Italians, Reality TV and Self-Perpetuated Misogyny

Sigh. I watched this here newfangled Jersey Shore so I could catch up on my popular culture references. I actually don’t think it’s bad for Italians, like most people. If you put any group of young people with the same heritage in a house and let them drink all night while filming, said uniting heritage would complain, too. Reality TV is the problem, not Guidos.

I think a huge problem is actually how all the people on the show treat women. Namely, how Angelina treats women. Every girl who comes to the house is a whore or a slut to her as long as they don’t live in the house. Yet she makes out with a guy while away from her boyfriend. And then when Sammi makes out with two different guys in the house, she takes Sammi’s side. The point I’m trying to make is not that Angelina is a hypocrite, but that I find it disappointing that there isn’t a woman in New Jersey who can be attracted or attractive to men without being called a whore.

Well, I’ve seen this outside of New Jersey, too, but I think I find it most disturbing in this show because it’s just such a high concentration of (self-described) haters and sluts. And I think that it’s just the tip of the iceberg–for some reason, women seem to stereotype women far more aggressively than men; I don’t care who you dated as long as you want to be with me and don’t give me the clap. It seems to be the same with any subcategory, though: I’ve heard black people say some of the most racist things about other black people (I don’t know why Trinidadians seem to hate Jamaicans so much, either).

But then again, it’s not all girl-on-girl crime. That Mike is terrible. The second Sammi makes out with Ronnie, he’s yelling at her, flicking her off and provoking her. Listen here, Mike, “The Situation;” you don’t get women back by yelling at them. Besides, you weren’t even dating the girl. You also made out with a bunch of other chicks while trying to court her, so I find your double standards a little weak. Pulling other women doesn’t seem to be a problem for you, so if I was you, I’d stick with that. Sammi’s not going to make the greatest girlfriend if you’re getting into a fight with her all the time about how she’s making out with Ronnie.

Don’t call her a whore.

Talk like a New Yorker for a day, Pt. 1

I have an addiction and the only cure for that addiction is coffee. Seriously, I’ve gotten to the point where I can’t go a day without it or I get these headaches that can’t be cured by a Midol. Don’t ask me how I know that.

Anyway, I’ve never heard this anywhere outside New York, so I’ve come to assume it’s the cool NYC thing to say: next time you order your coffee and you want it with cream and sugar, order it “light and sweet.” I definitely do because I only like my coffee if it tastes like ice cream.

Holiday Nerdery

I went to the Holiday Mensa meeting today. Quite an experience.

It started off fine, but I did send a text to my mom because I noticed the only person younger than me when I got there was a newborn. Almost everyone else was at least a septuagenarian (not the mom of the newborn, of course). Obviously, I would have loved for some people my age around but these old people were nice and, I think it goes without saying, super-smart. So conversation was light but easy and somewhat comfortable.

Then after lunch I made the mistake of talking to this one dude. I don’t know how I do it, but I always  seem to attract the most introverted people in Mensa meetings. And of course, that’s when all the people my age start to show up–people I’d like to talk to are finally here and I can’t escape Captain Then There Was This One Time. I honestly have no explanation besides the fact that I’m good at listening or how I have a hard time saying goodbye. There was actually a point, probably somewhere around the hour mark, where I realized this guy wouldn’t stop. After about another hour and a half–even after telling him I was going to go try to meet new people–I decided to make up an urgent appointment and leave.

So the lesson here is, although my ability to make the conversation all about the other person is very strong, my ability to get them to stop is not so good. That is to say, I need to work on my ability to breakaway and start conversations with other people.

I think I’m going to watch Transformers to make myself feel better.

Rankings

Most Attractive Women:
1. Copenhagen
2. Brussels
3. Lisbon *Surprise Entry*
4. Amsterdam

Danish women are…statuesque, amazonian, blonde, gorgeous. On a scale from one to supermodel, everyone is either an 11 or just not on the scale. And the scale leans heavily towards those elevens. My sister’s studying there and she said one of the most intimidating things she’s experienced was going to Sweden; no one was less than 6 feet tall and all the girls were blonde, blue-eyed and mythically yet undeniably gorgeous. Thus, I obviously wish to go to Norway, Finland and Sweden for my next vacation. Eg elskar deg.

The surprise entry is only on there because, out of all the women I saw working for TAP Airlines, there was only one that wasn’t attractive. It was like a .950 batting record and these women had the sexiest accent. Imagine a French-Spanish accent (that’s what Portuguese sounds like to me, apparently) on “Would you like milk with your coffee?” Obviously a terrible description of what it sounds like or why it was so alluring, but I was really only in Lisbon for like an hour and I spent all of that time in one of the most confusing airports I’ve ever been in–two heartbeats away from a panic attack–and the only thing that kept me from freaking out was beautiful women with lovely accents and easy-to-understand directions.

I would consider moving to:
1. Brussels
2. Copenhagen
3. Amsterdam

Beer and Chocolate comes before girls. But I’m also in love with a couple of girls I saw in Brussels, so it’s not like it’s the worst compromise ever. One of them was a bartender.

Best Airline:
1. Lufthansa
2. TAP
3. SAS

Thankgsiving Dinner on the Sunday before Thanksgiving. Bailey’s or Cognac after dinner. Touchscreens for everyone. Lovely German announcements. Uber German Industrial Frankfurt Airport (stainless steel everywhere, efficiency merged with visual appeal, etc). These are just some of the things that made Lufthansa great.

TAP had awesome flight attendants. Also, they wore very nice clothing. In-flight entertainment was pretty lame and the plane was cramped (screw you, not attractive Portuguese women in front of me who kept reclining their seats!) but everyone except the Americans clapped when we landed. Kinda cool even though I was more focused on how the plane had hopped back up in the air to slam back down again…

SAS was sparse and the flight attendant was a dick. Me: “Can I just have a glass of water?” Him: “I have bottles of water for sale.” Me: “Uh, okay. I guess I’m good, then.” Thinking: “Well, now I don’t even want to buy a glass of water from you. You probably dirtied it because you’re obviously an asshole. I’m not immune to that kind of bacteria.”

Most Gypsies:
1. Brussels
2. Amsterdam
3. Copenhagen

Brussels’ gypsies have kids. It’s not just that they have them but that they cradle them while they stare at you with the obvious expectation that you’ll put money in their cup. Made me super uncomfortable. One of them even went out her way to touch me after I bought a train ticket. I didn’t know French or Dutch to tell her, “I need this money just as bad as you do and I’m not even trying to raise a kid. I can’t take care of myself, never mind you and your child” or just “No.”

Amsterdam isn’t really full of gypsies so much as transients. No one seems to be a local. That’s also what made it so hard to rate the attractiveness of their women. The ones who seemed to be local seemed to be fairly attractive, but there were also a lot of touristy women who weren’t super attractive. So the moral of this story is, Amsterdam is the Adult Disney World–you can get anything you want there and people flock there just for that. Accordingly, no one seems to actually live there except some of the people you see in their houseboats while on the canal tour.

Denmark is a socialist country. Hobos are liars; even my sister is covered under their healthcare and she’s only taking classes there for another three weeks.

Most Awkward City to Visit with Your Sister:
1. Amsterdam

Drugs are legal. Looking for Absinthe with a Canadian you met the day before. The Red Light District is where they keep prostitutes…in red-lit windows where they wave at you while you walk by. Sex Museums. Sex Shops. Burlesque Shows. Banana Shows. The list goes on.

Loves Art Most:
1. Copenhagen
2. Brussels
3. Amsterdam

The Royal Danish Theatre (N.B. the Skuespilhuset) and Opera House are fucking huge. Like, they built an island just so they could put the Opera House on it…and it has 14 stories. Architects are household names. Their Top 40 radio is American Indie music. They speak Danish but they never overdub English movies, they just learn the language. They fucking invented Legos.

I was only in Brussels for a day, but their architecture was amazing. Public areas were lovely and it seemed like there were a ton of museums I would have loved to see. I only spent 45 minutes inside the Rene Magritte Museum, but I loved it. The Palace and the King’s Garden, although we only saw them in darkness and rain, were sublime (the kind of sublime that put history into perspective. So much for what seems so little today, etc).

I really enjoyed the Van Gogh Museum (and that one cute girl I had an ogling competition with), but I was thoroughly let down by the Rijksmuseum. There was so much hype and the place looks so big from the outside that I’m somewhat suspicious they had closed off most of the museum. It was pretty much two floors with about four rooms each. MOMA is easily twice as large and only covers the last hundred years or so. But don’t get me wrong, what they did have was fairly excellent. That Rembrandt character seems to have a bit of talent. Time will tell.

All told, Europe definitely has some cool shit and I want to go back and see more of it.

P.S. All of the museum shops in Europe suck for some reason. I don’t have an explanation, it’s just…weird.

P.P.S. European conversation, unlike American conversation, seems revolve around letting everyone get their point on the table. When there’s a tangent, there’s always an effort to get back to where the conversation started instead of just letting the conversation develop however it may.

An Open Letter to Diora Baird

Dear Ms. Baird,

Sometimes I google myself too, but writing this letter still makes me feel a little weird. Actually finding a way to send you a physical copy scares the living daylights out of me–”facebook stalking” jokes have perpetually made me uncomfortable. Stalking is weird. I know it’s also weird to be comfortable making jokes with the vast majority of people I know and meet, but knowing more about you than what I read in interviews makes me cringe. I want nothing to do with your Twitter account or to read what you’ve Twatted. Gross.

I remember reading in Maxim that you find sarcastic men attractive. I’m all about that but since you flying out to seduce me because I wrote you a letter is about as likely as me contracting ovarian cancer, I’ve prepared a list of things you might enjoy. Well, I’m not saying you can’t drop everything, fly out to New York City, discover my supersecret identity and do everything on this list with me, but it’d probably just be easier if you just do these things if you get a chance whenever you’re in town. I haven’t thought up a supercool name for it or anything so we could go with, “Chris’ List of Funny Things to do in New York.” (Note how I did not write, “Funniest,” because there are probably funnier things to do. Probably, but that’s only because I haven’t done those things yet.)

1. Upright Citizen’s Brigade, Sunday night, 7:30PM show (ASSSSCAT 3000). Easily the best laugh-per-dollar ratio at a reasonably priced $10. I don’t think I’ve ever been to a show without crying (from laughing so hard) less than twice. Most nights there’s either an SNL alum or current cast member and this is the place they get to make all the jokes they can’t on TV. If you’re in New York and you want to laugh, this is where you go.

2. I mean, while we’re on the subject, I guess you could go to SNL, too. I’m hoping that means you’re hosting, but I’m sure sitting in the audience will probably deliver the same amount of laughs. Well, you’ll actually get to laugh when you’re in the audience, but that’s neither here nor there. You should also consider Late Night with Dave Letterman, but, again, fingers crossed for mostly as a guest. Say hi to Paul for me, I’d love to be like him except playing guitar and a little less effeminate.

3. If you’re not here on the weekend–Oh God, how’d your agent spill so much lame sauce all over your schedule?!?!–I suggest, although sort of obvious, a comedy club. Caroline’s seems to be the go-to jumpin’ joint all the kids love (I hear Robin Williams built his career there) but I’ve also heard good things about Dangerfield’s. Realistically, I don’t want to waste your time with this when you can literally google “NYC Comedy Clubs” and find more information in less time than it will take you to read this entire letter. So I guess the moral of point three is that 1) there are a lot comedy clubs in New York, 2) rumor has it humorous jokes are made in said clubs, and 3) there’s too many of these establishments for me to sort out–a good sign for someone in search of comedy.

4. Go to Times Square with a teammate, find a cafe on one of the busy streets and play Find the Tourist. They’re usually the ones pointing at things, walking on the wrong side of the sidewalk and into other people. A word of caution, though: this can easily be misinterpreted as misanthropic. What you’re looking to do is not make fun of everyone who’s lost and awed, but get a glimpse of human nature (by making fun of them). I’d recommend a teammate funnier than you and a general understanding that, yes, tourists do really stupid shit, but we all do; during their attempt to live New York in a week, they’re revealing everything that’s silly, goofy and absurd about our own lives. Look! A pointy building! Light bulbs! Dogs humping! Mullets! People paying exorbitant taxi fares!

5. Read The Clean House. The only thing this has to do with New York City is that it had its second run here, but it’s mostly just a good play that I can easily recommend to you. Dying laughing seems pretty ideal.

K bye,

Chris

Fucking Die!!!!1!

I think I have a theory that just might explain why everything is undead right now.

Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. True Blood is a critical success. Twilight has teenage girls fawning over men way too old for them. Cirque du Freak: The Vampire’s Assistant has previews out before quality movies like District 9 (where everyone except some of the peripheral characters and the three main characters die–no spoiler alert necessary unless you don’t understand basic story structure). You know it’s a dying trend when The CW hops on the train too; they’ll be releasing The Vampire Diaries next month.

And if you think it stops with vampires, you are horrendously mistaken. The main antagonist in the Harry Potter movies will apparently take eight movies (and already took seven books) to die. The preview for Bruce Willis’ upcoming Surrogates seems to imply that technology will one day enable us to live our lives from our couch and not die. Well, that seems to be the case until they introduce the plot and someone starts killing surrogates and, oddly, the surrogates’ controllers start dying too. The preview for Sorority Row seems to imply that the girl who gets killed comes back to kill her friends for letting her get killed. But then, it’s a horror movie–which I hate–and all my basic horror movie structure training leads me believe that the killer is the guy who was tricked into killing her or the girl’s mother. But I digress. Pandorum looks like it’s about zombies in space. Terminator: Salvation was about a dude who thought he was a dude but was really a robot. Everyone went to see Funny People because they wanted to see Adam Sandler die–then he didn’t.

There are some more prerequisites to get out of the way before we get to the theory itself. People have always loved escapism. I’ve always loved escapism. Without it, Hollywood probably wouldn’t exist. Theaters couldn’t get away with charging $13 a ticket and people wouldn’t just download them if they didn’t provide hours of entertainment. However, escapism has skyrocketed recently. Everyone remembers hearing that almost a year ago video game purchases and movie ticket sales skyrocketed. It’s a recession and it makes perfect sense that everyone would start paying to get away from the usual news of assorted cardinal sins PLUS heightened job insecurity. Yet here’s the clincher–we want not only the escapism but to imagine escaping ourselves.

In the preview for Cirque du [Piece of Shit], the protagonist’s adventure begins when he starts yelling about how bored he is. He then goes to a circus where he decides that his life will be fun if he becomes undead (yet, for some reason, the villains want to kill him. He’s fucking undead). So life for this kid can only be fun if he’s immortal. And I think that’s what we all want, too.

It’s fun to imagine we’re invulnerable. That’s why I’ve always loved First-Person Shooter video games and yet always been terrified of actual guns. Guns kill people but when my avatar gets killed in Fall Out 3 I just reload. Infinitely enjoyable without the fear of death. Also, Fall Out 3 has become uncomfortably like the map in my head. The only parts of the map that I’m comfortable going to are areas where I’ve already been. The new places require extensive research and sometimes scouting missions–because I am afraid of dying. That may be an exaggeration; what I mean is, the ultimate fear when I travel is death, but all the intermediate fears–is this the right stop (how do I get home), is this the right day (is it light out, i.e, safe to travel), will I catch the transfer (are there feral ghouls in this subway), am I going to get to eat some chocolate (radroach meat) to calm my nerves (bring my AP back up), etc–are just tiny little fragments that remind me that I’m alive.

The goal, apparently, with these movies is to remind you that you’re alive without any of the fear of death. You can witness their undead-ness and enjoy your life. I mean, you probably don’t want to live vicariously through He-who-must-not-be-named but, when it is the villain who can’t die, it makes it exciting as well because you know that he will, ultimately die. Archetypes have trained you to believe that good will triumph and that the undead will go back to what they are supposed to be: FUCKING DEAD.

However, if you are taking joy living vicariously through the undead protagonist then, although I share your enthusiasm, we should probably stop this. We both know we’re not immortal and that we will never be undead. Perhaps the only way to be undead is to write something that people read even after you’re dead. In the mean time, once we get out of the theater, let’s continue the business of life–the recession will go away and, like my grandma says, “things’ll fall into place.” Also, I kind of just want vampire movies to go away–they’re not all that cool.

(Hey grand kids! I’m FUCKING DEAD. Hahaha.)

Hardware

I guess I haven’t been around one in such a long time that I hadn’t thought about it. I called my mom yesterday and told her that I’d discovered I love every minute I spend in the Hardware Store; I don’t even have to buy anything, I just like being there. She sort of nonchalantly stopped my overt enthusiasm with a curt, “But you’ve always loved the hardware store.”

It’s just so goddamned practical. You want a hammer? We have those. You need to mount a picture? We have wire and nails. You need screws? Guess what? That’s our specialty. A toolbox? Of course. When you check out, we’ll give you a paper bag so the screws have a harder time escaping from your plastic bag. See you tomorrow.

Most of the time, they have things that I might not ever need but I think I just like knowing someone somewhere keeps these things in stock. For example, my hardware store sells 5-foot clamps. I have literally no idea what I’d need a 5-foot clamp for, but it’s reassuring to know that if I ever need to glue something, say, two feet thick to something two and a half feet thick, I can.

I also love that they sell sledgehammers. My new lease has a clause that specifically says I cannot renovate and thus, I get the impression that I wouldn’t be able to use my new sledgehammer for over a year. I tell everyone at work that my favorite tool in the entire stockroom is the rubber mallet because it’s the second most used and the most helpful and yet I constantly wish there was a reason to have a sledgehammer at work. It would promptly replace the rubber mallet as my favorite tool and replace the pliers as the most used. Shit, if I only needed it one day at work I would buy my own sledgehammer to bring into work that day. Then I guess I could use it to decorate my tiny apartment: “…and this wall where I keep my larger-than-life Miranda Kerr poster I got from work. As you can see, that corner right under her is where I store my my sledgehammer. It’s not practical or anything–I used it once and now I just pick it up every once in a while to remind myself of the awesome power of my inner Shiva. No, you can’t touch it.”

At any rate, I thoroughly enjoy being able to browse a store that caters to every need I might someday have.

Kinda like the Jeffersons

I done gone and moved all up out of Brooklyn. Here’s a miniature retrospective in list form:

Five things I’ll miss:
1. Street Cred. I can’t count how many times I used to say “I live in Brooklyn” and then watch eyebrows raise. If people knew Brooklyn, the “Crown Heights” specification would engender a “Holy shit, really?” Not only will I miss that but I’ll also miss affordable rent.
2. Bodegas. I haven’t seen any around my new apartment in Manhattan and I get the impression I won’t see any for a while, either. I particularly miss how some of them were open 24 hours. There’s something nice about feeling like you’ve contributed to a family’s livelihood.
3. Local Eateries. Kingston Pizza–an Italian Pizza restaurant run by a bunch of Mexicans. Surprisingly delicious culture mismatch but then again, one of my favorite Italian Restaurants in Manhattan is run by a bunch of Japanese dudes. Mendy’s–the best place to get some kosher food as well as to get cut in line for being a gentile. Seriously–I can’t count how many times I’d go in, get treated as “less than” and then enjoy some unbelievably good falafel. Oddly enough, all the people who cooked were Mexican, too. That Chinese Food Place–whatever it was called. They made some cheap and delicious chinese-style food goods that was, for some reason, not made by Mexicans.
4. How Brooklyn is close to Manhattan. I love the subway. Really, I’m that guy who takes the subway over a cab. I’ll also take the subway over the bus, but that’s just normal, right?
5. Brooklyn Public Library. This behemoth of a public library was like three stops away on the subway and was awesome. The local branch was immeasurably terrible but the central branch was plain old awesome.

Five things I won’t miss about Brooklyn:
1. Shitty Grocery Stores. The store was like three blocks away, the chicken constantly smelled funny and there were like four aisles. Now there are two grocery stores that aren’t even a block away. Both even sell beer. Eff Fine Fare, I’m going to Gristedes or Western Beef now.
2. How Brooklyn isn’t really that close to Manhattan. I mean, compared to living in Texas, Brooklyn is close to Manhattan. Try to get your friends from Manhattan to come visit you. Free food and liqour can only entice them once or maybe twice if they really like you. Apparently, not everyone else likes the subway as much as I do.
3. My inflatable bed. I used it when visitors came over but the downstairs neighbors moved in a month ago and asked to borrow it three weeks ago. I made just about no effort to get to know them and moved out without bothering to ask for it back. I have a chair-bed for visitors now. Kind of more adult-like, right?
4. How just about everything is far away. You name it, it’s far away. Trader Joe’s. The (good branch of the) library. Museums (The ones people want to see. The Brooklyn Museum, apparently, is not one of those). Concerts. My friends. Bars. Work. Only exceptions: the park, the Brooklyn Children’s Museum and the local elementary school. All were across the street, but guess how much I went to any of them.
5. How Street Cred is directly linked with survival. I made it out and now my street cred is nil. I mean, I’m still the white guy at work and people I work with still say things like, “I keep forgetting you’re white,” but now I no longer worry about stupid things like break-ins or stepping on shoes. In the old apartment, something like 4/8 apartments were hit. I don’t know, I think someone got robbed, too, but I know for sure one apartment lost all their laptops. My list of things I can’t survive without (beyond food, I guess) follows thusly: 1. a computer w/internet access 2. some means of playing and listening to music 3. access to books. How am I supposed to survive if all the most important things I own are either stolen or if I have borderline anxiety that it will be stolen? I miss my street cred but I’m not sure I miss the street.

Funny

Easily the most difficult thing about being introduced at a party as the “funniest person [the host has] ever met” is attempting to live up to it over the course of the party (or in any event wherein you are introduced as “hilarious”). Sure, I’ve had the vague idea that some of my thought processes and mannerisms can be humorous but that’s exactly the problem—it’s those thought processes and mannerisms that are funny, not a set of jokes I have and tell everywhere I go.

It’s not like I meet someone and pull them aside and tell them, “Hey man, Knock Knock.” It’s more like when I’m in a comfortable situation where I can hear things and have an honest discussion I can make a quick quip. For example, a couple of days ago a coworker said, “Did you hear about this cow that escaped its farm out in Queens?” (I know, right? You can’t make this kind of thing up. It’s just too easy.) Of course I said, “No,” and inquired, “So when do you think they’ll finally catch your mom?”

I can’t plan this shit. There’s no time when it’s appropriate to break up a discussion on the aesthetics of Radiohead compared to Jay-Z with a Knock-Knock joke about the KGB. It’s a gift and a curse. I swear.

If you look at some of the best comedians—and there’s no way I’m comparing myself to them, I’m just saying, look: funny people can’t rule the world—they all have all sorts of personal problems. I think everyone has known about that since back in 1967 when Smokey Robinson sang about clowns or even way back in the 1800s when Leoncavallo wrote Pagliacci (and, in turn, provided the inspiration for the aforementioned Robinson song). Just look at Richard Pryor, Lenny Bruce, Andy Kaufman, Artie Lange, Woody Allen, Mitch Hedberg, Bill Hicks, Dennis Leary (don’t even get me started on Worcester), Rodney Dangerfield, etc. With the ability to make people laugh there seems to be some inherent inability to run your own life; it’s like you can make other people happy but you can’t make yourself happy. It’s like that, not literally the case. I pretty much find something or revisit something that makes me happy every day; I find about 95% of my life hilarious but I can’t do that without being around other people. I can’t set up my own jokes.

At any rate, the point still remains. It’s incredibly difficult to be funny when the bar is set really high for you before you get the opportunity to prove yourself. It’s much easier to surprise when no one is attempting to compare you to a bar they’ve set in their own mind. That is, it’s easier to raise the bar when no one has placed it anywhere.

Mixed Feelings

I went to a party last night where I was the only guy; obviously a good thing, even better considering it was a party with a lot of my friends from work. Thus, I knew everyone there and most everyone there was comfortable enough to give me lapdances.

And then they had three male strippers come. An event of that scale was, to say the least, terrifying. Luckily, the hostess assigned a chair for me in the kitchen with the lights off (while the stippers removed their clothes in a stripping fashion in the living room). And there I sat for all 45 disgusting minutes and listened to things like, “I think he got it in L—-’s mouth,” “Oooh, don’t bite it, girl,” “I love me some white girls,” and “They playin’ d— games. I was okay until they started playing games. No one wants to play d— games.”

But then there’s the awesome part. Things like the d— games (yeah, I know. I don’t censor myself anywhere else, why would I censor the word “dick” now? Because it’s not my d— and I was just three or four seconds away from seeing someone else’s d— thrust in my friends’ faces, which also) drove some of the girls out of the living room and into my lap. 2/3 girls that I have a crush on in that store sat on my lap while the third was the white girl that the gentleman who dances for a living likes (Dude Self-Preservation Tactics 101: crushes on multiple girls means your heart is only partially broken when one girl finally lets the bomb drop. DSPT 354: This may keep you STD-free but also just about permanently single. DSPT 355: This is why they invented pr0n).

And afterward they just had to stick around and say goodbye to everyone individually. And promote a Mother’s Day Stripfest (…really? Who told you that was a good idea? I usually just get my Mom a card). And give out their Private Numbers (“Sex Parties. Girl’s Night Out. Just Because.”) while wearing a towel. Then reverse-strip and then say goodbye more (girls get hugs again). And then congratulate the only guy at the party with multiple handshakes and by saying things like, “You’re the man, dude,” “You had a party of your own in the kitchen, didn’t you?” (Fact.) or “Awesome party, right?” And then it finally settles in: they totally used the same hands they’re giving you handshakes to lube up their d—s. Uggghhhhhhhhhhhh (Insert Vomit here).

So on the one hand, this party was extremely traumatic because I nearly saw professional dancing men in a nude setting and yet it was also partially awesome because in one night I got more lapdances (and lapsittings–not a word–) than I’ve ever had in my life. I guess that means I had an awesomely traumatic time…right? (DSPT 467 {Honors Seminar: Acceptance Through Denial}: Allow your memory to block out the dudes and reconsider all the showers you took in the following 24 hours. Now reexamine each time you spent in a chair with a girl gyrating {or sitting} near your dick and congratulate yourself for having a plain old awesome time and for not leaving dollar bills strewn across the apartment. [Editor's note: Except for those three G.Washingtons. Asshole.])