So Angel and I decide to go up to Bowdoin College and see what's going on. He promises me there's a really hot latin chick that he knows that we can party with. He hints that she might put out. I'm convinced. I head over to Angel's after work and we start drinking beer. I'm actually taking it easy because of the hour and a half drive ahead of us, so I call it quits at three beers and switch to water. We leave sometime after 8 o'clock and head to Vacationland, aka The Deep South of the Far North, aka Maine.
We leave from Angel's house and the weather is decent. We stop to gas up and he buys a bottle of Mad Dog. It's going to be one of those nights, I can already feel it. We head north. Angel thinks that singing along loudly to Natasha Beddingfield's "Unwritten" is pretty much the coolest thing two straight guys can do alone in a car with each other, and since no one else is around, I'm inclined to go along with it. As hits of the 90's karaoke continues north, it starts to rain. We get past Portland, and it starts to pour. We're almost to Brunswick and it's raining fucking sideways.
Angel: Man, I hope these cats know how to party, because this rain is going to suck.
Me: True that, I guess we'll see.
We park at a typical college parking lot, although I am absolutely shocked to find parking. There is of course the obligatory "all caught parking without sticker will be shot on sight" agitprop. What can they do, withhold my credits? Ha! The good news is that the rain has let up. Sort of. I have a sinking feeling that we've only driven through the storm, and that it's coming up behind us now.
Angel calls up Marisa, she's going to meet us outside the dorm. I'm actually carrying a backpack full of beer cans. I can't believe I'm 25 years old and still pulling this off. I don't ever want to grow old. Ever.
Now, lets Tarantino this back in time for just a minute. When this trip was proposed, I looked at the situation of drinking with college girls who have never met me, only one of whom knows Angel, and none of whom I ever expect to see again. My first instinct was that of any red blooded American man...
Me: Angel...we have to think up some good lies about who we are!
Angel: Well, Marisa knows me...
Me: Yeah, but she doesn't know me, help me out here. I need this.
Angel: Alright
We worked this out before we even left. I decided that Law School would easily explain why I was there and let me exploit my age advantage. Girls don't like boys, they like cars and money. We decide that I went to UNH and then BC Law. I know enough about BC to pretend I went there, and UNH wasn't even a lie, or at least only a partial lie.
So we meet up with Marisa and (this is the hot latin chick) I immediately notice two things. First thing, she is hot, second thing, she ain't latin. At least not how I was envisioning things. Not that I care, but I felt like I was misled. We head upstairs, and oh yes, there are only two things in this dorm room. Women and booze. I decide I'm never leaving this place.
Introductions are made, and more importantly, I shotgun two beers in quick succession, plus some champagne and some straight vodka. This way the conversation gets looser.
I'm still somewhat miffed over the rather un-latin Marisa. Reddish blond hair, blue eyes, like I said, beautiful, but I was expecting someone straight out of those Telemundo soap operas. But what the fuck did I expect in Maine? I decide to get to the bottom of this.
Me: So, Marisa, you're from Argentina?
Mar: Yeah, well, my parents are...
Me: So was your grandfather a Nazi war criminal or something? I mean, I'm not judging anyone, I'm just interested...(she laughs...oh thank god, that could've gone very wrong)...
Angel saves me from myself and I start talking to this really tall chick and her friend, who I soon learn has narcolepsy.
Me: You really have narcolepsy?
Narc: Yeah, I have to take this medication and...
I cut her off: So do you get to get out of doing a bunch of stuff or are you just stuck with it?
Narc: Well, one time I fell asleep during an exam and woke up and the room was empty!
Me: That's totally sweet.
They start asking me about New Orleans because they know that Angel went to school there. I start telling stories before I remember that A. I've never been to New Orleans, but B. I haven't told anyone where I'm from yet. I need to call an audible right now. I turn to Angel...
Me: Tulane Law, check it to Tulane Law. He seamlessly includes me in a story about carousing in NOLA, that involved me getting arrested and spending the night in jail. I only hear this part of it, but jump right in...
Angel: Yeah, so LFODD here gets bagged and I have to go bail his ass out of jail at 5 am...
Me: Yeah, because I didn't hide behind a fucking bush while the rest of us were dealing with the cops....
Angel: (Interrupts) well you were the one stupid enough to piss right under a street lamp...
Me: ok, but that's beside the point...what was the point again?
Anyway, it's time to go party. Me, Angel, Marisa, Tall Chick, Narcolepsy and two other chicks head out, stocked up with booze in various soft drink bottles. This is so 1999...and I love every minute of it. We get outside and it is now raining sideways here. We lack coats. We consider calling drunkrides, I mean SafeRides, but none of us knows the number. We walk over to this on campus apartment deal, and there is a HUGE FUCKING PARTY IN THE RAIN! Live band, kegs, at least 500 people, all outside partying in the pouring rain. This is totally awesome. I scam numbers from Tall Chick and Narcolepsy in case we get separated.
After god only knows how long drinking, dancing with soaking wet drunk girls (awesome by the way) partying in the rain and pissing in the woods (yeah, this is a real party, fuck you city folk) I stumble across Angel again.
Me: We need to play some Beruit.
To Be Continued tomorrow, I promise.
-LFODD
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
The Travelling Beirut Roadshow, Part I
So over the fall and winter of last year, Sarge and I built a bar in my basement and we played a shit-ton of beruit. Now, I must say that I was a decent beruit player beforehand, but after playing 3 or 4 nights a week for a six month stretch, we got real good. I'm talking damn good, pro good, dare I say, Beerfest good. We were calling shots, intentionally missing for strategic purposes, and most importantly, consuming inhuman amounts of alcohol and still being able to function. What happened next was just the natural progression of things, as dawn becomes day, as ape becomes man, and as I become drunk...We had to take it on the road.
Although plenty passed through my doors, the main staples of the game were me, Sarge, Angel, Wolfman, and LaVidaLoca. Wolfman is a solid cat, the quiet type but he won't take shit from anybody. Sarge is another solid cat, and he's saved my ass more times than I can count, but there's a Mrs. Sarge and he isn't quite as free to do crazy shit at all times. LaVidaLoca is a chick that I was going out with for a while, but my inability to behave like a normal person kind of ended that. Still, one of the best people I know, and delightfully nuts. I must add, she's the best beruit player on earth who isn't me. But anyway, Angel is the only logical choice I had for this mission, and here's why.
Angel and I are the minutemen of competition drinking. Weeknight? Don't care. Work tomorrow? Don't care. Already drunk? Don't care. Don't know anyone at the party? Don't care. To quote the great Diamond David Lee Roth, "you threw the party, I am the party." Between us we have enough contacts to wind up at a party pretty much every single night, and we took on the mission of taking on all comers at beruit, on their own fields and their own house rules, and showing them who the champions are. The rules were simple. Make some phone calls starting around 5 pm, go wherever the night took us, and simply dominate. We formulated the plan...
Me: Think you can handle this?
Angel: I spent 5 years in New Orleans, this is child's play.
Oh boy, here we go....
So night one we hear about a party over in Portsmouth with a couple of Angel's high school buddies. They're all fresh out of UNH, this should be a good test of our skill. Angel and I hit the liquor store on the way over, I grab a flask of cheap 100 proof vodka in a plastic hipster, he grabs some Seagrams 7. We have cups, we have ping pong balls, we're ready. Neither of us have seen these guys since high school.
We meet them in the parking lot of the apartments, we do shots. We go inside, he introduces us to some friends, we do shots. I notice that there are a whole bunch of good looking chicks at this party, my opinion of this party rises, we do shots. I wander away from Angel and head out to the porch with some of the hotties to smoke butts. We do shots. By this point, I have no idea what time it was, but it was late. I'm kicking myself because I'm already drunk, and we haven't even played yet. I figure we need to get this thing going, so I issue the challenge.
Me: We will beat anyone in this house at beruit. Anyone. Who wants it?
I am completely shit-cocked at this point.
Angel and I dominate the first 3 games. We have at least 4 cups on the table at the end of each. The memories are sketchy, but the common consensus is that I made a really obnoxious bitch cry. Drinking slows down everything except my ability to trash talk. I develop a sixth sense that seeks out the most base weakness and personality flaws in my opponent, and then immediately exploit it to fullest effect. They come at you with a knife, you come back with an A-bomb. That's the New Hampshire way.
I am, to quote Tucker Max, fucked in half drunk at this point. We need a smoke/piss break. We yield the table with the understanding that we play winner. I head out back to smoke with the hotties again. I've been talking up this one chick all night, so we're talking, I'm lying about something, her phone rings. One thing leads to another and like 6 of us sing happy birthday to her mom on speakerphone. I am confused. I do a shot. We receive a complaint from an irate neighbor.
Irate neighbor: HEY!!
Me: What?
IN: Shut the fuck up, I got kids over here!!
Me: Why are you yelling, won't you wake them up?
IN: Oh, you want me come over there, wiseass?
Me: You just said you got kids, you aren't going to risk jail time, fuck off.
I do another shot to celebrate my victory. We go back in. I can hardly stand up. An enquiry is made as to what just happened outside.
Some guy: What's going on, are the neighbors pissed??
Me: Naw, it's cool, i talked to him and it's cool.
Some guy: Oh, thanks, I can't get kicked out of here.
Me: Don't worry, I take care erything (in my best drunken DiNero impression)
So we go back to the table and play 3 more games, ending with a very hard fought game against our hosts. Halfway through this game I can tell that I'm not going to make it past this game, no matter what happens. I'm fading out like Denzel in "Man on Fire." But we have a mission to complete. They sink the last shot. I hit the rebuttal. We all miss a bunch of shots, then Angel sinks the winner. He's ready to set up for another and I decide I need to lay down for a minute. I slide under the table, literally. My eyes are shut, people are stepping over me. I grab an empty beer box and puke a single, neat heave into it, and it's all vodka and beer. This is the point that this night got interesting....
Somebody calls a cab and Angel and I are going to go crash at Sarge's apt which is just down the street. My boy rp is asking me stupid questions to keep me awake, when all I wanted to do was sleep under the table for a couple hours, I would've been fine. Angel and I go outside and get in the cab. Angel says something and gets out. The cab takes off. Shit.
Cabbie: So where you going?
Me: Raymond?
Cabbie: I ain't fucking going to Raymond
Me: Uhhhhh, (awkwardly long pause) i somehow come up with Sarge's address.
He drops me off at the apt, i hand him a crumpled handful of bills and he goes. I call Sarge's phone... no answer. I call Wolfman's phone... no answer. I get the brilliant idea to throw rocks at the window. Here I am, in not the best neighborhood, skull fucked drunk, throwing rocks at an apartment building. This goes on for a bit and I decide to sleep in the vestibule. It's too cold for this shit. Time travel begins.
Angel shows up. Where's my car? A truck stop, Sarge, blackness.
I wake up and I have no idea where I am. Here's what I see...
An empty room, I'm on the floor. Two empty cardboard boxes, beige generic carpeting, a shotgun leaning against a wall. I am completely freaked out. The door is closed and I'm afraid of what's on the other side. I look out the window, hoping that it will give some clue as to where I am. A parking lot. What the fuck is waiting on the other side of this door. I'm waiting for the voice from "Saw" to come on. Lfodd, you need to get out of here, and you have a choice...
After half an hour of intense internal deliberation, I open the door.
Sarge's place....thank you God. I can't keep living like this...but I'm going to try.
End of night result....9 wins, 0 losses, we defeated everyone at said party. I sleep all day. We're awesome.
Although plenty passed through my doors, the main staples of the game were me, Sarge, Angel, Wolfman, and LaVidaLoca. Wolfman is a solid cat, the quiet type but he won't take shit from anybody. Sarge is another solid cat, and he's saved my ass more times than I can count, but there's a Mrs. Sarge and he isn't quite as free to do crazy shit at all times. LaVidaLoca is a chick that I was going out with for a while, but my inability to behave like a normal person kind of ended that. Still, one of the best people I know, and delightfully nuts. I must add, she's the best beruit player on earth who isn't me. But anyway, Angel is the only logical choice I had for this mission, and here's why.
Angel and I are the minutemen of competition drinking. Weeknight? Don't care. Work tomorrow? Don't care. Already drunk? Don't care. Don't know anyone at the party? Don't care. To quote the great Diamond David Lee Roth, "you threw the party, I am the party." Between us we have enough contacts to wind up at a party pretty much every single night, and we took on the mission of taking on all comers at beruit, on their own fields and their own house rules, and showing them who the champions are. The rules were simple. Make some phone calls starting around 5 pm, go wherever the night took us, and simply dominate. We formulated the plan...
Me: Think you can handle this?
Angel: I spent 5 years in New Orleans, this is child's play.
Oh boy, here we go....
So night one we hear about a party over in Portsmouth with a couple of Angel's high school buddies. They're all fresh out of UNH, this should be a good test of our skill. Angel and I hit the liquor store on the way over, I grab a flask of cheap 100 proof vodka in a plastic hipster, he grabs some Seagrams 7. We have cups, we have ping pong balls, we're ready. Neither of us have seen these guys since high school.
We meet them in the parking lot of the apartments, we do shots. We go inside, he introduces us to some friends, we do shots. I notice that there are a whole bunch of good looking chicks at this party, my opinion of this party rises, we do shots. I wander away from Angel and head out to the porch with some of the hotties to smoke butts. We do shots. By this point, I have no idea what time it was, but it was late. I'm kicking myself because I'm already drunk, and we haven't even played yet. I figure we need to get this thing going, so I issue the challenge.
Me: We will beat anyone in this house at beruit. Anyone. Who wants it?
I am completely shit-cocked at this point.
Angel and I dominate the first 3 games. We have at least 4 cups on the table at the end of each. The memories are sketchy, but the common consensus is that I made a really obnoxious bitch cry. Drinking slows down everything except my ability to trash talk. I develop a sixth sense that seeks out the most base weakness and personality flaws in my opponent, and then immediately exploit it to fullest effect. They come at you with a knife, you come back with an A-bomb. That's the New Hampshire way.
I am, to quote Tucker Max, fucked in half drunk at this point. We need a smoke/piss break. We yield the table with the understanding that we play winner. I head out back to smoke with the hotties again. I've been talking up this one chick all night, so we're talking, I'm lying about something, her phone rings. One thing leads to another and like 6 of us sing happy birthday to her mom on speakerphone. I am confused. I do a shot. We receive a complaint from an irate neighbor.
Irate neighbor: HEY!!
Me: What?
IN: Shut the fuck up, I got kids over here!!
Me: Why are you yelling, won't you wake them up?
IN: Oh, you want me come over there, wiseass?
Me: You just said you got kids, you aren't going to risk jail time, fuck off.
I do another shot to celebrate my victory. We go back in. I can hardly stand up. An enquiry is made as to what just happened outside.
Some guy: What's going on, are the neighbors pissed??
Me: Naw, it's cool, i talked to him and it's cool.
Some guy: Oh, thanks, I can't get kicked out of here.
Me: Don't worry, I take care erything (in my best drunken DiNero impression)
So we go back to the table and play 3 more games, ending with a very hard fought game against our hosts. Halfway through this game I can tell that I'm not going to make it past this game, no matter what happens. I'm fading out like Denzel in "Man on Fire." But we have a mission to complete. They sink the last shot. I hit the rebuttal. We all miss a bunch of shots, then Angel sinks the winner. He's ready to set up for another and I decide I need to lay down for a minute. I slide under the table, literally. My eyes are shut, people are stepping over me. I grab an empty beer box and puke a single, neat heave into it, and it's all vodka and beer. This is the point that this night got interesting....
Somebody calls a cab and Angel and I are going to go crash at Sarge's apt which is just down the street. My boy rp is asking me stupid questions to keep me awake, when all I wanted to do was sleep under the table for a couple hours, I would've been fine. Angel and I go outside and get in the cab. Angel says something and gets out. The cab takes off. Shit.
Cabbie: So where you going?
Me: Raymond?
Cabbie: I ain't fucking going to Raymond
Me: Uhhhhh, (awkwardly long pause) i somehow come up with Sarge's address.
He drops me off at the apt, i hand him a crumpled handful of bills and he goes. I call Sarge's phone... no answer. I call Wolfman's phone... no answer. I get the brilliant idea to throw rocks at the window. Here I am, in not the best neighborhood, skull fucked drunk, throwing rocks at an apartment building. This goes on for a bit and I decide to sleep in the vestibule. It's too cold for this shit. Time travel begins.
Angel shows up. Where's my car? A truck stop, Sarge, blackness.
I wake up and I have no idea where I am. Here's what I see...
An empty room, I'm on the floor. Two empty cardboard boxes, beige generic carpeting, a shotgun leaning against a wall. I am completely freaked out. The door is closed and I'm afraid of what's on the other side. I look out the window, hoping that it will give some clue as to where I am. A parking lot. What the fuck is waiting on the other side of this door. I'm waiting for the voice from "Saw" to come on. Lfodd, you need to get out of here, and you have a choice...
After half an hour of intense internal deliberation, I open the door.
Sarge's place....thank you God. I can't keep living like this...but I'm going to try.
End of night result....9 wins, 0 losses, we defeated everyone at said party. I sleep all day. We're awesome.
Saturday, June 2, 2007
The Challenge
Somehow crazy women flock to me like I bathe in crazy chum every night before I go out. I met a girl last week at a dive bar that I like to go to just to hang out. There's no game here, it's usually a dude fest, and sometimes I just want to have a couple of beers and relax. So me and my buddy Sarge are sitting at the bar and this girl sits down two seats down from me (I'm shamelessly taking up two bar stools, one for me, one for my motorcycle helmet).
She talks to the bartender: No hard liquor tonight, just beer, I can't do any hard stuff tonight.
Keeping in mind this is Wednesday. I can't resist.....
Me: That's not a very good attitude to have.
Her: No, you don't understand, I've been drinking tequila for three straight nights, I have to slow it down. (Again keeping in mind it's Wednesday)
Me: So? I'm on my fourth crown and coke....
Her: You wanna split a pitcher?
Me: Let me think.....yes.
We talk about motorcycles, drinking, competitive drinking, beruit... Sarge helps me out by bringing up the travelling road show of beruit that me and my buddy Angel did earlier this year (I'll explain that later). She's impressed. I finish off the pitcher...
Her (holding up a 1/4 full glass): Wow, you beat me.
Me: Well, I have been training for a beer drinking competition...
Her: I still think I can out drink you.
Me: I doubt it...
I'm thinking to myself....how the hell do I even maintain gainful employment, this is Wednesday for Christ's sake, and I'm seriously being challenged to a drinking competition. I can't keep living like this.
Her: Here's my number, call me sometime.
She leaves on a high note.
I have absolutely no doubt in my mind that this is not going to go anywhere. But what the hell, I'll call her up sometime.
Sarge and I head back home, I call him up.
Me: Did that just happen?
Sarge: Yeah man, that just happened
Me: I'm not sure how I got home, I should be dead....
Sarge: I think maybe you're too crazy to die.
Me: I'm going to enjoy rehab.
It's 9:30pm on a Wednesday. I go to bed
-LFODD
She talks to the bartender: No hard liquor tonight, just beer, I can't do any hard stuff tonight.
Keeping in mind this is Wednesday. I can't resist.....
Me: That's not a very good attitude to have.
Her: No, you don't understand, I've been drinking tequila for three straight nights, I have to slow it down. (Again keeping in mind it's Wednesday)
Me: So? I'm on my fourth crown and coke....
Her: You wanna split a pitcher?
Me: Let me think.....yes.
We talk about motorcycles, drinking, competitive drinking, beruit... Sarge helps me out by bringing up the travelling road show of beruit that me and my buddy Angel did earlier this year (I'll explain that later). She's impressed. I finish off the pitcher...
Her (holding up a 1/4 full glass): Wow, you beat me.
Me: Well, I have been training for a beer drinking competition...
Her: I still think I can out drink you.
Me: I doubt it...
I'm thinking to myself....how the hell do I even maintain gainful employment, this is Wednesday for Christ's sake, and I'm seriously being challenged to a drinking competition. I can't keep living like this.
Her: Here's my number, call me sometime.
She leaves on a high note.
I have absolutely no doubt in my mind that this is not going to go anywhere. But what the hell, I'll call her up sometime.
Sarge and I head back home, I call him up.
Me: Did that just happen?
Sarge: Yeah man, that just happened
Me: I'm not sure how I got home, I should be dead....
Sarge: I think maybe you're too crazy to die.
Me: I'm going to enjoy rehab.
It's 9:30pm on a Wednesday. I go to bed
-LFODD
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
