually tall Hobbit.

Ben dumps Jojo, she cries. I cry because Jojo looks fucking phenomenal.

Ben calls Lauren's dad who is happy to give his daughter away after one in person meeting and a 30 second phone call. No word on whether or not Lauren's brothers found out that Ben fucked his sister (and 2 others!) the week before.

Ben proposes to Lauren, she cries. I cry because Jojo looked fucking phenomenal and after two hours of utter mediocrity, the show ends. Smash to After the Final Rose.

WILL BEN GET MARRIED LIVE ON TV?

Spoiler alert. He will not. He'll wait until his fame has waned and then take a big pay day for an ABC primetime special, but in happier news. Fuck diversity, Jojo is the new Bachelorette!

My final thoughts are this. Lauren was fine. She was a cute inoffensive girl next door. Her Game of Thrones character equivalent would probably be someone like Margery. Margery is whatever. She's definitely not anyone's favorite character, but most people don't actively hate her. Portland seems a little Highgardenish. Right?

But Jojo…Jojo was a star. Her family has more money than God. She has an extremely tight family with a castle set up in the South? Of course she's a Lannister. But like young princess Myrcella she was murdered, right before her triumphant return to her homeland.

But she deserved better than Ben. Hopefully on her season she will find some bad ass Targaryen to ride off into the sun with. I still haven't received my casting call after sending in my Bachelorette audition. I even promised them that I would drink too much and that my borderline personality disorder might come into play. Unfortunately she'll probably have to settle for Aaron Rodgers' brother.

All in all, it was a fun season. It made Mondays slightly more tolerable and I can't wait for this summer's Bachelor in Paradise to get all the bullshit going again.

Lastly, If we learned any lessons this year it's that if you want to win The Bachelor tell your brothers not to cock block you and if you don't want a 4 day hangover, avoid Purple 33.

Friday Night Pep Talk

When I lived in Chicago I was convinced that the cure for any sort of unhappiness was to party harder. Because of this, I would often try to convince people to come out with me on a Wednesday or Thursday night.

It was easy in the beginning. Everyone was single, most of my friends hated their jobs, and a few of us were still on the family payroll. Why not go out? It will make us forget for a few hours that this is what the rest of our lives look like. Maybe we'll bring home a chick, it will break up the week a bit.

Over the years it became harder and harder. Guys had girlfriends or an early meeting. Even worse as it turns out, some people had lost the desire to get wasted in the middle of the week. Apparently when you're happy with your current lot in life you don't feel the need to drink yourself retarded on a Thursday. Being hungover at work sucks!

I decided it was time for drastic measures. Every night I wanted to go out, I would write a pep talk. I would use my linguistic powers to get people so hyped up they wanted to fight a fucking shark. I had them do my bidding via the power of persuasion. I was like one of the founding fathers that got the colonists all riled up with pamphlets and shit. But instead of using my powers for good, I used it for evil.

I don't have a burning desire to rage particularly hard this weekend, but I think it would be fun to see if I can inspire you to rip it this weekend. Here goes nothing…

It's raining outside right now. What a perfect weekend to stay in and be lazy. Maybe catch up on that DVR.

I heard there were some sparks on The Bachelor: Women Tell All. Sounds like a great way to spend a Friday night. Maybe you'll be bad and even have a glass and a half of white wine. I think a bunch of new Netflix shows just dropped as well! This is shaping up to be a crazy weekend.

Maybe you'll go visit your coworker's baby tomorrow. You've been promising to do it forever but just never got around to it. Saturday is the day. Drive up to Woodland Hills and visit the new baby. Maybe you'll even stop on the way to get a little baby gift. Perhaps you'll be referred to as uncle/aunt. Then Sunday you can finally get around to cleaning up the apartment. Sure it won't be the MOST fun at the time, but think about how good you'll feel when you're done. Yep, this sounds like one of those great, realizing yet productive weekends.

Counterpoint: No.

Need I fucking remind you that you are almost done with your 20's. Do you know what happens at 30? People give up. You give up. At 29, at least girls will stop eating for two weeks before Coachella. At 30, hey she's just a natural size 6 and that's that. At 30 you go home with a woman you met at a bar and find out that she is divorced with two kids and hasn't seen an esthetician since before Paul Walker died.

That is the reality you are speeding toward. And like that fucking tree, when you hit it things are going up in flames. I do not fucking care that you booked air travel to 7 weddings last weekend. No one put a gun to your head and said that you need to fly to Raleigh on June 8th for your Grammar School BFF's wedding. It's not even going to be open bar. It's going to suck. Your friend is going to try to set you up with someone unattractive because at a certain point beggars can't be choosers.

No fuck that. Fuck ALL OF THAT. Your youth is but a drying grape and you need to squeeze all of the fucking juice you have left until it turns into a god damn raisin.

That nephew that your family is guilting you into visiting? That nephew doesn't give a shit about your visit. He won't remember. That nephew has his entire life ahead of him. He gets to get high for the first time, have his first beer, touch his first boob. You know who does NOT have their entire life ahead of them? YOU!

I get it, there's nothing wrong with slowing down a little as you get older. And hey, you're fun! You took that trip to Thailand 6 months ago. #Wanderlust right? Well here's the thing, you've been living off the TBT of that trip ever since. Face it, you're in a rut.

But tonight could change everything…

Tonight you could say yes.

You could accept that invitation from your odd coworker to hang out. Maybe you'll end up at a house party up in the Hollywood Hills and meet Aaron Paul.

Maybe you'll meet a indie director who will offer you an acting part in her next film. Maybe you'll meet the man/woman of your dreams. Maybe you'll meet a group of cool new people who you will be friends with for the rest of your life.

Or maybe you'll just have a mediocre time and wake up with a headache. At least then you'll have an excuse to skip out on Woodland Hills. You can watch all those new Netflix shows in absolute darkness. You'll realize the Venice one sucks and be super thankful you didn't waste a weekend night on this garbage.

The fact of the matter is, if you stay in like an old Grandma tonight, you'll never know what could have happened. The entire rest of your life could be altered in some minuscule way.

Of course now I'm merely identifying the general principles attributed to the fear of missing out or FOMO. But I would argue that your decision to punt this weekend, the decision to just crawl closer to death without immersing yourself in experiences would be something much darker; a fear of living.

Follow me down this path here for a minute. Tonight doesn't have to be a drug fueled bender that concludes with you watching the sun rise over the beach. You don't have to hop in a car driving to Vegas at the last minute with nothing but a 100 dollar bill in your pocket and the clothes on your back. Just leave yourself open to the possibility of something magical happening. Host an impromptu party, go on a bar crawl, sing some karaoke, DANCE ON TABLES, drive to a beautiful vista point and listen to your favorite album of all time. Do something.

You've undoubtedly seen this video about stranger writing their regrets on a board. It's some rah rah bullshit click bait that is supposed to tell you that it's not too late to chase your dreams. But the underlying theme is as such: you will always regret NOT doing something more than doing something.

Maybe a heroin addict regrets the first time they tried smack but it seems like most people regret letting their life waste away from the comfort of their couch; watching reruns of bad reality television while they stroke their cat.

You're better than that.

Throw on your best outfit tonight and break some necks. Grab life by the balls and make a memory. Find a member of the opposite (or same!) sex and do butt stuff. WHY NOT?

You know what is low key super braggable? Always losing in 'Never Have I Ever.' When you lose Never Have I Ever it's because you've fucking LIVED man. I always judge the prude that's never drinking. Like, why haven't you ever had a curable STD? Didn't you see the 'Girls' pilot ALL INTERESTING PEOPLE HAVE HAD CHLAMYDIA!!!

So that's what I want you to do tonight. I want you to go contract Chlamydia.

Ok, don't do that. Let's walk that back a bit.

What I want you to do tonight is text a friend and ask them if they want to go get a drink. Whatever happens from there? That's up to you.

Tonight probably won't be the best night of your life, but it could be. I promise though that if you stay in, you'll never remember this night 20 years from now, and that to me just seems like a night wasted. But I'll let you be the judge of your own destiny, I'm heading to happy hour.

The Ryan Gosling Experience

Mistakes were made.

Let's just get that out in the open right now. When you book a trip to a music festival, it is often a good idea to buy tickets.

In my younger days, I may have been able to sneak in, buy a ticket, hop a fence. But trespassing is a young man's game, and I am quickly exiting that phase of my life.

Despite an email chain that had existed since my birthday, I was pretty sure the trip to San Diego wasn't going to happen. It was a trip that had been plagued with problems from the onset. The line-up changed 15 times before we finally settled on a group of 7 that would be going. We switched hotels 4 times and never established a firm itinerary. Even at 8 o clock in the morning on Saturday as I was checking out of Ralph's with mimosa ingredients, I had no idea who would show.

Miraculously, around 11am, 3 hours behind schedule, we departed Venice with all 7 confirmed travelers.

At 11:04 we had already made a pit stop. I had flashbacks to asking my dad if we could pull over on our annual drives to Disney World. "We'll be there in 12 hours, just hold it!"

We stopped. And then about 11:45 everyone decided they were hungry. We stopped again. It was an absolute disaster. I have never been in a more hostile car setting. Things were said, alliances formed, friendships nearly ended. But five hours after we left Westminster Avenue, we pulled up to the Marriott Gaslamp. The trip was by no means off to a good start, but at least we had arrived.

The initial tension was offset by the fact that I had picked up a fair amount of alcohol at the lunch stop. Red Bull vodkas and Fireball shots can typically improve even the most sour mood. I immediately began to binge drink while rooting through a gigantic bag of flash tattoos. Whether or not I was getting into this fest, I surely was going to dress like an idiot. I needed to have a good story at improv class when they asked me what I did over the weekend. Nothing says 'this guy parties' like a half faded gold heart on my cheek.

I made the statement, "Let's try to get out of here by 4:30." Everyone nodded in agreement and the party started.

Thirty minutes passed and I remembered that I was traveling with five girls.

If you are a straight male and you have always wondered why it takes girls so damn long to get ready, I can now give you a peak behind the curtain.

One girl tried on 5 different outfits.

One girl spent 20 minutes braiding another girls hair only for her to eventually say fuck it and throw it in a ponytail.

Every girl tried on everything they brought, then at least two items that someone else brought and then eventually switched back to whatever they were wearing in the car.

There were lots of 'getting ready pictures.'

Oh and then there was the 15 minute run down of how we were going to sneak in to the festival with false credentials.

When it was all said and done, we left the hotel room at 6, about 4 hours before the festival ended…
At least we were drunk.

We walked from the gas lamp district to Waterfront park. Upon arriving at the Will Call area my friend, who is an administrative assistant at a cool company, handed her business card to the guy handling the VIP desk.

"What's this?" He asked.

"I was told there would be ten comps waiting for me."

(Yes this was the extent of our plan)

"There are no comps for you."

"Ugh fine, we'll pay for tickets."

"It's sold out."

Fuck.

So we stood there with our thumbs in our asses for 20 minutes or so trying to find a weakness in the fence, trying to bribe some minimum wage security guards. The girls quickly grew tired of this and decided to head to dinner. But I wasn't ready to give up. I stalked the grounds of the park, checking Twitter for organized gate crashing, scouring Craigslist for some guy that had an extra ticket for sale. Nothing.

It wasn't until I saw a 16 year old girl try to jump the fence and be savagely taken down by a K9 dog and cuffed by an officer that I had an epiphany.

I am 29 years old, I am wearing a neck tattoo that says "I heart the doctor" and I have 30 pills of ecstasy in my pocket. Probably best not to do anything stupid. On top of that, I am in San Diego with the 5 most attractive girls I know. What the FUCK am I doing?

And like that, I abandoned my mission and took a cab back to Gaslamp. Sometimes you just need to cut your losses.

But was it a loss?

"Come to Bang Bang," was the text I received.

It sounded clubby and since I was wearing a black t shirt I made on the internet, pink swim trunks and flip flops I assumed I was hastily be told to go fuck myself. But maybe because San Diego is so laid back, the bouncer smiled at me and ushered me upstairs where my group of girls was in the midst of a 13 course sushi dinner.

"This is a night club?" I asked.

"Not yet, it's a sushi restaurant until 9pm, but we can't leave or we'll have to pay the $60 cover."

It's the same move I used to pull when I was underage in college, pop in for lunch and just stay.

So we ate sashimi and sake for a couple hours and waited. As they slowly began taking tables away from what I realized was turning into a dance floor, the sake and happy pills began to take effect. The turmoil and conflict from earlier in the day melted away. By the time Jamie Jones started his set, I was sufficiently lit.

What followed is hazy, but I remember a night of dancing and fun. I have photographs of a Ryan Gosling themed bathroom, a text message describing a three mile journey to fetch a joint and faint sharpie on my left arm that reads "If found, return to Marriott room 1409."

I ended up at The Renaissance the next morning for reasons I won't get into and at 8am, our trip was over. We were crammed into a VW en route to LAX to drop our friend off so that she could fly back to Florida.

And while it may have seemed like we didn't accomplish much on the trip - we had literally driven five hours for dinner and a show - it was one of the more enjoyable trips I have taken lately.

Sure we fought the entire way down, missed the fest and only really made it to one bar, but life is about the journey. I step back and realize I also went with these people to Downtown LA on Thursday night, did a BYOB dinner in Venice on Friday and road tripped Saturday. Sometimes it's not about what you do, it's who you do it with.

Sometimes I complain about the way things are going for me. I'm bored, in a rut, I need to spice things up a bit. COME TO EUROPE WITH ME. But really everything I need has been in front of me the whole time. My last few trips have really hammered this home to me. I don't need to do crazy shit every single weekend to make people jealous on social media. All I need are a handful of people to share with me in this experience called life and everything should work itself out. It doesn't matter if we're in Park City, a grungy night club or my living room.

Now don't get me wrong, I still want to see the world. I still want to go everywhere, but an adventure doesn't necessarily require you to leave your backyard…and all it took to teach me that was a few Ryan Gosling posters and some fun people.

Slytherin 4 Life

I'm going to do the world a service right now. You've probably been watching the Bachelor this season and can't quite decide how you feel about everyone. 'Oh Caila is nice but she kind of gives me a serial killer vibe. I like Jojo but she intimidates me.'

I get it, fitting people in perfect tiny little boxes is hard. Except when it isn't. Let's rewind the clock 7 years ago. You were probably sitting at some job that you hate and in a pre-BuzzFeed world, internet quizzes were not always readily available. But you remember your first sorting hat quiz. Even in my fraternity halls, everyone knew where you stood.

"Oh you don't want to go out on a Tuesday night? That's a real Hufflepuff move."

The four houses of Harry potter were distinct and absolute. Everyone fits into one and it defines your destiny…even our polished politician Ben Higgins, such a Gryffindor.

Gryffindor – Ben Higgins

Notable alumni: Harry Potter, My roommate Jack, Juliet Litman, Tom Brady

Oh if it isn't the glorious try hards with hearts full of gold! Give me a fucking break while I make this dismissive wanting motion with my hand.

Your boy Ben Higgins couldn't be more Gryffindor if he tried. I can just see him rolling down Main Street Warsaw right now with an ugly redhead and some nerdy not-yet cute girl he has repressed sexual feelings for.

So many times this season, Ben should have put girls out of their misery. But he couldn't. It was like watching Harry Potter spare Malfoy's life so many times. Harry should have wand stabbed Draco in the face at the end of book one and saved the world from the horror that is Tom Felton's acting career.

Gryffindor isn't all bad. I mean look, they're good at sports, they’re nice people, they seem pleasant to be around. I personally find their eager to please attitude annoying but it will probably suit Higgy well when he’s the Lieutenant Governor of Indiana. LOL JK he’ll be making Hollywood club appearances the rest of his life.

 

Ravenclaw – Chris Harrison

Notable alumni: Luna Lovegood, most girls I try to date, Bill Simmons, Magic Johnson

Aw yes, the oft overlooked Ravenclaw, the smartest kids in the room that maybe also like to get high?

Oh you don’t think Ravenclaws like to smoke?

Q: Which came first the phoenix or the flame?

A: A circle has no beginning.

Quick, is that a quote from The Deathly Hallows or something I heard at Burning Man last year? TF does that mean?

The truth is Ravenclaws are dope and you know who else is dope? Chris Harrison.

They say that the smartest trick the devil ever player was convincing the world that he didn’t exist. Well the smartest trick your boy Chris Harrison ever played was convincing producers to fly him all over the world to exotic locations and pay him a fuck ton of money all for about 30 seconds of screen time.

For the uninitiated this may seem foolish. Why would someone intentionally limit their own presence on a show? The answer is because set life is absolutely fucking horrible and Chris knows this. I imagine he trots out for his one scene and stares the director down, his eyes saying ‘you better get this in one, I have a foreign film I’d rather be watching.’

CH gets it, just like Garrick Olivander, Cho Chang and all the other famous Ravenclaws that are cooler than you. All titans of industry are Ravenclaw and they’re usually pretty chill.

Slytherin - Jojo

Notable alumni: Voldemort, Me, The girls I end up dating, Tim Riggins, Rowdy Roddy Piper

Sometimes it’s fun to root for the bad guy. This is why everyone is envious of people that work at CAA and it’s why I’m rooting for Jojo.

Of course Jojo hasn’t done anything particularly terrible yet, but do you have any doubt that Jojo would fuck your boyfriend and then laugh about it?

Jojo is an alpha of the highest order and doesn’t give a shit about you or any of your ideals. Ya, she’s rich. Ya, she’s better looking than you. Maybe she even has fake boobs, but there isn’t a damn thing you can do about it.

And without drawing direct correlations to race relations in America, I’m petty sure Jojo’s brothers wouldn’t be too thrilled with her bringing home a mudblood. I mean she is from Texas.

Jojo is like every popular sorority girl that ever shit on you rolled into one. While she may not win this silly network TV show. does anyone have a doubt that Jojo will land a back-up NFL quarterback before this is all over?

Hufflepuff - Lauren

Notable alumni: Cedric Diggory, Seth Cohen, people not in fraternities, everyone that works at ICM, Dwight Howard, Marco Rubio

Hufflepuffs are just happy to be here. They’re just as inoffensive as Gryffindors but on top of that they lose. They’re like this year’s Brooklyn Nets.

And if Hufflepuff has a patron saint, it’s certainly Lauren B. Oh, I’m sorry it’s just Lauren now. Lauren is about as exciting as the stale donut I ate at craft services this morning. I mean it will do, I guess.

The most exciting thing to happen all season involving Lauren was when her little brothers asked Ben if he was going to have sex with their sister in the fantasy suite. Spoiler Alert: He did! And with two other girls too! Almost enough of a hero move to push him into Slytherin, but not quite.

Lauren is probably going to win The Bachelor (breaking a 4000 year streak of Hufflepuff inadequacy) but her prize will be a sales rep in Denver. A real Hufflepuff ending. Really think about your friends that live in Denver. Did they move there at 25 to escape some sort of life rut? Ya. I thought so.

Congratulations to Mr. and Mrs Ben Higgins! Hey it could be worse, you could be a squib.