Articles Archive for 17 March 2004
I think that this St. Patrick’s Day will be rather quiet for me, because a) it’s on a Wednesday and I have a meeting tomorrow that I really, really shouldn’t be hungover for, and b) I’m going to be celebrating St. Patrick’s Day in Boston this weekend.
My friends Dave, Mark and Bill (previously mentioned, of “Average Joe 2″ fame) live in South Boston, and every year they have a huge party to celebrate the parade that goes through the neighborhood on Sunday. I’ve been to their place the past two years for St. Patrick’s Day, but I’ve never actually seen the parade, because it’s outside and the beer is inside, and well, you know.
Still, it’s developed into quite a tradition. Bill, Dave and I, three guys who most probably wouldn’t describe as “petite” or even “just a little overweight”, start the day by making a traditional Irish breakfast for everyone. Not long after that, we each drink about ninety beers, and I try to make out with all the girls I went to college with, who, shockingly, reject me, just as they did in college. Then I start telling them about how much money I make now, and show them a copy of my W-2 form. That’s usually when they walk away, or say something like, “Bill, Jason’s really creeping me out. Can you lure him away with the promise of a sandwich or something?”
I’m trying to think of stories from previous St. Patty’s Days that I’ve spent in Boston, and, honestly, I’m drawing a blank. I got nothing. This probably has something to do with the beers and the whiskey, but I’m not positive. No, no – I am positive it has something to do with the beers and the whiskey.
But for this St. Patrick’s Day, I am going to try to set a goal for myself: I want to smoke an entire pack of cigarettes. For some, this might be no big deal, but I’ve had about twelve cigarettes in my entire life. I only smoke when I’m uncomfortable and drunk, so that means the occasional cigarette at a bar when I’m forced to talk to a girl (this was rare but now never happens because of the smoking ban in NYC), and lots of cigarettes at strip clubs.
So there you have it. In honor of the great St. Patrick (who, I’d like to point out to all my Italian friends, was NOT Italian, but rather a Briton who was born under Roman rule) and my heritage, I am going to get really fucked up, smoke a ton of cigarettes, and generally embarrass myself. I’ll be sure to let you know how it goes – once the hangover wears off, that is.
My friends Dave, Mark and Bill (previously mentioned, of “Average Joe 2″ fame) live in South Boston, and every year they have a huge party to celebrate the parade that goes through the neighborhood on Sunday. I’ve been to their place the past two years for St. Patrick’s Day, but I’ve never actually seen the parade, because it’s outside and the beer is inside, and well, you know.
Still, it’s developed into quite a tradition. Bill, Dave and I, three guys who most probably wouldn’t describe as “petite” or even “just a little overweight”, start the day by making a traditional Irish breakfast for everyone. Not long after that, we each drink about ninety beers, and I try to make out with all the girls I went to college with, who, shockingly, reject me, just as they did in college. Then I start telling them about how much money I make now, and show them a copy of my W-2 form. That’s usually when they walk away, or say something like, “Bill, Jason’s really creeping me out. Can you lure him away with the promise of a sandwich or something?”
I’m trying to think of stories from previous St. Patty’s Days that I’ve spent in Boston, and, honestly, I’m drawing a blank. I got nothing. This probably has something to do with the beers and the whiskey, but I’m not positive. No, no – I am positive it has something to do with the beers and the whiskey.
But for this St. Patrick’s Day, I am going to try to set a goal for myself: I want to smoke an entire pack of cigarettes. For some, this might be no big deal, but I’ve had about twelve cigarettes in my entire life. I only smoke when I’m uncomfortable and drunk, so that means the occasional cigarette at a bar when I’m forced to talk to a girl (this was rare but now never happens because of the smoking ban in NYC), and lots of cigarettes at strip clubs.
So there you have it. In honor of the great St. Patrick (who, I’d like to point out to all my Italian friends, was NOT Italian, but rather a Briton who was born under Roman rule) and my heritage, I am going to get really fucked up, smoke a ton of cigarettes, and generally embarrass myself. I’ll be sure to let you know how it goes – once the hangover wears off, that is.
1) For women who want to know what guys talk about when they’re hanging out, my roommate Ben and I had this exchange last night while watching “American Idol.”
Ben: “Can you imagine sleeping with an 18-year-old?”
Me: “God, that would be awesome.”
[wishful silence]
Just FYI.
2) [more on St. Patrick's Day later, but just a lil' nugget for now]
About a week and a half ago, I went out and met Brian, who was out with some of his co-workers. There were three of them, Marie, Steph, and Edgar. Marie and Steph were both cute girls who exuded that “I’m from Connecticut and grew up in a very sheltered environment” vibe, whereas Edgar reminded me a lot of myself: a total scumbag, who was secretly trying to bang both Marie and Steph, preferably at the same time.
We started talking about past St. Patty’s Days, and Marie said, “Oh my god, on St. Patrick’s Day two years ago, my girlfriends and I went out and got so drunk, my girlfriend Angela threw up on the subway ride home!”
I fought back the urge to say, “Wow, you girls should really be locked up – that’s so crazy! Someone got drunk and threw up? Holy fucking shit! Call CNN!”
Edgar was not to be out-done. I could see in his face that before Marie even finished his story, he was formulating his own to both top hers and impress both her and Steph. So he said, “That’s nothing. On St. Patrick’s Day last year, my buddies and I went out and we went to a bar and there were two people next to us having sex – right there in the bar!”
I rolled my eyes at this one. You could tell that he was just saying this to impress them, and they were indeed delighted. Being a little drunk and a little surly, I decided to tell my own St. Patty’s Day story: “Oh yeah? Well, check this out. St. Patty’s Day, 1994. I am so fucked up on whiskey and pills I wind up hooking up with my brother! My fucking brother! In front of everyone! And we haven’t spoken since!”
While I expected them to be shocked and disgusted, I didn’t think they’d be that shocked and disgusted. I mean, they really freaked out. Steph got up and headed for the bathroom to escape the uncomfortableness, and then Edgar turned to me and said, in a manner as if offering his condolences, “Not cool bro. Not cool.” Marie just sat there with her mouth open, looking quickly back and forth between Brian and Edgar.
And of course, Brian was cracking up, as I maintained a straight face and said things like, “Yeah – do you believe it? Unbelievable. I couldn’t believe it either.”
The lesson: please don’t try to impress girls in front of me when I am drunk, surly, and lonely. Because I’ll just tell a story about how I made out with my brother, and it will totally bust your groove.
Ben: “Can you imagine sleeping with an 18-year-old?”
Me: “God, that would be awesome.”
[wishful silence]
Just FYI.
2) [more on St. Patrick's Day later, but just a lil' nugget for now]
About a week and a half ago, I went out and met Brian, who was out with some of his co-workers. There were three of them, Marie, Steph, and Edgar. Marie and Steph were both cute girls who exuded that “I’m from Connecticut and grew up in a very sheltered environment” vibe, whereas Edgar reminded me a lot of myself: a total scumbag, who was secretly trying to bang both Marie and Steph, preferably at the same time.
We started talking about past St. Patty’s Days, and Marie said, “Oh my god, on St. Patrick’s Day two years ago, my girlfriends and I went out and got so drunk, my girlfriend Angela threw up on the subway ride home!”
I fought back the urge to say, “Wow, you girls should really be locked up – that’s so crazy! Someone got drunk and threw up? Holy fucking shit! Call CNN!”
Edgar was not to be out-done. I could see in his face that before Marie even finished his story, he was formulating his own to both top hers and impress both her and Steph. So he said, “That’s nothing. On St. Patrick’s Day last year, my buddies and I went out and we went to a bar and there were two people next to us having sex – right there in the bar!”
I rolled my eyes at this one. You could tell that he was just saying this to impress them, and they were indeed delighted. Being a little drunk and a little surly, I decided to tell my own St. Patty’s Day story: “Oh yeah? Well, check this out. St. Patty’s Day, 1994. I am so fucked up on whiskey and pills I wind up hooking up with my brother! My fucking brother! In front of everyone! And we haven’t spoken since!”
While I expected them to be shocked and disgusted, I didn’t think they’d be that shocked and disgusted. I mean, they really freaked out. Steph got up and headed for the bathroom to escape the uncomfortableness, and then Edgar turned to me and said, in a manner as if offering his condolences, “Not cool bro. Not cool.” Marie just sat there with her mouth open, looking quickly back and forth between Brian and Edgar.
And of course, Brian was cracking up, as I maintained a straight face and said things like, “Yeah – do you believe it? Unbelievable. I couldn’t believe it either.”
The lesson: please don’t try to impress girls in front of me when I am drunk, surly, and lonely. Because I’ll just tell a story about how I made out with my brother, and it will totally bust your groove.