I'm considering all of this as I am cruising off of a massive bender. Let me explain. I had 10 days off from work to celebrate the holidays with my family and friends back home. Those 10 days were almost wholly occupied by passing out in loveseats, playing with my dog, wearing a mustache, mixing absurdly strong brandy and coke IV's for my auntie Tammy, dancing drink-in-hand to James Brown with my entire family, playing guitar hero, and taking BAC tours of lower Minneapolis. Fantastic.
And, this deserves its own paragraph, tangling myself night after night inside Awesome. A girl that should have monuments erected in her honor... Besides mine.
That being said, I crash landed, refreshed, back in NYC to celebrate a speedy new years in a shady warehouse in Brooklyn. Depleted of vitamins, moisture, semen, brain cells, and sentences, I returned to work for a four day work week. Four because any opportunity to subtract will be taken enthusiastically by the entirety of this business. I don't remember most of those four days, but they were the most productive of my entire 6 month career.
So naturally, it was again cause to celebrate, continue the bender, Robbie Williams high-fiving Rod Stewart, shattering highballs for three whole city blocks while kicking Angelina Jolie square in the tit. It was that good. So I went to Vermont. To "ski". For a whole week. How I pulled off the logistics of such a vacation in such close proximity to another is far beyond me.
It was to be me, my friend Jay From Queens (Bro), his girlfriend Jess, a hardcore Irish girl from Broad Channel, 160 Queens College kids, and Shady Milos, a Serbian National with a Beethoven haircut and his own language.
A brief glossary, the official dialect of Milosistan:
Beasting: Verb, to beast. To attack something head on, be it a buffalo wing or a vagina. "I beasted that shit, son". One can also be in "Beast Mode", which is the state of Beasting. This is similar to "Berzerk" mode in Doom 2, where you Beast everything in sight without the aid of a weapon.
NOTE: "Son" should be uttered after 95 percent of all statements made, regardless of familial relation to the subject.
Bunz (or buns): Variation: "Bunz-ass": Adjective. The state of being bunz, inconvenient, ugly, shady, pointless, or lame. "That girl is bunz, son."
Done Dotted: Who the fuck knows. To be finished, over with, or, "a wrap". I think.
Some Acceptable Phrases:
"You're getting mad grimy with that cheese, son.", but only in reference to sandwiches. And:
"Ya' done Son!" In reference to basically anything.
It should be noted that Shady Milos is the biggest hater in history. So bad to the point that he literally "hates" in his sleep.
This trip happened, among the girls with wigs and the guys with non-ironic unibrows. The mutants of Queens College. By the second day, the four of us were simultaneously hated, adored, and feared by each unfortunate mongoloid we ended up drinking with. For my part, I was unknowingly thrown out of a house for informing a room full of girls they were "stuck up cunts". Which they were.
For Jay's part, a red-head, he somehow managed not to kill a small, shook-looking child named Terrence (who insisted that all call him "T-Hef") for grabbing his girlfriends ass repeatedly. This restraint brought Jay local fame.
Shady Milos shouldn't have been allowed near anyone, but he did end up finding security for us. Through his Balkan pride, some-the-fuck-how he befriended Vlado, the Judo champion of Croatia and trainer of military special forces for the Croatian military. Vlado was our de fatco bodyguard, all he required was a warm beer every 20 minutes from my backpack. We were happy to oblige.
Be that as it may, the amount of drinking achieved was basically heroic. It would only take three trips down the slushy mountain to kick up the thirst again, and three strong drinks to bat down the shakes. One more to shuttle us in for good. Nighttime, it hit well, 2 glasses of Jameson were fine the way 2 glasses of Canadian Club were in the morning. I was getting paid for this. 6 more to make a bet with Jess on who would fuck the first girl (yes), and 14 more to win the bet (yes). 0 to fall corpse asleep with the condom on. 0 to stay passed out, spread eagle on the hide-a-bed while the cops raided the house looking for T-Hef (yes). 2 more to make sense of it all. One more warm one on the way home.
None of this seemed problematic to me. The same way I feel comfortable writing about it. Of course, I think it was funny, but none of it seemed like a bad idea. A good time was had by all. Andy's Tap was open early for a reason. So people could start having fun sooner. This makes sense. The first time I had an inkling that such a lifestyle could be foolish was as a 7 year old, ducking a drunk as he screamed condemnations to the ref at at a Gopher basketball game.
"What's wrong with that guy Dad?"
--"Nevermind him, he's just drunk."
"Probably just can't handle his shit huh?"
Oh yeah, I am going to stop drinking for the entire month of February (Super Bowl excepted).
To be continued...