Everything is wrong with me
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
 
three weekend vignettes (not really)
It is obvious that I am trying to do as much damage as possible to myself and my body before I go back to work.

As many of y’all know, I have been off from my regular job working on my projects (namely this and something else). I go back to work full-time on February 13. This will be a sad, sad day for me.

As February 13 approaches, I have been really stepping it up in the “bender” department. I have become nocturnal, regularly going to sleep each night around 5am, and only with the help of at least a half dozen PBRs and at least one Xanax. But my opportunities for mischief are limited during the week because my friends actually work and so can’t go out on a Tuesday night until 3am (suckers).

So it is the weekend when I really fly off the handle. And each weekend seems to get worse and worse. Let’s break this past one down:

- Thursday night I was in Philly. The night ended with me smoking a joint in my buddy’s car at 5am in the parking lot of a Toys R Us, after consuming (conservatively) two dozen broccoli cheese puffs at an all-night diner. We went to a local bar that night with the original intention of “taking it easy.” Oops.

- Friday night back in NYC I almost got into a fight with some drunk-ass hipster who was harassing a woman that I had told the entire bar was my ex-wife (and so I was obligated to stand up for her). I won when he got up from the table, almost fell, and so was kicked out of the bar. Good for him and me both – I would have murdered him and you would be reading the tales of “Jason Mulgrew: Prison Beat Rag” if he hadn’t gotten kicked out.

- Saturday night my roommate Brian and I had a push-up contest outside a bar on the Lower East Side (Final Score: Me 1.5, Brian 30+). It was just as embarrassing as it sounds.

And it doesn’t look like it’ll end anytime soon, with a tentative trip to DC this weekend and a trip to either Seattle or London for Super Bowl weekend (thank you, Mastercard – I will see you in hell where I will continue to F you in the heinie).

But there are three things worth noting from this weekend.

Love Fumbles
Whenever one of our friends starts talking to a girl at a bar – and she actually talks back to him – instead of being happy for him, the others are jealous. Not only are we single, but we are terrible friends.

My buddy Matt was talking to a cute girl on Friday night. Matt probably does the best of all of us when it comes to women (although that isn’t saying much among my friends; if you’re using a condom for its intended purpose rather than to masturbate into it in the shower because the warmth and the latex really gets you randy, then you’re doing best among us).

Matt left his girl momentarily to go to the bathroom and the best way that I can describe the ensuing scene was that it was akin to a running back fumbling the ball and a scrum breaking out. Immediately after he left, I could almost hear Joe Buck in the corner announcing, “Handoff to Matt up the middle and HE LOSES THE BALL! Matt has fumbled! The Drunks are diving all over it as the refs try to see who’s got possession!” Immediately after he left, the rest of us descended upon her like a loose ball, figuring “Hey, Matt left, so she’s totally up for grabs!”, about six of us talking to her at once, trying to wrest her away from the others with witty lines and charm as opposed to strength and eye-gouging.

I was pretty messed up at that point, but I managed to get my golden exchange in there:

Jason: “What do you do?”
Girl: [Says something, but I’m not listening because I can’t wait to see how she creams her pants when I tell her I’m a writer.]
Jason: “That’s cool. Do you like it?”
Girl: [More talk, but it goes right through me. Getting slightly aroused as time for the “I’m a writer” line approaches.]
Jason: “That’s cool.”
Girl: “What do you do?”
Jason: “Oh, me? Well, I’m a writer.”
Girl: [Sees through my attempt; doesn’t take bait because hey – I’m still not good looking and I’ve spent the last four minutes looking directly at her cleavage a she spoke] “Oh, nice. [turning away] So Mike, how do you know Lisa?”

[Jason is picked off pile by referees.]

Eventually, Matt was able to get the ball back and talk to her after he returned from the bathroom. I suppose it wasn’t a fumble at all; that his knee was actually down before the ball came out. I’d like to say the night ended with something exciting, perhaps shower sex, but he only get her number (thanks not at all to us, of course).

The Sunday 50
On Sunday, I was feeling pretty horrible. The hangover + the push-up from the night before left me feeling sore, tired, and emotionally troubled. Or something.

But inspiration came to me, as it often does, whilst I was taking a whiz. I had a plan for the day, a goal that, should I accomplish it, would take me out of any psychological funk I was in: I would consume any combination of 50 beers and buffalo wings that day. To clarify, that’s any combination, i.e. 30 beers and 20 wings, 45 wings and 5 beers, etc. All I had to do was get to 50 total.

The best break-down, I thought, was 17 beers and 33 wings. I felt confident that I could do both in the allotted time. There was no time limit, aside from accomplishing this during the eight hours of football games on Sunday. So, um, I guess there was a time limit. But it’s a long time.

I asked my roommate Brian to take part in this but he refused, citing that whole “work” thing as the reason he couldn’t drink 15 beers. So I was flying solo.

And let me tell you something – I didn’t even come close. I had grossly overestimated myself. After a dozen wings and four beers, I started feeling dizzy. Around wing 20 and beer 9, I started going into anaphylactic shock. I had to quit shortly thereafter, because I stopped responding loud noises or bright lights, lying on the couch with my eyes wide open, drool and wing sauce dripping down my chin.

But despite such a resounding defeat, I bet I can do this. And I will do this, even if I have to train all off-season and do it next football season. It will be done.

“You think that’s bad – I was so drunk on Friday I fucked a guy!”
[CONFIDENTIAL MATERIAL REDACTED]

[You guys may not get much this week. I have a big deadline coming up and I blew off every plan I had in NYC this week to return to Philly, where I get a lot of work done. So don’t expect much. And if you hate me, remember that I return to normality on 2/13, so then regular posts will come flying at you. Thank you for your support.]

[And I’m still having a lot of problems with emails, getting some, but getting blank emails from others. No idea why. Also, it turns out that a few days of emails from last week were randomly deleted. So I’m sorry if I don’t respond. I wouldn’t send emails until this is worked out. Or send at your own peril. Thanks again.]



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