I went to a frat party last night

"It's happening tonight. You in?"

That was the text I received from my roommate yesterday around 5pm. The who, what, where, when and why was simple. Australian trop house DJ Thomas Jack was playing a secret frat party tonight at USC as part of a publicity stunt and through some shady dealings somehow I had ended up on the list.

5pm yesterday was also approximately the same time I realized I was having a third-life crisis or tertiary life crisis (whatever you call the thing between quarter life and midlife crisis) I don't know what you do when you have a life crisis at 28. You're too old to move to Denver and you're too broke to buy a sports car. I decided I would just go do something I used to be really good at and frat the fuck out.

I arrive to some divey bar downtown at 1030. My two friends are already saddled up in the corner with a pitcher. As I walk to join them I pass large groups of coeds chugging champagne, playing new and exciting drinking games. There are curious phrases scrolled on the wall "$20 all you can drink!" "Wine down Wednesday = every glass gets $1 cheaper" My God…I remember this place, this is a college bar. I'm home.

My roommate has a backpack on because he has a 1am flight. An uber will collect him at 1145 so he's living on borrowed time. I have to stay sober enough to potentially drive down to Anaheim because someone on set has had a stroke and I may need to pick them up from the emergency room.  Somehow the risk of what we're doing makes the entire process all the more thrilling. I am 28 years old. I am about to go to a 19 year old's house party on a Wednesday, this is awesome.

We roll up to this house at the corner of 23rd and Union in downtown(isn) LA. Thomas Jack played Cocahella six months ago so I'm surprised that this house doesn't have a line around the block, it's actually fairly dead. Two cute girls look at me and say '$5 please, there's an open bar in the back.' I reach into my wallet but I see a piece of paper in front of her. My name is on it.

"What's that?"

"Oh, that's the VIP list."

"That's me, I'm David Moeller."

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry. Here."

She grabs my wrist and throws on a yellow VIP wristband and refuses my $5.

"You get to go inside and drink with the artists!"

I step inside and there are a couple opening acts sitting on couches draped with slutty arm candy.

"Hey man, want a line? It's almost gone but another 8 ball is on the way."

'I'm good, thanks guys.'

Oh my god, I've been here 30 seconds and I've already been offered cocaine by someone 10 years younger than me, this will be the best night of my life. After accidentally walking out a door and onto the stage I am diverted to the bar which is inside a make shift garage. There are two pledges behind a folding table offering shots of Gran Legacy vodka (plastic bottle) or jungle juice out of a trash can.

"Are you from FUCKING Chicago man?" One of the pledges barks at me.

I remember I'm wearing a Blackhawks hat and instead of explaining that I lived in Chicago for a time but hail from Indiana I channel my inner improv.

"Fuck ya man."

'NICE, I'M FROM HINSDALE HOW ABOUT YOU?"

"Old town."

"HOLY SHIT!!! THE ACTUAL CITY? NICE. TOMMY GET THIS GUY THE GOOD STUFF!"

Pledge Tommy pulls out a fifth of Smirnoff and pours me two shots.

"Here's to fucking PATTY KANE, the goal leader, the point leader and DEFINITELY not a rapist!"
I take the shots and high five Tommy.

"Hey man, all night, me and Billy got you. Don't wait in this line, 630 forever!"

I rejoin my friends who are sipping jungle juice. I inform them of how they can get 'the good stuff' at the bar. The party has really filled up. Uber XLs dropping drunk frat boys off by the dozen, I see guys getting out of trunks, girls rolling up in costumes. I haven't seen a drunken hoard descend on a house lie this since Bogey Lowenstein's banger in '99. We take a walk around the backyard, people watching and the such, waiting for the main dj to take the stage. A girl bumps into me and asks if I know what room the ecstasy is being done in.

'I think they're upstairs.'

This is the millennial experience.

At around a quarter to 12 one of my friends grabs an uber to the airport, the other is in some deep philosophical discussion with a very cute half Asian girl and I find myself alone.

"COPS COPS COPS!!!!!!"

Mass chaos. People running everywhere, jumping over fences and what not, it takes me a minute to remember that half of these kids are underage. I try to get back inside the house, but the door is locked. I felt like a third class passenger being locked inside the sinking Titanic. I flash my wristband.

"HE'S GOOD, HE HAS A WRISTBAND!!!"

The door opens and I'm quickly whisked inside and into some strange bedroom. Oh my god, this is a frat shut down. I remember these. In this bedroom I am sequestered with two girls and one of the pledges from the bar, I believe it's Tommy.

"Hey, Chicago bro! I brought the Smirnoff!"

Tommy hands me the bottle and then leaves the room to go help with the shutdown process. One of the girls looks at me and says 'Wait you're from Chicago?'

I think long and hard, because I haven't pulled this routine in maybe eight years. I thought I might be a little rusty, but fuck it.

"Ya, I'm from Winnetka."

"OMG I'm from Wilmette We probably know all the same people!'

Fuck. What are the chances?

"I dunno, I'm probably a little older that you, when did you graduate?"

"2014!"

Ok so, I'm like 5 years older than this chick. That's not horrendous.

"Ya, I just turned 19 last night."

Oh God, she graduated New Trier in 2014.

"Where do you live in Winnetka?"

Ummm…shit I don't even remember the street names anymore.

"On Green Bay, by Captain Emo's"

"You mean Captain Nemo's?"

"Ya, Captain Nemo's in Hubbert Woods."

"You mean Hubbard Woods?"

FUUUUUUUCK!

"You're not really from Winnetka…"

I try to think of the youngest Trevian I can name drop. But even my friends' younger brothers and sisters are 5 years older than this chick. I decide to go scorched Earth.

"Of course I am, and you probably live in some split level bullshit west of the highway. You're lucky they didn't send you to GBS."

I see it in her eyes, my elitist assault has won her over.

"Actually I live on Sheridan, but you're hilarious."

Crisis averted.

"So uh…what are you doing in LA?"

"I go to UCLA, I'm a Kappa."

"Oh UCLA? I love Diddy Reise"

"OMG ME TOO!"

And then it happens. I'm making out with a girl who is almost 10 years younger than me. I am violating half your age plus seven…and I lied a lot to make this happen.

Before I can really process what's happening, Pledge Tommy swings the door open and announces that the cops are gone and the party is back on. I lose little miss Kappa but I find my buddy smoking a joint in a corner with a couple people.

"Are you David Moeller? Like the one from Holly's wedding?"

"Yes…"

"Oh I was there too, you were pretty fucked up the whole time, what are you doing here?"

Good question. What am I doing here? With my buzzed head and my day old scruff (lol it's actually like 5 days I just haven't gone through puberty yet) I do look 19, but I'm not.

"Um, I work in music."

"Cool me too."

Another crisis averted.

The party is shut down yet again, the police are back and they're pissed. More kids flee, I guess it is 1am on a Wednesday and we are in a heavily residential area with thumping bass, outrageous strobe lights and a bunch of fucked up kids doing heavy drugs. Thomas Jack still hasn't taken the stage and it is becoming more and more apparent that this isn't going to happen. A drunk girl takes the stage and grabs a mic.

"Listen up you motherfuckers, if we can shut the fuck up for like 5 minutes, these cops will leave and then we can rage our faces off!!! Ok???"

There is a brief period of silence and then I hear a cop mutter, 'Uh, we heard that."

LOL.

The drunk girl grabs the mic again. "Oops, looks like I fucked up again, get the fuck out of here bitches."

People stamp out their cigarettes/blunts/vape pens and start to stumble toward the front. Dozens of rich white kids pull out their smart phones and call Ubers or demand pledges bring them back to the row. I start to walk down the street and I see my Wilmette girl again. She's making out with some other dude. He must like Diddy Reise too, go green go blue. Pledge Tommy runs up to me and hands me a handle of cheap warm vodka.

"You know man, if you need one for the road. GO HAWKS!"

I continue toward my car and hand the bottle to a homeless man posted up outside an ARCO station. I get to my car and take off toward Santa Monica wondering what kind of misadventures my homeless friend has in store for himself the rest of the evening. Kev and I lament over how much fun we had and how ridiculous it was that we were even there. Sometimes the forbidden fruit tastes damn good.

I woke up this morning very aware that someone my age should not do such things. Growing up should include a shred of responsibility. Instead of making out with someone that was born the same year as the Atlanta olympic bombing, I should focus on finding a new job, exploring a relationship, thinking about my future. But at the same time, I see this happening in the world around me and that doesn't necessarily look like a good time. So the people that will read this and roll their eyes, well they can go fuck themselves. I'm still skinny and can run a 6 minute mile, and I will go to all the goddam college parties I please thank you very much.

If you want to get fat and start a 401k that's cool too, but I prefer staying out until 2am to (not) see Thomas Jack play frat parties.

Pitch Meeting

Believe it or not I have had a few real life pitch meetings with Hollywood producers that have the ability to buy my script. The phrase 'soft pass' has been thrown my direction more than once. For those of you not in the biz 'soft pass' is essentially like asking a girl to come home with you from the bar and she says 'lol nope but here's my number if you wanna be friends.'

Typically the reason given to me for the pass is I'm a bit too niche. There are only so many people who want to watch a raunchy show about a bunch of white kids that party too hard and bitch about their first world problems. That said, I'm trying to broaden my appeal a bit.

If you have followed the trades at all, you know that 90's nostalgia is high right now. Reboots are already in the works for Full House, Twin Peaks, X Files and Boy Meets World. Yesterday it was announced that a new Star Trek series in the works and today a Fresh Prince reboot was announced. (I imagine it will feature a fresh faced Michael B Jordan moving in with Will Smith, the uncle he never knew! Something something, scientology, HILARITY ENSUES. Working title: FRESHER PRINCE)

The money is there, the opportunity is there. Who am I not to jump in on an easy cash grab? Here are a few titles that are ripe for a reboot right now.

Saved by the Bell (Working Title: Mr. Morris) 
Plot synopsis: After being expelled from college in the wake of a fraternity hazing scandal, disgraced twenty something Zack Morris (Mark-Paul Gosselaar) returns home to Bayside High as a substitute teacher only to realize he is no longer the big man on campus. Now finding himself on the other side of the coin, Zack teams up with Principal Belding and friends from his past to teach a new generation of teens valuable life lessons.

Original Cast Availability: High. MPG's new sitcom just had the lowest network scripted premiere in the history of television. Dennis Haskins will now appear at a bar in character for $50. The highlight of Elizabeth Berkely's post SBTB career is probably getting railed by Kyle MacClaughlin in Showgirls. Lark Vorhees made headlines this week after getting black out married in Vegas and Dustin Diamond is maybe in jail? Or just celebrity boxing. I can't keep track. Anyway, they are all VERY available. I'm sure AC Slater can take a half day away from The Insider in order to shoot a cameo in the pilot.

Potential to be a hit: Extreme. Casting 41 year old MPG as 24 year old Zack Morris may sound a bit over the top, but Brad Pitt played 90 so I think it will be fine. Put this bitch on Netflix and finally give fans the Zack Morris/Kelly Kapowski sex scene they deserve. Come on Tiffani, if full frontal was good enough for straight laced Jessie Spano, it's good enough for you.

Are You Afraid of the Dark (Working Title: Midnight)
Plot Synopsis: The Canadian teens from the 'Midnight Society' are now working in Montreal as paranormal bloggers in this gritty reboot of the 90's teen sensation. Things seem to be going fine until the monsters from the tales of their youth begin hunting them down one by one.

Cast Availability: Out of the original midnight society, none of the cast is really doing much. One of them is married to Nick Swisher, one is a weatherman and one provides the voice of Francine, the Jewish monkey from the children's show Arthur. Fun fact: Elisha Cuthbert appeared in a couple episodes in 1999.

Potential to be a hit: Medium. In tone, the show would feel somewhere between the NBC show Grimm and the recent Goosebumps movie. But this is the type of series that could quietly run on a Friday night forever and make some people very rich. Also, if my four years in TV have taught me anything, it's that it is essentially free to film in Canada.

Dawson's Creek
After washing out of Duke law school, Dawson Leery returns home to Capeside only to find that gentrification is forcing out his parents and neighbors. He recruits old pals Pacey and Joey to organize an occupy movement.

Eh, that's too political…how about

Cosby
Haha just kidding!

Home Improvement
They Taylor boys become slumlords in Detroit, buying up homes on the cheap using residuals from their father's wildly popular public access television show from the 90's.

That's not much better…let's try some crossovers.

Larisa Explains it All
Following the events in Paradise Valley, 18 year old Alex Mack moves in with her adult cousin Clarissa Darling in Orlando, Florida where she navigates senior year of high school while trying to conceal her special powers. Little does she know her cousin is a witch.

Salute Your Dude
The former campers and counselors from Camp Anawanna seek employment at the famous dude ranch, Bar None.

My So Called Friends
Ten years after losing his fortune in a Ponzi Scheme, former professor Dr. Ross Geller moves back into the Manhattan apartment building he once shared with his sister, brother in law and estranged wife. In the pilot episode Ross posts a Craigslist ad seeking a roommate and finds one in angsty thirty year old Angela Chase.

Ok most of those are too meta…how about this, THIS is a home run.

Seven years after the mysterious death of her mother, Samantha Summers travels to New York City to pursue her dream of becoming a Broadway Actress only to find that the city is overrun with vampires. Can Samantha balance a buzzing social life in Williamsburg, a strenuous audition schedule, all the while clearing the five boroughs of the creatures of the night? Find out this season on Sammy the Vampire Slayer.

I know, pure gold. Hit me up direct or call my agent.

Pikachu's Last Stand: A Halloween Postmortem

Don't be sad it's over, be happy it happened.

Did you have a good weekend? Did you close with that chick dressed up as a ghostbuster? Did you finally shack with that girl who is moving away? Or did you just blow massive quantities of coke all night and spend Sunday vomitting?

Summer is over. Halloween is over. Daylight savings time is over. Your costume is slumped over in the corner covered in fake blood and glitter.

The darkness is upon us.

But before we dive into the doldrums of November and 4pm sunsets, let's do one last reflection on the good times that we had, because remember it is better to have loved and lost then never loved at all.

Chapter 1: The Gin Bucket

As filming was scheduled to commence until 2am on Friday night, I did what any self respecting television assistant would do, I left. There was just no way I was going to spend my entire weekend doing anything other than pouring toxic liquids down my throat. The first stop would be an igloo in West LA, a curious neighborhood nestled up against the 405.

I arrived with the first of two gallons of Fireball I had procured from a Fresh & Easy going out of business sale. The party was already well in hand. I was greeted by various members of the Babysitters Club as well as Bayside High. Add some Pokemon to the mix and it was clear that 90's nostalgia was quite high.

But nothing quite took me back like the plastic cauldron sitting on the outdoor wet bar. I knew immediately that I was in trouble when I saw a half dozen turkey basters emerging from a strange liquid. Of course there would be a gin bucket here. The last time I had partied with a gin bucket was the infamous Barcelona blackout of '08.

As you will remember, from that story I woke up wearing no pants on a park bench at Bogatell Beach and had to walk two hours back to where I was supposed to be sleeping. I am weary of the dangers of gin buckets. Being the prudent Pikachu I am, I started with a couple beers. It would't last.

The first person to invite me to sample the gin bucket was acclaimed street artist Banksy. Then it was Jonah Takalua enjoying his gap year after graduating from Summer Heights High. Right when I'm about to leave the hot corner of gin I am accosted by Kristy, Claudia, Stacey and Mary Anne from the Babysitter's Club who want to take TWO not one baster of gin. I am so totally fucked.

I am able to briefly escape the gin bucket when the police arrive, but somehow I end up in a shot circle with Super Girl, a skeleton and Ted. I retreat inside and AC Slater hands me a Jell-o shot. Where the fuck did these Jell-o shots come from, I've been at this party 30 minutes and consumed enough alcohol for an entire weekend. This is supposed to be the warm up night.

Mercifully, after I escape the kitchen (oh hey there Donald Trump) and the dance floor (my god is that Justin Bieber with Cruella De Vil [I just realized that her name is essentially cruel devil]) I land on a game of Ride the Bus in the family room with three of the four ninja turtles as well as Ralph Macchio and Billy Zabka finally getting along together.

I am enjoying my brief respite from hard liquor when Babydoll from Sucker Punch (which is an incredibly deep cut costume but also sexy AF) legitimately set the SECOND cauldron of gin directly in front of me. There was coke being done in the bathroom, molly on the dance floor, but directly in front of Pikachu there was nothing but gin and fresco cocktails being consumed 3 ounces at a time, but if the Klobb in Goldeneye taught us anything, it's that enough of anything can kill you. There was definitely stuff that happened at the party afterward. I think I challenged Luigi to one on one basketball. I may have asked Satan if she wanted to come home with me. I definitely didn't hit a single cup in beer pong and I may have let Stone Cold Steve Austin stun me through a plastic table. All I know is that I woke up on the floor of my apartment Saturday morning, naked and afraid, covered in Doritos crumbs.

Chapter 2: Puke and Rally
I knew signing up for a 2:30 Saturday improv class was dicey. People often look at me like I'm insane when I tell them about my inability to function the day after a bender, but I know my body. The entire time I was at Indiana University I never took a class before noon, because I knew I would never go. Actually, I rarely had a class that started before 2:30. That said, there were a couple times I nearly missed that 2:30. Sure a normal hangover should be out of your system by noon, but when you party like me it takes a little longer.

I dragged myself to improv and managed to get through the first half of my class thanks to a quadruple shot latte and an iced cappuccino. I was like someone on life support, technically alive but with zero brain activity. All of my jokes went into the darkest depths of my brain. "What's a tender moment you recently received from a family member?" My mother told me that I was the result of a botched abortion. "What is the cure for cancer?" Full blown AIDS. I'm really a delight to have in UCB. At the halftime break when all the cool kids smoke cigarettes or talk about their weekend plans, I made a beeline to the restroom. It turns out that when you party until 5am the night before, eat nothing all day and then directly ingest 6 shots of espresso, your stomach can have some issues.

I fully expected my vomit to be either red (the color of blood) or black (the color of my soul) but it was neither. It was this neon green nuclear fallout color, presumably from gin and jello shots. Part of me thought about pulling the eject lever but I remembered that 1. I had not driven to class and that 2. The hot chick from last week was dressed up as slutty Beetlejuice and her cleavage was out of control. This was enough to get me back to the classroom for the final hour. My last scene of the day was about having sex with one legged hookers in Amsterdam and using babies to clear out a meat grinder. If the police show up next week to arrest me on suspicion of some unsolved murder ring I won't be the least bit surprised.

I get home from class around 7pm and my roommate is already pouring shots of tequila for me, there is a short Mexican man there who is dressed as a drug dealer and the new Zhu album is playing. I open a beer and suffer through a few tequila shots before throwing on my Pikachu costume. I go to open the front gate to let two black cats into the pre game. Meanwhile there is a ninja party happening in my alley. We go to investigate. When I return inside I notice the small Mexican man is gone. Turns out he was a real drug dealer.

Chapter 3: Water and Lightning
The Saturday night party is at a bungalow adjacent to the beach in Venice hosted by Cleopatra, the Corpse Bride and Lady Gaga from the 'Telephone' music video. I was relieved to see that no such Gin Bucket/Crack Juice/Jungle Juice had been prepared. There were 2 coolers of beer and a bar set up with various liquors. Lots of effort had been put into decorating the house. This party would seem to be a bit classier than the previous night's affair, which was nice since I was far from 100%.

But because I am a savage with no will power it was only a matter of time before I was chugging Fireball and smoking cigs with Cheech and Chong. I then shotgunned back to back beers with Tim Riggins and proceeded to spend 30 minutes running around the house screaming 'Texas Forever.'

The only thing that possibly saved me was the fact that my yellow jumpsuit was so hot and uncomfortable that even 30 seconds on the dance floor would render me sweaty, so much sweat, like some of it had to be the alcohol right?

At the beginning of the party there were probably 30, by midnight there were probably 100, every group bringing a seemingly unlimited amount of booze. People were bonging whiskey, flip cup was played with shots, this was not the classy affair I had been expecting. Glass was breaking, A giant panda was passed out in the corner, someone threw up in the bath tub and I realized I was at a full blown frat party.

Halloween in itself is an excuse for everyone to cut loose in bacchanalian debauchery. For one night, you hide behind a mask and nothing seems to count. Your behavior is excused because you are playing a character, a character that drinks, does drugs and maybe even has a one night stand, but when it's over and the dust settles you are granted a life mulligan. The real you wouldn't have gone home with that guy, but throw on a pink wig and all that shit goes out the window.

I spent a large chunk of the night talking (talking is generous, probably more like drunklenly shouting questions at is more appropriate) to an IRL news reporter who is leaving LA to do on camera work in the midwest. "Isn't it weird that you won't be able to do this anymore?" I asked. Because surely local celebrities cannot be celebrating daylight savings by chugging warm whiskey out of a plastic bottle. One does not see Ginger Chan of KTLA facing Fireball shots while dressed as Kim Kardashian.
In the social media age we live in, even normal people can't have fun…Halloween seems to be the one exception.

At one point in the evening, a grass roots movement urged people to take the party to the ocean, because what is safer than taking 100 people nearing black out and in costume into deep water?
Never one to shy away from poor decisions, I helped lead a charge of about 3 dozen people to the water's edge and eventually charged in Pikachu suit and all.

As it turns out, a onesie is not a great swimming garment. As soon as I attempted to body surf the first wave I sank like a rock and eventually got caught in a  riptide. It took a herculean effort for me to crawl ashore, I suppose one should not swim when lightning is present.

Because I am inconsiderate, I trudged back to the party and proceeded to lock the door of the one remaining bathroom and shower all of the sand off of myself. Finally I unlocked the door and a naughty nurse charged in and puked…this time in the toilet, yay!

Epilogue: Things to do in Venice when you're Dead

I woke up on a random couch still at the party. There were various other bodies draped in random corners. I fled the scene when I heard people begin to wake up. I grabbed some eggs (and a pitcher) on the way home because you can't shut a 747's engines off mid flight. I trudged home in my still wet Pikachu costume, resembling Cameron Poe's stuffed bunny at the end of Con Air. I passed joggers and real humans walking their dogs every couple hundred meters; they mocked me in silent judgment as the alcohol escaped from my gasping pours.

I finally collapsed in a pile of regret on my couch and threw my costume in a pile of 'things to burn.' I 'watched' football all day through intermittent periods of unconsciousness. My crowning achievement was making it the two blocks to the grocery store to buy a big ass bag of chips and some popcorn. For the third night in a row, I wouldn't make it back to my bed as I passed out in the fetal position on the couch attempting to watch the Mets choke away the World Series.

Whatever you were holding on to, it's gone now. There is no more good weather (except us LA peeps) for you to look forward to. There are no more fun wedding weekends. No more summer, no more Indian summer, November is here and but for a couple paid days off for Thanksgiving there is nothing on the horizon to inspire joy. It's time to quit that job you hate, it's time to move on from your ex, it's time to look to the future.

Hell, I'm retiring the flow some time this week. It just doesn't feel right anymore. I may even go a couple weeks without drinking just to recalibrate the system a little bit. I'm going to have a salad for dinner tonight.

But if you can survive November there are reasons to maintain the faintest semblance of hope. Christmas is in December, fifth exchanges are in December, ski trips and raves and bar crawls are in December. Will I get kicked off the Big Ten Bar Crawl for a fifth consecutive year? Will I get a medal for setting such a record? Who knows?

It's probably a good idea to spend the next 30 days looking in, maybe deal with some of the shit that I've been letting go all summer. No more masks, it's time to be a real adult. I know it's hard because the first day back after a long party weekend always blows, especially when your favorite sports blog has been murdered, but we'll get through it.

Tonight I will do laundry, I will clean my room. Tonight I will go to the gym and get my haircut. I will lay out a business casual outfit to wear into the office tomorrow. I will buy a new pair of shoes and make a pile of things to donate to Goodwill.

Actually…

Tonight I will watch Monday Night Football and the Walking Dead, afterward I will cruise Facebook pics of girls from my past in slutty Halloween costumes and likely jerk off.

But tomorrow, the diet begins tomorrow.

(Not So) Passive Agressive Notes

Last night I was watching Halloween: Resurrection. It's the one where Jamie Lee Curtis finally (spoiler alert) dies. After a really promising opening sequence, the movie kind of falls apart. The premise is that a reality television show is going to lock 6 people in the childhood home of Michael Myers overnight. Hilarity ensues.

One of the subplots of the movie is there is this 18 year old kid flirting with a college senior under the guise of being a 'grad student.' They eventually begin an online relationship. It's very 90's and A/S/L pic4pic. But it got me thinking that I should Catfish someone go back to college. Not go to grad school, just re-enroll as a Freshman somewhere. I have tasted 6 years of life after graduation and I have decided to pass. I am going to do a hard reset on life and blow up the last decade. I can go to a new school, live in a new dorm, pledge a new frat, have unprotected sex with new white girls. It will be great. I'll even try a new major this time, something like Journalism. Or perhaps this time I should take my future into account and learn how to code.

I can probably pull off 18. I don't think anyone will question it. I'll go somewhere no one has ever heard of me. Somewhere like LSU…GEAUX TIGERS! I will deceive everyone, maybe I'll even meet a Southern Belle and get married! I'll of course fund this by taking out student loans that I never plan on repaying. Upon graduation, I'll flea to Australia and live in my cousin's house selling wine the rest of my life. Then I can write a tv show about my experience for Australian TV. I'll get Chris Lilly (Mr. G, J'amie) to star. It will be fucking great. Even though that's essentially the plot of Community. Eh fuck it, maybe I'll bring cameras and make a cutting edge documentary. Or I could write a book!

Obviously I will do none of this, but it's fun to fantasize about. I'm sure I'll spend the next 6 years talking shit and ranting about my hedonistic ways until I eventually succumb to cirrhosis of the liver. Perhaps my 'art' will be appreciated posthumously.

With that said, let's deconstruct this letter that was posted on the apartment I was couch surfing at a few years ago. I posted it on Instagram once upon a time, but I don't think I was ever given a proper opportunity to respond. It is transcribed below.

            [I just want to take a moment to discuss] (ed note: that is a guess to how the letter starts, it cuts off) how your behavior affects the people around you. Your actions are so incredibly rude.
             Not only do we lose sleep due to your party noise (loud music, even louder drunk shouting, high heeled stomping) We also lose sleep because we are enraged and stressed that we have neighbors who are unaware and basically have no consideration for anyone but themselves. We can hear every bit of noise that is taking place in your home. It is like we are in your party.
             Do you have any idea how it feels and how hard it is to wake up early in the morning when you’ve lost sleep because of other people’s party noise?
Frustrating is an understatement.
             Other neighbors share our sentiment. And actually they feel sorry for us that we have to deal with you, being that we share a wall.
             And don’t get me wrong, my sister and I love to party. We’re from the midwest also, we get it. But we are also aware of the fact that there is a point where you have to be adult about it. For fuck’s sake, I’m 27, not that much older then (sic) you and you make me feel like an old biddy.
             I just really hope you can step back and try to really understand and analyze your actions and the snowball effect they create. Because everytime (sic) we go to knock on the door and complain you guys say “I know, I know,” But obviously you don’t! Don’t humor me and say “I know.” That frustrates me even more. You may as well be saying “blah, blah, blah.” Your words obviously don’t mean anything. It’s all a bunch of bullshit in my opinion. I am basically pleading with you to be a human being and also have some respect.
 -Katie

Ahh yes, Katie, former resident of 2047 Vista Del Mar. I wonder if she still lives there. I bet she does. According to my math she would be 31 now. Probably unmarried. Probably still living with her sister. Scratch that, I bet she moved back to the Midwest, got on Match.com and married a fat man. You ever see a chick on Facebook that marries a fat man? I always think, 'wow good for you, you really wanted to get married that bad, huh? Well I wish you both the best.' It gives me hope as a man. No matter how fat I get, there will be someone desperate enough to get married that they will have me. She probably won't even expect me to have a job. Not a bad plan B.

But I digress, a little back story. When I moved to LA in the autumn of 2011 there was a two week period that I was living on a couch in the 'Hollywood Hills.' I put that in quotes because while it was North of Franklin, I was essentially living in the parking lot of the 101 cafe (base of the hill.) The neighbors with whom my buddies shared a (paper thin) wall were not too keen on our partying and once posted the above note. It is now framed in my Venice apartment. And now, if you're not too busy, I would like to go paragraph by paragraph and have my turn to respond, 4 years later.

        [I just want to take a moment to discuss] (ed note: that is a guess to how the letter starts, it cuts off) how your behavior affects the people around you. Your actions are so incredibly rude.

No, dear neighbors? No introduction to the author? The writer does start with a strong opening statement though. Upon reading the first sentence I know exactly what this letter will be about. She must have taken  business communication class.

Not only do we lose sleep due to your party noise (loud music, even louder drunk shouting, high heeled stomping) We also lose sleep because we are enraged and stressed that we have neighbors who are unaware and basically have no consideration for anyone but themselves. We can hear every bit of noise that is taking place in your home. It is like we are in your party.

 Ok now we are into specifics, the writer is complaining about noise, specifically the noise associated with partying. She lists loud music, shouting and 'high heeled stomping' as reasons for losing sleep. I understand this as we were listening to a lot of 'Country Roads' back in 2011. That is both a shout and stomp heavy song. The next line however gives me pause. The writer also loses sleep because she is enraged and stressed that she has neighbors who are unaware and basically have no consideration for others.

Well which is it? Are we blissfully unaware or do we maliciously give no fucks. These are two totally contrasting issues. Someone unaware of their actions cannot be held accountable. This is why Sling Blade was eventually set free. Also, your lack of sleep for anger and stress sounds like it should be brought up with a physician, perhaps a psychiatrist. Lastly you discuss that the noise is so overbearing 'it is like we are in your party,' that's great! You're always welcome!

 Do you have any idea how it feels and how hard it is to wake up early in the morning when you’ve lost sleep because of other people’s party noise?Frustrating is an understatement.

I do not. My neighbors are pretty chill, plus most nights I drink myself into a coma deep enough that I would surely sleep through a nuclear attack.

Other neighbors share our sentiment. And actually they feel sorry for us that we have to deal with you, being that we share a wall.

Look, I was going to lay off the grammar as I surely am not one to talk, but the above sentence is a mess. I would have probably dropped a semicolon after the word sentiment. Semicolons are fun, but I try to stick to one per document.

 And don’t get me wrong, my sister and I love to party. We’re from the midwest also, we get it. But we are also aware of the fact that there is a point where you have to be adult about it. For fuck’s sake, I’m 27, not that much older then (sic) you and you make me feel like an old biddy.

 Oh God, here we go. Not much older THAN. 'Then' is mainly an adverb used to situate actions in time. 'Than' is a conjunction used when making comparisons. Come on, you're better than that. Also, I like that because you're from the midwest 'you get it.' What do you get exactly? You get that it's fun as shit to drink yourself retarded and make out with strangers? Then why are you hiding behind the wall with your cats writing angry letters? Lastly, I approve of the profanity, you are enhancing the tension. But what exactly is an old biddy?

old biddyOld woman
That old biddy shouldn't be on the road.

Ok! How about that, you learn something new every day. Thanks Urban Dictionary! 

  I just really hope you can step back and try to really understand and analyze your actions and the snowball effect they create. Because everytime (sic) we go to knock on the door and complain you guys say “I know, I know,” But obviously you don’t! Don’t humor me and say “I know.” That frustrates me even more. You may as well be saying “blah, blah, blah.” Your words obviously don’t mean anything. It’s all a bunch of bullshit in my opinion. I am basically pleading with you to be a human being and also have some respect.

Ok, I promise this is my last grammar note. "Everytime' is a Britney Spears song. I know this because at the end of the music video she tries to kill herself via drowning in a bathtub. If you freeze it just right, you can see one of her nipples protruding from the bubbles. I have masturbated to this frame several times, because despite the fact that Britney Spears went off the rails, had two failed marriages, shaved her head and generally went insane; there are still no real pictures of her boobs.

You probably weren't interested in my Britney Spears masturbatory habits. Look she's still really hot IMHO. 10 out of 10. Would fuck. Sorry, but that was just an elongated way of me telling you that the phrase you were looking for was 'every time' as in 60% of the time, it works every time.

Let's move on to your displeasure with our face to face interactions. You voice your displeasure that when you attempt to complain we say "I know, I know" and try to end the conversation. Let me let you in on a little trick my friend. If you just tell someone "You know" or say "yes" or just keep nodding and saying 'ok' they will leave. This works when your parents are upset, when a boss is pissy with you, when a girlfriend is mad. I just say "Yeah, yeah, yeah" and slam the door, ending the interaction. The truth is, I don't give a fuck about your feelings , I just want you to go away so I can do another line and play some loud EDM. I'm not going to ask open ended questions or discuss my position on the matter as that would increase the duration of the unpleasantness. All of your concerns might as well be 'blah blah blah' to me, because we have contrasting goals.

Look, you can plead all you want, but what we have here is a classic conflict of interest. I like to be loud and party. You like to sleep. If I liked to sleep and my neighbors were loud, I would invest in a prescription of Xanax, or move to the valley because I'm not a talker I'm a doer. What I definitely wouldn't do is move to one of the most party heavy neighborhoods in the world and then bitch about it.

/endrant

***

Four weeks later those guys were evicted because they failed to check their privilege and be human beings. Following that we moved to Venice and got a 3 bedroom apartment in a 4 unit building. In 2012, dub step peaked and I played the song 'Promises' probably 40 times a week, I gave a girl a concussion by Yeardley Loving her head against the wall during some rough sex and I watched loud action movies all day with my $3000 sound system because I was unemployed. There were no noise complaints.

The moral of the story is that I want to re-enroll in college. Oh and also Hollywood has no chill. Venice Forever.

We Went There: UCB 101

Since the day I moved to LA there has been some sort of temptation to take some sort of improv/acting classes. I suppose you could even say that the temptation existed while I was living in Chicago. However I was always impeded by a sheer lack of commitment. I've gone 28 years without a real girlfriend, how could I possibly commit eight Saturdays in a row to something as trivial as improvisational comedy?

It seemed to be one of those things that I would always talk about, keep on the back burner. Improv classes are just like having children, there will never be a perfect time. But one day after I found out that those bastards at the National Parks Department took down the cables at Half Dome, thus thwarting my trip to Yosemite, I said fuck it and threw down the $400 for UCB 101 Intro to Long Form Improv.

Selecting a Theatre for me was pretty easy since I am an elitist...UCB is the CAA of improv schools. Oh is it time for a tangent?

Comparing improv schools to their agency equivalents.

UCB is CAA, the biggest baddest in town. The unquestioned number one.

Nerdist is WME. The new cool kid. The Brooklyn of improv schools.

Groundlings is UTA. A little less main stream. Perennially in third place.

iO West is ICM. Just happy to be considered top tier.

Second City LA is Paradigm/Gersh, your best option if you can't play with the big boys.

Westside Comedy theatre is Innovative Artists…mediocre and in Santa Monica.

So again, since I am an elitist (and also wanted to carpool with this girl) I chose UCB. Famous people come out of UCB all the time. I want to be famous. It's not like you hear about a super famous comedian and then "...GOT THEIR START AT IO WEST!"

But I digress…

I arrive to the East Hollywood training center a little before 2:30 on a Saturday afternoon after an arduous 75 minute drive from Venice.  It's hot, because of course it's fucking hot. Hollywood sucks. I climb the stairs and find room 229 with the nervous excitement of a college student going to their first day of class. Will there be lots of hot chicks in here? How about some bros? Will I sit in the cool section?

I literally changed my outfit 3 times before leaving the house, unsure of how to make the greatest impression. I decided on a Polo, 5 inch inseam Nantucket Red J Crew shorts and a backward Donald Trump hat because there is no cooler look in LA than 'displaced frat boy that doesn't give a fuck.'

Upon entering I notice that everyone is pretty average. No one immediately sticks out as someone I would have sex with or potentially do drugs with, which is fine. I'm here to get famous not necessarily up my fuck count.

Right away we are told that our instructor isn't coming. Something came up. I imagine something is an audition or some sort of acting gig because that's what all of your instructors are…either out of work actors or non-union TV writers making about $1000 a week. It's an interesting dynamic. They want you to succeed, enjoy yourself and keep taking classes as this puts money in their pocket, but they don't necessarily want you stealing their roles down the line.

A substitute comes in and spends the first 30 minutes of class going over the syllabus. It was mostly mundane save for one section that discourages physicality or offensive jokes. So if you thought this would be a nice forum to grab tits and decry Jews in the name of 'comedy' you are unfortunately not protected by so-called 'creative freedom.'

The first exercise is pretty silly, you come up with some sort of alliterative take on your name followed by an action that will help people remember. It's a bit of an ice breaker to introduce you to your classmates. I was tipped off on this in the car ride over so even though I had an hour to prep for this, the best I could come up with was 'Douchey Dave" accompanied by a faux collar pop. You then have to memorize everyone's alliterative nickname and mimic their action. The clear winner of this game was "Rockin Rocky" complete with a sick air guitar lick.

This game is followed by something equally stupid called 'Zip, Zap, Zop' which is essentially like the invisible party ball game I used to play when I was fucked up listening to techno. You essentially have an invisible thing that you pass to someone 'in a creative way.' Points to the person that barfed the ball to me, but the girl that tried long snapping was trying too hard.

After these two exercises it was deemed that the class was properly warmed up, and we got into our first real game which I believe was called, 'Just stand there and yell about shit you hate for like two minutes or so.' Wanting to show the class I was fearless, I volunteered to go first and went on an epic rant about my hatred of babies. It was pretty harsh and I think people were a bit taken aback by my abrasiveness as I had not yet spoken in the first hour of class. I got some huge laughs though, specifically for the line, "When I see a Baby on Board sticker, sometimes I just think about smashing into that motherfucker and doing that person a favor." I give myself 3 'yes ands' our of 4.

But almost everyone was funny, there was a takedown of the 3 typing dots on iMessage, shitty fake instagram models and my favorite reality television. Halfway through the first class I was impressed with the overall talent level of the group. I had imagined myself at the top, maybe one or two other legit wannabe actors and then a bunch of ass clowns. I was wrong, I suppose 28 hours of your life and several hundred dollars is only a commitment you make if you're serious about something…or you're pouting about a ruined hiking trip.

The last game before the break is "Panel interview," you are selected with three other people to sit on a panel as if you are famous people interviewed on some sort of talk show. One person in the group makes up some bullshit about who you are supposed to be and the group is supposed to run with it. Hilarity ensues.

I was in the first group again and the guy next to me said "We are scientists." The guy next to him mentions "Dealing with the sunlight problem in Europe." And how there is not a lot of it. "Adds the girl next to him. It's my turn to say something, and I think of a gem "Which of course had led to a very bad vampire problem.

Gold right? The rest of the interview spiraled out of control pretty quickly, we were blind scientists who were financing all of our research off of the trust fund of Dr. James Pants, whose father invented pants and receives a one dollar royalty for every pair sold.

Either our teacher was unimpressed or viewed us as comic geniuses that were a threat to his livelihood because he essentially gave us a Paul Rudd surfing lesson.

Then it's halftime! You have 10 minutes to go to the cafe, smoke a cigarette or go to the bathroom and send nude snaps to your ex girlfriend. I didn't eat at all that day in favor of an Adderall and a smoothie, thus I decided to head to the cafe for a bag of chips.

UCB's cafe or 'inner sanctum' as they call it is essentially The Max for improv nerds. There is a stage, a bunch of couches and 7 or 8 mildly disinterested people working on their screenplay. They look up at me as if to say, 'Ugh, it's just a 101er' the same resentful stares I remember receiving from Seniors on my first day of high school.

The second half of class focused mainly on a 2 person 'yes and' improv scene. 'Yes and' is one of the basic principles of improv in which you heighten the drama of a scene by agreeing to everything the other person says while adding some bit of information.

Example…
"This is a bank robbery, give me all the money."
"Yes and you're robbing me, with flowers…"
"Yes and I brought the flowers because we're going on a date after…"
"Yes and we're getting sushi…" blah blah blah

Or some shit like that. People give feedback, everyone tells you you're great. It feels pretty good. It reaffirms that I should have been a theatre kid in high school where everyone supports each other as opposed to football where everyone calls each other a faggot. But I guess it was worth it to get to go to the parties with the cool kids and drink Parrot Bay rum.

Moving along we do an exercise in which we attempt to plan a party using the same principles. It's craaaaazy how scenarios can develop when you just say yes. I'm pretty sure that's the premise of the movie Yes Man. My scene partner in this particular exercise is the one 'hot girl' and now that I'm standing right next to her it's amazing how little she is wearing, she just suggested our party have lube and I suggested it be the lube with peppermint oil that tingles. OMG she totally wants to fuck me. Now I know why all the theatre kids were always having sex, it's very difficult to keep these scenes non-sexual. I take back my previous statement, I would totally do drugs or have sex with this girl. Our instructor shoots me a sideways look, I think he's gay.

Class dismissed! We are encouraged to exchange numbers and hang out. Go see shows together. But sadly I'm in a bit of a hurry, I head down to Larchmont for some quick Salt and Straw and then back to Venice for a 'dinner party.' I use that term lightly because I blacked out harder than I have in six months, went swimming in the ocean at 4 o clock in the morning and may have offered to fund a girl's pilot. I guess that's the type of night you have when you keep saying yes.

How to Win Your Dinner Party

You've just received a curious email that you don't immediately recognize. It is from someone named "Evite." Strange, you don't know any Evites. Perhaps it's pronounced 'Evita' like that Madonna musical. It never strikes you that this could be a clever portmanteau of 'Electronic' and 'Invitation.' You click on the heading, intrigued.

"You are cordially invited to a night of delicious food, sophisticated drink and rich conversation."

The fuck?

I know. It's intimidating. Relax, while this may sound like a cult's recruitment letter; this is merely a summons to this thing called a dinner party. They're supposed to be fun. It's like a pre game for people over 25. And don't worry friends, they can even be fun…IF you follow my handy little guide. Follow me as I teach you to dinner party like a champion.

First let's start with what a dinner party is and why it exists.

din·ner par·ty

noun

1. a social occasion at which guests eat dinner together.

   
   

Yes, a quick Google search will tell you that a dinner party is merely a social engagement intent upon bringing people together. But the subtext is that it's an excuse for young adults to pretend to be fancy. Often times it is a gathering at someone's house of equalish numbers of each sex. Dinner will be cooked or catered from a local establishment, wine will be consumed, bullshit will be discussed.

Reasons for a dinner party are vast: a birthday celebration, a going away or even as a set up. As people grow older it is much more acceptable to find your partner by way of mutual friends than 'a guy you blew in the bathroom of Whaler.'

You can expect groups of about 6-12, dressed nice. The men will likely have product in their hair, the women may wear perfume. You may be asked to prepare a side dish or bring a bottle of wine, it is customary not to show up empty handed. Now that we have defined dinner party and provided its raison d'être, let's plow through a few quick tips.

What Should I Wear?
Women will typically wear some sort of evening gown/formal dress or perhaps something a little shorter and tighter fitting for a younger crowd. Men will wear button downs and slacks, perhaps a jacket if they're feeling up to it.

I would recommend something a bit edgier though. Perhaps a Member's Only jacket with dark jeans for the men. Nothing says you're ready to party like 80's vintage. Pop the collar a bit and slick your hair back. Maybe wear some really big sunglasses, don't take them off inside. You don't have to. This may be seen as peacocking, but as much as women in their late 20's will say they are attracted to a man's personality and kindness, this is a lie that girls tell themselves when they cannot land an attractive mate.
Women, I urge you to wear the same outfit you would wear to 1 Oak. There will be one attractive single man at this dinner. Do you want to spend the night talking to him, or the sweaty guy that wants to give you his theories on the Marvel Expanded Universe?

What Should I Bring?
Most people will bring a decent bottle of wine and/or a side dish. Some hero might bring flowers. There will be one hipster who brings a 6 pack of canned IPAs, he will have a beard.

Look, you can bring a buffalo chicken dip and people will be like 'oh this is really great.' But if you want to really be a star, bring the following. Bring a bottle of respectable $25 Pinot Noir. I'm thinking Decoy, not Duckhorn. You don't want to be the hero that brings a bottle of $300 Malbec and has a story to go along with it. "In the summer of 2012 I took a holiday down to Argentina and hiked to the summit of Mt Aconcagua to retrieve this bottle from my favorite local vineyard." Fuck that guy. Pour heavy from his bottle. and then chug your glass like you would a shitty 2 Buck Chuck. This is where you separate yourself though. Bring a bottle of Fireball as well because the wine WILL run out. Keep this a secret until it's absolutely necessary. But you know what else you bring? After a few shots of cinnamon whisky are down the gullet, bust out a gram of cocaine along with a story. "In the winter of 2013, I vacationed to the jungles of Bogota to retrieve this gram of pure cocaine from my favorite warlord."

Douchey wine guy will be stunned. All night you and douchey wine guy were probably going after the same girl. Not anymore. Douchey wine guy is on the floor bleeding, trying to recover from a devastating knock out punch.

Where Do I Sit?
Typically one would follow the host's lead when choosing a seat at the dinner table. There may even be nameplates/assigned seating at the table, especially if this party is intended to 'introduce' two people.

Fuck that. Sit directly across from the person you want to have sex with. Make eyes as often as possible. Play footsie. Exclude all competition from the conversation. If that guy doesn't travel, discuss Europe. If that guy doesn't like sports, break down the 2014 Chicago Blackhawks. If that guy is missing his left arm, discuss masturbation with a non-dominant hand.

If there are multiple people you would like to sleep with either sit in between them or take the middle of the table spot that is facing the kitchen. This is the power spot on any dinner table, the social epicenter if you will.

How Much Do I Eat?
During a class field trip to the President Benjamin Harrison home in 3rd grade I was taught that you want to ALMOST finish your meal. This means you both enjoyed it and thought that the portions served to you were accurate.

However, I would advise that you follow the following guidelines.
Men: Eat as much as you want.
Women: Eat very little, it will keep you skinny. Don't worry if you're hungry later. The cocaine will take care of that.

How Much Do I Drink?
According to NPR's Dinner Party Download and this article your host will set the tone based on how she would like the night to flow. There might be a fridge full of beer, there may be a very specific progression of cocktails. When in doubt, best to stay about a half drink behind your host.

Fuck that.

You dictate the flow of the night, and by no means should you show up sober. Just because pre games are dead and have been replaced by 'dinner parties' does not mean that you cannot pre game said party. Here's the deal. You will be the life of the party and then people will follow suit. The host will begrudgingly follow suit. You can hijack this thing easily. If people are a little stiff, recommend a drinking game. In fact, why don't you bring over some Jell-O shots. Jell-O shots are fun. The goal of any dinner party should be to drink everything, miraculously find some more and finish that…and if you still aren't having sex with your target, drunk drive to the liquor store and buy some more.

What Should I Talk About?
Conventional wisdom would tell you to discuss matters of the day; things that can involve everyone and being sure to avoid taboo topics of politics, money and religion.

As mentioned earlier, you should leverage the discussion to your benefit. You want to come off as awesome as possible. Talk about your worldwide travels, the fact that you are 5 hours away from your pilot's license, discuss your family's ski cabin in Utah. In fact, double down and invite everyone there to join you over the winter. "You guys will love it, literally ski in ski out." This is of course an empty promise. Basically use the rules of a first date (ask about her, girls like to talk about themselves) and do the exact opposite. This is your one hour job interview to be as charming as possible. Also the more fun the conversation is, the more people will drink, the better the chances of the night escalating are. Try to make some sexual puns. People love those. Avoid sweeping statements that would offend large groups of people. Spin your chair around like AC Slater, this will show people how cool you are.

What Happens After Dinner?
Desert may be served, there will possibly be a night cap and then the night will begin to wind down. It would be polite to offer to help clean or do dishes. Thank your host and go home.

Or not…look, after dinner people will smoke cigarettes because it's European or whatever and all your friends are white and basic as fuck. Some enterprising motherfucker might even bust out a joint so you guys can feel young again. This would be the appropriate time to bust out the Fireball/Cocaine. You will be lauded as a hero. You are the Captain now. Now that people have loosened up a bit, talks of going out for a cocktail will heat up. THIS IS WHEN YOU STRIKE.
You order a fleet of two UBER SUVs (not uber XL…2 fucking Denalis) and send them straight to the closest dance bar in town. You don't send a split request to anyone because that is what fucking poor people do. You get to the bar, you grease the bouncer and you close on your chick within 30 minutes.
Douchey wine guy will still probably be on the sidelines complaining that Chestnut Club plays better music.

The next day (after you drop off your shacker) be sure to send a handwritten thank you note to your host, this will ensure you get invited back to the next dinner party, where you will undoubtedly win again.

An Oral History of NK 737

Elizabeth A (Indiana Pi Phi, former LA resident): So Moeller was staying with us as he always does when he stays in Chicago. We straightened his hair, he looked fab! I wanted him to come to my 6am Pilates class but he said something about an early flight. I can't believe how good he looked with the blow out I gave him, now I just need to get him set up with some Rodan Fields and he could totally be a male model.

Lizzy S. (Michigan State Sigma Kappa, former LA resident): Moeller and I may have stayed up a little too late drinking wine and watching the Michigan/Michigan State ending. I mean can you FUCKING BELIEVE IT? GO SPARTY WOOOOOOOOO!!!

David M (Indiana Phi Psi, current LA resident): I have to admit, I did look good with my hair straightened. I was a little nervous about my 6:45 flight but Lizzy said it would only take like 20 minutes to get to the airport at that hour. We probably shouldn't have opened that third bottle of wine, but after that fake punt, I needed another drink.

Elizabeth A: I woke up to go open the gym around 5:15 and Moeller was still there…

David M: It is incredibly difficult to shower without getting your hair wet.

Lizzy S: I told Moeller to give himself an hour to get to O'Hare to be safe.

David M: I got out of the shower at like 5:30 and immediately attempted to get an Uber. I forgot that I had thrown my phone at a brick wall on Saturday night rendering it useless. I had to download the Uber app onto my iPhone. I keep wondering what would have happened if I would have been able to request an Uber 2 minutes earlier. You know like Butterfly Effect/Chaos theory shit right? Anyway, how the fuck is there a 3x surge at 530am?

Carlos A (Uber driver, no college or Greek affiliation): So I pick up this kid in Lincoln Park on Monday morning. I see this slight look of terror in his eye when he hears that we should be at his destination in an hour.

Erin M (WGN traffic reporter, Columbia College alum): Traffic was unusually heavy Monday morning, especially at the airport. An Old Style truck had jackknifed at the Harlem exit. Lots of USC fans were unable to fly home after watching a disappointing defeat to Notre Dame two days before.

David M: So I was already freaking out about missing my flight and then the car starts wobbling out of control. Next thing I know there is a horrific pop and we are pulled over on the side of the road.

Carlos A: See I had fixed my blowout the day before, but my rim must've been bent or something. That kid just jumped out of the car and started running down the freeway like a maniac. I gave him 4 stars.

John T (Notre Dame Phi Alpha Delta 3L, Driving on the Dan Ryan): I was driving to the airport to pick up a friend who had gone back East for the weekend. We were to drive back to South Bend later that day. Traffic is starting to back up and I see this guy in an Iowa hoodie running down the shoulder of the Dan Ryan flailing his arms wildly. I pulled over to offer assistance.

David M I missed a flight once because I ate too many space cakes in Amsterdam. The result was 12 hours of misery in a Brussels airport, I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy. So I just jumped out of the Uber and started to run, then this dude in a Kia Soul picks me up. It was crazy.

John T So we're driving to the airport and Dave tells me he got a 160 on his LSAT but didn't pursue Law School because of some sort of pending legal issue at his undergraduate university. I jotted it down because it seems like an interesting case study to discuss in Phi Alpha Delta, the professional legal fraternity.

David M John was a pretty mild mannered dude, but when he figured out how much of a hurry I was in, he turned into a maniac. He jumped a median, he drove the wrong way down a service road. All said and done he got me to the airport by 6am.

John T I had watched Furious 7 the night before.

Shaniqua L (Chicago State Alpha Kappa Alpha, Spirit Gate Agent): Look, it's a Monday for me too. I'm just having my first coffee, waking up and this crazy ass white kid runs up to me screaming about how he's got to get to LA. I'm thinking, I'm going through a divorce, my son just dropped out of college and this kid wants me to get him back to sunny LA because he slept in? Fuck this dude.

David M: I get to the gate and this woman looks at me blankly and says 'there's nothing I can do.'

Megan A: (USC Kappa, standing in security line) Ya, the line was about 2 hours. I was on the Spirit flight too. I had already decided I wasn't going to make it. I cried and called my dad. He told me to book a new flight on his credit card. I got on the noon Virgin flight. They even upgraded me!

David M: I see a bunch of USC kids that are supposed to be on my flight, they don't seem to care that they are going to miss the flight, whereas I think it would probably ruin my life. I decide to take matters into my own hands. I duck under a rope and walk right past a TSA agent manning the pre check line. Thankfully he doesn't see me.

Muhammad R. (University of Delhi, TSA pre check)  Oh I saw him. I just don't care. In my old country I was a doctor. Now I spend all day racially profiling people that look like me. Hungover white kids are annoying, but they are rarely terrorists. I let him slide because you know what? I make $26,000 a year and Walking Dead ran long last night. I was tired too.

Billy H (Crossroads Middle School, In line at security) My dad took me out of school at lunch on Friday so we could fly to Chicago for the USC game. We lost, I was really sad. I saw this guy in line behind us. He also looked really sad. When I got called up to security with my dad they asked if the sad guy was with us. I told her yes.

Sally A (No education record on fie, TSA supervisor) I guess I should have been thrown off by the fact that the dad was 5 foot 2 and this guy was like 6 foot 4, but all white people look the same to me.

Elizabeth A Pilates was great that morning. My arms look fucking great.

Lizzy S I still can't believe that Michigan State won!!!

Sally A: So this white kid is sweating all over his damn self. At training we are taught to do extra screening on people that look suspicious. Usually I take that to just mean Muslims. This kid just looked strung out like my friend Michael is most Sunday nights…but the metal detector did go off when he walked through.

David M: OMG the fucking Altoid tin. I had a pharmacy full of drugs in this Altoid tin and it was in my god damn pocket. Fortunately, I think I had taken most of the pills at the wedding.

Sally A: I opened the Altoid tin and it looked like it was mostly Altoids. There was one blue pill. I think it might have been a Viagra, I didn't bust him though, he was kind of cute.

David M: THAT'S WHERE THAT MOLLY WENT!

Bishop S (St. Viator High School, Starbucks Barista): This kid goes sprinting by barefoot through Terminal 3 like he stole something. He damn near knocked over an old woman. I was praying for someone to come out of nowhere and lay his ass out. It didn't happen though. Oh I'm sorry we don't make Pumpkin Spiced Lattes at this location.

Janet P (University of South Florida Chi O, Flight Attendant): I became a flight attendant so I could see the world, and maybe travel for free on the weekends. Instead I end up in shitty hotel rooms having sex with ex boyfriends from college. Did you know Spirit puts us up in Ramadas? Even Frontier girls get the Marriott. Oh, you want me to re-open the gate because you're late for your flight? Whatever, take an exit row seat as well, I just don't care anymore.

David M: I couldn't believe it, I legitimately almost ran this girl over Home Alone 2 style and she merely re-opened the gate and gave me an exit row seat. She must have been having a really good day. Speaking of good day, I just found an Ambien in my back pocket GOODNIGHT.

Jason R (USC SAE, passenger on Spirit Flight 737): I'm pretty sure that I saw that guy on the side of the road an hour ago. How the fuck did he make it onto this flight? Excuse me, miss can I get a Jack and Coke when you get a chance?

Captain Jeffries (Purdue GDI, pilot Spirit Flight 737): I was late to the airport that morning so the flight ended up being delayed about 15 minutes. My wife's car was in the shop so I had to drop her off at this Pilates studio in Lincoln Park. Then there was all this construction on the freeway. I saw this car get a blow-out and this passenger jump out, it was crazy/ If it weren't for that I probably would have been on time.

David M I had to go straight to work after I landed at LAX. It sucked balls because the crushing reality of the real world was suffocating me. So I did the only prudent thing one can do when they are having a crisis, I signed up for flight lessons and booked a trip to Lima, Peru…on Spirit. 

Jim Harbaugh (University of Michigan Head Football Coach): What can I say? It was a terrible loss. Wait, why am I participating in an oral history for someone's personal blog? Get the fuck out of here!

Janet P: My room at the Marina Del Rey Ramada wasn't ready of course. Fuck it. I'm going to the Venice Whaler and opening up a tab on the corporate card. I'll be there for the next 12 hours. Just say you're with Janet. Also I just found out my ex Tom is getting married so if you have cocaine, I'll probably sleep with you. It will be just like the opening scene from Flight.

Some of the events/names in this oral history were fictionalized to protect the innocent.