(Editor’s Note: Since SO is out of town, I have been ravaging the city bachelor style for the last five days. I thought since I’ve been so lazy I should emit a special weekend post giving a glimpse into the bacchanalia – do not try this at home)
9:38 AM: Awaken early and clear-headed, even after a wild 6:00 PM dinner the previous night that included an entire Corona and some lamb vindaloo. First time with the lamb ‘lol, pretty tasty. Props to the lady at the restaurant who dropped the history of vindaloo on us as we left. Knowing a little about the culture that developed your favorite animal/hot sauce/bread dish really adds to the ingestion experience.
9:48 AM: Lot of shit to deal with today – exterminators coming to drop some precautionary bedbug bombs, sometime between 9:00 AM and 12:00 Noon. Since when do exterminators need a 3 hour window like the fucking cable guys? I didn’t realize exterminating was a monopoly business that could hold an entire apartment building hostage on a muggy August weekend?
9:50 AM: Survey the apartment’s landscape: 309 napkins in various states of use, several bags from well-respected chain restaurants, 14 empty jugs of wine, persistent (and sadly, permanent) cat odor, garbage cans overflowing, unopened mail covering every available flat surface. Fuck.
9:51 AM: It’s time to get straight gangster on this shithole. Throw all garbage outside, where it is already 134 degrees with 170% humidity. Don’t see any exterminators, maybe they start upstairs?
10:20 AM: Fire up the dreaded device: the shredder. Musical accompaniment: Chubb Rock (“Treat ‘Em Right” is horrificly underrated.) Determine that if casinos simply sent me a check for the amount they spend on printing, postage etc for every offer they send me, my income solely from gambling mailings would be $117,000 annually.
10:45 AM: Shredder making odd noises and possibly emitting some smoke. Hmmm….actually was just a small cloud caused by the extreme humidity and a temperature inversion. Crisis averted.
10:53 AM: Review another casino offer where they will give me $1,200 in chips just to show up. Another says I get a $1,000 Saks gift card just for walking into their casino. Come to the conclusions that: 1) I am a terrible gambler, and 2) Gift card is meaningless as I wear the same shorts every day and alternate one of two t-shirts.
11:15 AM: Man I’m fucking starving – where are those bastards? I’ve got to get out of here for two hours after they spray their noxious mixtures all over the place, so that’s when I need to eat to kill time. A shower would be a good thing, but I don’t seize the moment.
11:16 AM: I don’t think they’re coming, so if I keep going this place will be sparkling clean, I can grab a burrito and take a well-deserved nap. I’ll shower after I eat as I’m certain I will sweat away 8-9 pounds just walking to Chipotle in this concrete inferno.
11:45 AM: Notice eight people angrily sitting on stoop as I take out the last seven bags of shreddings. They tell me the exterminators are late. No shit – if they aren’t here in ten minutes I’m out of this motherfucker.
11:55 AM: As I head out to Chipotle, I see the dreaded visage of extremely-late-in-the-three-hour-window-arriving exterminators. They may as well have been terminators – now I wasn’t going to be able to shower AND eat a ‘rito while enjoying some Talk Soup.
11:56 AM: Conclude my day is fucked. Sweat dripping from ears only 40 seconds into my eight minute walk.
11:59 AM: Seek out shade and water.
12:01 PM: Wallet now entirely soaked in sweat. Am leaving Hansel and Gretelish trail of sweat in my wake should I get lost.
12:04 PM: Chipotle, or an unoriginal mirage, appears on the horizon (barely visible through the humidity and suffering.)
12:05 PM: No line at noon? Clearly everyone else died in transit.
12:15 PM: Return trip goes smoothly, my electrolyte levels should return to normal after a couple of IVs.
12:16 PM: Sulk momentarily at the thought of ‘terminators interrupting my meal.
12:17 PM: Grapefruit Izze is more manly than it sounds. And delicious.
12:25 PM: Joel McHale is fucking hilarious. Seriously. Soup and Chipot is good for the soul. Ponder how McHale will balance The Soup and new (and already critically well-regarded) sitcom Community?
12:45 PM: Maybe those fucking exterminators bailed since they were late?
12:52 PM: Assume nap-taking position.
12:53 PM: Knock, knock. Fuck.
12:54 PM: Throw The Cat That Is Afraid Of Everything out on the patio. 15% chance he’ll make a run for it and be lost forever. Fingers crossed.
12:55 PM: Realize that fear of paper, shadows, etc. doesn’t bode well for impulsive decision to scale six foot walls and explore the neighborhood. Dammit.
1:00 PM: Barred from the house for two hours. Standing outside in sweltering heat, stuffed to the gills with chicken/cheese/rice/tortilla/chips/salsa, wearing clothes from two days ago and in desperate need for of a shower.
1:01 PM: Note that hair looks as if I’ve just administered a can or so of mousse to it. A health-conscious cannibal would have to blot me down with napkins before consuming me.
1:02 PM: Decide to man up and seize the day.
1:05 PM: Goddamit, is it raining? Or did the humidity finally say fuck it and officially turn into water?
1:06 PM: Wonder if there’s a scientific explanation for how it’s both raining and getting hotter and humider? Of the 100% wetness of my clothing, I can’t clearly break down the responsible party, but I would estimate it’s 78% sweat, 22% rain.
1:07 PM: Buy NY Post.
1:10 PM: Buy pint of Stella at Jake’s Saloon. Make peculiar decision to sit at front of saloon, where it is not air-conditioned.
2:19 PM: Go to restroom. Observe that I look like heroin addict who’s just run a 10K. Also note that I haven’t worn anything other than flipflops since returning from Africa (except running shoes when, you know, running). Flipflops covered in a grimy substance that has the look and viscosity of Predator saliva.
2:30 PM: Hit Best Buy to check out the new shit. MLB 2K9 looks exactly like an actual baseball game. If I thought I would devote the seven months needed to play it, I might buy it. Instead, I will play the Batman: Arkham Asylum demo when the need hits.
2:50 PM: Ten minutes to kill, time to be productive. Go to the non-judgmental liquor store and pick up a jug of Yellow Tail Cab/Shiraz. That’s the purple label, yo. Won’t drink it all, but good to have on hand.
3:00 PM: Return to apartment – it doesn’t even remotely smell like chemicals. WTF? They probably just sprayed some tonic water around and charged $21k. Fucking bedbugs.
3:10 PM: Fucking cat still here. Dammit.
3:12 PM: Take first of a series of showers. Estimate that socially acceptable hygiene levels will be restored after the sixth shower.
3:30 PM: Finally, a nap. Arrrhrhghghgh! Remember that took all the sheets and stuff off the bed from fear that they actually shoot toxic fireballs into your bed or something. Now have to remake that shit.
6:00 PM: Finish series of showers. Rest levels high. Day looking up. Time for a trip to the gym.
6:01 PM: Gym? Or maybe I’ve had enough today, and should order a pizza?
6:01:02 PM: Yes, reward yourself.
6:03 PM: Despite presence of numerous independent and delicious pizzerias, find myself debating offers from two long-time friends (and contributors to obesity): Domino’s and Papa John’s.
6:04 PM: As a healthful compromise, I decide to forgo the spicy italian goodness of PJ’s for some boneless wings and a large thin crust at Domino’s. The fact that my body had been recently covered in sweat that closely resembled PJ’s garlic sauce also aided my decision.
6:07 PM: Domino’s online ordering is insane. It shows exactly what’s going on at every step. Thankfully there’s no “preparer takes care of itchy genitals before assembling your pizza” graphic.
6:18 PM: Pizza arrives, leave solid 23% tip for expediency. Open Yellow Tail, a large bottle of Poland Springs, and a Diet Coke with Lime. Keep your options open.
6:20 PM: Click on a Chelsea Lately. What the fuck is up with this new Time Warner guide/dvr format? Bring back the old style, I do not approve either user interface or the look of the screen. I hate the font too. Realize I should have ordered some Cinnastix.
6:25 PM: Having eaten a modest 1/3 of the pizza and maybe 34% of the wings, I put the food away.
6:26 PM: What now? Hmmm, I guess I could play a little online poker while I’m figuring out what to do. I’d remembered a week or so ago that I had $400 on a site and had run that up a little bit to a couple of grand.
6:30 PM: A $200 sit-n-go fills up. I theorize that people reach in these situations and take a shot before going out on a Saturday. (Sit-n-gos are six or nine man tournaments where the top two or three get paid, so a $200 6-man pays $840 for 1st and $360 for 2nd)
7:15 PM: I finish second in two sngs, and am up a couple hondo.
8:20 PM: Fucking A, you know what’s not that far from here? Atlantic City. Hmmm….there’s this sweet train now…
8:30 PM: You know what this party needs? Yep, MC Hammer, Garbage and Kriss Kross. 90’s ruled.
8:43 PM: Pizza now 80% gone.
9:00 PM: Start seeking out any and everyone who might want to make a spur-of-the-moment trip to AC.
9:15 PM: Send text to degenerate I barely know who had drunkenly suggested AC trip a month ago. No response.
9:34 PM: Incorrectly read train schedule, realize that next one is at midnight. Shit.
9:45 PM: Nobody’s down with AC. Where’d all that Yellow Tail go? Shit, why is my account suddenly down? I was winning?
9:57 PM: Pizza is 100% gone.
10:10 PM: Why am I opening the dreaded Online Blackjack application at the poker site? That’s fucking stupid.
10:16 PM: Maybe some Heavy D & the Boyz will turn this shit around. You can’t see what I can see.
10:30 PM: Why am I now playing $100/hand online blackjack that I’m 100% sure is rigged?
10:45 PM: Fuck it, will try another $500. I mean if my bankroll is fucked, who cares? Probably can’t take the money out anyway with all the legal bullshit going on with online poker – Barney Frank or somebody I think personally looks at all the transfers from those sites, no matter how. Wait, no, Barney Frank is a proponent of online poker. So maybe Maxine Waters reviews the monetary situation or something. Whatevs, it’s not looking good for the kid.
11:03 PM: Miraculously win 8 hands in a row, several at table max. Even more miraculously, quit the stupid blackjack game. Look at account and relieved to find I have exactly what I started the night with.
11:08 PM: Head back to the non-judgmental liquor store for another jug of Y-Tail. Won’t drink it all, but good to have on hand.
11:15 PM: Wait for $200 sng to fill up.
12:03 AM: Win $200 sng for $840. Fuck $200 sngs – apparently too easy for me. Wait for $300 sng to fill up.
1:20 AM: Win $300 sng for $1260. Wait for another $300 sng to fill up.
1:31 AM: Put the following ingredients in a tortilla: boneless chicken nuggets, wing sauce, one slice american cheese, one bag of Cosi potato chips. Surprisingly delicious and life-affirming.
2:10 AM: Win $300 sng for $1260. $300 sngs are for pussies (also no one is playing them now), but there are 4 people sitting waiting for a $500 sng to fill up.
3:12 AM: Win $500 sng for $2100. Man, I’m pretty fucking tired. Where did all that Y-Tail go? There’s only about 1/4 jug left? I probably spilled a lot of that.
3:30 AM: Bust out of my last sng. Pretty good run though, aside from momentary blackjack idiocy. Up $3,500 for the night. All effectively imaginary since withdrawals might have one shipped to Gitmo, but still an uplifting moment. But tired as shit, b.
I’m going out of town Thursday but there will be some 2-3 real-assed posts on this sit this week. And then things will get really real once August is over and the whole world starts reading goofy websites with abandon once again.