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: http://bit.ly/pdZnb
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. http://www.oktoberfest.de/en/
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: http://bit.ly/VKOvZ
2:08 PM Sep 24th

What else can you say except "Sorry for Partying?" http://bit.ly/pHiNB
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: http://www.cnn.com/2009/POL...
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: http://bit.ly/16tGWB 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: http://bit.ly/hy1h
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: http://bit.ly/WbBMq
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: http://bit.ly/m7idq
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! http://bit.ly/2Tor94
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." http://bit.ly/zN3At 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: http://bit.ly/qLWQO
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: http://bit.ly/z7YsI
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? http://bit.ly/10v8XQ
2:52 PM Aug 21st

An entertaining guy, despite his poverty and obvious mental deficiency: http://bit.ly/cQZZa
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 http://twitpic.com/fdpog Priceless. T-Max=a true SFPer
9:52 AM Aug 27th

Not a partier: http://bit.ly/102vJS
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?