I’ve been forcing myself to sit at my computer and write out the fourth entry in the March Madness series, but every time I type out exactly what we did that day it seems unworthy of a post and anticlimactic. And you deserve more than that.
Long story short: we came, we drank, we watched people have sex in a hipster NYU bar, we sang boy band songs for the patrons in McDonalds, and then we had Cold Stone. Some of the funniest events occurred in the later part of the evening, when we wandered into the Continental on Michael Jackson night, had 5 for $10 shots and witnessed a couple grind each other in the middle of the bar for twenty minutes. I thought they disappeared after they realized we were watching, but Tank spotted them at the bar- him leaning against the railing, and her on her knees. Voyeurism at its best. Immediately after I demanded we travel next door to McDonalds, where Short Stack ate an entire sleeve of Saltines that was left on the table and Captain serenaded a couple with his extensive catalog of boy band music. We detoured to Hoboken, had Cold Stone (Captain had to scream at the poor kid behind the counter trying to impress us with his ice cream-flipping skills- “OHHHH!!! LOOK AT YOU!!! TURNING TRICKS, EH???” Then….well, we went home.
Shit happens. More accurately, sometimes shit doesn’t happen. Sometimes we hype up an event or a holiday so much that when we actually celebrate it, there’s no way it can ever live up to our expectations. So when something is uneventful, I’m not going to make it seem cooler, or funnier, or more…whatever. I’m just going to skip it. Skip it like it never happened.
It’s no secret that I idolize and base my formatting on the great and powerful Tucker Max (2018 edit: oh, for fuck’s sake, past Kristen. Shakes my own damn future head). When my friends and I first read his books, most of us couldn’t believe some of the shit he’d gotten himself into. I mean, we’re stupid and we say and do asinine things, but we’ve never maliciously destroyed someone by verbally berating them or drunkenly shit ourselves in a hotel lobby. We haven’t reached that point of depravity yet.
When it came time for me to write my blog and record everything we’ve done thus far, I promised myself that I’d write everything truthfully and accurately. Sure, part of you worries that absolutely no one will find this entertaining or interesting, and your life as it stands genuinely sucks. But to me, being boring is better than lying. I’ll be honest, no fingers crossed- I already lie all the time. Excuses, compliments, making up people. One of my favorite hobbies is telling people at bars that I’m in med school/investment banking/a casting director for a major Hollywood studio. Once I convinced someone I was from Alabama just by yelling “Roll Tide!” the whole night. It’s a combination of my desperate, severe, and borderline psychotic need for attention and my fantastical imagination. However, when it came down to putting pen to paper (er..keyboard to screen?) I made a no-bullshit promise to myself, and to you.
So there it is. Part Four, March Madness, St. Sloppy’s Day. I’d write about Cinco de Mayo, but I spent the evening at my church’s Greek Festival, getting high off of ouzo fumes and incense, and eating pork on a stick.