The Drunken Blog

One of the biggest aspects of a new place is the neighbors, especially in a condo. These are the people that you will be seeing pretty often and they are the ones that will be complaining if your music is too loud or if your party is too crazy. Unfortunately you can’t really scope out the neighbors before moving in, it’s just one of those things that you hope that they aren’t a bunch of douches.

When we moved into our new place we were afraid that everybody there was old, and when I say old I mean over 30, with a family and all that jazz. Unfortunately, most of our thoughts were confirmed over the first couple of months that we lived there. It was a mostly older family crowd, which is to be expected in a place where you have to buy your apartment and have a mortgage.

However, we heard rumors of a girl that works for a beer distributor. We would go to some of the social events that the condo association put on and we would tell people about our kegerator, and they would invariably tell us about this elusive Tessa girl that works for the beer distributor. We kept thinking that we had to get in touch with this girl. As much was we love Yuengling, and we do, cheap Yuengling would be even better. Or maybe even some obscure micro brew would be cool, as long as it’s cheap. And that’s the beauty of knowing somebody that works for a beer distributor, good cheap beer.

At least, this is what we were hoping, we still hadn’t met this girl, nor had we met any neighbors our age. The people that kept telling us about this girl were on the board of the condo association, and as nice as they seem, I wouldn’t put it past them tell us that this mystery beer girl existed when she did not, just to make us like the place better.

The other night there was a happy hour that was put together by the condo at a local bar. The flyer said that there would be drink specials and free food. We got there as soon as the happy hour started and were displeased to find out that there were not any drink specials at all (unless you consider $5 per beer a special price), and the free food was frightful. Like I said, we were the first ones there and we managed to secure a stand-up table, which would become the central hub for this happy hour, which we later discovered was actually being billed as a “single’s mingle.”

This made us slightly embarrassed when we were talking to the attractive waitress as we tried to figure out what the situation was regarding the drink specials. We began drinking, and people began showing up. We saw a girl that we had seen out before, she is 30 and married, but I wouldn’t have guessed she was that old, and she seems like a cool person. She also brought with her a friend. Unfortunately it wasn’t Tessa, but it was an attractive girl that was about our age.

She is 26, which is the age I happen to tell people I am when I’m in a bar. And what’s even better is that we had actually already met this girl. The day that we moved in, we were carrying a mattress down the hall to our apartment and this girl comes out and asks us if we can turn off her fire alarm for her. Apparently some water was leaking through her ceiling and it somehow set it off. Jeff of course came through, and created an instant in with this girl.

The evening was pretty chill, and we were the youngest ones there, but we exchanged phone numbers and were put on “the list”. The list was just the younger people that were there that would get together to get drinks or whatever.

A little later in the night Tessa made an appearance. It was kind of difficult restraining our excitement, we really wanted to just come straight out and say that we had a kegerator, and we wanted her to stock it for us. But we commenced with the small talk until we finally managed to slip it in there. She was ecstatic, we were ecstatic, everybody should have been ecstatic. We exchanged numbers with her, and she assured us that she would hook us up with some good beer.

While the number of young social neighbors may be slim, the few that are around seem very cool. And I’m confident that once summer comes around and the pool opens up the young girls will magically start appearing, and we will have the good beer stocked in order to accommodate them.

The Drunken Blog

I learned an important life lesson last night.  Several actually, but the biggest is that just because a place has a bar in it does not make the entire place worthy of the title “bar”.  For instance, last night I went to a lounge, which had a bar in it, but it definitely was not a bar.

The entire night was an interesting experience.  I had to work late on a Friday and I had to be at work on Saturday, as well.  So as soon as I got home around 7 I started drinking.  Then I played some Guitar Hero, which happens to be my game of the moment.  I noticed that the more that I drank the lower my scores got.  Imagine that.  It was funny because I could actually feel my coordination leaving me.  I would see the note come across the screen.  I would know which button to push, I would tell my finger to push that button, but somewhere in between the message was lost.

I was pretty excited about the night.  A friend of a friend of a friend worked at this place and was given a night off by her boss, as well as a $100 bar credit and she was told to bring out some friends and have a good time.  Well, I was one of those friends.  We left my place around 10:30 and got there at about 11:30 because the metro is slow, but it’s easier than drunk driving and trying to find parking, and also much cheaper than a taxi.

I figured that around 11:30 the place would start filling up.  That’s the way the bars are in Fairfax, dead until about 11:45 and then they get crazy busy until closing time.  But this was not a bar, it was a lounge.  So we walk in at about 11:30 after being wanded with a metal detector and then patted down, even though the girl that worked there was escorting us in, and this place is pretty much dead.

I look at my surroundings and I’m not really sure what I think.  First there is the house music, I hate house music.  It’s loud and you can’t dance to it.  I feel like I should have brought some glow sticks with me.  There is the bar, and then there is the roped off VIP section, which is just a little raised platform behind a little rope, and in the middle of that was the standing area.  It wasn’t the dancing area because nobody was dancing, and you can’t dance to house music without ecstasy anyway.

One thing that I noticed when I got there was how much this seemed like a high school dance.  It really had all of the dynamics.  You had the attractive girls hanging out, and then there were the unattractive girls hanging out.  Their groups were deceivingly close to each other, if you weren’t paying attention you may have even thought that they were together.  Then there were all of the guys lining the bar, not actually talking to any girls – just waiting until they could, assumedly, buy an overpriced drink for a girl in order to make her feel obligated to talk to him.  I definitely got the feeling that the guys were on one side and the girls on the other, with nobody wanting to cross the center line of the gym.

The guy to girl ratio at this place was also pretty bad.  There were a lot more guys than there were girls, and most of the guys looked like douches.  In fact, there was one guy that had on a pastel blue polo shirt, with the color popped, of course, and he was wearing those big sunglasses.  Apparently wearing sunglasses inside at bars and clubs is the hot thing to do in Europe.  But here’s another little tip about Europe, they also go crazy when you play YMCA – do you really want to take nightlife advice from people like that?  Let me just reiterate: if you wear sunglasses inside at night, you are a douche.  I’m actually surprised that this guy wasn’t wearing a pink shirt.  Then I remembered that it was Friday, and he was probably saving his “good” pink shirt for Saturday night.

Another thing that I don’t like about a place like this one is the fact that everybody there is a pretentious prick, and most of the girls are snobs.  As my friend Chris said, girls that go out only want one of two things, a guy with money, or dick.  At this place all of the girls wanted a guy with money.  These girls just gave off that air of superiority.  Any place where half of the guys that aren’t wearing popped polo shirts are wearing sports jackets is going to suck, end of story.

The friend of a friend of a friend was actually very cute, but since she worked there, she was all around leaving us to ourselves, which was fine, I don’t need somebody to hold my hand, but I definitely felt like a fish out of water at this place, which is saying a lot, because I was drowning myself in alcohol.

Chris eventually convinces us to go to his bar.  I’m glad about this; a real bar with real people would be real nice.  I was starting to get to the bitter drunk point, which is what happens when I drink a lot and there isn’t a single prospect in sight.

We head out.  I am wasted, Jeff is wasted, Chris is drunk, and our other friend is wiz-asted.  Yes, she was that drunk that it requires the use of a “z” and an extra syllable to describe it.  Our friend isn’t looking so hot, so I of course offer her to give me a piggy back ride.  She declines, but I still want a piggy back ride, though I’m not really sure why.  We then start talking about how Chris once carried a keg up to a third floor apartment once by himself.  Then the great idea of Chris giving me a piggy back ride hits me.  But if it was just me getting a piggy back ride, that would be gay, so I suggest a double piggy back ride: me on Chris’ back, and then Jeff on mine.  What could go wrong?

I jump on Chris’ back and then Jeff asks me if I’m ready.  Chris points out that it shouldn’t really matter if I’m ready, he should have asked if Chris was ready.  I concur.  But Jeff comes bounding up nonetheless.  He attempts to jump on my back, but instead what he really does is tear me off of Chris’ back.  I fall.  I land with all of my weight directly between my shoulder blades on my upper back.  Did I mention this happened on the sidewalk?  Somehow I managed not to hit my head, but I got the wind knocked out of me and my back was spasming like a mofo.

We continue to walk to Chris’ bar.  I’m not in quite as good of a mood as I was, mostly because my back hurts and I know if it hurts this much now it’s going to hurt even more the next day.  After about a 20 minute walk, we finally get to Play.  This is much more of the bar scene that I like to see, although it’s still a little off from my stereotypical bar.  By this point my back is killing me.  Jeff has begun dancing with the girl in our group, Chris went to get us some drinks, and I just sort of stood there in pain, reflecting.  Generally when I reflect by myself after drinking heavily, I turn to a bitter drunk.  This was no exception.

Jeff noticed me brooding by myself and so he sent the girl over to dance with me.  I hate this kind of pity dance, especially when I am bitter drunk.  I feel like it’s charity work being done on me, and that just makes me more pissed off.  I send her back to Jeff, I use the excuse that I can’t really dance because my back hurts, which is mostly true.

Chris is still at the bar trying to get drinks.  I am surprised it is taking this long to get drinks, especially since he works at this place.  I go up and investigate.  I don’t actually find out what took so long, but I did find a girl and I struck up a conversation.  I didn’t even mean to, I was just at the bar and I was surveying my surroundings when I turned and looked at her.  She saw me basically stare directly at her, so I felt obligated to talk, else it be an awkward situation.  So I just said “Hi” and then turned away.

Apparently that was enough bait to get the fish on.  She then started to talk small talk to me.  I wish I could say that the night got better and this girl ended up going home with me, but that was not the case.  I will have to keep in mind the “I don’t care” card for future reference.  The problem in this case was that I actually didn’t care.  She was not that attractive and as soon as I got my drinks I dipped.  The only problem with the “I don’t care” card is that you really have to sell it and sometimes that means simply walking away, and you have to be OK with that.

I thought this drink would help me lesson the pain in my back; it didn’t.  We then walk away from the bar to where the tables are.  Chris explained that to reserve a table you had to buy two $150 bottles of alcohol.  He then proceeded to take a bottle of Grey Goose from one of the tables and pour it directly into his mouth.  If that was one of the $150 bottles, I would guess that he drank about $20 worth of it.

This was not the place I wanted to be, though.  Here was where the girls that wanted the guys with money hang out.  I don’t have money, and at this point I don’t have an amicable personality, either.  I just sit and brood.  I’m upset, I think about leaving several times.  It’s about 2:30, and I still have to be at work the next day, and it’s going to be at least an hour to get home.

We finally leave and walk to the metro.  The girl in our group is gone.  I literally don’t know how she made it back without throwing up.  She made the motions a couple of times but somehow still managed to retain control.  We got on the metro at a bad stop.  It’s bad because we have to transfer trains.  So we waited about 15 minutes for the train to come, and then we rode one stop, and then we had to wait another 10 minutes for the other train to come.  We could have easily walked to this other stop.  I am looking at my watch because now it is 3, which means we probably made the last train of the night, and I still had to be at work the next morning.  At about this time I realize that there is not a snowball’s chance in hell of us making it home before four.

This makes me angry, but not as angry as the Mexican guy that decided to sit with us on the metro, or the gay guy that wouldn’t shut up.  The train is basically empty.  There are four of us in the group, so we take up four sets of seats, and then this Mexican comes and sits with us.  There is an entire empty train that he could have sat in, but instead he decides he wants to hang out with us.  I wanted to punch him in the face.  But, I wanted to punch the gay guy even more.  He was there with two girls that, from what I could tell by trying to look around the Mexican, were actually pretty attractive.

You may be wondering how I could tell he was gay, and to that I would say that there are some people that you can just tell, that and the fact that he was complaining about his boyfriend.  It should probably be noted that he was on the other side of the train, and he was talking loud enough for me to overhear him complaining about his boyfriend.  And then he started complaining about how long the metro ride was taking.  Why do gay people complain so much?  I felt like walking up to the girls that he was with and telling them that they shouldn’t hang out with a douche like this – he was talking to the girls like they were retarded, which they may have been, they weren’t talking loud enough for me to hear them.

We were planning on taking a taxi home, but somehow somebody calls a friend and he comes to pick us up from the metro station at 3:30 in the morning.  He did save us about $25, but I feel kind of bad about him coming out, we could have gotten home just fine.

Tonight I plan on making up for last night.

The Drunken Blog

In this world of crazy relationships I have discovered a litmus test to see who would be suitable to date, and who you should probably steer clear of. Now, just like a real litmus test, this is not an exact science (that’s a lie, this is an exact science). It’s easy to do, although a lot of it depends on the circumstances.

As I’ve mentioned before, girls cheat to get out of relationships. So all you have to do is find a girl that you like who happens to be in a relationship. Court her like she doesn’t have a boyfriend; if she ends up cheating on her boyfriend, or dumping her boyfriend for you, then you don’t want her. I know this sounds a bit harsh, but if somebody cheats on their significant other for you, they are going to do the exact same thing to you down the line.

If she does cuckold her boyfriend for you, let her know right then that you don’t want any sort of actual relationship. Actually, on second thought, don’t tell her right away, because she is going to be pretty pissed off at you because you obviously made her cheat on her boyfriend and she might cut you off right there. However, there is another possible outcome of you telling her that you don’t want a relationship. She thinks that she likes you so much that she will rationalize the fact that you don’t want a relationship, and she will tell herself that she also doesn’t want a relationship right now (even though she does, that’s why she dumped her boyfriend, so that she could have a relationship with you).

If this second option arises, have fun with it while you can, but keep in mind that you are taking advantage of an emotionally unstable person, and you will only be making things worse for them. Even though they say that they are OK without a relationship, they really aren’t and they will quickly become attached to you and will probably assume a common law relationship after a while. A common law relationship, for the uninformed (which is probably most of you, because I just made up the phrase) is very similar to a common law marriage, except a step down. It’s when two people have been hooking up for a while, and do other things together as well, but don’t actually call it a relationship. After a certain period of time, although not all parties involved may not recognize it as a relationship, at least one will, as will her friends, it will be considered a common law relationship
The second option is a bit more reasonable for the situation, and that would be that she gets pissed off at you and tells you to get lost. Ironically the second option shows that the girl has more of a head on her shoulders than the first option making her a more viable option for dating. It’s unfortunate that the only way to test for this is to burn the bridge.

This litmus test can also be used by girls on guys, although it’s much less reliable. The biggest difference here is the fact that the girl wants to steal the guy away explicitly to have a relationship with him. This is the central fallacy of the plan. If you are able to steal a guy away from his current girlfriend, some other girl will steal him away from you down the line. I don’t think girls realize that guys don’t actually change, no matter how hard the girl tries.

So now we know that if you are able to make somebody cheat with you that you shouldn’t be dating them because they’ll do the same thing to you. But what if they don’t cheat?

There are two possibilities in this situation. The first is that you have no game, and you wouldn’t be able to pick up a girl if you were giving out tickets to see Aaron Carter. If this is the case, the litmus test really doesn’t tell you anything at all, other than the fact that you don’t really have a chance. Hopefully this is not the case for you, though. The second possibility is that she actually likes you, but in a not-yet-in-that-kind-of-way way because she isn’t looking for another boyfriend. This is the type of girl that you want to date. Unfortunately you’ll just have to wait. If it’s any consolation, most relationships don’t end in marriage. You really can’t interfere with their relationship because you don’t want her to think that you’re a douche, but you should remain close by so that she remembers who you are. The more face time you put in during her relationship, the more she’ll remember you after the relationship. The same thing goes for girls that like a guy that are in a relationship.

This is a really bad test because you lose at every single outcome. You’re best bet would be to go after somebody that’s not in a relationship, or, if that’s too much for you, somebody on the rebound.

The Drunken Blog

The first tailgate of each summer really reminds you of what summer is all about, and that’s drinking beers, grilling up burgers, and hitting on 17 year old girls in the parking lot of RFK.

Hell, it’s because of tailgating with friends that I am going to endure 6 country music shows this summer.

This past week was the home opener for the Nationals, unfortunately, I was out of town for the game, not that I would have gone anyway. I’m not a fan of crowded stadiums for baseball, I prefer there to be plenty of extra seats so that I can go and sit wherever I want. I also prefer the games to be sparsely populated so that I can tailgate until the 7th inning, and then waltz in and still find a seat.

That was going to be the plan last night. It was such an awesome day out I thought it would be perfect for a baseball game. Luckily, somebody other than myself also thought it would be a great day for it and organized a little outing. There were only four of us total, all guys.

I got there at 6:30, the game didn’t actually start until 7:05, everybody else was already there and there were already burgers on the grill. By the way, I have to say that one of the best feelings in the world is walking up to your friends in a parking lot, smelling burgers, and being handed a beer. Awesome.

I had some catching up to do when I got there, I’m not sure if I caught up or not because I have no clue how much they drank before I was there, but I did drink my fair share of a 30 pack. Since this game was not the home opener, but the game after the home opener, we thought it would be fitting to bring a whiffle ball set.

There was a group of people next to us that was probably slightly older than us. Since there were girls in that group, and only sausage in ours, we attempted to merge the groups; however, they would have none of it, and politely told us to get lost. It was not really that big of a loss because there were only two girls in the group (of about 8 total) and they were not that attractive, even being about 7 beers in. Taking our somewhat rejection in stride, we decide to start playing whiffle ball. And when I say that we started playing whiffle ball, what I really mean is we started hitting the whiffle ball at them.

They actually didn’t seem to mind, or if they did, they hid it very well. Not surprisingly they left shortly thereafter. We now did not even have ugly girls to stare at, only ourselves. Not to be discouraged, we decided to venture out and see who would play whiffle ball with us. We took the remaining part of our case and ventured out.

We stopped in a clearing and noticed a car of people; there were about 6 girls and 2 guys, the kind of odds that we like. Not only that, but at least 2 of the girls are hot, the others aren’t ugly. We cajole them into playing with us. At first some of the girls are reticent, but a couple of them are gung-ho. Because some of them were so excited to play, the guys had to be excited, or risk losing part of their herd.

These girls were very friendly, probably because they were trashed. It was funny to watch, actually. The guys were just douches. Somehow the question about age game up. I would normally tell girls that I am 26, but this was a special circumstance because this group was still in high school. The hot girls were not even 18 yet. In this circumstance you don’t lie about your age, you just don’t tell them your age.

They guessed that we were sophomores in college, we didn’t affirm that, but we didn’t deny it either. Anyway, after I found out they were only 17 I realized why the guys were being such douches, and I also realized why the girls were being so friendly. The girls were being friendly because they don’t know how to handle their alcohol, and also since we are in college, we are super cool cats. The guys were being douches because they also can’t handle their alcohol, and because we are super cool cats, they were afraid that they would lose their girls.

We finished our “game” of whiffle ball and headed back to our car. We quickly discovered that we were out of beer. This was unfortunate, however, the group we just left had beer, so we made an about face and went to go get beer from underage kids. We rationalized that by drinking their beers, we would actually be doing the opposite of contributing to the delinquency of minors. In fact, drinking underage kids’ beer should be a sort of community service that you can do. Think about the logic here, if you give beer to them, you are doing a bad thing in the eyes of the law. Therefore, if you do the opposite, take beer from them, you must be doing a good thing. I’m sure the judge would see it the same way.

They had Natty Light, which sucks, but when you don’t have anything else, you have to make due. So we rolled up and told them we wanted their beer. The two guys then had the audacity to try and charge us for the beer. $6 for the 12 beers they had left. We quickly found out that they didn’t even have 12 beers, they only had 8. We told them to fuck off and we would rather go inside and pay $6 per beer at the stadium than pay them for their beer. They then said if we had any pot they would barter with us. We walked back to our car.

Having run out of beer we decided that we actually did not want to pay $6 per beer inside the stadium, so we decided to leave. On the way out we drove past the kids again to wish them a fond adieu. The two attractive girls came up to the car with beer in hand. They tried to get us to stay. We told the girls that we wanted their beer, whoever was in the front seat then sort of gently took the beer from one of the girls. The other girl told her to give it to us, assuming he was only going to take a sip. As soon as we had the beer in our possession, we drove away.

I almost feel bad, I mean those kids probably paid $20 for a 12 pack, but it was still funny as hell.

TheDrunkenBlog

I recently took a mini vacation down to the Florida Keys to visit my sister. I went with my dad; it was my and my sister’s birthday gift to him. I knew this could be trouble, especially since my dad doesn’t drink, but he might also want to spend time with us, while my sister and I would want to go out and get hammered.

My sister is a teacher down in the Keys and she has some teacher friends, most of whom seem to be from Ohio for some unknown reason (it would later be explained to me that Ohio has a really good teacher training program). However, these friends had the thought that they were going to try and get me so drunk that I would throw up.

I liked this challenge for several reasons, the first of which was the fact that it meant they would have to buy me drinks if they were going to get me drunk, and free drinks are always a good thing. Secondly, I am pretty confident in my ability to drink. I have a friend in the army and when we drink we stay right on par with each other. He’s told me that when he drinks with his army buddies, he completely drinks them under the table. This bolstered my confidence somewhat.

But I don’t like to flaunt the fact that I can handle my alcohol, because as soon as you start bragging you have people that start gunning for you, trying their damnedest to get you to vomit. Well, I’m human and if you give me enough alcohol I’m going to throw up, the question is, will it be before or after you throw up?

I have also started to think of myself somewhat as a city boy (as opposed to a country bumpkin), and I thought this would be place to see if those stories I hear about people in the Midwest doing nothing but drinking is true. (Look, I know that neither Ohio nor Southern Florida is the Midwest, but they aren’t the East Coast, and therefore in my mind, they might as well be the Midwest.) Now, my sister and her friends certainly aren’t country bumpkins, in fact, if you can believe it, they are just like anybody you would see in DC, this was slightly disappointing for my stereotype, and made me wonder if this would even be a fair drinking competition.

We start off by going to this bar called “The Hurricane”, which is actually a pretty nice, chill bar. It’s pretty weird, though, because there are little kids running around. When I say little kids, I really mean kids ranging anywhere from 5 to 18. This is apparently a family hang out, in addition to a bar. This is not something that I am used to in DC, where you can’t get in to most places if you are under 21. We drink pretty casually here. My dad, who does not drink, has found entertainment in the parents of my sister’s friend Amanda, who are visiting. It is an interesting dynamic there because Amanda’s dad drinks, a lot, and my dad doesn’t drink at all.

Regardless, my dad is occupied, which means that I am free to drink whatever I want. My sister’s friends keep telling me that they are going to get me so wasted when we go to the next bar, the dive bar, “The Monkey.” One of them whispers in my ear that they are going to get my sister so wasted that she will pass out so that she won’t be able to protect me from them.

I’m starting to like the sound of this challenge.

We continue drinking at The Hurricane. There is a deck and on the deck there is a beer pong table. I don’t feel in necessary at this time to humiliate everybody there with my awesome skills, so I don’t play.

Aside from drinking, the only thing of interest that happened at the Hurricane was when my dad was hit on by a 300 pound woman and didn’t even realize it. She used one of the oldest lines you possibly could when you see a parent out and about with their child – you say their child is actually their sibling. Mom’s are always flattered, daughters always disgusted. I didn’t realize that this was a line that women used on men as well. Like I said, my dad did not realize he was being hit on and started talking to this lady, out of pity, I would imagine.

Eventually my dad, whose bedtime is normally around 9pm, got tired and we drove him home. We then decided it was time to go to The Monkey. This was around 1am. I was super excited because this meant that I was about to get wasted, it had been a while since I got wasted.

We took separate cars and my sister and I got there first. I withheld buying a drink because I wanted to see what the boys would get for me. They eventually made it into the bar and went and got drinks, but no drinks for me. I was a little upset, not at not being bought a drink, but the fact that this meant I would probably have to get wasted on my own accord. I went to the bar and got a round of drinks.

My sister was not pleased with the situation and informed the boys of such. Moments later I had my first shot. It was Jager and something. That would be a running theme for the night, Jager and stuff. I think that’s the only type of alcohol they have in Ohio. And what’s with the shooters? I mean, shooters are good fun, but if I am trying to wreck somebody, I buy them shots, and nasty shots at that. Ever had a four horseman?

After about 3 Jager and stuff shots I inform my drinking buddies that they do, in fact, make a liquor other than Jager, and they most likely sell that other liquor in this particular bar. They seemed to take offense, but did not change their ways. I think it should be noted that they were going shot for shot with me, so when I tell you later that they both threw up, you won’t be that disappointed in them.

I should also mention that at this dive bar they had a live band. Just a three member band, there was Freddy, the lead singer and lead guitar, then a bassist and a drummer. They play there regularly. Tonight, however, they would have a special vocalist.

So this guy in a yellow shirt with the sleeves cut off gets up on stage and starts singing. I assume he is a member of the band, but my sister assures me that this is not the case. This is, in fact, Nick Carter. I just sort of tilt my head at her, because I still don’t know who he is. She then explains to me that he is the guy from The Backstreet Boys. She then explains to me that the entire family is from this part of the Keys. I then remember that he has a little brother named Aaron.

I quickly make up three cheers, only two of which I say outloud. I guess, actually, that cheer is probably not the right word. Heckle would probably be a more fitting word. So I thought of three heckles to say to this Nick Carter, who was wasted, by the way. Actually, let me just go off on a tangent real quick here – how washed up do you have to be to go to your hometown to sing cover songs at some Podunk bar at two in the morning?

Anyway, my heckles were as such: “Yea, Aaron Carter!”, “Where’s Aaron Carter?”, and the third, which I only said privately at my table, “Yea, Nick Lachey!” You see, I did a very clever thing here, I pretended that Nick was actually his little brother, or that other Nick from NSync, who I only know because he was married to Jessica Simpson.

I went back and forth between these heckles for quite some time. I’m not sure if Nick Carter has a sister or not, but there was this skank ho there that said that she was his sister. You could tell that she was a skank ho because when we were walking into The Monkey, she was standing outside in a bathing suit top posing for pictures that random guys were taking from a van. I thought she would have flashed the cameras, but then she saw us walking up and decided against it.

I don’t know how I started talking to this girl, or how it came up that she and Nick were related, but I decided to call her on it. I told her that if she was really Nick’s sister, she should go up on stage and sing with him. And I’ll be damned if she wasn’t drunk enough to do it. I guess she had some pride and couldn’t admit to a complete stranger that she was not actually Nick Carter’s sister. I have no clue why she would even care – I wouldn’t have touched her with a ten foot pole. She did get on stage, but did not actually sing, and quickly got off the stage again. I should have told her if she was Nick Carter’s sister, she should go up and make out with him. She probably would have tried it at least.

Eventually, after about an hour of heckling, while the band was taking a break, the lead singer came over to me and menacingly said, “If you want to be funny, you go be funny outside.” I quieted down, but continued to drink.

After having helped to break up two fights, and nearly getting kicked out for heckling Nick Carter, you know it’s about time to go. We try to gather everybody up, we find one of the boys who is now mumbling every thing that he says to the point where he is basically unintelligible. Seeing him like that makes me feel much more sober, especially since he is a lot bigger than me.

He will not remember the ride home, nor the friend chicken that he made us pick up for him on his way back. He would, however, remember vomiting. The other boy that was trying to get me wasted was in no better shape. I’m not sure how he got home. Maybe he sobered up after he threw up in the bar.

In their defense, though, they did drink a lot, and I got pretty wasted. When we went back to my sister’s place, there was a mattress on the ground set up for me, but for some reason I decided that this was not suitable, so instead I decided to go sleep on the loveseat, which is way too tiny for me to fit on. Luckily there were two identical loveseats so I tried to move them together in such a way that I would fit. After giving one slight push I gave up and passed out. It’s funny - I can remember getting up and moving, but for the life of me I can’t remember why.

Two nights later I went back to The Monkey. Freddy, the lead singer, recognized me. He even dedicated two songs to “Aaron Carter” while pointing to me. The first song that he played was “I want it that way.” He definitely played out the entire song, I couldn’t stop laughing the entire time. The next song he played was Purple Rain, which they had played the previous night and which Nick Carter sang.

It was good that he played those songs and was able to entertain me, because he didn’t know any of the other 5 songs that I requested (Foreigner – Double Vision, The Doors, Riders on the Storm, etc.). When we finally decided to leave, Freddy made sure that everybody in the bar knew that “Aaron Carter” was leaving.

I don’t think I’ve ever been more entertained by a cover band in my life.

UPDATE: It has just come to my attention that the girl that said she was Nick Carter’s sister may in fact be Nick Carter’s sister. Here is the girl in question:



And here is a picture of Bobbie Jean Carter from IMDB.com:



Be sure to visit my site (link at the top) to see videos of Nick Carter Singing, and me heckling him.