The Surprising Feminism of ATO

By now you have undoubtedly seen the infamous video clip of a bizarre 'sex party' happening at the Bloomington chapter of Alpha Tau Omega or ATO. Mere hours after the video went viral, the national fraternity had shut down the chapter indefinitely. The hot takes and think pieces came rolling in.

Allegations of sexual hazing ran rampant as the video appears to show a man being encouraged to go down on a woman in front of all of his shirtless, chanting bros. Some took it further, asserting we were witnessing some sort of sexual crime. The problem with both of these trains of thought is that we are once again, not taking the female perspective into account.

Since the beginning of time it has been a woman's right to operate her own body as she sees fit. If she so choses to leverage her sexuality to make a living, who am I to pass judgment? Just last week, former stripper turned Hip Hop fashion icon Amber Rose, hosted a Slut Walk through Downtown Los Angeles in an attempt to shine a light on the growing trend of slut shaming in America. It's bullshit, the double standard that exists between men and women. In a year when Magic Mike XXL becomes a top 10 film, we would decry these women and the men employing them.

What happened last night was not a crime, it was not hazing. What you witnessed in that video is female empowerment.

Let me walk that back a bit. The two women in the above video are trained professionals. As a former fraternity member at Indiana University, I can personally vouch that 'stripper nights' are not uncommon. It is certainly within a woman's rights to supplement the income she receives working the lunch shift at Night Moves with private gigs. I mean the lasering of shitty c section scars isn't going to pay for itself. The women WANT to be there. The women are paid to be there, and god dammit the women are in charge.

Let's break the video down:
From seconds :01-:19 
We see our protagonist hold 'Tommy' in a UFC-esque full guard. She strategically uses her legs to keep 'Tommy' locked in her groin area. For those familiar with BDSM culture, you will recognize this as a traditional move used by many a dominatrix.

At the :20 mark, you will see that the 2nd stripper punishes 'Tommy' for not putting forth enough cunnalingal effort via vicious kicks to his derriere. Again if there is any sex 'crime' happening in this video, it's that Tommy is half assing it. If Tanya wants to get to climax we're going to need more effort from our pasty boxer shorts wearing Tau.

At the :25 mark we finally get some real brotherly encouragement for Tommy via the classic butt tap. Football players have been using this forever. You can see that after a hetero, non sexual tap to the bottom Tommy really starts to kick into 5th gear.

The truth is, this video is a natural display of repressed sexual adolescence. If anything I'm offended by Tommy's pitiful technique. The real story on display though is not of a bunch of frat bros acting like pigs, it is the bravery of a couple women who subverted gender roles, thus empowering female sexuality.

Enough will be said on the blogs about Tommy in the coming days. Tommy meanwhile, well he's busy putting ATO on his back so we can excuse a little sexual inexperience on his end, so again we will focus on the women.

The line between strippers and prostitutes in Bloomington may be narrow, but the line between shame and empowerment can be blurred to nonexistence.

Call her a fourth wave feminist, call her a hero…whatever you do, don't call her a victim.

The Takeover

Last night I 'played' tennis. I played insomuch as I attempted to hit a green ball with a racket over a net. But in reality I played worse than Andy Samberg in '7 Days in Hell' before he discovered cocaine. I was firing errant shots all over the court, I felt fat. Twice I rocketed balls over the fence onto the Penmar Golf Course in frustration. The only solace I took from the evening was a $5 Blueberry Tart Yogurtland covered in Fruity pebbles and Gummy Worms.

What a fucking mess.

The truth is, that the snacks on my new show are out of control and I am frequently bored as fuck at work. The way I deal with this boredom is either hitting on the hot accountant or walks to the kitchen to grub on God knows what. A few days ago I discovered that hot accountant is married, so my kitchen excursions became even more frequent. Sure summer is over, but when you're single there is really no reason not to be absolutely shredded. And since I am skipping the Rock n Roll half marathon to go get blasted in Chicago next weekend my cardio has bottoming out. The only solution to this problem calls for drastic measures.

Amphetamines.

This morning I took 30 mg of Adderall to render myself unable to consume food. While it worked, it did have some unintended consequences.

1. I decided this morning I am going to get my pilot's license. I'm going to get my LSA. Do you know why? Because it's the lowest barrier to entry to something bad ass. It's the BMW 1 series of pilot's licenses. You can get it with 20 hours of flight time for around 4 grand. This license enables you to fly anywhere during daylight hours. You can only go like 200 miles per hour in a light plane with one passenger. But riddle be this, what chick isn't s'ing your D after you fly her from Santa Monica airport to Santa Barbara for a wine tasting?

2. I'm going to South or Central America for Christmas. I can't go to Indy, I just can't. I apologize to my family, it's just a waste of vacation time. I was just there, it was fun, I got to swim. It was hot out. Dad grilled! The concept of going there when I could just as easily get a $500 round trip flight to El Salvador and hike in some Mayan ruins and live in a hostel for $2 a day. I just ordered a massive world map for the wall in my room. The goal is to put as many pins in that bitch as possible. Anyone can come, but this trip is going to be down and dirty and cheap as shit.

3. I want to expand the blog.

Obviously, I am a man that requires instant gratification. I am yet to order a fan off of Amazon because I can't possibly imagine going another night without a fan…even though I KNOW that every retail shop in Los Angeles is sold out. It's been 4 weeks and I still don't have a fan. I can't get my pilot's license today. I can't fly to Ecuador today, BUT I can lay out a plan for expanding this here blog with the ultimate goal of gaining enough notice to write for one of the big boys.

So here's the deal, for the first time I want to open up the blog to other voices. I'm sure you are all sick of hearing the ramblings of my drunken misadventures at this point. I'd like a fresh perspective. Tell me your tales of #CrimingWhileWhite. Write recaps of Party Down South. I don't give a shit, use this as a forum to flex your creativity. I'm sure you have questions, so let's move down to a hands FAQ I made.

What can I write?
Whatever the fuck you want. I don't have ads on this site, no one makes any money. It's for fun. I won't publish hate speech, but you can be as UN-PC as you want. (Example of Hate Speech: "Why I hate Jews" Example of something UN-PC "Why I love dating Jewish chicks") You don't even have to agree with me!

But I have a corporate job bro, I can't be running around talking about cocaine benders…
All good, use a pseudonym. Send your articles to me and I will post it anonymously on your behalf. I'm extremely good at keeping secrets. Unless it's some juicy gossip about someone having an abortion or something. I'll probably leek that. But for the purpose of anonymously writing on this site, I got you.

Will you edit me?
Not really. I will probably correct your spelling and grammar so you don't look like an idiot. But I would never change your content without consulting you. If something you submit isn't funny enough we can work together to make it better or just bury it. It's surprisingly harder than it looks to make living like an absolute degenerate entertaining.

Will I get paid?
Ha! Negative. But you will get first dibs on my couch when you visit LA. But I'll probably buy you lunch and then not Venmo you later for half of it, because people that do that are the fucking worst.

But for real, why are you doing this?
Well to be fair, any time someone else posts about my blog I get a few hundred more views. It's an easy way of growing exponentially. But also I know a lot of people like to write but need a forum. So many people ask me "hey will you write about this?" or "I want to start a blog." Well now you don't need to start one, you don't need to send your shit off to BroBible or Betches. Or you can do that, but you can start here with incredibly low stakes. Stop bullshitting about how you're going to write a novel some day and just throw up some word vomit on my blog. It's incredibly easy.

Fuck yes, I'm in…what now?
Email me (dbmoelle@gmail.com) an idea for a post…or just send me a post. Think of a creative pseudonym if you can't hide behind 'satirical comedy writer' in your chosen profession. I'm relying on you guys. I only have one weekend a week, which results in one post about one person's drunken debauchery. Remember, style is important but you don't have to mimic me. Don't use names unless your homies are cool with it. Outside of that, the world is yours. Let's do this! The takeover begins now.

Tripping Sack

Certain feelings are easier to describe than others.

For example, this morning when I put on a new pair of 6 inch inseam polo chinos that cost more than most car insurance premiums, I could literally feel centuries of white privilege and arrogance cascading over me. Honestly, I expected a Kappa girlfriend and a Fiji bid to spontaneously appear. This is a feeling I know well. It's easy for me to paint a vivid picture for you.

What is a hell of a lot harder to describe is the feeling of going to the desert and eating a fuck ton of mushrooms. It's an experience rather foreign to me, but if you'll stick with me, I'll do my best.

A plan to go to Joshua Tree was concocted at 12:30AM last weekend while standing in line for James Beach. I think my molly was just about to kick in and I was trying to convince everyone that we could just drive to Yosemite and hike half dome. (According to the over confidence there was likely cocaine involved too)

"I don't give a fuck about any lotteries. We drive up Friday night, sleep outside the park. Enter at 4am and just go climb that thing. I climbed Mt. Whitney with a permit but I didn't see a ranger the entire time. Permits are a hoax."

-We can't just drive to Yosemite and do half dome on a whim. It takes months of planning.

"Yes we can! We'll dress appropriately, bring a lot of water and then at the top we'll take a picture that will get lots of intstagram likes."

-You know people die there…

"Ya people die from drugs and drinking and driving too fast. Has that stopped us before?"

*Silence*

"Ok well how about we go to Joshua Tree?"

-Deal.

And that's how an LA mmi-trip is born.

Going to Joshua Tree is easy as shit. If you go during the busy season you have three options.

1. You can wake up at like 5am and get to one of the coveted campgrounds in the park on a first come first serve basis.
2. You can hike your shit a mile off the road and back country camp (for free) Note: Coolers do not roll well in the desert.
3. You can camp at Black rock which allows reservations and has running water.

For this particular trip we chose option 3 because I like sleeping in and I liked the idea of an actual toilet to vomit in if the shrooms didn't agree with me.

Once you have established a place to stay, you just need to steal a bunch of camping gear from a friend and stop at a grocery store in Yucca Valley for Whiskey and beer. Then you're done! You can go into the park, rock climb, trail hike or just start getting fucked up. There are no rules!

***

My roommate decided to join our quest at the last minute which was cool because she has a jeep with no doors or roof. A vape pen and a few sour patch edibles assisted us on our two hour journey east toward the desert.

We arrived and rendesvoued with the rest of our group. At the Hidden Valley campground we participated in some light bouldering/heavy scrambling. At this point we may have smoked a little too much pot, because we somehow convinced ourselves that there was a native american named EagleHawk that lived on top of a very steep rock, but if you could successfully climb to him, he would give you the strongest mushrooms in the world.

Ya, probably not a good idea to smoke and climb.

After a day in the park, we did a quick Walmart run for necessities. I think that trip went something like this…

"We need Hot Dogs, buns, firewood and ice."

-Oh and beer.

'Whiskey too!'

: Guys I think we better get a box of Franzia.

Can we get Cheez it Duos?

"Guys, I don't give a fuck what you throw in this cart, go nuts."

Cut to $200 later…

Case of Bud Light, liter of Bushmills, box of red Franzia, 24 pack of hot dogs, Jalapeño kettle chips, 3 flats firewood, 2 bags of ice, dozen donuts, 1 can chili, sriracha infused ketchup, 3 diet Rock Stars, a loaf of bread, trash bags, wet whipes, a 5 pound bag of Skittles, Mean Girls 2 and a BB gun.

"Wait a second, why the fuck did we get a box of wine?" Whatever.

I'm kidding, I put back the BB gun, but I really didn't want to.

As one does when you get back to the campground we immediately started drinking and then assessed the neighbor situation. To our right was a high school field hockey team, it was not immediately clear if this was some planned team bonding activity or a full blown lesbian orgy. There were 6 of them in one tent, so it really could have gone either way. To our left was an entire fucking Bangladeshi village.

I'm typically not a stickler for the rules, which clearly stated that there were to be no more than 6 people and 2 cars per campsite, but when you have 30 naked children running around shouting hindu catch phrases in Bengali…that can border on absurd.

So, no neighbor involvement, whatever. We had a solid group of five and we had a fat sack of magic mushrooms waiting for us.

I had never really 'done mushrooms' before. Sure I had eaten them, I had some just a couple weeks ago at a concert, but it has never really been the catalyst of my entire weekend. I would describe the time right before it as similar to when you went to your girlfriend's house in high school when her parents were out of town…

'Soooo, should we have sex now?'

-Sure.

YAAAAAAAS.

Now I had spent the week in Yahoo Answers forums (the most reliable place for advice on the internet)   researching exactly how much I should take for an optimal experience. The general consensus from teenagers in Iowa seemed to be right around 1.5 grams. I was understandably thrown for a loop when I was distributed my allotment in 'caps and stems.'

Start with 2 caps and 2 stems, you can always do more.

But what is the weight? What is the difference between a cap and a stem? Peter from Dubuque didn't mention what to do if I didn't have a scale! I'm so fucked.

I ate my seemingly small portion and sat around waiting for something miraculous to happen. I continued grilling hot dogs, staring at the fire, drinking beer.

Nothing.

Clearly I hadn't taken enough.

I've been told my entire life to stop being so impatient. I've been burned a thousand times by this exact scenario. Drank too much to play catch up? Blacked out. Smoked too much before a 3d movie? Slept through it. Ate way too much molly before a show? Spent the entire concert sweating in a corner begging my heart not to explode. Learned my lesson right?

SO WHAT DO YOU THINK I DID?
A. Listened to my friends, enjoyed a few more beers while taking in the beautiful surroundings.
B. Took a small hit of marijuana to speed up the process, as recommended on reddit.com/r/shrooms
C. Taken a walk to my neighbors campground, discussed South Asian cultures and customs.
D. DEMANDED THE REST OF THE BAG AND FINISHED IT.

Well D, obviously…and a little B. I guess some A too, but mostly D.

What happened next was I noticed it was pitch black but for the stars. The stars were so bright and I felt like they were moving around. In fact the stars looked like they were little cars on a freeway driving around the sky. I stared at them for so long that I realized I was drooling on myself. I tried to snap to and then I noticed that the entire sky seemed to be an umbrella over my head, but wait a minute, no, I'm in a giant planetarium.

"Dude, Big Wave you are TRIPPING SACK."

Tripping sack? What do you mean?

"It's like tripping balls, but the word sack is way funnier."

This sent me over the edge. I fell out of a chair and started laughing hysterically.

"Omg, was that an actual ROFL? "(Pronounced roffle)

I was laughing so hard my insides were starting to cramp. The fire, the stars, the burning man Diplo set we were listening to. It was all incredible. I felt like my spirit was simultaneously occupying multiple universes.

"What time is it?"

8:30.

"Wasn't it 8:30 like 3 hours ago last time I asked?"

That was about a minute ago.

"Whoa."

I think you took too much man.

"Me too."

Now there can also be a dark side to tripping hard. At some point on a return trip from the bathroom, all 30 of the Bangladeshi children ascended on our camp. I know now that they probably thought they were just taking a short cut to their camp…at the time I thought I was under attack from the cast of Battle Royale or those creepy undead kids from Game of Thrones.

"Guys, we have to get the fuck out of here. The children are coming!!"

This was enough to spook my friends into following me. We sprinted for what felt like hours until…

"There, on the right! The abandoned tennis court, it's a safe place."

I don't know why in our warped state of mind, we all unanimously agreed that the abandoned tennis court was the best course of action, but we did. I looked back at our camp. Our fire was burning out of control. I was convinced the children were raping and pillaging the camp site. Pilfering our hot dogs, stealing out sleeping pads.

"Guys, I salvaged the Franzia."

Sarah holds up a bladder of red wine and I instantly knew everything was going to be ok.

The tennis court had rules of course too. (Everything has made up rules when you're tripping) You must not leave the tennis court. You can pee off the side of the tennis court. Every time you slap the bag and chug the wine, you must run a lap around the tennis court. For whatever reason I made the choice to only navigate the tennis court via army crawl and various body rolls. I imagine to the outside viewer I looked like a Jurassic Period Neanderthal. Drugs will do that to a person.

At some junction in the evening we were all seated next to each other talking, laughing, celebrating life. Out of the corner of my eye, I see some sort of authority figure speeding toward us on a golf cart.

"Oh no, he knows we're tripping sack. At the very least there has been a noise complaint and we are getting booted. GAH, I can't possibly drive right now."

As the ranger came closer and closer I started to notice he wasn't slowing down. My God is he going to bowl us over?

He flies past us and pulls right up to the Bangladeshi village, as do three more rangers/border patrol officers in golf carts. It was a god damn sting operation. I watch from the distance as our neighbors were read the riot act. Apparently the 6 people per site rule is something they take pretty seriously at Joshua Tree National Park. The hero rangers rolled up like Jon Snow to dispatch of the impromptu Khan family reunion and we were safe to return to camp.

We left the safety of our tennis court (which was really only about 25 feet from our camp site, so much for all that sprinting) and it was almost time to turn in for the night. As I was getting into my sleeping bag, my roommate grabs me.

"I need to show you something, come with me."

We jog 30 feet or so up a small hill onto a picnic table.

"The moon came out."

It did indeed and it was bigger than I had ever seen, illuminating the desert for dozens of miles in every direction. And at that very moment, it only felt right to howl. I heard a few coyotes in the distance echoing my sentiment.

***

Packing up the next morning, I see one of the field hockey players at the dumpster.

Me: "Did you guys have a nice night?"

Her: "We come out here to smoke weed and not get in trouble. Our parents just think we're super outdoorsy. Last night we smoked too much and went to bed early."

Me: "Ya we were a little inebriated."

Her: "Are you kidding me? You guys were SACKED. Between you and that daycare center next door, we're lucky we smoked enough to kill an elephant or sleeping would have been impossible."

Me: What does sacked mean?

Her: You know, like drunk as balls…

Me: "Is this a common phrase that people use?"

Her: "I dunno, but you guys are going to have a lot of fun driving back to LA in that jeep."

Yes of course, it rains one day a year in the desert and it's the day I drive out in a jeep with no roof or  doors. I spent the entire drive back hungover, crying, trying to figure out a way to connect the sleeves of my sweater directly to the Jeep's heating vent.

Driving 50 up the PCH in a stripped down Jeep is enjoyable.
Driving 90 on the 10 in a torrential downpour is how people contract pneumonia.

We stopped for a corned beef hash at the Crossroads Cafe on our way out of town and I realized how incredible Los Angeles really is. Two hours east, I'm in the desert. 2 hours west and I'm at the fucking Catalina Wine Mixer. 2 hours north, wine country. 2 hours northeast, I'm skiing. 2 hours south I'm partying in Gaslamp. It's really unbelievable that so many adventures are seemingly so attainable. It almost makes me feel guilty for being so content to booze in Venice and stumble over to a divey beach bar.

We made it back to LA. My fucking cable was out, so I just laid on the couch watching my fantasy football live scoring. I took a xanax and passed out for a few hours. I woke up at 2 in the morning, sad that I would have to be at work in a few hours. Before I moved to my bedroom, I checked my email.

-CRSSD fest this weekend in San Diego? Kygo Headlining.

Fuck ya, let's do it.

Starbucks

When I was in 4th grade I was sent away to a weird school for smart kids (actually only one of 8 classes was for the 'gifted' kids, the other 7 were just local kids from the neighborhood going through a normal curriculum) It was unfortunate because this school was in the ghetto and had no funding. While the rich Geist kids got to do kick ass over night camping trips and go to Washington DC; Brook Park field trips were walks down the street to the local post office. The school was 80% black and likely led to my brief high school rap career. About the only thing this school had going for it was a kick ass theatre program.

One year, word came down that we would be staging a rendition of Moby Dick. I was super pumped because I was a shoe-in to play Ahab. I had always wanted to be a villain and killing whales sounded fucking cool. I obviously crushed my audition but when the cast list was posted I found my name not next to Ahab, but some clown named Starbuck the First Mate.

It was a scandal in what can only be rationalized as some sort of WGA-esque diversity casting effort, as some local was set to portray Ahab. I think it was even a girl, that's some Julie Taymor bullshit right there. I was obviously furious with my 4th grade drama teacher, I think I threatened to walk until she described to me the following.

"But Starbuck is the real hero of the story!"

"How so?"

"Ishmael is merely our narrator, really a one note character that exists merely to service the story of Ahab. Ahab on the other side is a mad-man hell bent on revenge. It is only Starbuck that shows any sort of moral complexity in the story, he is the only member of the crew that objects to Ahab's doomed quest and attempts to be the voice of reason. He even ponders mutiny but in the end is so duty bound by his honor and commitment to his captain that he goes along with the plan all the while knowing he is likely sending himself to an early grave."

"You just did this so the parents wouldn't think you were playing favorites to the rich white kids didn't you?"

(Yes, I've always been a piece of shit)

***

Years later affirmative action is still holding my acting career down but Starbuck has remained a major part of my life as it is the coffee chain that every basic bitch (myself included) is well acquainted. Nothing makes me happier than throwing down a 5 spot for a latte that will give me an hour of energy followed by a 15 minute trip to the bathroom.

I think I've had them all at this point because my mom sends me so many Starbucks gift cards that sometimes I don't even put them back in my wallet after I use them to cut lines on Saturday nights.

And because this blog is a public service to you, I have scientifically ranked every latte (seasonal included) option at Starbucks to ensure that you never have a bad caffeine high again.

10. Vanilla Latte
Look, if you're a petite white girl and the only Starbucks option to keep you from getting a thighbrow is a skinny vanilla latte, I respect your hustle…more on this later. But the OG vanilla latte? This drink has to be aborted with a coat hanger. I like lattes and I like vanilla, but this combination is about as inspiring as an inconclusive AIDS test.

9. Chai Latte
This needs to be taken behind the shed and shot in the face like a rabid dog. That's it. Chai Lattes are garbage and Old Yeller is an overrated movie.

8. Pumpkin Spice Latte
PSL season is something I look forward to like I fantasize about my next K-Hole, but for what? PSL is less a drink and more a lifestyle aspiration. A pumpkin spice latte says that you belong to a nice pilates gym, have missionary sex with your upper class white partner and shop at Crate and Barrel. Those are all great in theory, but at the end of the day are all kind of blah. Such is the case with the pumpkin spice latte. It's the epitome of basic…blah.

7. Latte - Iced
An iced latte is like a middle class blue collar friend that is always bitching about the illegals and the gays. You don't want him around all the time because frankly he's offensive. But on occasion he can be refreshing. I don't LOVE iced lattes. but I get it, just like I understand the plight of the middle class dude who wants to marry up. I literally stood up and applauded during the movie Match Point when Jonathan Rhys Myers blasted Scarlett Johansson in the fucking face with a shotgun. Never fuck with a social climber man.

6. Skinny Vanilla Latte
Every guy has gone to Starbucks and heard this order, "Tall skinny vanilla latte, 2 pumps at 132 degrees." I have had to order this for a girl before. It is soul crushing, but you know what? It's not as bad as being actually crushed by a plus sized woman when you're too tired to be on top. Let's face it, most Starbucks drinks are like 14,000 calories and it's tough to hide that shit when you aren't 6 foot 4. Embrace a bland drink so your girl can stay a size 0 and then you can both get on Reddit Voat's FatPeopleHate and shit talk hams together.

5. Latte - Hot
A classic stand by. Like jerking off into your favorite sock or a drunken blow job from your hoe on call; a standard latte isn't anything special but you feel extremely comfortable with it insomuch as you know exactly what to expect. Sometimes you order a drink for practical purposes; I'm tired, I don't want to be. Likewise, sometimes you go home with a chick for practical purposes. I want to have a story tomorrow at brunch. Not every trip to Starbucks needs to be a trip to the fucking spa.

4. Caramel Brûlée Latte
You know that extremely satisfying feeling that comes along with watching some SJW get taken down? The Rolling Stone rape story…watching Patrick Kane stick handle right past some trumped up charges from a University of Buffalo cheerleader? It is just SO fucking great to see someone's soap box evaporate under them, so to is the surprising Caramel Brûlée latte! This drink is almost perfect, in fact I often times go sans whip cream on these festive lattes as it typically just melts immediately, but when my barista offers me whip with the CBL? Oh ya, I treat myself.

3. Gingerbread/Egg Nog/Christmas Cookie Latte
Titty fucking a pair of 34 Cs, that moment when the molly kicks in and a god damn holiday latte…those are my three favorite things in no particular order. The reason these 3 are all grouped together/tied at third place is because they are all available around Christmas and they can be tough to track down. You want a CCL? Better be doing the holidays down under mate! Trying to get the GBL or ENL involved? Better hope they aren't market testing a new concoction homie (not always a bad thing…) But whenever you can track one of these bad boys down? Go for it, make it a venti. Fuck it…make it a Trenta! You remember Christmas morning when you thought all your presents were gone and you were kind of sad…and then dad comes out with a fucking Foosball table? That is the Christmas latte selection.

2. Cinnamon Dulce Latte
My favorite line from the 1999 classic "Nas is Like" is 'I'm the feeling of a millionaire spending a hundred grand.' I like this line because it's irresponsible as fuck but probably feels great. Kind of like fucking a random rave girl at Coachella without a condom. Badish life decision. I mean it's not a great idea to spend 10% of your net worth all at once, but you still have 900 grand in the bank. Also the chances of a white girl from Calabasas having AIDS are low. And this is a secret menu item which makes you feel like you're in some secret exclusive club. "What's a CDL?" OH YOU PROBABLY DON'T KNOW ABOUT IT YOU PEASANT.

1. Chestnut Praline Latte
I feel this can best be described in a scene…

INT. Indianapolis Fashion Mall -Starbucks kiosk - DAY

A hungover YOUNG MAN (26) severely underdressed for the wintery weather of the midwest shuffles into the mall blowing on his cold hands. He carries with him a YANKEE CANDLE BAG because what the fuck else do you get your mom for Christmas. He spots the Starbucks and immediately beelines it to the front of the line. An eager young female barista (cute, 19) waits on his order.

BARISTA

Welcome to Starbucks! Would you like to try a Chestnut Praline Latte today?

YOUNG MAN

Um, no…Can I get a grande gingerbread latte.

BARISTA

I'm so sorry, we actually aren't offering that drink at this location but would you like a chestnut praline latte instead, it's really good!

YOUNG MAN

No I guess I'll just have an eggnog latte with an extra shot…

BARISTA

We, um…actually aren't doing that right now either…

YOUNG MAN

You've got be kidding me.

BARISTA

No actually Indianapolis is a test market for…

YOUNG MAN

For what? The fucking Chestnut Praline latte?

BARISTA

I promise it's really good.

YOUNG MAN

How good?

BARISTA

You know in movies when the guy scores with the girl out of his league and then has a shit eating grin on his face the rest of the day and his buddies know that he totally hooked up with the hot chick?

YOUNG MAN

Uh…ya?

BARISTA

It's like that but better, you might have an orgasm right in front of me. Seriously if you don't like it, I'll give you anything else for free.

CUT TO:

INT. Indianapolis Fashion Mall -Starbucks kiosk - DAY - Moments later

The YOUNG MAN is staring at the girl and down at his pants. He looks at the cup.

BARISTA

It can make an atheist believe in God.

YOUNG MAN

What are you doing later…

END ACT I.

So ya, a CPL might make you cum in your pants or fall in love or both. For real though, it's the shit. I give it 10 barre classes out of 10. And there you have it, the definitive ranking of Starbucks lattes. If your favorite is unranked eat a bag of dicks you basic bitch and better luck next time.

Party in the First

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

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

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

has been replaced by…

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

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

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

I am not most people.

I committed party in the first degree this weekend.

This is the story…

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

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

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

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

2pm: My jaw is moving back and forth like a crack addict and my lips are severely chapped. I arrive at a buddy’s tailgate and have my first run in with KIRKLAND LIGHT. Have you ever heard this before?

“Kirkland vodka is actually just Grey Goose re-packaged”

Me too! Kirkland vodka is great! That said, Kirkland Beer is actually the skunked urine of an aging alcoholic repackaged. It is that bad. I would not advise bonging it, especially 3 times in a row.

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

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

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

9pm: I am back downtown now at LA Live, a homeless man outside asks me for a dollar. “I’ll give you 20 dollars if you have some coke.” He thinks for a moment. Buying cocaine from a homeless man is never a good idea, but I was pretty far in the bag at this point. I had been drinking for 10 hours and had at least 3 more to go.

“I don’t have any coke, but I’ll take $20 for this bag of shrooms.” He holds up an eighter of shrooms, I had him my 20 and ingest the whole bag in one gulp. Am I the only weirdo that actually likes the taste?

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

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

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

12:21am: “Are you Dave?”

-Yes. How could you tell?

“Your friends said you’re on a lot of drugs and would probably be sweating, they’re in the back.”

I go to the back and immediately take 5 tequila shots and this is when I remember that I have to go back to Laguna again at 5am to go scuba diving again in the morning to complete my certification.

Whatever, I’ll just uber home with my friends and sleep for a couple of hours before I go.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

$112.68

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Prodigal Son

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Whatever man, you've been warned.

Holy fuck. What a weekend.

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

-Did you guys get the email?

-DUDE, BLOOMINGTON WEDDING?

-We're going back to college!!!

-This is going to be insanity.

-We are all so fucked...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We drove down to Bloomington and immediately noticed the face lift the city has received in our absence. Where small mom and pop stores once thrived are now mid rise hotels with the names Hyatt, Marriott, Hilton. We drove a quick lap of the campus, yelled at some chicks, heckled the ATOs, it was good to be back.

Our Senior House, Shingles. I got arrested there once.

Immediately upon arriving at the Hyatt Place a cheerful student sends us to the fifth floor. It's 11am and a full pregame is underway. I see a guy carrying a case of champagne and a 1000 Watt amp down the hall, I follow him to a room full of guys rolling joints while facing Fireball shots.

Happy Bachelor Party!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ya, nothing had changed.

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

No one drowned.

No one got a BUI.

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

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

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

No one drowned.

No one got a BUI.

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

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

"Where are we?"

-Oh! You're awake?

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

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

"Huh?"

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

I guess there will be no eating today.

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

and then before Sports, things like this.

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

I woke up on the floor.

0 Casualties
0 Bridesmaids
0 Undergrads

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

FRIDAY

*Knock Knock Knock* OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR

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

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

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

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

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

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

He didn't get arrested?

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

Zero casualties, but that sounds like two close calls.

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The big takeaway from Friday night is the table next to us was occupied by Mark fucking Cuban. I really called my shot last week. If you see him at the bar moving forward, I'll go ahead and let you know...no pictures in the bar, you'll have to step outside.

Best man Kevin and Cuban at Bloomington airport.

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

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

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

Casualties: 0
Bridesmaids: ?
Undergrads: 0

SATURDAY

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

Fuck it.

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

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

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

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

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

Rumors swirled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God I love these guys.

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

SUNDAY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh shit is anyone mad?"

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

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

"When is the next one guys?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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