party boy
15 May 2006
The past two nights have been extremely awesome. So awesome that I really shouldn’t be so whiny about how hungover I am today. But fuck it – I’m really tired. And achy. And it’s about 55º and rainy here in NYC and all I want to do is lay in my awesome bed and drink a milkshake.
But anyway, let’s focus on the positives. I can add a new title/accolade to my list of accomplishments. "World’s Best Bachelor Party Planner" will now be placed on my resume in between "Can Shit Up to Six Times Per Day" and "Once Masturbated While on Phone with Dell Technician." The bachelor party went off without a hitch. We had an open bar and food from 6pm to 8pm (at a local bar), another open bar from 8pm to 10pm (at a cool Philly bar), and then a third open bar from 10:30 to 12:30 (at a titty bar). Then we made our triumphant return to the neighborhood in the Hummer Limo at the end of the night.
Going into it, I was set on staying relatively sober so that I could take care of the groom-to-be, my buddy Steve. But for some reason, my tolerance for booze has slipped precipitously over the past few weeks, probably because of all the internal bleeding I’ve been doing. Also, since my drug dealer got arrested in December, I have been pretty much clean for the past few months. I could have made another connection in the meantime, but that seems like a lot of work.
And though I was having fun, I was very nervous for most of the night, unable to fully relax until we got settled at the strip club around 11. Until then, I had to make sure everything was ok with the limo, make sure we were able to get into places, and make sure we didn’t leave anyone behind at any bars. The result is that I was drinking very quickly, as I usually do when I’m nervous.
So by the time we got settled at the strip club, I was bombed/high out of my mind. It was good thing, but it creeped up on me. I think my nervous energy kept me sober, but while I was watching Jesse Jane dance around stage, it was as if my brain said, "Ok, well, things seem to be in order here. I’m gonna take off for the next few hours. Remember: don’t go down on any strippers. They can blow you, but don’t do any basement work on them. Remember what happened in Denmark in 2000? We’ve just gotten over the cold sores and don’t want to see them again. Anyway, later."
I remember the remainder of the night only in flashes. I did not get a lap dance from Jesse Jane, as it cost $100 and I would have had to wait in line. Also, to be honest, she wasn’t even the hottest girl at the club. I love porn and totally appreciate and am thankful for the blond/huge fake boobs look, but she looked…used. I suppose that’s what happens when you have sex with guys with nine inch penises for a living, but as I looked at her, I kept thinking, "Damn – I wonder what she looks like without any make up." And then I thought, "I wonder what my own semen tastes like." And then I thought, "Oh wait, I already know - onion rings."
The only advice I can give anyone who’s planning a bachelor party is to get money from other attendees up front, not the night of the party. Remember when I said the over/under was $312? Well, we blew that out of the water. I expected 18 people to be at the party (16 paying people, not including me and Steve). Only 12 made it (10 paying). I set the price at $80 a head, which included the Hummer limo, the booze in the limo, the two hour open bar and food to start the night, and admission and two hour open bar at the strip club. This actually cost substantially more than $80 per person, but I heavily subsidized it so that we could have a kick-ass party. For example, we could have gotten a normal bus for a fourth of the cost of the hummer, but fuck it – that’s not how I roll.
When those 6 people didn’t make it, I started out the night already $480 in the hole. It’s tacky to complain about money and I don’t mean to do so here, but I promise that I will come down on those who didn’t show up with a vengeance the likes of which the world has never seen. God help them. How do you just not show up for a bachelor party, especially when I talked to everyone on the list the day before? Apparently, there was a rumor that we were going to Atlantic City. This scared people away, because they didn’t want to spend the money for AC. But neither I nor Steve ever said anything about Atlantic City. I have no idea how this rumor started, and if it kept people away from an excellent party, that’s a shame.
So for my next bachelor party, I’m not taking a "Sure, I’ll be there." I will set up a paypal link for people to get me the money beforehand. Those who do not pay before the bachelor party and show up looking to participate in the evening’s activities will have to wrestle me in the street. And a lot of you reading have street-wrestled me and I know that I do NOT fight fair.
But I didn’t let that ruin the evening for me and I had a blast. Sure, I spent enough money to put a down payment on a house or buy a rather nice car, but how many times in your life to you get to be the best man? I had a great time, Steve had a great time, and everyone involved had a great time. I couldn’t have asked for more.
(And yes, of course I left some details out. What kind of best man would I be if I wrote about every detail of the bachelor party on the internet? C’mon – give me a little more credit.)
(But seriously, if you want to know the dirt, send me $30. I’ll fill you in on all the secret stuff.)
(I’m joking. If you send me $30, I’ll send you a thank you email, but that’s it.)
***************************
Last night, Sunday night, Mother’s Day night, I partied again.
This week, the television networks announce their fall lineups during something called the "Up Fronts." This is HUGE deal in the industry. For many writers, actors, and producers, this week you learn whether you’re going to make $30,000 a week (in many cases, substantially more) or be unemployed.
Therefore, on the Sunday night before Up Fronts week (last night), all the Hollywood agencies throw swanky parties in NYC clubs for their clients. Since I am "in the industry", I went last night to my agency’s party (UTA) at the nightclub Marquee.
I would never, ever get into Marquee on a normal night. It just wouldn’t happen. The bartenders and waitresses are models and I have a neck beard. The clientele are NYC’s trendiest and I haven’t bought a new shirt in two years. The drinks cost more than most double cds and I prefer my $7 twelve-pack of Pabst.
But one of the benefits of being "in the industry" is that you get invites to things like these. So you can bet your ass I went last night, bringing along my roommate Brian and my buddy Mark.
If complaining about money is tacky, talking about which celebrities I partied with (read: drank in the same bar with and stared at criminally) is tackier. So I’m not going to go down that road. But needless to say, I was the crappiest dude there – by far. Well, that’s not true. Brian and Mark were crappier than me. But you understand what I’m getting that.
So the three of us sat up in the mezzanine, pounding vodka tonics served by a waitress who was probably the second most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen in person, staring at rich and famous people. Not a bad way to spend a Sunday night.
I occasionally got up and made the rounds to talk to people and I realized something: I have it pretty good right now. Christ. I don’t mean to pull the "Aw, shucks" card again, but I really am truly grateful to all you jerkoffs for reading and passing on this site and such. The fact that I was at that party last night with all those people I see in TV or movies, at a club I have no business being in, drinking twenty-five free Grey Goose and tonics, well, that’s just the tops. And I’m not one to be superficial or star struck, but I just kept thinking of what my parents would think if they saw me in that element last night. My mom would probably cry. My dad would say "Hmph" and then light a cigarette.
And it’s all because you guys keep reading and have told your friends about this site, who have told their friends, etc. This may sound terribly corny, but with both the book and the TV show, my only hope is to (queue the tears) make y’all proud. I know, I know – I am total gay and all that, but I’m serious here. Even though I beg you for money around my birthday and have horrible grammar, I just hope you know that I don’t take you or your reading and support for granted. I feel a great deal of responsibility to entertain you a few times a week, and I take that responsibility pretty f’ing seriously (though I’m obviously not entertaining you now).
But that’s enough about that. And if that was too corny for you, well, I’m still drunk.
But anyway, let’s focus on the positives. I can add a new title/accolade to my list of accomplishments. "World’s Best Bachelor Party Planner" will now be placed on my resume in between "Can Shit Up to Six Times Per Day" and "Once Masturbated While on Phone with Dell Technician." The bachelor party went off without a hitch. We had an open bar and food from 6pm to 8pm (at a local bar), another open bar from 8pm to 10pm (at a cool Philly bar), and then a third open bar from 10:30 to 12:30 (at a titty bar). Then we made our triumphant return to the neighborhood in the Hummer Limo at the end of the night.
Going into it, I was set on staying relatively sober so that I could take care of the groom-to-be, my buddy Steve. But for some reason, my tolerance for booze has slipped precipitously over the past few weeks, probably because of all the internal bleeding I’ve been doing. Also, since my drug dealer got arrested in December, I have been pretty much clean for the past few months. I could have made another connection in the meantime, but that seems like a lot of work.
And though I was having fun, I was very nervous for most of the night, unable to fully relax until we got settled at the strip club around 11. Until then, I had to make sure everything was ok with the limo, make sure we were able to get into places, and make sure we didn’t leave anyone behind at any bars. The result is that I was drinking very quickly, as I usually do when I’m nervous.
So by the time we got settled at the strip club, I was bombed/high out of my mind. It was good thing, but it creeped up on me. I think my nervous energy kept me sober, but while I was watching Jesse Jane dance around stage, it was as if my brain said, "Ok, well, things seem to be in order here. I’m gonna take off for the next few hours. Remember: don’t go down on any strippers. They can blow you, but don’t do any basement work on them. Remember what happened in Denmark in 2000? We’ve just gotten over the cold sores and don’t want to see them again. Anyway, later."
I remember the remainder of the night only in flashes. I did not get a lap dance from Jesse Jane, as it cost $100 and I would have had to wait in line. Also, to be honest, she wasn’t even the hottest girl at the club. I love porn and totally appreciate and am thankful for the blond/huge fake boobs look, but she looked…used. I suppose that’s what happens when you have sex with guys with nine inch penises for a living, but as I looked at her, I kept thinking, "Damn – I wonder what she looks like without any make up." And then I thought, "I wonder what my own semen tastes like." And then I thought, "Oh wait, I already know - onion rings."
The only advice I can give anyone who’s planning a bachelor party is to get money from other attendees up front, not the night of the party. Remember when I said the over/under was $312? Well, we blew that out of the water. I expected 18 people to be at the party (16 paying people, not including me and Steve). Only 12 made it (10 paying). I set the price at $80 a head, which included the Hummer limo, the booze in the limo, the two hour open bar and food to start the night, and admission and two hour open bar at the strip club. This actually cost substantially more than $80 per person, but I heavily subsidized it so that we could have a kick-ass party. For example, we could have gotten a normal bus for a fourth of the cost of the hummer, but fuck it – that’s not how I roll.
When those 6 people didn’t make it, I started out the night already $480 in the hole. It’s tacky to complain about money and I don’t mean to do so here, but I promise that I will come down on those who didn’t show up with a vengeance the likes of which the world has never seen. God help them. How do you just not show up for a bachelor party, especially when I talked to everyone on the list the day before? Apparently, there was a rumor that we were going to Atlantic City. This scared people away, because they didn’t want to spend the money for AC. But neither I nor Steve ever said anything about Atlantic City. I have no idea how this rumor started, and if it kept people away from an excellent party, that’s a shame.
So for my next bachelor party, I’m not taking a "Sure, I’ll be there." I will set up a paypal link for people to get me the money beforehand. Those who do not pay before the bachelor party and show up looking to participate in the evening’s activities will have to wrestle me in the street. And a lot of you reading have street-wrestled me and I know that I do NOT fight fair.
But I didn’t let that ruin the evening for me and I had a blast. Sure, I spent enough money to put a down payment on a house or buy a rather nice car, but how many times in your life to you get to be the best man? I had a great time, Steve had a great time, and everyone involved had a great time. I couldn’t have asked for more.
(And yes, of course I left some details out. What kind of best man would I be if I wrote about every detail of the bachelor party on the internet? C’mon – give me a little more credit.)
(But seriously, if you want to know the dirt, send me $30. I’ll fill you in on all the secret stuff.)
(I’m joking. If you send me $30, I’ll send you a thank you email, but that’s it.)
***************************
Last night, Sunday night, Mother’s Day night, I partied again.
This week, the television networks announce their fall lineups during something called the "Up Fronts." This is HUGE deal in the industry. For many writers, actors, and producers, this week you learn whether you’re going to make $30,000 a week (in many cases, substantially more) or be unemployed.
Therefore, on the Sunday night before Up Fronts week (last night), all the Hollywood agencies throw swanky parties in NYC clubs for their clients. Since I am "in the industry", I went last night to my agency’s party (UTA) at the nightclub Marquee.
I would never, ever get into Marquee on a normal night. It just wouldn’t happen. The bartenders and waitresses are models and I have a neck beard. The clientele are NYC’s trendiest and I haven’t bought a new shirt in two years. The drinks cost more than most double cds and I prefer my $7 twelve-pack of Pabst.
But one of the benefits of being "in the industry" is that you get invites to things like these. So you can bet your ass I went last night, bringing along my roommate Brian and my buddy Mark.
If complaining about money is tacky, talking about which celebrities I partied with (read: drank in the same bar with and stared at criminally) is tackier. So I’m not going to go down that road. But needless to say, I was the crappiest dude there – by far. Well, that’s not true. Brian and Mark were crappier than me. But you understand what I’m getting that.
So the three of us sat up in the mezzanine, pounding vodka tonics served by a waitress who was probably the second most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen in person, staring at rich and famous people. Not a bad way to spend a Sunday night.
I occasionally got up and made the rounds to talk to people and I realized something: I have it pretty good right now. Christ. I don’t mean to pull the "Aw, shucks" card again, but I really am truly grateful to all you jerkoffs for reading and passing on this site and such. The fact that I was at that party last night with all those people I see in TV or movies, at a club I have no business being in, drinking twenty-five free Grey Goose and tonics, well, that’s just the tops. And I’m not one to be superficial or star struck, but I just kept thinking of what my parents would think if they saw me in that element last night. My mom would probably cry. My dad would say "Hmph" and then light a cigarette.
And it’s all because you guys keep reading and have told your friends about this site, who have told their friends, etc. This may sound terribly corny, but with both the book and the TV show, my only hope is to (queue the tears) make y’all proud. I know, I know – I am total gay and all that, but I’m serious here. Even though I beg you for money around my birthday and have horrible grammar, I just hope you know that I don’t take you or your reading and support for granted. I feel a great deal of responsibility to entertain you a few times a week, and I take that responsibility pretty f’ing seriously (though I’m obviously not entertaining you now).
But that’s enough about that. And if that was too corny for you, well, I’m still drunk.
