Thursday, December 17, 2009

The Real Santa?

Little does this girl know this was the real Santa. Drunk, distressed, and somebody took his transportation away? Sound like another victim of the Recession. Santa is not immune, folks. I hope this incident brings attention to the fact that after we are done with GM and Chrysler, we need to bailout Christmas too. Click to magnify.

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Our Unapologetic Christmas Tree

So festive, yet so fratty. We got a little bit creative with our decorating this year. See if you can top this:

A close-up:

Not our tree, but it deserved to be included in this post:

Send pics of your unapologetic trees (and monorahs and Kwanzaa bushes) to

Monday, December 14, 2009

November Tweets 2

The second half:

"I think this would be a good time for a beer." -FDR #ifonlytokillthishangover
3:03 PM Nov 16th
"History flows forward on rivers of beer." #TRUTH
3:05 PM Nov 19th
Be sure to check out David Cross' new book "I Drink for a Reason" #SFP
3:10 PM Nov 19th
"There's no absolutes in life- only vodka." -Mick Jagger #TGIF #SFP @jaeDC @Dolski28
11:08 AM Nov 20th
"A meal of bread, cheese, and beer constitutes the chemically-perfect food." -Queen Elizabeth I #royalrumble #SFP
9:52 AM Nov 23rd
"When I drink, I think; when I think, I drink." -Francois Rabelais #TRUTH #imthankfulfor
12:58 PM Nov 25th

November Tweets 1

Behold! All the unapologetic Tweeting (Twittering? Twattering? Twatting?) from the first half of November. Many apologies for the lack of posts over the past month! It's been one hell of a bender and unlike Fitzgerald, Hemingway, and Hunter S. Thompson, I write like shit when I'm intoxicated. Stay tuned for a number of posts in the next few weeks.

Unapologetic in D.C.

"Many battles have been fought and won by soldiers nourished on beer." -Frederick the Great
12:33 PM Nov 2nd
Southern children are not sorry for underage drinking: #worldslargestoutdoorcocktailparty
1:34 PM Nov 2nd
Your choice of beer says more about you than you think:
5:28 PM Nov 2nd
"The human intellect owes its superiority over the lower animals to the stimulus which alcohol has given imagination." -Samuel Butler
9:53 AM Nov 3rd
"If a life of wine, women, and song get too much, give up the singing." #pragmatism @jaeDC @phila_lawyer @TuckerMax @dchappyhours
10:31 AM Nov 4th
Now you can know whose meat your're putting in your mouth: #tongueincheek #BlameDiddy
2:54 PM Nov 4th
"An alcoholic is someone you don't like who drinks as much as you do." -Dylan Thomas @jaeDC @phila_lawyer @Dolski28
1:54 PM Nov 5th
What else can you say besides Sorry for Partying? #forkliftfail
3:02 PM Nov 5th
"I hate to advocate drugs, violence, or insanity to anyone, but they've always worked for me." -Hunter S. Thompson #advicefortheweekend
10:48 AM Nov 6th
"I envy people who drink... at least they know what to blame everything on." -Oscar Levant @jaeDC @Dolski28
10:00 AM Nov 9th
"They who drink beer will think beer." -Washington Irving #bestfeeling #theheadlesshorsemanwasnotsorry @jaeDC
10:41 AM Nov 10th
“It is the hour to be drunken! To escape being the martyred slaves of time, be ceaselessly drunk." -Charles Baudelaire #bestfeeling
10:17 AM Nov 11th
Entertain yourself with the douchyness of total strangers! #mindlessdiversions
11:18 AM Nov 11th
"I'm not as think as you drunk I am." -John Squire
10:28 AM Nov 12th
"Even though a number of people have tried, no one has yet found a way to drink for a living." -Jean Kerr #butitdoesntstopusfromtrying
12:35 PM Nov 13th

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

October Tweets 2

And the second half:

"Occasionally he takes an alcoholic day." -Oscar Wilde

"I have taken more out of alcohol than alcohol has taken out of me." -Winston Churchill
12:32 PM Oct 17th

"That a believer is happier than a skeptic is no more to the point than the fact that a drunken man is happier than a sober one." -G.B. Shaw
10:23 AM Oct 19th

"Life is a waste of time and time is a waste of life, so get wasted all the time and have the time of your life."

Bus driver soaks kids at bus stop and is NOT sorry:
9:50 AM Oct 20th

You think he was sorry? Not a chance: 1:24, 2:59, 3:26, and 3:42 are priceless.
6:24 PM Oct 20th

"There can't be good living where there is not good drinking." -Benjamin Franklin
9:53 AM Oct 21st

"You're not drunk if you can lie on the floor without holding on." -Dean Martin

"A woman drove me to drink and I never even had the courtesy to thank her." -WC Fields
9:51 AM Oct 23rd

RT @phila_lawyer @alexjmann "How to Drive Fast on Drugs While Getting Your Wing-Wang Squeezed & Not Spill Your Drink"
3:05 PM Oct 23rd

"There's too much blood in my alcohol system."
12:10 PM Oct 26th

"Do not cease to drink beer, to eat, to intoxicate thyself, to make love, and celebrate the good days." -Ancient Egyptian Proverb

#HappyHourisforAmateurs is more than just a great title; a truly unapologetic and entertaining tome. Congrats are due to @phila_lawyer

Bro refuses to quit partying (and obviously is not sorry). This and other good stuff @TheOnion
1:21 PM Oct 27th

"He was a wise man who invented beer." -Plato #TRUTH
9:40 AM Oct 28th

Can your pets partake in the SFP lifestyle? Of course: #SFP
3:05 PM Oct 28th

"A drink a day keeps the shrink away." -Edward Abbey @phila_lawyer @jaeDC @McFaddensDC @dchappyhours @frattinghard #TRUTH #SFP
10:21 AM Oct 29th

"Everybody should believe in something. I believe I'll have another drink." #SFP

11:45 AM Oct 30th

October Tweets 1

Here are all the NotSFP Tweets from the first half of October. Enjoy!

If the act of using Twitter in the present is "Tweet" then shouldn't the grammatically correct past tense be "Twatted?" Just sayin'
10:38 AM Oct 1st

After 30 years, the Wisconsin Tourism Federation changes its acronym from "WTF" to "TFW." What the fuck is with that?
9:55 AM Oct 2nd

"Drunk is feeling sophisticated when you can't say it." #SFP #sophisticationasamindset
10:31 AM Oct 8th

RT @phila_lawyer Legalized Marijuana(n.)-Superficial recognition of what's been de facto accepted in sensible society for over three decades
11:12 AM Oct 9th

Today's thought: "I drink to make other people interesting." -George Jean Nathan
11:15 AM Oct 9th

Alligator to golfer: "Sorry for partying"
2:28 PM Oct 9th

"Work is the curse of the drinking class." -Oscar Wilde
10:43 AM Oct 12th

A lot of publicity is going to @TuckerMax these days, but for something a little more nuanced check out @phila_lawyer. He's not sorry.
10:47 AM Oct 12th

These are the kind of Shirley Temple-drinking douche bags that I beat all the time in drinking games:
10:36 AM Oct 13th

"I feel sorry for people who don't drink. When they wake up in the morning, that's as good as they're going to feel all day." -Frank Sinatra
11:50 AM Oct 13th

"What contemptible scoundrel has stolen the cork to my lunch?" -WC Fields
10:42 AM Oct 14th

"The problem with some people is that when they aren't drunk, they're sober." -William Butler Yeats
9:52 AM Oct 15th

"Hindsight is 20/20. Foresight is beer goggles."
10:36 AM Oct 15th

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

Unapologetic Tongue-Action

There are rare and exceptional moments in a young man's life when he believes, just for an instant, that his friends should be sorry for partying. All the signs and judgments point to an apology, but naturally they are not sorry, and neither is the young man.

This is one of those moments.

Show me a young person (under 40) who doesn't use their birthday as an excuse to get sloppy drunk and I'll show you a monogamous Mormon. The 21st birthday is the most evident rendition of this self-induced train wreck (and why not?). This is especially true when a 21st birthday lands on a Friday. Most true un-apologists will readily see why. For the rest of you: the reason a Friday birthday is so epic is because the 'day' actually begins Thursday evening and runs until the bars close on Saturday (or until you can no longer stand). In other words, your birthday just became a birthweekend. You already planned to make a spectacle of yourself to the delight of your friends and total strangers; now you get to do it for the better part of two straight days.

Just such an event occurred about this time last year, during a crisp October weekend. It was well into the Thursday night portion of my friend Goody's birthweekend. A number of us were gathered in the frat house pre-gaming, when word came down that one of the bros, whom we'll call Croc, was throwing a party. A perfect cap to the pre-game before hitting the bars.

Upon arriving we discovered that this wasn't just any party, but the beginnings of yet another Friday birthday (for Croc's girlfriend). Serendipity? I think so. Being extravagantly rich and proud of it, Croc had rented a party bus to shuttle the party to various bars around Washington. With transportation, a solid group of bros, and a bus full of lubricated females taken care of, we set about drinking with reckless abandon. By some miraculous stroke of luck, everybody was aboard the bus as it pulled away from the townhouse.

This mobile shitshow made its way around Washington, stopping occasionally to allow its participants to temporarily invade some unsuspecting bar or lounge before continuing on. Eventually it blossomed into a full-on Stage 5 booze hurricane of debauchery... and thus arrived at the final destination of the evening: the swanky Old Ebbitt Grille, a venerable establishment within puking distance of the White House. Forty-five minutes later, the party stood collectively outside the Ebbitt, evicted for having too much fun and taking a few liberties with the waitstaff. The bus had driven off to wait, assuming we would be much longer, and we were left to our own devices. This is where everything got interesting.

At this point, everybody was loaded and what passed for judgment took hold. Within minutes, one guy was climbing a tree (one of those new saplings they are forever planting in city sidewalks), being aided awkwardly by another guy attempting to serve as a human step ladder. Two girls were vomiting into the gutter in front of the restaurant, while a third was up the street between two parked cars. Another brother was down the block in the shadows, giggling as he pissed on the building. All this took place in full view of the uptight black tie crowd that frequents the Ebbitt, as well as the Secret Service across the street at the east entrance to the White House. Create a spectacle? Mission accomplished.

A block away, our friend Pops had begun passionately devouring his girlfriend's face. Wanting in on the action, another friend, Bear, leaned in close to jokingly steal a nibble. And then the show stopper: without skipping a beat, Pops pushed his girlfriend's face away and immediately began making out with Bear. If you have never seen 30 totally hammered and self-absorbed people immediately become silent and stare in unison, it is quite a sight. For a few glorious seconds, time stopped. Pure, unapologetic, raw tongue action. Only during the perfect storm of a 21st birthday could such a moment happen. I'm not sure Bear will ever forget the look on Pops' face as he pulled his tongue out of his mouth. You can bet he wasn't sorry.

Thursday, October 15, 2009

Update: My Unapologetic Dog

Every once in a great while, you'll write about something because you think it's funny/interesting/relevant and by some fortunate twist of fate the 24-hour news cycle will produce the perfect rejoinder that both completes and amplifies your original thought. This is one of those rare instances. But in order to fully comprehend the context and humor of this update, you'll have to read yesterday's post by the same title.

Shortly after reading that post, a friend of mine sent me a link with the simple message, "Dude, you have to read this! There are testicle inspectors in Dupont! Put this in your post!"

My first thought was "Duh, of course there are, it's Dupont." (One of the largest, most vibrant gay neighborhoods in the entire country, for those of you outside the District). And sure enough the article's title confirmed this: "Testicle Testers in Dupont Circle." This was posted on the website of the local NBC affiliate so it had to be a reputable article, but what did it have to do with anything I wrote? As it turns out, everything.

As soon as I started reading, I realized that the fascist wing of the Responsible Pet Owners Association (mentioned in the preceding post) had brought their evil agenda to one of D.C.'s most affluent neighborhoods. According to them, "the new Dupont Circle dog park at 17th and S is turning into some male-dominated, hump-filled nest of debauchery." So what's the problem? Who would have imagined there would be such hate for balls in Dupont, of all places? And most important, is it fair for Oscar or any other "be-testicled" canine to be subjected to such blatant discrimination? I'll let you draw your own conclusions.

Without further ado, I give you "Testicle Testers in Dupont Circle":

Only in Dupont.

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

My Unapologetic Dog

Nothing says "sorry for partying" like a 90-pound un-neutered male canine. A multi-story beer bong, the Bud Light Grooler, and urinating off the balcony are all pretty unapologetic things, but the Joker in the deck is a chocolate lab with big ol' nuts. Our boy is packing some serious heat as is, but his balls- which he wears proudly- are really the icing on the cake... or the whipped cream on the sundae... or the cream cheese on your bagel. (I'm not sorry for any images that last sentence may have conjured).

Oscar (his name has been changed to protect his privacy) is a entirely unapologetic: how many people do you know that just strut around all day with their jewels hanging out? He was 2 years old and not "fixed" when we got him from a shelter. Seeing as he still was in full possession of his cojones, we figured by that point he had earned the right to keep them. When I was an infant and they circumcised me, nobody asked me first if it was okay if they could take my foreskin, so in a way I can identify with him. (In hindsight I'm happy they did, but that's not the point. This is about principles).

Furthermore, his testicles are a great conversation piece. A common conversation with new visitors to our house usually goes something like this:

Her: "Ohmygod! That is such a cute dog. His eyes match his coat and he's so well-behaved. And he' so big too!"
Me: "Yeah, and look at the size of his balls."
Her: "Eww, that's so gross!"

10 minutes later after the pup walks by, tail held high and proud...

Her: "Wow, those really are big balls."

You're damn right. Nothing gives me greater joy than taking Oscar to the park for his morning constitutional and experiencing the looks of surprise/horror/fascination of my fellow dog-walkers as they cast their gaze upon his regal balls. They are absolutely priceless. Adding to the spectacle, he currently is in the throes of adolescence and as a result is quite virile and, shall we say, "excitable." In other words, he loves to chase the muff around. It's beautiful (and hilarious) to watch a soccer mom hustle Muffins the poodle down the sidewalk to get away from that big-balled dog and his rude, leering owner.

In closing, if you ever have the chance to experience the joys of owning a male dog, I recommend letting him keep his nuts. People will lecture you about being an "irresponsible pet owner." Do not listen to these people. They are fascists. Instead, enjoy what it feels like to flip the bird to suburbia while telling society to kiss your ass. SFP.

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

September Tweets 2

The second half of September:

11:30 pm - Her (in the course of conversation): "I'm 39." Him (hammered): "I'm 22 and I could be your little boy." Her: "I'm not a cougar."
11:43 AM Sep 16th

9:30 am - Red Cross pep squad: "Would you like to give blood today?" Me: "You don't want my blood; it still has a measurable BAC." Jaws drop
11:46 AM Sep 16th

Sorry for breaking and entering:
5:49 PM Sep 17th

Friday's thought- Bluto: "My advice to you is to start drinking heavily." Otter: "Better listen to him, Flounder, he's in pre-med."
10:04 AM Sep 18th

Monday's thought: "You mind if we dance wif your dates?" (Those who know Animal House will appreciate this one).
11:10 AM Sep 21st

How do you say "Sorry for Partying" in German? Traurig für partying.
11:27 AM Sep 22nd

Wednesday's thought - Hoover: "They confiscated everything, even the stuff we didn't steal!" SFP!
10:37 AM Sep 23rd

RT @TuckerMax So yesterday @drdrew told me it's not a good idea to put my balls in front of an x-ray machine. Who knew?.........SFP!
3:33 PM Sep 23rd

The perfect addition to any large-scale party:
2:08 PM Sep 24th

What else can you say except "Sorry for Partying?"
4:19 PM Sep 24th

"Some people think 3:30 on a Thursday is too early to start drinking. I'm not one of those people." -My friend, a proud AA drop-out
4:58 PM Sep 24th

Fist bump the Dalai Lama? Why not, it's awesome and practical:
5:08 PM Sep 24th

Friday's thought: "The problem with the world is that everyone is a few drinks behind." -Humphrey Bogart
11:06 AM Sep 25th

Speaking of which, we're all a few drinks behind this guy: Andre The Giant played in a whole different league. RIP
12:18 PM Sep 25th

Day 4 of my bender: "Might as well take "Organ Donor" off my license because nobody's going to want them if this keeps up much longer." SFP!
2:04 PM Sep 25th

Arbitrary ridiculousness: it only takes 5 drinks to constitute a "binge." That's basically breakfast on a Saturday.
2:06 PM Sep 29th

"She's a good-hearted woman in love with a good-timing man." Sound familiar? Waylon was never sorry:
2:22 PM Sep 29th

"Those who can't do, teach." The unspoken rejoinder to that saying is: "Those who can't teach, drink."
10:03 AM Sep 30th

How can you demonstrate your own lack of sorry-ness? Eat your husband's goldfish:
5:05 PM Sep 30th

September Tweets 1

Here are all the unapologetic Tweets from the first half of September. Enjoy!

Tuesday's thought: "Once, during Prohibition, I was forced to survive for days on nothing but food and water." -WC Fields
10:02 AM Sep 1st

UCF fans are not SFP:
1:29 PM Sep 1st

Wednesday's thought: "Man, being reasonable, must get drunk; for the best of life is but intoxication." -Lord Byron
10:25 AM Sep 2nd

Thursday's thought: "Sometimes too much to drink is barely enough." -Mark Twain
9:47 AM Sep 3rd

This is too good to be true!
3:07 PM Sep 3rd

Friday's thought: "I'd rather have a bottle in front of me than a frontal lobotomy." -Tom Waits
9:49 AM Sep 4th

"No, I won't put my beer in a bag. I'll just use my vag." SFP!
9:50 AM Sep 4th

"I apologize for partying." -My sophisticated friend after swilling margarita from a thermos in a parking lot on Saturday afternoon.
1:43 PM Sep 8th

Me: "All you do is watch TV." Him, with beer in hand and surrounded by empties: "Well shit, that thing ain't gonna watch itself." SFP!
1:46 PM Sep 8th

Girl:"I think Im gonna break up w/my bf." Me: "You have a bf??" Girl:"Yea its okay, I'm gonna hook up w/u & call & apologize in the AM" SFP!
2:40 PM Sep 8th

@TFLN (412): fuck dude i blacked out on a tuesday. what am i doing with my life? (717): Winning.
5:15 PM Sep 10th

Welcome to the 23rd Century, people! http://www.tailgateapproved...
10:02 AM Sep 11th

Even better! Thanks J-Buff: http://www.margaritavilleca...
12:11 PM Sep 11th

Swayze - sorry for partying... and fighting:
3:29 PM Sep 15th

Monday, October 12, 2009

August Tweets

Better late than never: the best NotSFP Tweets from August. Please enjoy responsibly.

I am definitely NOT Sorry For Partying.
3:38 PM Aug 11th

Can Texans be unapologetic like the rest of us? You betcha:
12:17 PM Aug 21st

"If God had wanted man to play soccer, he wouldn't have given us arms." - Mike "No I'm Not Sorry" Ditka
2:30 PM Aug 21st

How do you say Sorry for Partying in Spanish?
2:52 PM Aug 21st

An entertaining guy, despite his poverty and obvious mental deficiency:
4:16 PM Aug 21st

Monday's thought of the day: "I never drink anything stronger than gin before breakfast." -WC Fields
10:15 AM Aug 24th

Him: "I met a 27-year-old who thinks I'm cool and wants to hang out, but I don't think she has any idea how old I am." Me: "Irrelevant."
10:18 AM Aug 24th

A great site for all those who appreciate the Bro lifestyle and are not sorry for partying: http://www.broslikethissite...
5:08 PM Aug 24th

Tuesday's thought of the day: "Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy." -Benjamin Franklin
11:27 AM Aug 25th

Direct quote: "Last night I tried Everclear-infused whipped cream, $10 a can. Dude, it was strong and nuts." These are my friends.
1:58 PM Aug 25th

RT @TuckerMax Priceless. T-Max=a true SFPer
9:52 AM Aug 27th

Not a partier:
5:05 PM Aug 30th

Monday's thought: "Well I woke up this mornin' and I got myself a beer." -Jim Morrison
11:22 AM Aug 31st

The French Mother-in-Law

My cousin has the type of driven personality that makes the rest of us look bad: only in his late 20s but with two advanced college degrees, on his fourth job and well up the corporate ladder, bi-lingual, enviously successful. Fortunately for the sake of my self esteem, there is a Mr. Hyde lurking just behind this Dr. Jekyll. By night, he is a dedicated drinker, with a biting sense of humor, and entirely unapologetic, the combination of which usually ends poorly for any less-adept partiers that he may come into contact with. He has also been dating the same girl for the past 6 years. She is a terrific match for him: smart, fashionable, witty, and French. Dr. Jekyll and Frenchgirl are the ideal couple. Mr. Hyde creates some tension.

On one particular Friday night a few weeks ago, Mr. Hyde appeared in full force, and this time the shit hit the fan. In the early evening we all unchained ourselves from our respective desks, crawled out into the fading daylight, and made our ways directly to a favorite watering hole. As soon as we met up, I could tell that my cousin would be providing the entertainment for that night: just as the full moon precedes the appearance of the werewolf, Blue Moon on a Friday night draws out Mr. Hyde.

Frenchgirl usually joins us for these Friday sessions, and tonight she brought along a special guest: her mother. Unlike 99 percent of the French population, the French Mother-in-Law does not drink (weird, I know). Yet, out of some misplaced sense of politeness she decided to join us at the bar and watch us all get wrecked. Per the usual, we put on a show. About an hour after arriving she leaned over to Frenchgirl and mentioned something about being thirsty. Mr. Hyde was sitting opposite her and upon hearing this, said simply, "I've got this." As he got up from the table, Frenchgirl shot him a look that said "If you pull anything I'll castrate you." Well-lubricated at this point, heavy on courage and low on judgment, he ignored it.

He returned a few minutes later with an iced drink in a pint glass. He set it down nonchalantly in front of her and seamlessly re-joined the conversation. When she finished it, he got her another one. And another. And another. The Mother-in-Law drank each one successively faster. She seemed to like them very much and at one point asked in French what she was drinking. "Iced tea," he replied with an almost imperceptible twinkle.

As we got up to move on, the Mother-in-Law mentioned not feeling well and asked Frenchgirl to take her home. Walking out of the bar and across the sidewalk to the taxi, Mom looked like a newborn giraffe. Thirty minutes later, sans Mom and Frenchgirl, we had arrived at the next bar and were nearly finished with our first round when the first of a flood of texts vibrated my cousin's phone. It was soon followed by a half dozen more. My cousin let out a laugh and related the following: the French Mother-in-Law almost immediately upon entering the cab had become violently ill and had vomited everywhere, much to the displeasure of the agitated Somali driver. She had been sick again in the elevator of the apartment building, and again once inside the apartment. She was now prostrate in front of the toilet.

"I suppose I should let her know those were Long Island Iced Teas, haha." Me: "Wait, you fed a bunch of Long Islands to your Mother-in-Law who doesn't drink?" Him: "Haha, yeah, I told her they were special because they grew the tea leaves on Long Island!"

Grinning broadly, he sent a short text message to Frenchgirl, relating these details. The return telephone call was almost instantaneous. What followed was the definition of a conniption. I took a few French classes in high school and college so I could understand most of the staccato stream of obscenities and threats coming through the line. It was the kind of diatribe that would make a sailor blush.

By this point, my cousin's smile had faded to a dark frown. He held his hand over the receiver and whispered to me, "Fuck, she's a lot more pissed than I thought she would be. What should I say?"

"Try this one on for size: 'sorry for partying.'" Guess who slept on my couch that night?

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

The Recovering Frat Boy

Disclaimer: I did not write this story. It was forwarded to me as part of an email chain, a la early Tucker Max. But I thought, fuck it, it's just so funny and true that I would be doing all of you a disservice by not posting it. So without further ado and in keeping with the unapologetic theme of this blog, I present to you The Recovering Frat Boy:

During my five-year college reunion in May, I snuck into my old fraternity house, which at the time was being used as some sort of community service dorm. As I wandered about taking pictures, a student approached and asked politely, "Excuse me, who are you?"

Instinctively, I turned around and yelled menacingly, "Who the fuck are YOU?"

The girl scurried off, but the incident made me introspective. Here I am, twenty-seven-years old, with a relatively successful career, regular car insurance payments, and pillowcases that match my comforter. Yet at the same time, I can't drink one beer without drinking twenty, I can't converse with a girl without trying to take her home, and I can't even step foot in a fraternity house without immediately regressing into an asshole. While college is many years behind me, vestiges of the experience remain deeply ingrained in my personality. Welcome to the world of a recovering frat boy.

Of course, I'm not the only one. There's an entire faction of twenty-somethings out there who live seemingly mature lives - but only to the naked eye. Take my friend Mike, a successful software developer in New York whose downtown apartment has actually been passed down for years to successive generations of graduates from his fraternity like an off-campus party house. Or my buddy Justin, a writer here in LA who is looking to move to a new place - but has yet to find one big enough to fit his beer pong table. Unfortunately for him, "Hardwood floor quickly soaks up cheap beer" is generally not an amenity typically found on craigslist.

Recovering frat boys aren't required to have ever been Greek. In fact, they don't even have to be boys. On average, every other Evite I received from girls over the past year has been for some sort of elaborate, costume/theme party that reminds me of sophomore year. If you're a strong, independent woman in her mid-twenties who is still throwing parties entitled Pimps & Hos, Forties & Hos, or Golf Pros & Tennis Hos, you are most definitely a recovering frat boy. Dressed like a whore.

To me, the phrase, "Let's grab a drink" is both the rallying cry and secret password of the recovering frat boy movement. For some reason, no one uses that phrase until they've graduated college, and then they use it so frequently it becomes virtually devoid of meaning. If you really think about it, you only actually grab a drink with about 10% of the people you say that to. Of that 10%, most think you literally want to have a solitary cocktail and exchange pleasantries or discuss current events (these people are often married or lawyers). The remainder - who you quickly recognize as kindred spirits - take "grab a drink" to mean "play beer pong and find that party where chicks are dressed as hos."

Why is it, then, that so many of us, whether subconsciously or not, have adopted this quasi-Peter Pan lifestyle? These days, it's no longer, "I won't grow up." It's more like, "OK, I'll grow up, as long as I can still throw up once a weekend." I think the answer is simple: because we can. The world is changing. Getting married in your twenties is no longer the norm. And that means we now have more time to live our lives the way we want to and, most importantly, have evolved the ability to do so while still excelling in the adult world.

People ask me all the time how long I can continue calling myself a recovering frat boy. Those people are usually sober and annoying. And my response is always the same: "Who the fuck are you?"

Friday, September 18, 2009

The 4-by-3

Writing about breaking the law is a tricky endeavor due to the crimes in question and the parties involved. But the following ritual is just so awesome/extreme/crazy that it had to included in a blog like this. For obvious reasons, names and locations have been changed or omitted. I hope you'll forgive my vagueness.

Every spring, a certain group of fraternal brothers at a certain Washington-area university take part in an event that, for those who experience it, often constitutes one of the final steps on the journey to manhood. Now, almost every fraternity in America at one time or another has been known to participate in competitive drinking games (much to the disdain of administrators, parents, columnists, and generally sophisticated people everywhere). The old stalwart of these events is the case race, in which a small group attempts to finish 30 beers before any of the other teams.

Sometimes, dudes also like to prove their manliness by engaging in eating contests involving various items- wings, hot dogs, pizza, cole slaw, etc. You name it and it's probably been eaten competitively before. Also, how many college students don't like to toke up a little bit from time to time? Despite the Federal government's best efforts, marijuana usage is rampant on America's college campuses. Who are we to disagree with popular opinion?

Being overachievers in the areas of intoxication and excess, we decided to combine these three elements- drinking, eating, and smoking- into a single event and turn it into a competition. The 4-by-3 Relay Competition is not for the feint of heart: four man teams, one case of the beer of your choice, one large pizza, one eighth of an ounce of sticky green. The first team to finish all three wins. It doesn't matter how you split up consumption of the various items, they just all have to go away. No shotgunning, no funneling, if you boot you're disqualified and your team is forced to operate a man down.

By the end everything dissolves into utter chaos and to quote Douglas C. Neidermeyer of "Animal House" fame, it usually results in "individual acts of perversion so profound and disgusting that decorum prohibits listing them here." By the way, one last kicker: the team that claims victory must empty all the backwash from their empties into a Solo cup. If the residual beer fills more than half the cup, they have 60 seconds to drink it or risk forfeiting their victory. Last year's winning team finished in just over 38 minutes. I challenge anyone who reads this to either beat that time or come up with a better competition.

And She Said "I'm Wet"

It's something that every man dreams about and wishes for on a daily basis, but which in reality occurs only rarely: when she makes the first move. You're just sitting there, minding your own business, not really working it too hard, when- whammy- she let's you know she wants it. Cha-ching. Unfortunately, in our uptight and backwards culture, young women are encouraged to project an image of chastity and refrain from "chasing boys," leaving it up to the males to initiate intimacy.

But every once in awhile a girl will forget what she is supposed to do and instead does what she wants to do. Such an event occurred just this past weekend... or so we thought. This particular Friday night called for a trip to the strip club. But owing to the fact that we are broke students/young professionals (I use the term "professional" loosely), a classy joint was out of the question. Enter Taj Mahal. The place is an institution in Washington and a rite of passage for every young man who has lived/worked/gone to school in D.C in the last three decades. Imagine the bar in "Roadhouse" (RIP Patrick Swayze) with dimmer lights and tits. The ATM dispenses singles and the employees are typically the kind of girls who can't get work in the other, more reputable gentlemen's clubs in D.C. Get the picture?

On this night, we brought along some young ladies because 1.) we wanted to show our romantic side, and 2.) everyone knows that, deep down, girls love strip clubs. If you're reading this blog, you've probably been to a strip club before, so I won't go into details of what occurred other than to say it involved the usual: getting too drunk, showering the strippers with abusive language, and eventually getting kicked out for "not respecting the girls."

One of our guys- we'll refer to him as "Big Daddy"- was really hitting it off with one of the girls, whom we'll call "Bouncing Betty." She was obviously into him and he was doing his best to play it cool despite the fact that he was near-blackout and she was definitely out of his league. As we were being escorted out, Bouncing Betty somehow made it past the bouncer with a bottle of Bud Heavy (classy girl, huh?). Not wanting to cock-block, we all piled into cabs and left the two of them standing on the corner to get the next one. What ensued can either be seen as hilarious or tragic, depending on your perspective.

As Big Daddy related to us later, they got into the next cab, Bouncing Betty still nursing her beer. They snuggled together in the back seat. After a few blocks, she calmly leaned forward, turned to face him, and without batting an eye, told him "I'm wet." How is a guy supposed to take this statement other than "it's on like Donkey Kong?" Believing that he had been struck by incredibly good luck, Big Daddy immediately went to work: making out, groping, and eventually sliding his hand up her thigh and under her skirt. As he later related to us, "she didn't do anything. Nothing. Just sat there and took it. Didn't say anything, didn't reciprocate." After a few minutes of this Daddy began to feel awkward, so he leaned back and asked point-blank "what the fuck, I thought you said you were wet?" "I am," Betty replied, gesturing to a wet spot on her dress. "I spilled beer on myself."

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Washing the Sidewalk

As I mentioned in the previous post, our townhouse is way too nice for us. And to be honest, I'm surprised they even rented to us. One incident in particular is indicative of the direction we're heading.

After only three weeks, we received our first of many eviction threats. A neighbor across the street happened to witness one of us urinating from the second-floor balcony into the street after a long night of binge drinking. Adding to the spectacle, the urinator was apparently trying to write his name on the sidewalk while humming/singing Elton John's "Tiny Dancer." (We learned all this after the fact, as none of us had any recollection of the event occurring in the first place).

As you can imagine, the neighbor, not being a partier, was unimpressed and called the landlord to voice their displeasure and general disgust with our antics. What a great conversation that must have been: "Jesus tap dancing Christ, who do they think they are, pissing off the building like that?! This is a neighborhood!" I'm sure the landlord was mortified. (Umm, sorry for partying).

After that particular fire storm settled, we were let off with a stern warning about how "this isn't a frat house, boys." I'm sure we'll disprove that statement in due time.

Long Bong Silver

In May, I moved into a townhouse in Arlington with three other bros. The place is brand new, gorgeous, and definitely way too nice for us and our penchant for random, irresponsible debauchery.

As we began to outfit our house with all the items that 20-something males consider domestic necessities (barbecue grill, mini fridges-4 of them, flat screen television, tiki torches, etc.), it soon became apparent to us that something was missing from our otherwise dominant household. There was a void and we could all sense it. What could we add to our house to show the neighbors (the fun ones) what kind of bros we truly are? What could we get to really demonstrate our fratitude? It had to be something that not just anyone could buy and possess. Something unique... We needed a beer bong, but not just any beer bong.

Now for those of you who grew up in Utah or have been living under a rock since the Eisenhower Administration, a beer bong is a wonderful contraption that allows the user to consume stomach-stretching quantities of beer in remarkably small amounts of time. It's just a funnel attached to a tube, but it can do amazing things simply by harnessing the power of gravity and some complicated bit of physics involving fluid dynamics.

Any amateur can build a beer bong, but only enthusiasts like ourselves who are truly dedicated to the SFP lifestyle would ever dare to construct and use a 25-foot-long monster that can hold a six pack. We spent an hour and $90 at Home Depot collecting all the necessary components: heavy duty flexible contractor's tubing, solid brass fittings and splitters, adjustable aluminum tube clamps, and the piece de resistance- mouth pieces fashioned from industrial-grade natural gas pipe valves. Another hour of assembly at home (it helped that one of us had an engineering degree) and our Frankenstein was a reality: a two-person thrill ride that dispensed beer like a fire hose. We christened our new creation Long Bong Silver (or LBS, for short).

One Saturday evening, about three weeks after our inaugural weekend with LBS, we were well into the second case (at half capacity- 3 beers a pop- 6 or 8 people can easily put away a 30-rack in under 15 minutes) when the po-lice paid us a visit. We didn't give this much attention since it has become a weekly occurrence, owing to the fact that we bro-out just a little too hard for some of our neighbors. This visit was slightly different though: it was a lady cop. She got out of the cruiser and sidled over to the base of the balcony, ready to tell us to quiet down.

"Good evening, you guys need to keep it-" she stopped mid-sentence, her eyes riveted to the beast draped from our balcony. Can you say penis envy? After a few seconds of dumbfounded silence, she said "You know, you guys can't have that thing up there. You need to take it down." I decided to push the envelop: "You wanna try one, Officer? Basically anyone can handle it," I said, knowing full well that it would probably knock her flat on her cop ass. "I can't, I'm on duty," she replied. I was buzzed and feeling lucky: "You didn't say 'no!' Where I came from, no means yes and yes means harder." Needless to say, she was not impressed. Sorry for Partying.

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

Introduction to SFP

Hey ya'll. KNOW THIS: you are going to get to like this blog. Mostly written by 2 fraternity brothers, one current and one alum, along with many guests.

Sorry For Partying is the web's new home for all things related to: drinking, drinking outdoors, tailgating, 3-story beer bongs, doing ridiculous shit, country music, reasons the South is better than the North but why we live in the North anyways, and generally being awesome. Trust me we're experts. And yes, while writing about it in a blog would generally disprove this, we are the exceptions to the rule.

So what exactly do we mean when we say "Sorry For Partying" (or not, as the case may be)? We turn to the always informative yet often lame Urban Dictionary for a concise and compelling explanation:

Sorry For Partying-

the act of apologizing for having an awesome time; in no situation does this saying not apply.

You kill your neighbors dog? Sorry For Partying. You steal your friend's credit card at the bar and run up a huge tab? Sorry For Partying. You bang your friend's mom with an empty beer bottle? Sorry For Partying. Piss your pants in the bar? Sorry For Partying. Can't get a boner because you're too drunk? Sorry For Partying.

Liam: What the hell, you just threw all my food at that house!?
Chris: Sorry for partying. I thought this was college.
Liam: You're right Chris, continue. My bad.

Man: You just smashed all my pumpkins, I'm gonna kick your ass!!!
John: Sorry for partying.
Man (walks away calmly)

The title says it all: we sure as shit are Not Sorry For Partying.