five things I learned about myself, bachelor parties, and life this weekend
21 August 2006
1) I love sleep, sweet sleep.
I left NYC on Friday night for a bachelor party in Philly on Saturday. I could have stayed in NYC on Friday night and left the following "morning," but that would not have been a good idea. We were to meet at a buddy’s house on Saturday at 4pm to start the festivities. If I had stayed in NYC on Friday night, I would have gone out, gotten bombed, woken up at 1pm, then would have had to rush home with a hangover. Not a good idea.
(To give you an idea, NYC to Philly via Amtrak takes about 1.5 hours, but costs $70. NYC to Philly via local trains – NJ Transit and Septa – takes almost three hours, but costs $20.)
Since I was planning on getting a train at 10pm, I opted for Amtrak, since I did not want to be riding the rails (with a 30 minute layover in Trenton) too late at night. You know, because I’m a pussy. So I shelled out the $70 so that I could get home to Philly sooner.
Bad idea. My train was delayed an hour and then was slow moving, for a total delay of over an hour and a half. I didn’t get into Philly until about 1am. Which sucked.
But then it got better once I got home. I was a real party boy last week, going out pretty hard several nights, and when I finally got to my dad’s place I just wanted to crash. Add to that that I always sleep like a bear in the other bedroom of my dad’s place, and I was in for a good night. Add to that that when I got to my dad’s I took two Xanax, and we were in Awesometown.
I slept from 1:30am until 12:30pm. It was wonderful, just wonderful. Even though prior to last week I had been sleeping pretty well (with my new pillows and all), you just can’t beat 11 hours of solid sleep. And to be honest I think I could have slept longer if my phone didn’t wake me up.
There’s a barroom debate that my friends and I have gotten into in the past which goes, "Rank the following in order of importance to you: food, sex, sleep." For me, without a doubt, it goes sleep, food, sex. Don’t get me wrong – I love the other two. Food is a passion of mine, but every giant piece of chicken parm comes with the guilt of overeating. And I really, really love sex, but I’m so bad at it that I wind up feeling ashamed and having to go to the bathroom. Sleep is the only unconditional of the three. Blast the AC, pop a Xanax or two, read a little, and then pass the fuck out. That’s what I’m talkin’ about.
(And God – that’s more than a little sad.)
So when I woke up on Saturday I was completely refreshed and ready for the bachelor party.
2) A bachelor party in an arcade is not that bad of an idea.
This bachelor party was a little different than most that I’ve been to. In this case, the best man, the person in charge of organizing the shindig, was the groom’s brother (my buddy Greg is the groom). And he happens to be 17 years old (the best man, not Greg). So it was safe to assume that there would be no tittie bars (or any bars) during the evening.
But I think we did pretty well, all things considered. Most of the guys spent the morning/afternoon golfing, but since I grew up poor, I don’t do that shit. I met them at a buddy’s house after that for some beers. Then we headed to Dave & Buster’s. Yes, that Dave & Buster’s, the restaurant/arcade. This was our happy medium; the groom’s brother would be able to attend, while at the same time we’d be able to get drunk.
Admittedly I was a little reluctant about the whole thing (a bachelor party in an arcade?), but I had a total fucking blast. I’ve never done anything like that before; after dinner, we loaded up on drinks and hit the gameroom, where we spent the next two or three hours fucking around and getting drunk. It was kinda fun to sit in one of those race car games with a drink in your hand, racing against your buddies. And yes, I’m 27. Hi.
But also there was an element of competitiveness. Put a dozen drunk guys in a room with flashing lights and noises and things are going to get a little crazy. And by "get a little crazy" I mean "play a lot of ski-ball." At this time, I’d like to point out that yours truly had high scores in both ski-ball (260) and the foul shout game (71). So, suck on that.
After a while, we left Dave & Buster’s and went to a nearby bar (sans best man) but we were all itching for a little something extra: unattractive naked girls.
3) I hate strippers.
Since it was almost 2am, any strip clubs that serve booze were about to close. Instead, we went to BYOB place (though we didn’t BOOB – get it?) in my neighborhood. And, well…not so good.
Maybe I’m getting soft in my old age, but something about drunk, sweaty men throwing quarters and other change into a woman’s vagina, well, it really doesn’t do it for me anymore – especially when the vagina belongs to a woman that I wouldn’t make out with sober (and I’d make out with just about anyone).
So after watching this and being approached by several unattractive strippers (who were on me like a moth to a flame – fat guy with beard! fat guy with beard!), I fell out of the mood. I was getting sober, since we weren’t drinking, but there was absolute chaos around us. I guess the transition for ski-ball to vaginal quarters was a little too much for me.
But the good news – in order to salvage the end of the night I took a cab to my local 24 hour diner to get an order of broccoli cheese puffs, which I ate while walking from the diner to my dad’s place, so burning my mouth that I can still feel it. But it was entirely worth it.
4) Hungover, I am indestructible.
The next day, after sleeping for only five hours, I woke up, showered, and had a bowl of Honey Smacks (a very underrated cereal). Then I got dressed, walked 3 miles to the gym, ran for over 6 miles (!) on the treadmill, and walked 3 miles home.
Running for 6 miles – without stopping – on a treadmill while hungover and with a belly full of broccoli cheese puffs is easily the greatest athletic feat I’ve ever accomplished (even better than my graceful drink-save in The Bahamas). I mean, over 6 miles! That’s more than a hour of running, straight through, no stopping. My previous record for non-stop running was 3.33 miles. And now 6. Thank you, Hangover. I couldn’t have done it without you.
(Of course, today I can barely walk and there’s an 85% chance that I blow out at least one knee in the next four days, but whatever. Oh, and I no longer have nipples, but rather two holes in my chest.)
(And there’s no way I’m putting either Band-Aids or Vaseline on my nips. That Bodyglide stuff, maybe. But as of now I’m hoping that the nips toughen up.)
(And thank you for the computer suggestions – running AdAware improved performance and I’m working on the pictures.)
5) I might get a ride. For real.
After getting home from the gym it was time to head back to NYC. Since I dropped $70 on an Amtrak train that was verily delayed, I decided to take the local trains.
As I was bemoaning my forthcoming journey to my dad as he drove to the train station (Philly to Trenton, layover, Trenton to NYC – both trains making all local stops), I blurted out something without thinking: "I should just get a car."
My dad said, "Hey, if you can do it, why not?" There was silence and I moved on to thinking about other things (most notably who I’m going to bring to Greg’s wedding, since I responded +1 but don’t have a date), when I realized, "You know what? I can get a car."
And so from that fateful moment, I’ve been consumed with the thought of owning a car. I travel at least one weekend a month. The Philly traveling cost me $100. I’m going to Boston for a long weekend after Labor Day – that’s a $200 round trip. At the end of the month I have Greg’s wedding – another $100 for a rental car (unless my date has one – if you own a car and are free at the end of September, please email pics and resume immediately – caveat: overnight stay required). The following weekend, back in Philly for a party. You see what I’m getting at.
My dad is a mechanic. He would love nothing more than to buy a piece of shit and fix it up. Since all I’m looking for is something that runs on itself, my upfront cost would be no more than $3000 (or a little more, but still). I can swing that – provided I ever get paid for my projects.
Insurance wouldn’t be more than $100 a month. That’s 75% of one night of drinking. So if I go out less, that’s not a problem. (Not as I write this, at least.)
The problem lies in parking. There is very little and limited street parking in Manhattan, and certainly this is so in my neighborhood of Chilita. For my own sanity, I’d have to put it in a garage where I’d pay a monthly rate. Not a big deal, I thought, as my dad and I talked it out. I mean, how much could monthly parking be – $150 a month, tops?
This morning I called the garage nearest to my apartment, asking about monthly parking rates. I stumbled when they asked what kind of car I had, saying that I was still shopping for one but it would be "normal." The guy asked me to hold on and then came back to the receiver to tell me it would cost $500 a month to part there.
$500. In parking. Fuck.
As you might imagine, my dreams of owning a car have taken a major hit. Although I haven’t given up hope yet. I looked into other garages and will continue to look at places in Brooklyn (which is only a short subway ride away) and if I can get it down to $200 a month, it may still be worth it. But this is going to be much harder than I thought. And, like I said, I’d actually have to get paid for my projects.
[Notice how that here I qualify Brooklyn as "only a short subway ride away" when in previous posts or when asked to go there to meet friends I act as though it's 200 miles west of Milwaukee.]
Owning a car would be a real dream though…part of the reason I want to move out of NYC is so that I can own a car. The freedom to be able to drive wherever I want, whenever I want, excites me, as it’s not just the costs of the trains that bother me, but their rigid time schedule. Instead of leaving Philly thinking, "Ok, well, the 6:09 gets into Trenton at 6:51; then, the 7:14 will get me into NYC at 8:41", I could just come and go as I pleased.
**********
At any rate, a very good overall weekend. And now I have something new to obsess about: car ownership. I can’t wait to do something completely financially irresponsible.
I left NYC on Friday night for a bachelor party in Philly on Saturday. I could have stayed in NYC on Friday night and left the following "morning," but that would not have been a good idea. We were to meet at a buddy’s house on Saturday at 4pm to start the festivities. If I had stayed in NYC on Friday night, I would have gone out, gotten bombed, woken up at 1pm, then would have had to rush home with a hangover. Not a good idea.
(To give you an idea, NYC to Philly via Amtrak takes about 1.5 hours, but costs $70. NYC to Philly via local trains – NJ Transit and Septa – takes almost three hours, but costs $20.)
Since I was planning on getting a train at 10pm, I opted for Amtrak, since I did not want to be riding the rails (with a 30 minute layover in Trenton) too late at night. You know, because I’m a pussy. So I shelled out the $70 so that I could get home to Philly sooner.
Bad idea. My train was delayed an hour and then was slow moving, for a total delay of over an hour and a half. I didn’t get into Philly until about 1am. Which sucked.
But then it got better once I got home. I was a real party boy last week, going out pretty hard several nights, and when I finally got to my dad’s place I just wanted to crash. Add to that that I always sleep like a bear in the other bedroom of my dad’s place, and I was in for a good night. Add to that that when I got to my dad’s I took two Xanax, and we were in Awesometown.
I slept from 1:30am until 12:30pm. It was wonderful, just wonderful. Even though prior to last week I had been sleeping pretty well (with my new pillows and all), you just can’t beat 11 hours of solid sleep. And to be honest I think I could have slept longer if my phone didn’t wake me up.
There’s a barroom debate that my friends and I have gotten into in the past which goes, "Rank the following in order of importance to you: food, sex, sleep." For me, without a doubt, it goes sleep, food, sex. Don’t get me wrong – I love the other two. Food is a passion of mine, but every giant piece of chicken parm comes with the guilt of overeating. And I really, really love sex, but I’m so bad at it that I wind up feeling ashamed and having to go to the bathroom. Sleep is the only unconditional of the three. Blast the AC, pop a Xanax or two, read a little, and then pass the fuck out. That’s what I’m talkin’ about.
(And God – that’s more than a little sad.)
So when I woke up on Saturday I was completely refreshed and ready for the bachelor party.
2) A bachelor party in an arcade is not that bad of an idea.
This bachelor party was a little different than most that I’ve been to. In this case, the best man, the person in charge of organizing the shindig, was the groom’s brother (my buddy Greg is the groom). And he happens to be 17 years old (the best man, not Greg). So it was safe to assume that there would be no tittie bars (or any bars) during the evening.
But I think we did pretty well, all things considered. Most of the guys spent the morning/afternoon golfing, but since I grew up poor, I don’t do that shit. I met them at a buddy’s house after that for some beers. Then we headed to Dave & Buster’s. Yes, that Dave & Buster’s, the restaurant/arcade. This was our happy medium; the groom’s brother would be able to attend, while at the same time we’d be able to get drunk.
Admittedly I was a little reluctant about the whole thing (a bachelor party in an arcade?), but I had a total fucking blast. I’ve never done anything like that before; after dinner, we loaded up on drinks and hit the gameroom, where we spent the next two or three hours fucking around and getting drunk. It was kinda fun to sit in one of those race car games with a drink in your hand, racing against your buddies. And yes, I’m 27. Hi.
But also there was an element of competitiveness. Put a dozen drunk guys in a room with flashing lights and noises and things are going to get a little crazy. And by "get a little crazy" I mean "play a lot of ski-ball." At this time, I’d like to point out that yours truly had high scores in both ski-ball (260) and the foul shout game (71). So, suck on that.
After a while, we left Dave & Buster’s and went to a nearby bar (sans best man) but we were all itching for a little something extra: unattractive naked girls.
3) I hate strippers.
Since it was almost 2am, any strip clubs that serve booze were about to close. Instead, we went to BYOB place (though we didn’t BOOB – get it?) in my neighborhood. And, well…not so good.
Maybe I’m getting soft in my old age, but something about drunk, sweaty men throwing quarters and other change into a woman’s vagina, well, it really doesn’t do it for me anymore – especially when the vagina belongs to a woman that I wouldn’t make out with sober (and I’d make out with just about anyone).
So after watching this and being approached by several unattractive strippers (who were on me like a moth to a flame – fat guy with beard! fat guy with beard!), I fell out of the mood. I was getting sober, since we weren’t drinking, but there was absolute chaos around us. I guess the transition for ski-ball to vaginal quarters was a little too much for me.
But the good news – in order to salvage the end of the night I took a cab to my local 24 hour diner to get an order of broccoli cheese puffs, which I ate while walking from the diner to my dad’s place, so burning my mouth that I can still feel it. But it was entirely worth it.
4) Hungover, I am indestructible.
The next day, after sleeping for only five hours, I woke up, showered, and had a bowl of Honey Smacks (a very underrated cereal). Then I got dressed, walked 3 miles to the gym, ran for over 6 miles (!) on the treadmill, and walked 3 miles home.
Running for 6 miles – without stopping – on a treadmill while hungover and with a belly full of broccoli cheese puffs is easily the greatest athletic feat I’ve ever accomplished (even better than my graceful drink-save in The Bahamas). I mean, over 6 miles! That’s more than a hour of running, straight through, no stopping. My previous record for non-stop running was 3.33 miles. And now 6. Thank you, Hangover. I couldn’t have done it without you.
(Of course, today I can barely walk and there’s an 85% chance that I blow out at least one knee in the next four days, but whatever. Oh, and I no longer have nipples, but rather two holes in my chest.)
(And there’s no way I’m putting either Band-Aids or Vaseline on my nips. That Bodyglide stuff, maybe. But as of now I’m hoping that the nips toughen up.)
(And thank you for the computer suggestions – running AdAware improved performance and I’m working on the pictures.)
5) I might get a ride. For real.
After getting home from the gym it was time to head back to NYC. Since I dropped $70 on an Amtrak train that was verily delayed, I decided to take the local trains.
As I was bemoaning my forthcoming journey to my dad as he drove to the train station (Philly to Trenton, layover, Trenton to NYC – both trains making all local stops), I blurted out something without thinking: "I should just get a car."
My dad said, "Hey, if you can do it, why not?" There was silence and I moved on to thinking about other things (most notably who I’m going to bring to Greg’s wedding, since I responded +1 but don’t have a date), when I realized, "You know what? I can get a car."
And so from that fateful moment, I’ve been consumed with the thought of owning a car. I travel at least one weekend a month. The Philly traveling cost me $100. I’m going to Boston for a long weekend after Labor Day – that’s a $200 round trip. At the end of the month I have Greg’s wedding – another $100 for a rental car (unless my date has one – if you own a car and are free at the end of September, please email pics and resume immediately – caveat: overnight stay required). The following weekend, back in Philly for a party. You see what I’m getting at.
My dad is a mechanic. He would love nothing more than to buy a piece of shit and fix it up. Since all I’m looking for is something that runs on itself, my upfront cost would be no more than $3000 (or a little more, but still). I can swing that – provided I ever get paid for my projects.
Insurance wouldn’t be more than $100 a month. That’s 75% of one night of drinking. So if I go out less, that’s not a problem. (Not as I write this, at least.)
The problem lies in parking. There is very little and limited street parking in Manhattan, and certainly this is so in my neighborhood of Chilita. For my own sanity, I’d have to put it in a garage where I’d pay a monthly rate. Not a big deal, I thought, as my dad and I talked it out. I mean, how much could monthly parking be – $150 a month, tops?
This morning I called the garage nearest to my apartment, asking about monthly parking rates. I stumbled when they asked what kind of car I had, saying that I was still shopping for one but it would be "normal." The guy asked me to hold on and then came back to the receiver to tell me it would cost $500 a month to part there.
$500. In parking. Fuck.
As you might imagine, my dreams of owning a car have taken a major hit. Although I haven’t given up hope yet. I looked into other garages and will continue to look at places in Brooklyn (which is only a short subway ride away) and if I can get it down to $200 a month, it may still be worth it. But this is going to be much harder than I thought. And, like I said, I’d actually have to get paid for my projects.
[Notice how that here I qualify Brooklyn as "only a short subway ride away" when in previous posts or when asked to go there to meet friends I act as though it's 200 miles west of Milwaukee.]
Owning a car would be a real dream though…part of the reason I want to move out of NYC is so that I can own a car. The freedom to be able to drive wherever I want, whenever I want, excites me, as it’s not just the costs of the trains that bother me, but their rigid time schedule. Instead of leaving Philly thinking, "Ok, well, the 6:09 gets into Trenton at 6:51; then, the 7:14 will get me into NYC at 8:41", I could just come and go as I pleased.
**********
At any rate, a very good overall weekend. And now I have something new to obsess about: car ownership. I can’t wait to do something completely financially irresponsible.
