Cup Day

On Tuesday I had the opportunity to witness another miracle of life in Australia. Cup Day, the day of the Melbourne Cup horse race.

Not only is this a public holiday in Melbourne, but the entire country essentially comes to a standstill. For a TWO MINUTE RACE. People just leave their offices around midday, companies shut down, everyone goes to the pubs (after they've placed their bets, of course) and drinks until well after the race has finished. Yet another excuse to drink and gamble, Australia, I am impressed. Somehow millions of people in this country seem to have missed the fact that it's still just a bunch of midgets riding farm animals, but I'm not going to pretend I wasn't drunk for 9 hours and loving it.

I was talking shit about the whole event and attempting to claim that we didn't do anything so silly back in the States when someone was kind enough to point out that we actually have a day where no one goes to work so we can sit around with people we can't be bothered to see the rest of the year, all shove disgusting amounts of poultry and pie into our faces, and get even fatter than we already are. Touche.

Sunday Night Fever

I'd heard that Sunday nights were a good time in Sydney, so capitalizing on the fact that none of my American friends had to work Monday morning, I organized drinks at my place before moving on to a bar.

I asked around for what bar would be a good spot to hit on a Sunday night, and the response was Deck Bar, which happens to be at Taylor Square on Oxford Street. I asked if it was gay, not wanting to make anyone in the group uncomfortable if that was the case. I was told it was not.

Lessons learned: generally if a bar is on the gayest part of the gayest street in the gayest city in the world, it's gonna be pretty fucking gay, no matter what anyone says. Not that I have a problem with hearing the new Madonna song FOUR times in one evening, I just like people to be up-front about these things.

It was a great time of course, until all the Americans wanted to go home around midnight. Bullshit plus. Naturally I ended up heading to another bar with three complete strangers and pounding more tequila shots than anyone should want to do in the wee hours of Monday morning, work the next day or not.

Which brings me to my question -- has anyone else ever done a few too many tequila shots, and the next day everything smells burnt? That's the second time that's happened to me, I want to know if it's normal.

No Halloween For Zander :(

*Apologies for the weird spacing and layout, Blogger's giving me a hard time and I don't love any of you enough to mess around with it for one more second of my life.

Yup, that's right. As awesome and fantastically fun as the Aussies are, they don't really do Halloween, and there's nothing I can say to convince them otherwise. When I try to describe how amazing Halloween in NYC is, and explain how it's the one occasion that I'm probably most upset about missing while I'm here, they just look at me and go "But, why?"

Various people back home have suggested that I just dress up and go out and start my own Halloween, and think that everyone will stare at me. Um, folks, I think I need to remind you -- I'm in a country where they swear on the radio, naked people are used to advertise real estate and lemonade, transvestites are more common on the streets than homeless people, and Queer As Folk is considered appropriate for network primetime viewing. This past Sunday afternoon, I was at a nearby shopping center and I walked by an older bald guy wearing a purple Sunday dress and a hat, muttering to himself and swinging an umbrella around at the same time. And about an hour later I was walking down the street and a bus driver honked at me and flipped me the bird for NO REASON WHATSOEVER. And you really think anyone would bat an eyelid if I put on a silly costume and walked around? I think not.

Actually that's why I think Australians are so nonchalant about the whole Halloween thing. Every weekend is Halloween here, in one way or another.


Anyway, I've just finished looking through everyone's pictures from Halloween in NYC, and although I'm a bit depressed that I wasn't around to share in the revelry, I thought I'd post a few here:

This one is just vulgar and offensive. Therefore I love it. And of course half of the album was every female in the party striking a lewd pose with this guy.

Colin, the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man, in what might have to win my Favourite Costume award this year. Extra points because he apparently threw it together in like an hour.

Isn't it great how this scene is so common, and yet so fucking hilarious every single time? Lookin' sharp, Varghese. Emla claims he was able to just wipe it off when he woke up, which leads to my conclusion that all Indians have dry-erase skin. Discuss.

And this guy on the right wins my WTF award for 2005. If I had to guess, I'd say he's supposed to be a serial rapist/murderer with shitty taste in beer. Any other guesses?

Alas, all I can do is send all of these pics to my Aussie friends and hope they can catch just a glimmer of the best thing that's ever happened to anyone anywhere. And start planning my costume for next year. Jess, we are totally gonna be slaves.

It's The Little Things

Since I've been here in Sydney, I've tried really hard not to be one of those people who compares everything to it's counterpart in New York. However, there are two things that are really getting to me at the moment:

1) I have made it a well-known fact that I will cheerfully toss a small child off the Harbour Bridge if someone can get me a slice of NY pizza. I have been all over the world, including Italy, and I will right now make the rather obvious claim that NY has the best pizza IN THE WORLD. Compounding the issue is that Australian pizza is fucking awful, and no one here seems to realize it other than my fellow New Yorkers. On two occasions already I've found myself uttering the phrase "Can we order it from Pizza Hut instead?" Yeah, it's that bad.

2) Do you have any idea what it's like knowing that millions of people across the Pacific are already watching the latest seasons of your favorite shows and you won't be able to see them until January? Yeah, it sucks. And I've already informed everyone worth telling that if anyone leaks any plot twists to me before I've seen the episodes myself, I will fly back to the good ol' US of A just so I can shove a large and unfortunately shaped object up their nether regions.


SO, you can imagine the exquisite joy I felt when I was laying around on Bondi Beach on Wednesday with Ellen (the girl from high school I ran into a few weeks back), and she casually informed me that the current season of America's Next Top Model was showing that night on cable. Oh happy day! Granted it was the episode where they kick off the fat chick -- oh I'm sorry, "plus-size model" -- and pretend they're doing it for some reason other than her size ("You just weren't bringin' the fierceness this week, chubs."), but I still thoroughly enjoyed every fierce moment and plan to watch the entire season from here on out. These are the things I hold on to, what can I say...

Oops

Just realized I never recapped the weekend. Then again another 12 hour alcohol binge isn't really news anymore, so I'm sure you can understand.

Actually managed to have a REAL quiet night in on Friday night, I'll spare you the craziness of the Scrabble game that evening because I'm honestly not sure you can handle that kind of excitement.

Of course this was so we could all wake up at the ass crack of dawn the next day (10am is dawn, right?) and meet up at Darling Harbour to board the booze cruise, a 4 hour trip around Sydney Harbour while ingesting as much beer as possible. Cathy and I spent most of the time trying to look like sexy socialites, and failing miserably, as seen here:


Actually Cathy did pretty well, I just don't want to admit that when I try to look sexy it comes off more as "newly lobotomized hospital patient" than anything else.

I think Scott and John were placing bets on me being the drunk on the boat, but any potential they might have seen in me was quickly eclipsed by this guy:


No idea how this guy ended up on a boat with a bunch of young, attractive people. Apart from missing most of his teeth, our friend here repeatedly fell over, dribbled beer down the front of his face and shirt, introduced himself to everyone in his immediate vicinity about eight times, and randomly busted out a few breakdancing moves whenever he wasn't getting enough attention. Keep in mind it was about 2pm, so I'm assuming he just never sobered up from the previous night.

Even better was when the crew told him to calm down, and he would start doing the electric slide or some shit, leading them to finally tell him "That's it, you're off!" Which left everyone else wondering what the hell that meant considering we were in the middle of the harbour. Didn't see him again, so we can only assume that he was actually tossed overboard and left to fend for himself.


As for the rest of Saturday, I went home and managed a 20 minute nap, and woke up an hour before my ride was coming to get me. Using my drunk logic, I determined that it was important to start slamming cranberry and vodkas otherwise I might lose my wind and have to end the night early. Oh, god forbid. Needless to say, I had text messages from people on Sunday saying how great it was to see me the night before, and I have no recollection of seeing them in the past month.

Sorry for the crappy entry but my short-term memory is complete shit since I arrived in this country and decided that beer, sun and napping are perfectly good substitutes for water, food, and having a job. Fuck.

We Have Faith In You, Ladies

Phil and I discussing the impending disaster that is Jess and Jaya moving in together...

Zander: i knew it would be a match made in drunken heaven
Phil: oh god, she's living on 14th and 1st, right?
Zander: yup
Phil: i shuddered as soon as I heard
Zander: stumbling distance to the east village
Phil: someone's going to end up hurt and/or arrested
Zander: oh definitely
Zander: before thanksgiving, i'm sure

Sorry, Try Again

Considered typing up my weekend recap, and then decided that despite having all the time in the world I'll do it tomorrow, just because I CAN.

In the meantime, I just took this quiz via Vicki's blog, and realized I haven't been taking nearly enough internet quizzes lately. Shame on me. That's definitely going on the to-do list, and much higher on the list than "get a job", I don't mind telling you.

Oh and here are my results:

The Gentleman
Deliberate Gentle Love Master
(DGLMm)

Steady & mature. You are The Gentleman.

For anyone looking for an even-keeled, considerate lover, you're their man. You're sophisticated. You know what you want both in a relationship and outside of it. You have a substantial romantic side, and you're experienced enough sexually to handle yourself in that arena, too. Your future relationships will be long-lasting; you're classic "marrying material," a prize in the eyes of many.

It's possible that behind it all, you're a bit of a male slut. Your best friends know that in relationships you're fundamentally sex-driven. You're a safe, reliable guy, who does get laid. In a lot of ways, you're like a well-worn, comfortable pair of socks. Did you ever jack off into one of those? All the time.

Mostly true. I'd like to take issue with the whole "you might be a huge whore" section, but I'll save my typing for a proper blog post.

Reaching My Comfort Zone

Until about now, I've been really nice, trying to meet people and being relatively polite so I can make friends in a new city. Well apparently that phase of my relocation is done with.

Wednesday night was another Trivia Night at Trinity Bar, where I once again showed the world how right they are in thinking Americans are ignorant. The question? What is the capital of Maine. My answer? "I dunno, does Maine really have a capital? Only place I can think of is Bangor."

A Canadian girl was nice enough to overhear me and give us the correct answer, Augusta. Which of course I've never heard of. And how did I repay her kindness? With charming questions like "You know you guys are just America Junior, right?" and "So honestly, are you guys pissed that we still own Alaska?"

Wonder why she didn't ask me for my contact info before she left the bar...


I've already booked myself for a booze cruise birthday party tomorrow afternoon and a house party and a farewell party tomorrow night, so either I'll have some interesting tidbits for you by next week, or you'll see a story on CNN about a drunken American drowning in the harbour. I think we're all winners either way.

Small World

Not really anything to do with booze, but wanted to share a couple of really random run-ins:

1) Was meeting my cousin for drinks a few weeks ago when I saw this girl on the street that looked really familiar. We just kind of stared at each other for a few seconds before we realized we had graduated from the same university, and had even hung out several times over a summer we both spent on campus. And then her husband showed up, who was also a fellow graduate. Would have been more exciting except I don't remember either of them being much fun, so maybe they'll be the kind of people I meet for dinner and then head to the bars with someone else afterwards. Is that a terrible thing to say?

2) Last Friday I agreed to go to an agency to talk about potential employment (yuck!) and same thing, a girl in the waiting room was staring at me. Started talking and realized we both graduated the same year from the same high school, and she moved here about the same time I did. No idea if she's a good time or not, but we'll get "a drink" someday soon and I'll put her to the test.


A bit ridiculous that in less than two months I could run into two people I went to school with in the States, but I guess that's a good fall back plan in case my novelty wears off and the Australians remember they hate minorities.

Maybe There Is Such A Thing As "Too Much"

No point in a weekend recap, since I was such an idiot on Friday night that I ended up mostly out of commission for the rest of the weekend.

It really was supposed to be a quiet night in, but those always end up the worst. After dinner, shared a bottle and a half of red wine with one other person, and we then proceeded to drink a bottle of 100 proof Stoli between the two of us while letting a few guests who came over drink the cheap white wine.

I'm not going into details, all I can really tell you is that the night definitely involved a gratuitous display of my genitals, and that it took about three days to recover from that hangover. Ouch.

Drunken Moment Of The Week

Both from Wednesday's bender, here are your choices:

1) Suddenly remembered, as I walked into my building at 1am, giving the previously mentioned homeless guy a thumbs up while grinning like an idiot. I am SO getting stabbed this weekend.

2) Getting a call from an employment agency while in a bar at 3pm, and doing a phone interview from the table, taking sips of my beer between sentences. Which sums up my priorities and "job search" pretty well, I think.

"A Drink" - Australian For "12 Hour Bender"

I have to say, when someone sends me a text message at 11am on a Wednesday asking if I want to meet for "a drink", I don't really expect to still be throwing the drinks back at midnight with the same person. Especially when it's my first time actually meeting them.

I'll spare you all the details, since my memory has been kind enough to do the same for me. All I know is that it's the next afternoon, I feel like horseshit, and I could have sworn I intended to do something about looking for employment today, but since I'm having trouble remembering I think the best way to go is another nap.

If I Don't Remember Most Of The Weekend, That Means I Had Fun

Sorry, but I'm getting totally hooked on these weekend recaps...


FRIDAY

Yet another mess that started as a quiet dinner and turned into drunken buffoonery. Was just finishing dinner in a restaurant, getting ready to head home and get to bed early for once, when Kristy and Siobhan called from a nearby bar, clearly "drunk off their tits" as some here would say. So of course we decided to meet them for "just a couple of drinks".

Favorite conversation was as we were heading out of the second bar, on our way to the third...

Bouncer: She can't leave with that beer.

Siobhan: Oh please, I still have half of it left.

Bouncer: Nope, finish it or leave it.

John: If you let her take it with her, you can feel her tits!

Bouncer: I've had better offers.


Not a good night for Siobhan's cleavage, apparently.

We then headed to the Imperial for one of their world famous drag shows. Seriously, what's better than three drag queens doing a routine to all our favorite pop songs? Um, one of them being completely shit-faced and falling all over the stage, losing a shoe, and tripping through a curtain. Apparently this is how things usually go there, and this was only the 1am show, if you want a real treat you stick around for 2am.

We were contemplating if we wanted to do just that or go home, when we heard one of our favorite dance songs blasting from the club below and gunned it down the stairs. I seriously have to wonder if I've taken my euro-trash transformation about four steps too far when my favorite song is called "From Paris To Berlin". But then I remember that it's great to be me, and I don't really concern myself with such trivial problems.


SATURDAY

To cleanse myself of the night before, I took a three hour nap before waking up for a birthday party that was at a club around the corner from my studio in sleaze central. In an attempt to be fashionably late, I decided I should kill some time having a cranberry vodka or four before heading out. I was a little concerned when I noticed that I'd had a third of the bottle of vodka and maybe a fifth of the bottle of cranberry juice, but by that time I was too late for the party to put much thought into it.

So of course a few hours later, I had introduced people to each other up to three times (I'm sure this gave everyone an opportunity to perfect their eye-rolls) and was having trouble standing up straight. There's also this dialogue at a fast food joint around 3 in the morning:

Zander: Ooh, this sandwich is spicy.

John: Yeah, you said you wanted the Portuguese Chicken.

Zander: Ah...

Seconds later...

Zander: Ooh, this sandwich is spicy.

John: You just said that.

Zander: No way, that was my first bite.

John: You've eaten half of it already.

Zander: No I didn't. You did.

John: I'm not talking to you anymore, you're off your chops.


Yeah whatever. Good times. Except for the raging hangover the next morning, but really that comes with the territory, and according to the next day's text messages I wasn't obnoxiously drunk, I was "delightful", whatever that's supposed to mean.

Anyway I think it's about Tuesday, and I just got back from playing with koalas and kangaroos, because clearly what marsupials really want to spend time with is a freakishly tall half black dude who is still oozing the remnants of the weekend out of his pores. Wow, that sounds really unattractive, let me stop typing now.

Looking My Best

Just a quick post to show you a not-so-flattering picture of me that a German friend was kind enough to email over. This was at the end of one of the nights where I'd spent over 12 hours drinking. Can't remember what sent me into fits of laughter, complete with rolling on the floor while 4 normal people looked on in horror, but there you go:

And As Expected...

Okay, so I didn't actually vomit all over the city, but at least that might have garnered a little more sympathy.

John's friend Tracey was in from Bahrain for 24 hours, so we met up at her hotel where she was kind enough to supply us with 100 proof vodka. And as longtime readers of this blog would know, that never works well for anyone.


So how did this one end up? Well, let's put it this way -- you know how every city has that one big kinda trashy bar where people can act like total dick monkeys and no one bats an eye? Yeah, we got kicked out of there.

And it gets better. We then walked down to the second trashiest lounge in the city, which was completely empty, not a soul in the place. So we all stumbled through the door together, and before we had even asked for a beer the bartenders shook their heads and refused to serve us. At an empty bar. Is everyone following this?


Finally, we gave up on the drinking, and filed into Burger King next door (which is inexplicably called "Hungry Jack's" in this country) and shoved a few whoppers into our faces while donning the crown of the Burger King himself.




Aww, yeah. That is the face of a WINNER.

Gotta Love A Long Weekend

Sorry for disappearing for a few days, but it was a long weekend here in Australia and I was only getting out of bed for food, beer, or the beach. Here's a bite size recap of the last few days...


THURSDAY

Overall a quiet night (meaning dinner and two bars), although after a few glasses of wine in a restaurant I was convinced by my dining partner that it would be absolutely hilarious if I tossed the restaurant's silverware into the purse of the woman sitting next to me. I stopped before I could get the salt shaker in there, but I was pretty proud of myself. And was then informed that it didn't count because on the way out of the establishment I failed to notify the staff that there was a suspicious-looking woman placing forks and whatever else into her purse. Sonofabitch.

FRIDAY

Met my cousin Sarah and her coworkers for drinks, where John and I decided it was time to unleash our arsenal of racist, sexist, and generally offensive jokes on the poor kids. Nothing says "great first impression" like looks of total shock and disgust, or so my momma always used to tell me.

SATURDAY

Something about Saturdays and binge drinking that just goes together, apparently. Started around 1 at a BBQ and I'll be fucked if I can remember much else before waking up with a spectacular hangover the next morning.

SUNDAY

The weather was flawless and spent most of the day between the beach and the beer garden, but what made it the best was that I finally saw the music video for "I Want You" by Paris Avenue, my favorite song at the moment, AND there were hookers in it. I swear, sometimes it's like people are just reading my mind!

MONDAY

Um, and nearing the top of the list of "ways to end a dinner party badly", we have "Serve your guests beer, white wine, red wine, and then GIN". Yeah, that's really all I have to say about that, although I will say that if I never again hear someone I've just met utter the words "you can have a Thai teenager for like ten bucks!", it will be too soon. Jesus.



Anyway now it's Tuesday, everyone I know is back at work (suckers), and I'm sitting in an internet cafe listening to fantastically horrible euro dance music and sitting next to a little nerdy girl who appears to be IMing with someone who's face looks remarkably similar to a large penis. Pervy little minx.

Catch you guys later, I need an afternoon nap, tonight's supposed to be a big one and I like to have plenty of energy before I vomit all over a foreign city.

I Got Nuthin...

Still been partying all week and all that, but nothing too ridiculous. I'm still on decent behavior so that by the time everyone here I hang out with realizes I'm a complete twat, it'll be too late to exclude me from their social circles.

Went to my cousin's college graduation dinner last night, which was highlighted by yet another 80 year old woman hitting on me and even inviting me to lunch today. Shockingly, I had other plans. Next time, grandma.

I also got an open invitation to drunken golf one of these days, I'm already picking out sweater vests and practicing golf course poses.

Pictures soon, I promise.

You're So Stupid It Hurts

Now as anyone who knows me at all can attest, while I love to joke around, I am seriously offended by genuine stupidity and ignorance.

So you can only imagine my reaction last night when exposed to the most idiotic gay guy I have ever met in my entire life. And before anyone cries foul, the fact that he is gay is VERY relevant for two reasons - 1) there are a LOT of stupid gay people out there, and 2) it's bad enough to be as dumb as a box of hair, but it sounds even worse when accentuated by a ridiculously queeny southern English accent.

This is only partially based on the following conversation:

Someone else: There were a lot of Lebanese at the bar last night.

Gay English Idiot: What's that?

Someone else: What's what?

GEI: A Lebanese.

Me [complete with eye roll] : It's a person from Lebanon.

Several blissfully quiet minutes later...

GEI: So whereabouts is this 'Lebany'?

Me: What did you just say?

[everyone else in the room dying of laughter]

GEI: I don't get this silly joke.

Me: It's not a joke you fool, it's LEBANON and it's a COUNTRY. In the MIDDLE EAST.


Of course this night wasn't complete without this same idiot getting lost in the apartment even though the one he's staying in is EXACTLY THE SAME in layout, some doofus asking me if Jamaica was in Mexico, and both of these morons thinking I was from England after talking to me for over 10 minutes. Fortunately they left before I could seriously injure someone, and I'm still SO irritated right now and can't seem to do anything about it.


P.S. Maybe I should shut up, not quite as bad, but last week I was at trivia night and SWORE on my mother's grave that the three states bordering Louisiana were Alabama, Tennessee and Missouri. Sorry, mom.

This Is What I'm Talking About

Take a good look at this sign from Coogee Beach...

...and note that the Australian definition of "alcohol-free" still means you can booze it up for the entire afternoon and early evening.

F'ing BRILLIANT.

My Drinking Dilemma

Well another week is coming to a close, and I've been drunk every single night, blah blah blah. At this point it's not really blog-worthy unless I get arrested or deported or at least start a brawl in a pub. Or maybe, like the girl I saw last night, I can imitate an 80's hair band video and roll around on the hood of a taxi until the entire city is honking at me. How she got that drunk by 6.30pm is anyone's guess.

But I digress.

Actually my original intent was really just a random comment on the state of my drinking here. As anyone from New York knows, I'm a vodka tonic man, with the occasional glass of scotch thrown in. HOWEVER, bars here follow that silly rule they also have in the UK about limits on hard liquor in a drink, which means I have to ask for a double to get anything decent.

All of which leaves me drinking beer. Constantly. And that is dangerous for two reasons:

1) I'm going to get fat. Especially if I start remembering to eat dinner again.

2) Beer is the kind of thing that one feels very comfortable drinking in the middle of the day. Which didn't seem to be a problem until the other day when I was sitting at a friend's place checking email, and got up to get a beer, and then had to stop myself because I realized it was, um, 10am.


Anyway, I doubt my story here about having to drink tons of beer between napping and lying on the beach is going to elicit much sympathy, but felt obligated to share. If anyone has any suggestions though, other than smuggling my own liquor into the bars, since I certainly did that last weekend (don't worry guys, that flask you gave me will definitely go to use here), I'm all ears.

My Favourite Australian

Possibly the best story I've heard lately is the tale of Ashley McDonald, an Australian tourist who was missing in New Orleans for two weeks. Turned out just before Hurricane Katrina hit, he got into a fight at a bar because they refused to serve his drunk ass, and got thrown in jail.

As if that isn't typically Australian enough, he calls into a radio show here in Sydney the other day and they asked him "Wow...you get kicked out of a pub for fighting, thrown in jail, the hurricane hits, you get robbed and have to survive the riots...wasn't that all pretty traumatizing?"

His response? "Yes well I must say, getting thrown out of the pub was rather awful."

Sir, consider yourself my Australian Idol.


Of course I have to give an honorable mention to Kenny, a guy I've hung out with a couple of times here in Sydney, who was recently at a business dinner and managed to drink enough to throw up ON THE TABLE.

It's good to have role models, you know.

The Half-Assed Weekend Recap

You know what people, I honestly don't have the energy or memory for these weekend recaps anymore. So here's all you're getting:

Just did dinner and drinks on Thursday, which was a bit lame, but more than made up for it on Friday when Irene and I hit the town, which included about 5 bars and harassing strangers until they invited us to their party the next night (which we naturally didn't bother to attend). Woke up with a massive hangover on Saturday, just in time to head to drunken lawn bowls around noon, where I didn't pass a moment without a beer in my hand. I would also like to thank some of the guys in attendance for making it clear that jokes about Hurricane Katrina and New Orleans are already acceptable. Headed off to Audrey's birthday party where I downed about 5 glasses of scotch, and then went to Clay's house for champagne before a trip to a club where members of the party ended up dancing on tables and the like. In case you were keeping track, this adds up to approximately 16 straight hours of drinking. Which was why Sunday, after I'd returned from lunch, I passed out around 5pm and didn't rise again for FOURTEEN hours. Which prepared me well to start boozing again on Monday afternoon.


I've also noticed a trend since I arrived here, where I keep getting drunk so early in the day that I forget to eat dinner, unless peanuts at the bar count, and I'm pretty damn sure they don't.


Sorry it's a bit concise, but you try drinking for 4 days straight and tell me how much you feel like writing about it on Monday. And I'm already working on making it up to everyone, I took plenty of pictures during Saturday's boozefest, and should have some kind of a first month recap for you in a few weeks. Try not to let the excitement interfere with your daily life.

Learning The Hard Way

For the most part, nothing is that different in Australia than it is in the US. Sure they drive on the wrong side of the road and their mixed drinks are way too weak (that's a whole other post) but there's not much of a culture shock coming here from New York.

Of course, there has to be something. In less than 2 weeks I've been ridiculed for using American sayings that don't have the most appropriate meanings over here. A few of my favorites:

• I was out with some people, and was supposed to meet up with another friend, but they said I should keep partying with them. So I told them "Well, I can't just blow him off." Yeah, not the best choice of words. You can pretty easily imagine what that means here. Not to say I won't be using that phrase at any point, I just need to be a little more careful, that's all.
• You know how you might "root" for someone, or "root" for the home team? Apparently that's slang for sex, so don't tell someone you've just met that you'll be rooting for them, because they'll think you're a perv and stop inviting you to things. So I hear, anyway.
• My personal favourite though is when I was talking about tourists, and said something about them wearing fanny packs. Turns out "fanny" is a word used to describe female genitalia, which I previously knew but managed to forget. Of course I got a bit defensive about this one, and asked someone "But seriously, what do you imagine when I say 'fanny pack'?" The answer? "Oh I don't know...perhaps a bulbous oversized vagina..." Nice.

That's all, just a quick PSA, cause I'm lookin' out for you guys. Anyway it's Friday and it's almost 10am, I need to find a bar. Enjoy the weekend.

Won't You Be My Neighbour

*Apologies to those who recieved my mass email update, since this will rehash part of it. Not like any of us thought I was that original in the first place though.

So the other day I moved into a family friend's studio apartment in Kings Cross, which is like Sydney's version of Times Square. Figured it was time to get out of Kate and Cathy's place, since they've been nice enough to put me up for 10 days, and also have always been curious if I'm the type of person that could really live on his own. Oh yeah, and it's free, if only for the few weeks I'll be staying there.

Of course the best part is that I get to live in a whole new neighbourhood, on a street described by people I've met here as "the trashiest drag in Sydney". Oh how appropriate, I say. Best 5 things about my new neighbourhood:

5) On the same street as a few of the clubs I've been hanging out at since I got here. You know those really swanky types of bars where they only let in celebrities and ridiculously rich people? Yeah, I hang out across the street.

4) At least three establishments within a 5 minute radius called "Adult World"

3) The local supermarket is open late, until midnight, because hookers and crackheads have to do their grocery shopping too, damnit

2) The Asians around the corner who dry clean my shirts and wash my laundry - it's just like back home in Brooklyn!

1) And the best things about it is my most visible neighbour, the homeless guy under the foot bridge. Not only does he have a pretty sweet setup, but I think he'd be the perfect friend, since if you think about it, neither of us really do anything all day, so we have plenty in common. He was also wearing leather pants this morning, which is just another sign of his awesomeness. A lesser bum would have sold them, but he just KNEW he had to have them for himself.


And that's about it, although I've only been there for 2 days or so, god knows this list will keep growing.

I'll stop typing now, and you can ponder on a scale of one to ten how irritating it is that I've been out of the USA for less than a month, and I already use the British spelling of "neighbor".

Now That's What I Call Lunch

And now, for the weekend recap...


Thursday

Met up with a family friend and her crew for some wine and food. Had a good time, met some really cool people, although the highlight was probably a very old lady actually saying to me, "Well, you're just gorgeous. Have you ever had an 80 year old before?" I wish I was shitting you guys. My as-diplomatic-as-possible response was to pretend to blush, smile, and then turn around and talk to someone else.


Friday

After a few hours at the beach and a couple of naps, I desperately needed a drink, so joined a few people downtown for after-work fun. The bar was very cool, although they weren't paying attention and the big TV in the room started showing the news and scenes from the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. Talk about putting a damper on my Friday night.

Later on we headed across the street, and our group was lucky enough to include a very, very drunk French girl whose concept of dancing included a lot of vogueing, fist pumping, and staggering backwards into several strangers a minute. Felt just like happy hour back home, really.


Saturday

Ah, yes, Saturday. Joined about 15 other people for "lunch". I use the quotes because their definition of lunch apparently comes from the same book as my mother's. Here's what I consumed starting at 1pm:

• 2 vodka tonics
• 2 caipirinhas
• 4 glasses of wine
• some food
• additional glass of wine
• 4 glasses of champagne
• 1 glass of scotch, neat
• 2 beers
• 2 more vodka tonics

Needless to say, after a couple more bars and hanging out at someone's house where I was allowed to mix my own drinks (which many of you know never works out well for anyone involved) my more vital organs started to shut down and it was time to head home, where Kate and Cathy wondered what the hell I had done to myself before I passed out on my bed until the morning.

Can't wait to do that again.

My Life As A Socialite

So I've just completed my first week here in Sydney, and to no one's surprise I'm taking my sweet time looking into any kind of employment.

Cynics might say that doing absolutely nothing productive with one's day would get old pretty fast. Those people probably have to work for their money. I call them "suckers".

I'm still having trouble mustering up the energy to blog anything worth reading, so in lieu of all that, here's a little diagram that should help you visualize what I'm doing with my days in Australia:



I guess I should have included 1% for actually taking 1.7 minutes to make an utterly pointless pie chart in Excel, but that would mean more work. I think not.

Anyway, I hope this explains why I have no time to blog these days. Unless I multi-tasked and combined napping and lying on the beach. Hmmm...I'll see if that works out and get back to you next week.

Some Photos For You

As promised, here's a photo album from my week in the UK.

As I've warned everyone, a lot of the pictures are cutesy family shots, but that doesn't mean there isn't a drink in pretty much every single one, so enjoy if you have a few minutes to kill.


I'll try and take the camera out with me in Sydney this weekend and see what I can come up with for you guys.

Wish I Had A Proper Excuse

Why I haven't made any real blog posts in the past few days, choose one:

1) This is the first chance I've had access to a computer since I arrived in Australia, and I'm so busy catching up on vital errands that I haven't had a moment to blog.

2) My priorities in life have changed, I've sobered up, and no longer have any drunken tales.

3) I've been drunk or hungover for approximately 73% of the time I've been here, and haven't had enough functioning brain cells to make a coherent post, regardless of the free and constant internet access I have at my current home.


Oh wait, that one was too easy, huh? I promise I'll try to stay away from the sauce today and maybe I'll have something for you guys tomorrow. Or Thursday. Or something.

Priorities, People

So on my first full day in a new city, in a new country, with no job, and no housing of my own, I obviously started a job and apartment search, right?

Of course not. No, I bought a mobile phone (that's a "cell phone" to you Yanks) and then spent over an hour trying to figure out what dirty words I could spell with my new number. My hosts are amazed that even I can be that unproductive at a time like this.

Anyway, I need a nap to sleep off my hangover, so I can be ready to start drinking again at 7.30 tonight. Gosh, life is just SO different down here.

Some Culture For You

As most of you know, I (and Emily) have a deep fascination with stupendously crappy dance music, preferably when the singers clearly don't speak English.

In the absence of much foreign dance music here in the UK, and since I'm a very visual (aka superficial) person, I thought I'd take a few minutes here in Heathrow to share some craptastic finds over the past week:

Artist: Xavier
Song: Give Me The Night

I have to say I genuinely like this song (although please note this is NO indication of actual song quality), but the reason I love it is because I vaguely remember a video featuring scantily clad hot chicks in stilettos dancing around with flashlights. Need I say more?

Artist: Axwell
Song: Feel The Vibe

Almost a run-of-the-mill dance song, fortunately the video had two Indian youngsters breakdancing down the street for four minutes. I am totally gonna do that as soon as I get off the plane in Sydney.

Artist: Jupiter Ace
Song: 1000 Years

Easily the cheesiest one, and probably shouldn't have been produced after 1996 or so. Still, this video clip had a clearly unattractive lead singer that they had miserably failed in sexing up, PLUS breakdancing astronauts. Obviously a classic for the ages.


Feel free to download those illegally. Also, random note -- when did Charlotte Church turn into a total ho bag? Could have sworn just last year she was a little girl singing opera, but yesterday she gave my uncle's TV syphillis.

Okay, time for the longest plane ride EVER. Hopefully they'll have music videos for me to watch.

Bloody Hell

So I've been in the UK for less than a week, everyone here is ALWAYS DRUNK, and my entire family seems ready to kick me out because it takes me 10 minutes to finish a pint of lager instead of the family average of 47 seconds.

Sweet jesus I don't even know what else to say. How does this country operate?? You can even buy booze at Blockbuster Video. I...don't...understand...

Next update will have to be from Sydney, I'm off tomorrow AM. Assuming I'm sober enough to drive when I wake up.

And I'm Off...line...

I'm mere minutes away from being cut off from the web for a while. Hopefully I'll be back to the blogging world within a few weeks. Everyone take care and drink a few in my honor.

Just One Addition To The Friday Recap

Loving this conversation Giant struck up with Daniel, whom he had never met before...


Giant: Excuse me.

Daniel: Yes?

Giant: Why are you dancing?

Daniel: What do you mean?

Giant: Well, are you dancing because you want girls, or are you dancing because you want boys?

Daniel: Um...why??

Giant: I'm writing a book.

FAQ

So if you actually read the nonsense I post here every few days, you're aware that I'm moving to Australia for a few months. Between my friends and a few reader emails, I figured I would answer a few questions about my little adventure:


WHY ARE YOU GOING TO AUSTRALIA?

Yeah, this one is pretty basic. Essentially, one of my very few goals/dreams in life is to live abroad for a little while. And since I was in Australia last year, I've decided that Sydney was the place I wanted to be. The timing is perfect because I have a couple of friends down there temporarily, in addition to my family who lives there, so it's a 'now or never' sort of deal, and I'd rather not spend the rest of my life regretting that I didn't have the balls to do it. Besides, everyone there is always drunk. I shouldn't need more reason than that, right?


WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO DOWN THERE?

Uh...that's TBD. I'm pretty sure I'll want to get a job of some sort, if only to make sure I don't get bored with lying on the beach, and maybe meet people. But at this point I'm open to doing almost anything. A lot of people have suggested that I should be a bartender, but there are a couple of issues with that -- a) bartenders in Australia don't make nearly as much as they do in a place like New York (no tips) and b) based on my previous bartending experiences, I'd probably end up passed out on a couch in a corner of the bar, OR simply too inebriated to open a bottle of beer without injuring myself.


HOW LONG ARE YOU GOING FOR?

Hmm, well the original plan was just to go for around 4 months, but now I'm considering extending it for a month or two. After that I'd probably come back to New York and get back into my usual routine, aka being a horrifying display of why prohibition might have been the right way to go.


ARE YOU GOING TO KEEP BLOGGING?

That's a good question. I'm spending a week of vacation in the UK first, and I don't know what kind of computer access I'll have on a daily basis in Sydney, so it's going to be at least a couple of weeks without any posts here. In the meantime, everyone should refer to all those nifty links to other blogs and sites on the right side. God knows Cristin and Vicki should have enough entertaining tales to keep you going, them bitches post like it's going out of style.


I think that's all the big questions I keep getting. Other than "why are you such an asshole?", but I'm still trying to figure that one out.

How Could I Forget...

...a huge shout out to my friends who chipped in for a brand new shiny flask for me to take on my trip.

The engraving? "good riddance, darkness" Brilliant.

And The Award Goes To...

One would think that if I had a huge farewell bash and 75 or so people showed up, that one of the usual members of the crew would make the biggest ass of himself. But one would be wrong.

I'd like to thank my mild-mannered roommate for coming out. Sad thing is, the poor kid was planning to stay in and do work until we badgered him into coming to the club for at least a couple of drinks.

This picture above ends up being the last thing he remembers. Shortly afterwards he managed to break approximately four glasses, at which point I suggested he head home in a cab.

It's still unclear what happened after that, but he definitely woke up IN THE HOSPITAL the next morning with no recollection of how he got there. Don't worry, he had no injuries, it's okay to laugh. My favorite part of the story is that when he woke up, the first thing he thought to himself was "Shit, am I in New Jersey??" Because yes, being in New Jersey is clearly the worst thing that could have happened when you wake up in a hospital and have no idea how you ended up there. Awesome.


Otherwise, the party was awesome, or so I hear. I'd be lying if I said I remember much after the first few drinks, but if you really have the energy to look at almost 200 pictures of drunk people, you can go ahead and take a look yourself.

I had spent some time looking at this picture and trying to figure out who it was, but I now have witnesses who saw the guilty party stick the camera down her shirt, so at least that mystery is solved. I'll keep it to myself and spare her the embarrassment, cause I'm a sweetheart like that.

And so ends my week of farewell parties. I should probably start packing or something, huh?

If Resumes Weren't Complete Lies...

In honor of my last day at this company, I decided I should put together an honest job description that you definitely won't find on my resume:

• Deflected large amounts of work using various strategies (scattered papers around my desk, walking quickly through the halls as if doing something remotely important) to give the impression that I was far too busy to do anything else; effectively allowed myself to spend 90% of time in the office on blogging and various other personal internet activities
• Abused freedom of position to take an estimated 217% overage of vacation days in 2005, all off the record
• Served as a central fixture in the flow of gossip throughout the company and across all departments
• Spearheaded and actively participated in the "Mean Girls" contingent in the office; the team's crowning achievement was having a coworker quit claiming she could no longer take our offensive and inappropriate commentary, leading to a sexual harassment investigation

Ah, confession is good for the soul. If I had a soul, that is.

Why Having A Reputation As A Drunk Isn't All Bad

My coworkers just came over to me with a standard farewell card, and a big Mickey Mouse bag. At first I was concerned, since I can't imagine why anyone would think I'd want something from the Disney store.

Turns out the bag itself was only for the humiliation factor, since I still have to take it home on the subway. How about inside there were 20 bottles of assorted liquor -- I'm expected to drink them on the flight down, but I think pretending these little bottles of heaven are going to make it through the weekend would be a lame pretense.

Thanks, guys. My liver hates you eternally, but my love for you right now should balance that out.

Not A Real Post...

...just another retarded alcohol-related internet game for you.

Crazy Story

Okay, so get this.

I was walking down Wall Street this morning and I hear someone call out my name. So I turn around, and there's girl I definitely don't recognize coming towards me. She walks up, and she's like "Hey!" and I seriously can't figure out who she is. So I tell her she doesn't look familiar, and she tells me "I know...actually, my original name is Daniel. We went to summer camp together."

So I'm dumbfounded. I can't believe this is a DUDE standing in front of me, it's all very convincing. We make some small talk, catch up, but I'm still in shock. Finally though I couldn't hold in my curiosity, and I had to ask.

"Sorry, but I just have to ask, I hope you don't mind...what was the most painful part about becoming a woman? I assume it's when they did their thing...you know...down there." She tells me that wasn't it though. Then I was like "Okay, so it was the breast implants, right?" And she said that wasn't it. At this point I have no idea, I ask her "So what was the most painful part about becoming a woman?", and she told me "Actually, it was when they made my mouth bigger and my brain smaller."

Seriously.

I'm Too Sexy For This Blog

Last night was Farewell Party #3 -- Farewell Happy Hour & Karaoke with only the coolest people I know.

I figure I could take some time and make a quality blog post...or I could just post a bunch of pictures that tell the story and call it a day. I think you can guess which direction I'm gonna head in, though.

So here are pics of each of the fantastic performances from yesterday, where everyone who came was required to sing me a song with a goodbye/farewell theme of some sort. Here was the track list...




I kicked off the night with "Goodbye" by the Spice Girls. Vocally it was a disaster (my throat is still a mess) but fortunately I had Jordan and Chris as my backup dancers to distract the audience.







Then came Jordan featuring Cristin with Bon Jovi's "Always", which must have been awesome because it's still stuck in my head. Or maybe that's because it's just about the last thing I remember of the night. Either way, jolly good show.






And then, yet another stunning rendition of "Separate Ways" by Miss Jessica. And yet another standing ovation from the audience and staff.






There was the touching performance by my brother, singing "It's So Hard To Say Goodbye To Yesterday".







Then I decided to mix it up a little, and do "I'm Too Sexy". No, it's not a farewell song, but it was MY party and I could make my own rules. And I am too sexy, so it was appropriate in general.






Jaya and Melissa managed to make it through "I'll Be Missing You", even with me drunkenly interrupting them every 7 seconds. Well done, ladies.






As expected, Joe was too douche to properly stick to the theme, but "Down Under" was relevant, so I managed to not rip his balls off, curry them, and feed them to him for dinner.









Cristin and Jordan (with help from all of the drunkards) tore it up with the classic, "Total Eclipse of the (Fuckin') Heart".







They also sang "With Or Without You", a song I find vaguely insulting, but I'll try not to take it personally.








Emily picked an awesome one, with Aerosmith's "Don't Wanna Miss A Thing".






And don't tell anyone, but my eyes might have teared up a little when Belle sang "Right Here Waiting For You". Seriously, that's a secret.






My personal highlight though was probably when Jessica decided to do an interpretive dance to a song some dork outside of our group was singing. Not quite sure what the song was, but apparently the accompanying dance called for lots of jumping, thrashing, and ended with a nipple pinch. All I can say is that people were scared.






Finally, 'Big Knockers' and Melissa got up to sing "Baby Got Back", which clearly has nothing to do with me, since it's not farewell themed, and I literally have NO ASS. This effectively ended the night.






So all in all, it was just as awesome and brilliant as I had hoped and dreamed it would be. Full set of pictures can be found HERE, as usual there are enough in there to make your eyes bleed, so click carefully.

And so, farewell week continues...

Cheese.

Sorry but this is so weird I had to share...

So I wake up at 10am this morning, and I'm tossing and turning in bed, and I can only think of one thing. Cheese. Seriously. Tons of cheese. Eating it, slicing it, putting it on bread or crackers and eating it that way. I wish I could explain how it was really the only thing I could think about. I was this close to whacking off thinking about cheese, that's how bad I wanted it. It was possibly the strongest craving I have ever felt in my life.

I actually got out of bed, put on my clothes, and went and bought three kinds of cheese at the supermarket. I've already tried two of them in 4 hours, and the third is only a few hours away.

WTF. I know. I'm sorry, but I had to get this off my chest.

Unfortunate Events

Thursday evening started as goodbye drinks with my colleagues, as everyone bid a very happy farewell to the person who has blatantly sit in the office for three and a half years and done less work than an 6-year old epileptic midget chimp could have completed in much less time.

After a few hours, I grabbed a couple of the people whose company I actually enjoy, met up with some others, and went out on the town for drinks, dumplings, and karaoke. Good times of course, but both myself and New York as a whole could have done without several elements:

• Hanging out with two girls nicknamed "Big Knockers" and "Little Knockers", both of whom seemed way too comfortable being called those names in public
• My attempt to buy a pair of briefs at Dumpling Man that said "Eat My Dumplings" on the crotch
• The bitchy cashier telling me that even if she did have them in stock, they'd probably be too small for me
• My (way too loud) response -- "BUT THAT'S THE POINT, PEOPLE NEED TO SEE THE DUMPLINGS!!"
• "Barbie Girl", a duet by Little Knockers and Zander
• Me singing "I Swear" by All-4-One
• Me singing "Mambo Number 5"
• Me singing. Period.

Of course now my throat is a complete mess from all the singing and drinking and yelling and god knows what else, so I'm gonna have to take it relatively easy to make sure I'm in top form for Farewell Happy Hour and Karaoke on Tuesday. Which means...boring blog for a few days. My bad.

I Have A Future In Graphic Design

Just wanted to share the graphic I sent out with the evite to one of my farewell parties -- I'm getting a mixed response on whether it's better or worse than the one I did for this blog a few months back.

Either way, I'm a dick. With way too much time on his hands.

Damn Shame

I'm pretty sure that giving notice at work, much like finishing finals senior year of college and that sort of thing, instantly causes your IQ to drop about 80 points.

Proof? This idiotic 'game' has held my attention for way too long, and I'm guessing it will continue to do so for the rest of the afternoon.

And I'm not sure I mind.

Weekend In Review*

*I'm obviously gushing with creativity today


27 YEARS OF DOUCHE

Friday night we celebrated Joe, the court jester of douche, and his birthday. The most shocking moment was when he actually managed to tell me that he wanted to go to Sin Sin. Keep in mind this is a kid who wouldn't be able to tell you if he'd like some more AIR if you put a gun to his head, so this was like watching his personal growth right in front of my beautiful brown eyes.

Still, questions were raised that evening:

How much does a 6'8" Indian (dot, not feathers) weighing 250 pounds have to ingest to be completely wasted? We never got the stats from Varghese, but he definitely managed to show up to my apartment at 9pm with issues getting from one end of the hallway to the other. Shining moment? Upon realizing that 75% of the males in my livingroom weren't circumcised, turning to Jeff and yelling "WE HAVE ENOUGH FORESKIN IN THIS ROOM TO COVER YOUR FACE!". And then turning around, walking out of the room, and promptly slamming his face into one of my hanging lamps. Smoothness, dude.

What does it take for our crew to NOT be the most obnoxious idiots on the subway? Um, a lot. More than we've ever witnessed before. And yet, it happened. Competition was fierce between the 74 Mexicans in our subway car alone who were chanting soccer anthems, and the ghetto youths who as soon as we sat down walked up to me and asked about Jessica "Yo is that your wife?!" (I told them she was my sister, and they promised to show respect while hitting on her.) Key quote was when Joe followed one of his comments with "Psych!" and one of these future leaders of society said "Oh SHIT that dude just said 'Psych'!! He must be MAD old yo. I'm nineteen...he must be twice my age...he must be like...FORTY SIX!" New York City Public Schools, represent, yo.

When will Emily realize that she's not supposed to dance on couches? I don't know, but I hope it isn't anytime soon. Go on with yo bad self!! And don't let nobody hold you down. Except for the bouncers. They're big.

How many pictures is too many on a night like this? Not quite sure, but I'd have to guess that number is definitely lower than ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-FOUR, which breaks previous records as far as I know for a few drunken hours out on the town. If you're looking to kill a solid 10-15 minutes at work, the whole set is available here.


COURTNEY'S BDAY

Emla and I headed up to Cristin's place for pre-gaming for Courtney's birthday. I was hesitant to go along with the group, considering the birthday celebration was at Red Sky, which generally elicits reactions ranging from "God, I hate that place" to "That's a bit close to the PATH trains" to "Oh sweet Jesus that bar makes my eyes bleed".

Still, I was in the mood for fun and we ended up having an awesome time, although what I remember best is Cristin not being able to get over the "bartender with the Whitesnake hair", which caused us all to look and smile/laugh in her direction every 4 minutes, I'm sure she wasn't self-conscious at all.

Cristin's recap of the night is way better, so mosey on over there for more details.


FAREWELL PARTY #1

Sunday I barely managed to stumble out of bed in order to get over to Natsu's place, where she was awesome enough to make her housewarming party double as a farewell dinner for yours truly.

I'd like to pretend that I didn't repay her kindness by drinking several glasses of sangria, eating a ton of food, and then passing out in her bedroom for over an hour, but then I'd just be lying, really.


Now I'm trying to stay mostly sober until Thursday's Farewell Party #2 with my work colleagues. I'm guessing meeting up with my mom this evening isn't the way to go. Shit.

Jealousy, I Know Thy Name

IM conversation with my boss earlier today, who just started working in the Marketing department at a liquor company...

Former Boss: at our company cafeteria
Former Boss: we can get 2 glasses of alcohol AT LUNCH
Former Boss: and i have to spend $700 on alcohol by the end of the year for "brand building"
Former Boss: my first day i had 3 bottles of finlandia vodka on my desk
Former Boss: and after i met with the HR lady she gave me a bottle of scotch


Drinking at lunch? Spending insane amounts of money on liquor? Alcohol in the office? It's just like my life now, and yet I'm still jealous. Please explain.

Rough Weekend

I had serious issues crawling out of my bed this morning -- who knew 5 days of heavy drinking and no sleep might slow me down? I finally felt compelled to do so when I heard my roommate who doesn't even have a job heading out the door, and figured getting to work by 11am might be enough to look like I'm still trying.

Additionally, I looked at a few numbers regarding my upcoming departure from the greatest city in the world, and ended up a little disturbed:

Days until I leave NYC: 16

Movers scheduled: 0

Bills cancelled: 0

Other practical preparations made: 0

Farewell parties completely scheduled and organized: FOUR


If this wasn't so fucking typical of my retarded priorities, I'd be somewhat amazed at my own stupidity right now.

Point of it all? There might not be a weekend recap until tomorrow. I'm sure you understand.

Now That's More Like It

Yesterday after work there was a company celebration. Can't remember why, probably something to do with me being almost out the door and not managing to run the company into the ground in over three years of disservice.

I wasn't originally in any rush to get there, and then while talking to movers on the phone at my desk, I repeated back the following information out loud: "Right. $500, 4 guys, 4 hours. Sounds good." Which of course prompted a coworker nearby to stand up and say "Hey dude, whatever floats your boat." and walk off without giving me a chance to explain. Fantastic. Someone pass me a Stoli and tonic before I hear the first rumors.

The event was scheduled to start at 6pm, so naturally I headed up to the bar at half past five to open the tab early. And needless to say, my mouth was running in no time.


Things I Said (Loudly) Before The Victim Had Finished Turning Away

"I don't like that woman."

"God, I bet even that guy's parents think he's a tool."


Things I Said To People's Faces

"You're like the Queen of [Company]!" -- to the flamboyantly gay editor-in-chief

"Well, you do kind of have a big ass." -- to a male coworker I have patently ignored for over a year, until last night


Ah, nothing like burning bridges.

Once I was finally refused service (the staff claims the open bar was closed, but I think that might only have applied to me) I took a sobering subway ride home so Emily and I could watch the latest episode of Footballers Wive$ on BBC America. And don't even think about rolling your eyes at us -- this is a show that contains an estimated 50 seconds of football in the entire first season, has a lead character named 'Chardonnay', and last night's episode ended with an old nurse being caught getting it on with a dude in a coma. Perfection, thou hast arrived.

Yeah, Not Sorry I Missed It

I agreed last minute to head out with some coworkers after work yesterday, and within 2 hours we had been drinking in three locations and everyone had that glazed over look in their eyes that always spells trouble.

And what did I do? I am really embarrassed to have to admit this, but I went home before midnight. While this may seem a little conservative, please keep in mind that this decision was made with respect to the fact that I will be drinking for the next 4 nights, and I still managed to offend at least two people before I headed off. (My apologies to the small Asian man for my comments regarding his family/heritage.)

And of course we have the others, who weren't as wise:

Coworker #1: It's almost noon, and he's still not here. Although he did call me earlier to tell me some long rambling and slurring tale about late night karaoke, not being able to get into his apartment at 3am and waking up on his parents couch. He also seems concerned that one of our female coworkers will never speak to him again.

Coworker #2: Rolled in a little after 11, is not yet capable of speech.

Coworker #3: Managed to show up before 11, and IMed me with "stiiillll druuuunk", which I now have to consider as the new title of this blog.


So now I've heard something of a recap, and I have to admit there seems to be an element of "That Which We Will Not Speak Of" in the air, and I'll have to spend the next week trying to find out what the hell went down.

In the meantime, and for future reference, does the fact that I went home make me smart, or lame?

Happy Birthday Joe

While we prepare the celebration for Joe's 46th birthday or whatever it is at this point, I wanted to give Joe my own little birthday gift on the actual day that we all mourn the date decades ago when this world got just a little bit dumber.

So Joe, this is it. Enjoy.

Excuses, Excuses

Despite it only being Tuesday, Jessica and I were having a rough week and decided to meet up for booze and food last night. We were joined by Emily, who was pretty much there to let us know that her life was still perfect. Bitch.

Sat in a booth, which is always fun because we get the mistaken illusion that we're in our own private environment. And of course when we get up to leave, the people who overheard choice comments like "BUT I'VE HAD HIS BALLS IN MY MOUTH!!" give us those disdainful looks we're so used to at this point.

Anyway, wish I had a better excuse for my lack of posts, but that's all I got. In the meantime, I have some pictures from Jamaica. As I've warned everyone else, they're not nearly as entertaining as my other slideshows, but at least you get to see my dark side of the family. I'm still trying to figure out which one stole my watch. (Kidding!)

Here you go.

Worst. Little Brother. Ever.

Well, I'm back from my Jamaican vacation. Spent all my time eating, sleeping, and swimming. Oh, and reading Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince -- I figure if J.K. Rowling is going to name her book after me, reading it is the least I can do.

All in all it was a very relaxing time. Unfortunately, there was one very disturbing aspect of my trip -- the fact that my 15 year old half brother is a freaking giant, and towers over me.

Things My "Little" Brother Should Not Be Able To Do:

• Be taller than me
• Have a deeper voice than I do
• Have more facial hair than I do
• Pick me up and toss me across the pool
• Intimidate me
• Lift up our father (who is 6'5" and well over 200 pounds, by the way) and hold him up in the air for 30 seconds

Of course this raises the most important question: Can he DRINK more than I can? My dad consistently stopped me from passing my bro more than a couple of beers in a night so I couldn't find out via the most obvious method, but my theory is that I still have a higher tolerance. My kind of drinking habit takes years of training and development, and I refuse to believe that my 15 year old brother would be able to stand the competition just because he could kick my ass 8 ways from Sunday without breaking a sweat if he wanted to.


Anyway, I'll hopefully have some pictures from the trip online in the next few days. I'd do it now, but a week of doing nothing makes me fat and even lazier than usual.

Back In A Week

Just a quick post to let everyone know that I'm off to Jamaica today, so no retarded stories or random rants for a week or so.

I'll attempt to put together another photo album for this trip, although I'm warning you that there's only a certain amount of hilarity to be found in a picture of my dad sitting his lazy ass on a couch, or whatever the hell goes on down there.

Fatty In Training

As anyone familiar with the Zan-Man knows, despite my tall, slender frame, I am destined to be one hell of a lard ass one day. I am a future guest on a daytime talk show special titled "Help Me! My Skin Doesn't Fit Anymore!", but I am fortunate enough during my twenties to be trapped inside the body of a 6'4" asshole with the body shape of a Somalian suffering from anorexia.

I have revolting eating habits. Why today alone, I've consumed 3 chocolate donuts, a banana, cereal, and a yogurt, before I even left my apartment. This was followed by a slice of pizza with two toppings, a large helping of chicken and rice from a food truck on Wall Street, and there's always the possibility that I will have to satisfy my craving for a ridiculously over-sized chocolate milkshake before I pass out in a food coma at the end of the day. Sometimes, I eat so much, so fast, that I actually have trouble breathing and have to take a 30 second break to clear my air passages.

I am regularly referred to as "Chubs" and "Fatty Fatty Fat Fat" by enemies and friends alike, and I don't mind, because it's really just training for the day when I am as wide as I am tall, and have to be rolled from room to room in a hospice somewhere in rural Pennsylvania, after they've removed an entire wall from my Brooklyn apartment building just so the crane can hoist me out onto a waiting flatbed truck.


At this point, I'm not even sure what my original goal was with this post, but I do want to take this opportunity to introduce you all to the greatest thing my eyes have ever beheld:

The Hot-Dog-Rollup.

If anyone here gets a chance to eat one of these before I do, I want details, damnit.

"Um, maybe we could just be lunch buddies after all..."

Just imagine you're sitting with your friends, having a nice get together for your friend Alyson's 30th birthday. Everyone's having a lovely time, and then you happen to look over your shoulder and this is what you see peering through the bead curtains, invading your special moment. And this, dear friends, is why everyone hates me. But I digress.

Saturday night was a coworker's birthday bash at PS 450, so I grabbed a few people and headed over. In case any of you happen to be invited to a coworkers event any time soon, here are some tips (with plenty of visual aides) to make sure it never, ever happens again:

• Tell your coworker you are bringing "a couple of people along". Then invite 9 friends. Then tell those people they can invite whoever they want. Show up with no less than 17 people in tow. (That's right, SEVENTEEN. Christ, I wish I was exaggerating.)
• Make sure at least one of those people is a complete retard. Family members don't count.
• Definite plus if your brother shows up wearing a truly ridiculous shirt.
• Find out which space is reserved for your coworkers party, and take it over even though there is still another party going on. Maybe harass them a little to encourage them to end their night early.
• If they have party favors, feel free to pick them up and pose for pictures that may offend both that party's attendees and a few billion Asians.
• Defiling floral arrangements is strongly suggested.
• Take pictures of random busboys, because you know they can't do anything about it, and you're that kind of asshole.
• Bring new meaning to the phrase "dance like nobody's watching". As in, you might want to add "even God" to the end of that sentence. Throw your hair around. Kudos if you can leave your ass hanging out for extended periods of time. Or maybe stand on a couch and grind with the wall until the bouncer tells you to sit the fuck down.
• Now this is important - it's not enough that you've embarrassed your coworker and his friends, and made him regret giving you the invitation. You need to ruin other parties as well. So if there's a group of people nearby having "a nice time", feel free to stick various body parts through the curtains that divide you and make them rethink their choice of party location.
• Once you're done terrorizing everyone around you and posing like an asshole for the camera, turn on each other.
• Get kicked out of the bar.

I hope everyone learned something from that. What I learned is why none of my coworkers want to talk to me outside of the office. And why I can't blame them.

The End.

The Internet Is, Like, Totally Psychic

Okay, so I'm not gonna pretend that I have the motivation to give you a real blog post any time soon. I'm lazy, and other than a few inappropriate comments at a coworker's farewell event last night ("Are you drinking a margarita? Well, isn't that ethnic!") I'll be the first to admit that I've been taking it easy on the obnoxious factor for at least the last few weeks.


So to give you additional ways to waste your time on the internet in the desperate hope that you can avoid actual work, click over to find out what you are.

Most recently it told me I was a "tit-grabbing clown who loves to laugh at hookers", and I must admit how scarily true that is. (Although "buff horn-ball who loves to conquer hot bitches" wasn't far off either.)

Funny You Should Mention It...

...because that's just how I've been feeling lately.

Why I Look Like Hell Today

No, it's not because I was out drinking Friday and Saturday nights. It's not because I'm feeling ill. It's because last night I had one of the most traumatic experiences in recent memory, and I have yet to recover.

You will accuse me of being melodramatic. You will tell me to get over it. But YOU WERE NOT THERE.

Imagine, it's around 11 in the evening. You're getting comfy in bed, watching some TV before attempting to get a good night's sleep before you start another week. You've seen or spoken to all of your loved ones within the past 24 hours, and all is well with the world.

And then...something catches your eye. A quick shadow. Maybe from the TV? You glance towards the floor and something is definitely moving. Crawling. Towards your bed.

Granted, it is the summer, and you're in a big city. There's the god awful chance that it could be a water bug or something equally gross. You jump up and flip on the light, and then you realize...what could be worse than an over-sized roach crawling under your bed? How about a horrific somewhat transparent prehistoric-looking insect creature with WAY too many legs. What do YOU do?

Well, I'll tell you what I do. I yelp. Because I'm more horrified than an 8 year old who just found out he has a play date with Michael Jackson. And screaming would mean I wasn't nearly as scared as I truly was.

Some of you are like "dude, it was just a bug, chill out". NO, it was not just a bug. It looked exactly like THIS. I did manage to kill it eventually, but I am short a few hours of sleep right now. I am seeing insects everywhere. Ones that shouldn't exist.

And that is why I am in no state of mind to give you a real blog post today. Blame the bug.

Definitely Not Worth A Thousand Words...

...but you should check out my Hawaii photo album anyway. As usual I've added captions for each photo so you can get some idea why I would take pictures of stupid things and people I clearly didn't know. (You'll probably have to register to get to it, but my completely unbiased suggestion is that it's totally worth it)


And if you liked that and get nearly as bored at work as I do, there's always France and Thailand waiting for you.*

Someone forwarded me an email about a 3 hour open bar tonight, so if I can get my jet-lagged ass together, there might be a story or two after the weekend. Here's hoping...


*Let me know if any of those links don't work, I've had issues with them before. Damn you, Blogger.

Slipping in the Ratings

Well, I'm back from Hawaii, and while I'm not very happy about it (my tan isn't nearly as flattering under fluorescent lighting, go figure), I thought the least I could do was give you a top three list of the biggest drunk assholes at the wedding I was attending in Kauai. Enjoy.


#3 Zander

Yes, that's right. Me. I know many of you are disappointed that I'd end up at anything less than numero uno on this list, but I have to admit I was pleasantly surprised. My worst behavior, other than my awful dancing, consisted of making out with a huge fish statue, but that's practically required at this point.

And I may have been a little intimidated by the competition...


#2 Neil

I'm never sure if I should be chalking this guy's behavior up to alcohol or the fact that he's a total spaz. I mean, this is the same guy that showed up to my apartment for a party a couple of years back, spotted a bottle of MD20 that someone had brought as a joke, and downed most of it himself before the night was over. Seriously, I didn't know anyone outside of the homeless community drank that stuff.

Anyway, I have yet to upload the pictures from the event, but they definitely speak for themselves. His dance moves are out of this world, and he managed to piss off his date (we're still trying to figure out if they were dating or what) by hitting on various other wedding guests. Way to go dude, especially when you're at a wedding reception where you know for a FACT that the bride used to think you were a douche.


#1 "Shitshow"

I'll spare this groomsman the use of his name, although this is what he ended up being called for most of the evening anyway.

While you might think shaking his ass in the mother-of-the-bride's face repeatedly would be the worst of it, I'm inclined to say it was later on at a bar when he was given a glass of water, and almost drowned. That's right. DROWNED. In a GLASS OF WATER. You can say it isn't possible, but you weren't there.

The vomiting at the table was also a bit gross, but let's not pretend it's anything ground-breaking.

To top it all off, he had NO recollection of any of this the next day, and seemed surprised that we were maybe just a tad concerned for his liver in the morning.



Regardless, I'm hoping to have a full Hawaii trip photo album online by tomorrow or so. I expect you all to be waiting with bated breath. Or jealous loathing, whichever seems more appropriate.

Melikilikimaka Is NOT The Thing To Say

So Belle and I are off to Hawaii this morning. When people want to show off that they've been to Hawaii, they usually ask "which island?". The one with a lot of vowels in it, douchebag, as if you give a shit. Sorry, had to get that out.

ANYWAY...I will attempt to restrain myself when it comes to mocking Hawaiian traditions while I'm there, since I hear they take these things very seriously. I actually read all about Hawaiian history and culture this past weekend, and they have thousands of years of amazing heritage on those islands. I honestly can't wait to get really drunk and lie on the beach all day.

See y'all in a week or so.

True Diplomats

I brought Domini as my date to a dinner at Kofi Annan's residence last night, and I am not so proud to say that I was mostly sober and almost polite for the entire evening.


Things On My List That I Didn't Get Drunk Enough To Accomplish:

• Calling the Secretary-General "Koko" to his face
• Getting his wife to drop it like it's hot
• Loudly showing off my fantastic Indian accent for everyone in attendance (my friends KNOW what I'm talking about)

Things I Managed To Accomplish Despite Being Sober:

• Making a disparaging remark about the poor

I guess I can't blame it all on the booze, eh?

How To Make Friends

Hey, remember that day in kindergarten when you learned how to introduce yourself to strangers?

Me neither, apparently. Sorry, lady.

Saturday Night, In A Nutshell

Don't Mind Us...

Met my mom and stepdad for drinks and dinner last night. Things were going drunk as usual, when apparently we crossed that line between sanity and deciding it was time to attempt to burn down this very nice little french restaurant.

My mother's suggestion was to pour her Grand Marnier on our crepes and light them on fire, making our own Crepes Suzette. So we asked the waitress for matches and went to it.

Let me recap this for anyone who isn't following -- we were pouring alcohol on our food and attempting to light it on fire. Why would we think that was okay??

I love my family.

Why Didn't Anyone Tell Me?!!?!

A coworker was kind enough to send me a link to the Face Transformer, where you can pop in a picture of yourself and then it shows you what you'd look like if you were another race, age, etc.

And THIS god awful picture is apparently what I look like when I'm drunk.

So I'd like to take this opportunity to tell all of my "friends" that you suck for not letting me know what New Yorkers are in danger of encountering three nights a week.

This also explains a lot of reactions I get when I'm out on the weekends...

RW/RR Challenge - Inferno II

Okay, so this will be another random post not related to alcohol, sorry for all you drunkies out there. And this will be worse than most, because only people who watched the Inferno II will have any idea what I'm talking about. Feeling excluded? Suck it. At least I know Cristin will appreciate this.

So yeah, a few comments on the season that just ended...

Could the prize be any shittier?

Last night two of the meatheads on the show were musing about what they would do if they won the final challenge, worth $150,000. One of them actually said "I would just be in awe. I wouldn't even know what to do."

Um...we're not talking about a $200 million powerball prize here, fellas. In fact, we're talking about $150,000, plus the other $70,000 you won. Not too shabby, until you divide it between your seven teammates and take into account that they tax people like you (meaning people who go on retarded reality shows and act like asses in front of the entire country for our amusement instead of getting real jobs and doing "work" like the rest of us) at like 50%.

Golly, $16,000. I'm glad you're so awestruck by what comes out to about four months salary for the average American, you twat.


I'm sorry, could you please define the teams again?

Since having Real Worlders face off against Road Rulers didn't work out (hmm, people who sat around a big house with a hot tub vs. people who had to run up cliffs sideways without a harness, I wonder who's gonna win this one), and Men vs. Women didn't work out much better (sometimes the jokes just write themselves!), this time they arbitrarily divided the teams between "Good Guys" and "Bad Asses".

Which might have been a little less stupid if one of the people on the "Good Guy" team hadn't been Brad from RW San Diego, who was arrested THREE TIMES during the one season, if my memory serves me correctly.


Where the hell is Coral?

Honestly, it just isn't a RW/RR Challenge if Coral isn't around. Who else, when challenged to a wrestling match by a Jesus freak, will utter awesome lines like "Wrestle?! I don't wrestle. I beat bitches UP!"

Damn right you do. This show just isn't the same without you, babe.