I went to Pittsburgh to visit a few friends and get my share of partying done before classes started back up. Little did I know that this trip would be boring and awesome at the same time.

I'm not going to bother to mention the boring stuff like sitting in a book store for a few hours or how my coffee at Caribou Cafe came to $2.00 and after handing the clerk $2.00, I said "Keep the change for the tip jar." I'll let you know about the crazy sex, drugs, and rock n' roll. Okay, so I'll tell you about the bar and the club.

A few friends and I went to an undisclosed bar where a guy named Soup met us. Soup told us not to ask anything about him, but apparently he dated one of the girls in our group. He's 38 and has a kid—enough said. Soup was big on strutting past everyone with his button down shirt completely open, leaving his chest exposed. It was an awkward look for an older dude or any dude for that matter.

Three of us were 20, one 19, and two others were 18. Of course we decided to play it cool since cops were patrolling every inch of the bar/club. Everyone in our group got up from the bar except for myself and another girl who stayed at the bar. I was a bit confused because it seemed that they all knew something that I did not. Suddenly, I got the message: Soup was CREEPING on the girl and talking about how they dated at one point in time. You felt bad for both of them; bad for her because he's old and smells weird, and Soup because he's 38 and needs to settle down.


After sitting through their awkward conversation and him saying things like, "I've changed!" and other pathetic things, I got up with my COME AT ME, BRO shirt glowing under the neon lights. I went to the club where everyone was on the dance floor and I decided that I was drunk enough to bust a few moves. As the DJ played Biggie, etc., I danced my face off and screamed at the top of my lungs like a madman.


After tearing it up on the floor and dancing with MAD girls, I got back to the bar to see Soup had left and the one girl from our group was surrounded by nothing but meat heads. In my COME AT ME, BRO shirt, I stepped in the middle of the group and introduced myself with an alias. I put my hand out into the circle and said, "Anthony Stanatta. Pleased to meet ya." By the end of the night, I had these guys convinced that I was a mafia hitman and that my boss had ordered me to protect the girl.


Eventually, our group got back together and we decided it would be best to leave. By this point Soup's shirt had come off and he was working on his pants. The guy must have some kind of weird fascination with being naked.


At the end of the night, everyone in Pittsburgh knew who Anthony Stanatta was and at every bar or diner that I stepped into, mobs of girls would swarm around me.


By the end of the long, exhausting weekend I caught a bus home. Figuring that I had made it out and no one would know me by my alias, everything was going well. Suddenly, the bus driver stopped the bus and looked at me saying, "Are you Anthony Stanatta?"