Poverexic in NYC

Before the NBA finals, A (who is from Florida) made a bet with S (who is from Dallas) re: Mavs vs. Heat.  At this point, pre-NBA finals, I didn’t care all that much.  I had low hopes for Dallas (since they never win anything), and I was kinda rooting for the Heat to be honest because they were top dog.  Anyway, the bet was this: if the Heat won, A would owe S a “Miami-themed” dinner — i.e., Cuban.  If Mavs won, S would owe A and her bf B a Tex Mex dinn–WHOA WHOA WHOA WHOA WAIT.  A-N-D her bf B…??  Ok, B had nothing to do with this bet- why did he get to go in on a free dinner deal?!?!??!  So, I got myself into this free dinner deal by “siding” with the Mavs.  Fab!!  If Mavs won, A owed S AND ME a free dinner.  I instantly became a Mavs fan.

Well you know it!  Sunday was victory dinner — hooray Mavs.  We didn’t end up having Cuban in honor of Mark Cuban, but B did make us a beautiful home cooked meal of bbq salmon, fried okra, refried beans, and chips with homemade guac with tons of beer.  As a good guest, S brought homemade peas with bacon, and I as a good guest brought 4 Argentine cookies that I had offered to P back in college as an “I’m sorry” gift for stealing his virginity.  No one else thought it was amusing that that was my contribution to dinner.

BBQ Salmon

Victory Dinner

Dinner was absolutely delicious, and it was one of the healthiest dinners I’ve had in a while.  Hit pretty much all the food groups.  No one ate my tainted cookies but luckily A had some fresh strawberries for dessert.  With free dinner ending with Game of Thrones season finale, it was truly a perfect night.  Even though my fav character Khal Drogo died, it’s comforting to know his spirit still lives on in Tyson Chandler’s cock.

On Friday I took a 15 hour nap after work.  I got home around 7pm, immediately passed out on my bed thinking I would just take a 5 hour nap and then go out around midnight, but instead I woke up the next morning at 10am.  Why you say?  Because this past week I went out more days during the week than I had since college.  My host sister from when I was living in Argentina was in town, and I had to show her a good time.  I knew NYC wasn’t going to live up to Buenos Aires for her.  How could it, when in Buenos Aires the way we used to roll was having dinner on the weekends at 1am, pregaming at 3am, going out to the bars/clubs at 4am, then ending our night around 9am by going straight to breakfast in the plaza.  I had pre-warned Argentine sister that here in NYC, people typically come home after a night out around 4am, not go out to start the night around 4am.  She seemed disappointed, but excited to explore NYC.

The week started with the annual Tulane crawfish boil and all-you-can-drink beer at Boat Basin last Saturday.  I had gone to the LSU crawfish boil last year and was curious to compare LSU vs. Tulane — as expected, Tulane’s was better.  I mean, they had crawfish in a canoe — can’t get any better than that.

Crawfish Boil

After finishing off an entire tray of crawfish, corn on the cob, red bliss potatoes and jambalaya, washed down with endless cups of free flowing Abita, S and his Zog Sports friends decided to start a huge flip cup contest in the middle of the crawfest.  I was happy to find out I still hadn’t lost my flip cup touch after all these years, and it was refreshingly amusing to see that some people – like S and S – were shockingly horrible at flip cup (chuckle).  Needless to say we were all pretty shitfaced by the time crawfest was over but I disappointingly didn’t get laid at the end of all this because apparently the 2 guys who were hitting on me the entire day actually had girlfriends.  And they were rugby short.  Why does this keep happening to me.

Anyway, Sunday was Mavs championship day, Monday was recovery day, and Tuesday we all went to Kumo all you can eat sushi/all you can drink beer/sake (replacement New Ashiya location) to introduce my Argentine sister to her first sake bombing experience.  I had forgotten how rough sake bombing is on a weekday but I had about 30 rolls of sushi in my stomach to coat the lining so was feeling pretty great when we went out after sake bombing to a hookah bar, where we smoked about 6 hookahs among 6 people until well past 2am.  I think it was literally the latest I had stayed out on a weekday since Senior Spring.  I’m too old for that now.  Wednesday was pretty chill until I went over to T’s around 1am where I suffered through an awful coke dick experience and he earned his red wings, and Thursday we all went out to E’s birthday party, followed by Spitzer’s where I ran into some fellow Harvard peeps and stayed out much later than my body could physically handle.

After my 15 hour nap on Friday I was feeling completely refreshed and ready for a full-on Fraturday, which is what happened on Saturday when frat boy M came in town from Chicago, as did lover boys B & T.  On Fraturday instead of taking a 15 hour nap, I literally drank with S/M/B/T for 16 hours straight starting at 11:30am for drunk brunch (or, drunch) at City Crab (otherwise known as Shitty Crab) followed by 4 hours of beirut in the middle of the afternoon at Stumble Inn.  My beirut skills were not as up to par as my flip cup skills were, but the incredible thing was that I did spend pretty much the entire Fraturday drinking for free with the boys buying pitcher after pitcher after rounds and rounds of drinks.  Unfortunately S who thinks he epitomizes the concept of “work hard, play hard” actually left the beirut festivities early to go take an afternoon nap and missed out on an incredible Czech dinner in the UES where we got photographed to appear in Wednesday’s New York Post (I guess it was a new restaurant opening).  So to give him crap for that, we all decided to barge into his apartment unannounced post-dinner to throw a pregame there against S’s will.  With a lot of 5-hour energies and loud booming techno music playing against Planet Earth on mute, we pregamed at S’s apartment for about 4 hours before heading out for a night of dancing at Pourhouse and Penny Farthing until 3:30am.  It was like our Chicago frattrip all over again except this time Bear Jew wasn’t with us to get kicked out of three consecutive bars and DFi wasn’t with us to be screaming night terrors in the middle of the night.  Happy Frat Week.

Last night was the first and only time in my entire life that I had ever been proud to say I’m from Dallas.  I never used to be a Mavs fan or any Dallas sports fan for that matter because they’ve never been good, nor have they ever won anything except for the Cowboys like a decade ago.  And I’ve never been one to root for the underdog because I just don’t believe that the underdog should ever win.  I mean, the top dog is top dog for a reason — because they’re BETTER.  If an underdog wins, it’s almost always because the top dog fucks up and allows the underdog to win.  For example, back in my Asian piano playing days in high school, if anyone ever beat me and I ended up silver, it was because I fucked up and they lucked out — not because the one who ended up getting gold was better than me.  This mentality probably stems from disapproving Asian father:

Disapproving Asian Father

Anyway, yesterday the underdog won, and I have to admit it was pretty exciting even though it went against everything I usually believe in.  Over the past few weeks I started to legitimately enjoy watching the Mavs, not so much because they were actually good, but more because I identified my new fav athlete: Tyson Chandler.  Those who know me know this is very uncharacteristic of me considering I’m racist towards everyone when it comes to juicing, but I don’t know… it’s something about the fact that Tyson Chandler reminds me of Khal Drogo from Game of Thrones… and probably because they both just look like they have 16 inch dicks.

Tyson Chandler

Khal Drogo

Anyway, besides watching Tyson Chandler on the big screen, I probably enjoyed myself the past 3 games because when we were on a winning streak, I was on a drinking streak.  Completely for free.  These Dallas fans sure do get excited when their team wins for the first time ever.  For the last 3 games we established Bleecker Heights above Five Guys as the “Mavs Bar,” and last Thursday night, S’s friend M was on such a winning high that he bought rounds of shots for everyone crowding around the bar every time Jason Terry was on the runway.  Needless to say I was blackout by the time I left the bar, and I’m pretty sure that bartender made more in tips that night than I make in a month.

LET’S GO MAVS!!!

Spent the past few days in Chicago for work for my second time ever in the city, and I’ve decided that I’m really starting to like Chi.  Despite the horrible winters, the summers there are absolutely delightful, and this time I realized more than ever what a fratastic city this is.  The last time I was in Chi with S et al, I was so absorbed in our own fratmosphere that I didn’t pay attention to the rest of the Chi crowd.

On Friday I was meeting up with C for dinner with his law firm buddies at this place called Citizen Bar.  I arrive at this two-story outdoor bar, and my jaw just drops.  I seriously never knew there were so many fratty young people living in this city.  I’ve been living in the East Village for way too long.  SOOO many pastel pop collar shirts at Citizen Bar — I couldn’t believe my eyes.  I felt like I was back at the Fly Garden Party all over again.  It was my dream come true.  Where were all these guys in NYC?!?!??!??!  Oh, I know.  Fratting around at Dorrians and Fiddlesticks.

Dinner with C was lovely, and free for me.  I had just hung out with C the past weekend for 5 year reunion, and so we reminisced on the good times that neither of us could remember.  What was supposed to be a civilized dinner turned into quite the rowdy dinner of C’s law firm friends throwing back beer after beer with C’s friend D hitting on me in what was a subtle way until C loudly stated, YOU GUYS SHOULD JUICE.  I laughed it off awkwardly and then pulled C to the side with a firm look of NO, TOO SHORT, but I played along with it anyway in an effort to get a free meal out of the night.  I ordered the most incredible mini chili hot dog appetizer and strip steak with guacamole and mashed potatoes, and I totally succeeded.  When D willingly picked up the tab for me, C nudged me again, being like “You know what THAT means” and I gave him another look of NO WAY.  Unfortunate for D, what he didn’t know about me but what he probably should have guessed about me based on the way I was talking all night was that I never go home with a nice gentleman who buys me dinner.  “Nice” and “dinner” aren’t in my preferred vocabulary.  Guys who DON’T buy me dinner on the other hand…..

Anyway, I was on a roll on this trip and scoring free meals left and right.  The next morning my wireless wasn’t working in my hotel room, and so I leveraged that to get what I wanted.  How do I always score things for free, you ask?  There’s a strategy to it all.  It’s called being bitchy, yet appreciative.  Here’s what you have to do in a situation like this, when you’re the customer and not getting the service you deserve:

1. Start by complaining to a low level rep
2. Complain to another low level rep — they likely aren’t going to be helpful either, so then you demand to speak to their manager; invokes fear
3. Speak to manager — acknowledge that manager is manager level; acknowledge that reps are lower than them
4. Make it clear that the REPS are not being helpful, but that you hope as the MANAGER, he/she can be more helpful
5. Explain situation; be firm and bitchy without raising your voice — buzz words include “completely unacceptable” and “huge inconvenience”
6. Manager apologizes; finds solution
7. Be very appreciative but reinforce that what happened was NOT ok — bring it back to the fact that manager > rep: e.g.,  “You know, I have to be honest; it was incredibly frustrating talking to the lady at the front desk; she just really wasn’t helpful at all and I was able to get ZERO work done all morning as a result of this inconvenience, but you on the other hand have been INCREDIBLY helpful — I really appreciate your help”
8. Manager’s self-confidence as manager goes up; tries to find way to thank you for boosting their ego for the day
9. Manager gives you free things
10. You = winner

That is how I scored a $50 delicious room service breakfast of 4 eggs over easy, toast, sausage, bacon, 3 kinds of juices and coffee for free.

To add to the free weekend, I went to a work reception on Saturday night where they rented out the entire Field Museum and themed it molecular gastronomy with caterers walking around in white lab coats and lab goggles.  It was one of the most amazing receptions I’d ever been to.  In line with the theme, the caterers were walking around with gazpacho in test tubes, sweet corn puree made into lollipops on a dry ice machine, pork belly with marshmallow cream torched on the spot, mini deviled quail eggs, filet mignon slices with horseradish foam, dumplings in really thin colored edible paper, etc etc etc.  It was all literally right out of Top Chef.

After that I was of course still hungry, so I met up with DFi for a cheap stir fry dinner that night; the next night I watched the Mavs vs. Heat game with DFu over homemade Hamburger Helper and matzo ball soup; the next day after that I had lunch with DB; and my Chi trip was complete.  Heart Chi.

Poverexic is BACK!!!  With 5th year reunion weekend.

My, do 5 years fly by fast.  But it was comforting to see that the majority of our class was still mentally stuck in college with only a few discomforting sights this weekend like an ’06 couple who brought their newborn baby to both open bar events on Friday and Saturday nights.  I mean, get a fucking babysitter and leave your offspring at home, or better yet, in the abortion clinic.

Despite all the baby talk and married/engaged couples that I suffered through this weekend, I actually surprisingly had one of the most insanely fun weekends I’ve had in I can’t even remember how long.  However, knowing all the high costs of the events going into the weekend, I tried to play it poverexic by trying to sneak into all of the weekend’s events.  I mean, every event was like $100 totaling $500 for the entire weekend.  Do I look like I work in hedge funds shitting out hundred dollar bills?!?!?!  So I did some careful research leading up to this event, trying to get the scoop from all my ’05 friends.  My sources all told me you really just have to pay for the first event, get a reunion badge, and then they don’t even check your tickets at any of the other events.  Um they were all WRONG – I got caught at every single event and this turned into a poverexic FAIL.

I guess you could say it was ultimately worth the $500 though.  The first night, Friday, was a dance party out on the athletic field that was a shitload of fun and I honestly can’t remember half of it.  All I remember was that I was super excited for the buffet and open bar, which I was expecting to be top shelf, and turns out they didn’t even have Jack Daniels or tequila, and I got really aggressive.  After yelling at the 2013 bartenders for about 15 minutes about how it was absolutely unacceptable to not have Jack or tequila at a standard open bar, I demanded that they pour me a triple Jim Beam with a splash of Diet Coke and demanded they remember my drink order for the rest of the night.  I’m pretty sure I got my money’s worth that night.  And what made my blackout worse was the fact that I did not eat a single piece of food the entire night because I got aggressive about the fact that they didn’t have steak and lobster like I had expected and instead had pizza and wraps which I also felt was unacceptable for at $75 event.  Regardless, I had an amazing time dancing the entire night and apparently I had riveting conversations with people I was only peripherally friends with.  After the dance and a few late night hours at the Fly, I came back to Mather like good ole times, puked up some serious Beam in the common bathroom, and felt like a million bucks the next morning.

I was 100% ready to rally the next morning for the BBQ out in Harvard Yard where they had Redbones and I piled my plate up high with about 10 pounds of meat.  The biggest news of our BBQ: a choreographed dance slash marriage proposal to Bruno Mars’ “Just the Way You Are.”  I might have hated this idea in theory but I really liked the couple, so I supported it in practice.  Take a look: http://youtu.be/j9OugHV1PfQ

That was the calmest part of the weekend.  After the BBQ everything went downhill in an AMAZING WAY.  Saturday night was a complete shitshow, which was expected considering how Eliot Fete turned out my senior year and the Saturday night event was being held in the Eliot Courtyard.  Let’s just say that the Fete consisted of me getting blackout, peeing in an Eliot entryway hallway, and waking up the next morning unclear if I had juiced or not.  5th year reunion was a very similar experience, and I think others were getting equally out of control.  Four people were sent to the hospital for various alcoholic injuries that night, girls were snorting illegals off each other’s bodies like body shots in the middle of the dance floor, and people were dancing literally butt naked on top of tables with their dicks freely flying around for all to see.  I was sticking to my triple Jim Beam and Coke again for the entire night and getting my money’s worth — more drinking, less eating.  I had an incredible time.

Two big complaints that should be addressed for the ’07 reunion to improve upon ours:

1- There were a total of 2 bathrooms available for an event of 500 people, which is unheard of.  At multiple times throughout the night I had to piss so badly that I had to resort to public urination.  While I don’t mind urinating in public, apparently the people who had to watch me pee on the floor of the Eliot mailroom did.  In my defense, I did give everyone full warning, crying to CM that I was going to piss my pants.  When I said I was going to piss my pants, I meant I was literally going to piss my pants.  But I guess CM didn’t believe me, and I blame her for that.

2- The open bar ran out of booze an hour earlier than it was supposed to.  THE OPEN BAR RAN OUT OF BOOZE AN HOUR EARLIER THAN IT WAS SUPPOSED TO.  ?!?!?!??!?!?!?!??!!?!?!  I didn’t fucking pay $100 for an open bar for them to RUN OUT OF BOOZE EARLY.  I was so angry that I decided to run over to the Kong where I can always count on my old boss and current fav bartender making me my old time fav Long Island Ice Tea, or what I like to call Blackout Juice.  Pound a Solo cup of that and I was good to go again.

The night ended with late night dancing at the Fly again since the Owl was closed despite the fact that JL spread false rumors to everyone at the entire dance that there was going to be a sick afterparty at the Owl.  I’m not sure when I left or how, but all I remember is that I was pissed I was walking home alone until – how convenient – I ran into an old flame literally on my walk home to Mather and ended up at a dance party there.  What was awkward was waking up head to toe… those twin extra longs are brutally small.

In conclusion, the weekend was epic.  I don’t know if our class is legendary but our reunion certainly was.  10 year reunion will be a true test of who is still a champion and who has lost their youth.

I went to Prague last year and they really have incredible food — check it out.

What is this

Meat on stick

Sugar Dough

PIG

PIGGY!!!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Visited Chicago last weekend for MLK Day, and it was truly a fratastic weekend — 96 straight hours of drinking.  B, S and I decided to finally pay DFi a visit because he’s miserable in med school and hasn’t had any fun in his life for 2 years, so as good friends we decided to change that for him even though none of us really wanted to spend a weekend in January in a city that’s -20 degrees.

Turns out Chi Town is quite delightful.  DFi was so grateful for our visit that when we all arrived on Friday, he had a delicious homecooked dinner of beer soaked pulled pork waiting for us, and then the night really spiraled out of control after that.

Beer Pulled Pork

After the pork we quickly got going with the pregame by finishing off the entire handle of tequila and bottle of Bullet that DFi had brought home, and then DFu started shotgunning beer after beer after beer by himself in the shower to get his fratteries going.  By the time we got to Crimson Lounge an hour later to meet DB and DK, DFu was his blackout college self that I remembered so well, downing beer after beer on one knee and then smashing them down on the lounge floor and doing his DFu dance.  Next thing we know he’s being escorted out of the bar and when we follow him outside, we find him doodling BEAR JEW in the snow on the rear window of some random person’s car.  Ok DFu time to go — so we head out next to Hang Uppe, which is the Kong of Chi Town without all the Asians.  We of course immediately lose DFu after 5 minutes of getting there, only to find him 3 hours later chatting up a group of girls in the corner who were all very interested in the Harvard grad soon-to-be-doctor until he suddenly had to leave the conversation to go puke into the trash can right next to them.  The girls all immediately fled.

The next morning we all wake up to Man Bear Jew S jumping on all of us at 8:30am to go watch some soccer game that no one gave a shit about at some random bar 30 minutes away in Chi Town nowhere.  None of us really wanted to watch soccer but we were up for some early morning drinking on this Fraturday.  So we went to this random Irish bar, then continued drinking at this random Mexican bar where we were the only customers and we had a bartender who looked like Jesus/Korn.  We then went 45 minutes out of our way to go to this famous hot dog place that DFi was dying to take us to where they had foie gras hot dogs.  I was excited about the foie gras hot dogs until we saw a one-hour line outside in the freezing cold, so we made S/G/DFi wait in line while DFu/B/M and I offered to go “look around for some booze” to bring back to the group.  Unfortunately we were in a “school zone” so none of the bodegas or stores in the area sold booze, so we found a bar and just decided to stay there and drink there ourselves.  We tried to get booze to-go for the rest of the group, but the bar didn’t let us do that, so there was really not much more that we could do.

An hour later we come back to Hot Doug’s and our timing was perfect — S/G/DFi were right at the front of the line and furious at us.  But we were drunk and content and excited to see this in front of us:

Hot Doug's

The foie gras hot dog was really incred and all, but fast forward 12 hours and it was being hurled out of my mouth into the toilet at Mother’s (such a waste).  This was after the Bulls v. Heat game that we had gone to earlier in the night where we pretty much got kicked out of the stands for being too disturbing to everyone else around us, especially after S spilled his beer all over the black lady in front of us who started screaming racial slurs at us, like You Damn Whiteheads.  Lady, don’t get us started with racism.  She had no idea who she was dealing with.  Two seconds later we were running out of the stadium and headed to Mother’s.  Not surprisingly, DFu once again got kicked out this bar and aggressively talked down to the bouncer, so the bouncer followed DFu to the next bar and told that bouncer to not let him in, then DFu tried to go to another bar after that and this bouncer overheard him talking about how he had already gotten kicked out of two other bars, so he didn’t let DFu into that bar either.  In total, I think DFu got kicked out of 5 bars that weekend.

B and I left early that night (I knew it was time for me to go when I hurled 3 rounds of chunky hot dogs), and we were awoken first circa 3am to S stumbling into the apartment carrying 2 large pizzas and 3 bags full of french fries, fried onion rings and literally 20 calzones, all for himself — he passed out sleeping upright on a chair with pizzas and calzones sprawled out all over him in usual S style.  Then we’re woken up at 4am to DFi barging through the door, who immediately blacks out only to start sleep screaming and sleep walking around the apartment two seconds later.  You have never experienced sleep talking until you’ve slept in the same room as DFi.  He literally sleep screams for hours, yelling things like OOOOOWWWWWWW SLUTTTTT YOU SLUTTTTT I HATE YOUUUUUUUU, STOP CUTTING MEEEEEEEEEEEEEE, THEY’RE AFTER MEEEEEEEEE, FUCKKKK YOUUUUUUU, YOU WHOREEEEEEEEEEEEEEE AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH

It’s pretty funny in retrospect.

After none of us got sleep due to DFi night terrors, we were woken up again at 9am to go watch some more sports at a nearby bar where we continued our weekend trend of offending anyone and everyone around us.  We obnoxiously spent the entire day drinking and eating at the bar, then we all passed out that night circa 6pm.

All in all it was a very fratastic weekend.  Stamp of approval on Chi Town.

Happy 2011!  New Year’s means one thing for New Yorkers and one thing only: Get the fuck out of the city.  While the holidays in Manhattan are pretty and whatever, New Year’s is every Manhattanite’s worst nightmare.  Tourists invading our city, impossible to get a cab anywhere, every bar quadrupling their prices, etc.  Kill yourself.

Since my new company gives us the entire week off between Christmas and New Year’s, I naturally booked a flight to my go-to vacay spot: Rio de Janeiro.  And I totally avoided The Great Blizzard of NYC.

I’ve been going to Brazil every other year since I was 16, and it’s my perfect “me” time.  My first several times there were pretty wild, but now all I want from Rio is beach time and good cheap food.  My goals for my Brazil trips recently have been simple and three-fold: 1) eat acai every single day, 2) literally become a black person by the end of my trip, and 3) avoid getting AIDS.  I was successful in all three.

Every day I would have my acai for breakfast, a SKOL on the beach, and a huge hunk of meat for a late lunch.

Acai

SKOL

Pork

Ham

Pork Leg

I love Brazilians.  I could live like this forever.  I had home-cooked meals and meat for free every single day — it was poverexia’s dream come true.  Here’s how I felt about all this:

OMG BACON!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So that’s how I ate for a week straight, and New Year’s was this x10 at G’s party at her house on Copacabana beach.  NYE in Rio is one huge party on the beach.  Everyone dresses in white and goes out to Copacabana beach to watch the fireworks over the ocean and party till dawn.

Copacabana Reveillon 2011

It was pretty amazing.  But what was even more amazing was all the food involved that night.  In addition to open bar, there was this:

NYE Spread

Dessert

After dancing the night away, we all walked home along the beach at 5am with thousands of people still wasted on the beach around us.  Incred.  Next up: Carnaval Rio 2012.

This weekend was a disaster.  Saturday was Santacon, which is probably the best thing about New York winters.  This would be my 4th year in a row doing Santacon and I was pumped.  And I was especially excited because J was in town from Dallas for work, and even though she had to leave for the airport on Saturday morning, I was determined to let her at least get a taste of Santacon by going to G’s pregame starting at 8am.

I set my alarm for 8am for Saturday morning after what I thought was a pretty calm night the night before of just going out to dinner with friends, then hitting up a few bars and only having like one drink per bar.  Apparently I guess I’d had a little more than that, and then also remembered J and I had started off the night finishing off an entire bottle of wine in about 20 minutes and several more drinks, which I realized when I half successfully puked up bits and parts of my Chimay from Jimmy’s No. 43 the next morning.  I was not ready for Santacon.  Neither was J.

But we forced ourselves to get up, I put on my red top and green scarf and Santa hat, and I cried as I felt like dying while leaving the apartment with J/B/T.  When we got to G’s pregame the smell of fried eggs instantaneously made me feel better, and the taste of the ham/egg sandwich on challah almost cured my hangover… until I turned around and saw the cans and cans of beer and felt like ralphing again.  People around me kept offering me beer and I threw up a little in my mouth.

Anyway Santacon this year started off at some odd locations, like Chinatown then Central Park where there was no drinking.  So we kinda came up with our own Santacon route, hitting up places we liked better like the West Village, and the entire city followed us.

Santacon

Finally around noon I started to feel like myself again, and good thing there were free cans of beer being passed around within our group the whole day because I essentially got wasted all over again for free, and the only thing I ate all day was the ham/egg/challah sandwich at 8am and a slice of S’s leftover pizza around 3pm.  By 4pm I was feeling golden.

Pizza

Our Santacon group was dying down around 7ish but we had another place to be at 9pm: S’s Four Loko party that we all thought wasn’t actually going to happen because we had bets on S passing out by 5pm and not being able to host his own party.

But it did happen, and it was a complete shitshow.  I had one watermelon Four Loko and thought I was going to die.  Roommate L had 3 Four Lokos — yes, 3 — and thought he was going to die X 3.  I don’t know what he was thinking.  We all knew it was time for him to go home when he started rocking back and forth on the couch with his eyes shut and a pained smile on his face.  Everyone knew it was time for me to go home when I half passed out on S’s bed and started hysterically laughing at things for no reason at all with B/T jumping on the bed around me.

Well when I finally got home at who-knows-what-time, I went to the bathroom to find L’s grape Four Loko vomit all over the toilet and my watermelon vomit followed shortly thereafter.  Let’s just say Sunday morning was incredibly painful and thank god for Chinese food without which I don’t know how we would have survived.

This past week S decided to cook another turkey.  Why?  I don’t know.  He wanted to cook another turkey.  To celebrate December.  I was up for it.  He talked about making a jalapeno turkey — I didn’t know what that meant but it sounded delicious.  It didn’t actually end up happening, but what did happen was S rubbing a shitload of duck fat underneath the skin of the turkey, then cooking chicken liver in a shitload of duck fat, then mixing the cooked chicken liver into homemade stuffing topped with a shitload of duck fat.

Thanksgiving feast #3 was amazing, but what was even more amazing was that S took one bite of his chicken liver stuffing and apparently it “wasn’t to his liking” so he gave me literally the entire pan of stuffing to take home.  I thought it was absolutely incredible, I don’t know what S was talking about.  I picked out most of the chicken liver, but the rest of the stuffing has lasted me 5 nights of dinners so far and still going strong.