Tag Archives: travel

Vegas Recap

2 May

I know I said I would post on Monday about my weekend in Vegas, but sometimes after hurting your liver the last thing you think about is logging onto your blog and trying to be clever. So here it is some days later. For those counting at home, I will give myself a win for this trip , which brings my all time record against Vegas to a respectable 2-2. I did not win exorbitant sums of money, or go home with Kate Uptonesque girls (Hippos!!!), but I learned a lot about myself this trip. The theme for Vegas 2012 was called Getting Older. From watching 20/20 specials sipping whiskey in my room on a Friday night, to I’ding girls who claimed they were 21 on the strip, to bringing a Dave Eggers novel poolside and actually reading an entire chapter, to shopping for a nice dress shirt at Zara, to asking strippers about their health benefits, it all tied in to that inevitable clock-ticking truth. And I could really care less. I raged hard this weekend, don’t get me wrong. I drank unhealthy amounts of Jack, hollered at girls, bet on stupid things, and saw the sunrise because I know that won’t last, and I’m pretty happy about it. I embrace the fact that Vegas allows me to act like a degenerate for 2 days, but I also embrace my more mature proclivities. So let’s raise our Hennessy and flat red bulls and have a toast. To Vegas 2013! May it be filled with expensive steak houses, spa treatments, and The Blue Man Group.

8:37 PM Friday: Arrive at Treasure Island in an overheated ’65 Mustang. Pit stains non-existent because I’m wearing a Turquoise tank. Swag?

8:59 PM Friday: Fatigued from the hot ride, drink Gatorade and watch the last half of Speed in the room, friends tell me I’ve changed.

10:45 PM Friday: Guy in Ed Hardy shirt asks me “How do you play craps!” Turns out to be an all right guy.

12:25 AM Saturday: Make out with questionable looking drunk girl. (Or does she think she’s making out with questionable looking drunk guy? Wig out mind meddler)

1:40 AM Saturday: Next “Too Close” might be on, but I’m in a full BO so its’ hard to tell. Girl asks me to hold her Iphone, I pocket it and forget, and she accuses me of trying to steal it. I leave the club. #Lightweightjealouscause Ihaveaflipphone

3:17 AM Saturday: Make a terrible order at the Bellagio café such and such. Eat Fish and Chips with drunken 21 year olds from Tacoma. Feel old.

4:10 AM Saturday: Win $300 dollars in Craps; think I know how to win at Craps.

4:25 AM Saturday: Seriously contemplate seeing Carrot Top live.

5:45 AM Saturday: Painful rest.

9:45 AM Saturday: Awoken by friends who convince me to bet actual money on a three team parlay involving the Knick to cover, Pacers to cover and Celtics to win straight up. Good lord that went poorly.

10:30 AM Saturday: Watch first two quarters of the Heat game, want to cry and take a nap.

11:18 AM Saturday: Go to pool, apply sunscreen, look like a geisha girl, and listen to Flo Rida.

11:45 AM Saturday: Flo Rida is still on, and that red German is still dancing in front of the DJ, how is this possible?

1:54 PM Saturday: Stripper asks me where I get my haircut. I reply “At Rudy’s on Sunset” She gets up and walks away.

4:27 PM Saturday: Mustang won’t start for 2 hours. Saved by a redneck. Leave Vegas slightly sun burnt in the company of good friends.

My Vegas Predictions

26 Apr

This weekend I will head to Las Vegas carrying a 1-2 record against the city. My losses are mostly due to sunburns, lost money and an underwhelming buffet. My one win was hard fought and revolved around investing in stronger SPF and not playing roulette. Despite movies like the Hangover and highly embellished stories from your raver friends, Vegas isn’t all that wild and unpredictable. In fact, if I could bet on what would happen during my fourth encounter in Vegas, I would be a rich man. The following are my predictions for this weekend. On Monday I will post the actual results of the unhealthy adventure and we will all see how smart and conceited I am.

8:37 PM Friday: Arrive at Treasure Island slightly buzzed with pit stains developing.

8:59 PM Friday: Change into my sexy shirt, head down to Casino and immediately lose $75 @ Craps table.

10:45 PM Friday: Guy in Affliction T-Shirt asks me “What the fuck I’m staring at!”

12:25 AM Saturday: Make out with questionable looking drunk girl.

1:40 AM Saturday: Next “Too Close” is on. Dance in a weird circle with my friends, pit stains appear on my sexy shirt.

3:17 AM Saturday: Make a terrible order @ Denny’s

4:10 AM Saturday: Win $15 dollars in Craps; think I know how to win at Craps.

4:25 AM Saturday: Lose $110 at Craps. Definitely don’t know how to win at Craps.

5:45 AM Saturday: Painful rest.

9:45 AM Saturday: Awoken by friends who convince me to bet actual money on a three team parlay involving the Blue Jays, Coyotes and Royals.

10:30 AM Saturday: Watch first two innings of a Royals game, want to cry and throw up, can’t decide which yet.

11:18 AM Saturday: Go to pool, apply sunscreen, look like a geisha girl, listen to LMFAO.

11:45 AM Saturday: LMFAO is still on, how is this possible?

1:54 PM Saturday: Put $10 on black in Roulette, win. Feel like a fucking king. Buy Pastrami sandwich with my earnings.

4:27 PM Saturday: Buy expensive Aloe Vera, receive word the Blue Jays have lost and drive home sun burnt.

Spring Break Throwback: Willits Edition

11 Apr

...and also lots of weed

While most College Seniors are planning their epic trip to Cabo, I was convinced to spend four wild days in Willits. For those unfamiliar, Willits is a small town in Northern California that is notable for being small and full of weed (to be fair this can aptly describe any town north of the Bay Area, CA). I like to compare it to the shire from Lord of the Rings, but instead of Hobbits, its inhabitants include ganja farmers and Woody Harrelson type dealers.
With the appropriate iPod playlist at the ready, two friends and I hopped in the whip and reggae free-styled our way up state. We arrived at our destination in high spirits, and pretty much kept those spirits for the next four days. It’s difficult to be a Debbie downer when you’re a guest on a weed farm. The next 96 hours were admittedly a blur, but I remember four things that were way more awesome than anything I could have done in Cabo.

Shooting AK-47: Shooting an AK is like playing a video game. I honestly felt like I was just pressing R2 the entire time. I stood on top of a bluff overlooking the Eel River, and shot the crap out of boulders while laughing softly. It’s creepy how powerful you feel with one of those tucked under your armpit. I pretended I was a Russian guard who finally got the best of Bond and Natalia in the Stacks. It was glorious.

Rafting down the Eel River: Looking back this was pretty sketch. My friend and I literally took turns blowing air into a tiny children’s raft that clearly wasn’t meant for two grown men. With our compromised lung capacity, we failed to properly inflate the raft, but that didn’t stop us. Like a couple of veteran Oregon trailers with no Indians in sight, we chose to cock the raft and float it. We started sinking immediately, the currents were wild and the water freezing, but somehow we navigated that river for 5 minutes with our friends Cyborg dog paddling by our side. Just one of those “I can’t believe this is working moments.”

Racing Through the Woods: Weedy McGee (farm owner) wanted to show us how beautiful the sunset was from the ridge. We were losing light quick, so clearly a dirt bike/ATV race was in order. I was tripping the hardest so I sat bitch on the ATV. Unbeknownst to me, Weedy McGee was born on a dirt bike because he smashed through the woods like Bigfoot on a bender. My friend valiantly tried to keep up, but we hit a steep uphill and ended up flipping the ATV and had to use our Zeus like quads to flip it behind us. Normally, a near fatal ATV crash would stop me in my tracks, but we had a sunset to catch and Weedy McGee was right, it was beautiful.

Playing Every Instrument Ever: Apparently when you run a weed farm you get lonely, and when you get lonely you buy every instrument imaginable. I played no less than 32 instruments in a circular room for 9 hours. I thought I was the shit. Gamelans, Djembes, Obos, it didn’t matter, I awkwardly played them all, high as shit in a dimly lit room.

I have never been back to Willits, and I will never go again. I want to keep my epic senior spring break enshrined in its proper haze of AK’s and questionable river rafting. So if you are off to some sun burnt slosh fest this spring break, kudos my friend, but everyone should have their Willits. Get weird.

Let's avoid being this guy

5 Scenarios When It’s OK to Ask For Another Guy’s Number

5 Apr

Do I really need to preface this with a no homo? Fine, no homo, but it can be hard to move to a new place where you don’t have any friends, especially a core group of bros with whom you can rage, rip and reminisce with. It’s our duty as guys to pester and gently harass a girl until we get her number, but getting another guy’s number can be tricky, and what’s the point of getting a girl’s digits without your best bro there to rate her and give you a high five after? The following is a list of five scenarios in which it is appropriate to ask for another man’s phone number:

Hey Bro, Nice Outfit.

Basketball Buddy– After a few games you can start with a nice compliment like, “Sweet jumper bro,” or “Man, you’re a real beast down low.” You want to avoid chest bumps, butt slaps and complicated handshakes as the slightest miscalculation can lead to d touching. If the dude responds to your advances, then by all means let him know that you play every weekend, or want to start a Tuesday night league or would love to play some horse for money sometime. If he does not respond, he thinks you are a big joke and does not respect your game. This is fine, move on down the line to the dude with the next sweetest jump shot and try again. You’ll have enough for 5 on 5 in no time.

We refuse to go all in!

Poker Night– I guess people are still playing poker. I know I stopped in College after I lost $40, two good friends and a chance to sleep with a beautiful girl all in one brutally long night where everyone refused to go all in. Nevertheless, it still stands as a very manly activity and seems to be a legit way to gather the troops, drink brews, and talk shit about girls and sports. It is assumed that all men know how to play a little poker, so if an invitation to play is rejected it means the declining dude is either stingy or a pussy. Neither look is good for a potential friend.

Ha, ve are having so much fun killing Nazis!

Videogame Sesh– Entire weekends used to be spent as children setting proximity mines in a facility in GoldenEye and shroom boosting thru tricky chicanes in Mariokart. Although the games have changed, the murderous rage still boils deep within. Some guys will claim that they don’t enjoy videogames, and that might be the adult thing to say, but what the hell is wrong with them? I dare you to play Call of Duty and murder hundreds and hundreds of Nazis with rocket launchers and not crack a smile, or score three unanswered goals in FIFA ’12 to win in the 90th minute and watch your friend well up with tears. Videogames are a great way to share some laughs and develop a friendly rivalry.

I never wanted to do thisssssss!!

Cliff Jumping– Nothing like warm bud lights and the local meth head population cheering you on. “Fucking jump already!” You might be a Eunuch if a guy asks you to go cliff jumping, and you refuse. Despite my terrible Jeff Foxworthy impression, I’m kind of being serious. I don’t even like cliff jumping. Not even the idea appeals to me, but it has become the ultimate measuring stick for a guy’s schvienstieger. The higher the cliff the better. The sketchier the take off and the gnarlier the landing area, the sweeter of a bro you become. If you can bust a gainer, a hushed silence will fall over the quarry. Cliff jumping is one of the last bastions of pure peer pressure. There are so many reasons not to jump off a cliff, and yet when a dude invites you to hurl your body 60 feet into an icy cold pond with jagged rocks, you do it.

There is literally not a single girl here.

General Boozing and Hounddoggery– This is a risky invite and should always be prefaced with a clear intent to “holler at girls” or help out with your new home brewing kit. Just grabbing beers doesn’t quite cut it for a first time hangout. Even if there aren’t any girls in sight, you guys can still talk about what you would hypothetically do to a girl or say to them if they were there.

Gringotone!

28 Mar

8 Things You Will Encounter During Bus Travel in South America

13 Mar

False. No one is this happy before taking a bus.

1) Reggaeton Recliner– Let me preface this by saying if you are over six feet tall you ‘re fucked. South America is best enjoyed at around 5’9” There will always be a guy who sits down in the seat in front of you and immediately without hesitation or regard for knee caps and menisci will recline as far as he can go. He then usually puts on absurdly loud Reggaeton, Salsa, or Cumbia and pretends not to feel taps on his shoulders.

2) Narcoleptic Recliner– This is a variation of number one, but equally as annoying. This person arrives on the bus and apparently hasn’t slept in months because they immediately recline their seat, fall asleep and begin snoring within seconds. Now maybe this person has just finished back-to-back marathons and has asthma and is narcoleptic and I am too harsh in my judgment. Or maybe they are inconsiderate slobs. Is it even possible to sleep for 16 hours straight without coming down from an acid trip? Do every one a favor and take a quick nap before the bus, snore it up all you want, and then just sit there and stare straight forward like every one else.

3) Segal– Are you a fan of Steven Segal? No? Then you’re fucked. Be prepared to watch at least one and more likely 900 Segal movies. From his memorable role as Jonothan Cold in “Black Dawn” to his striking performance as Harlan Banks in “Today You Die,” Segal sizzles on the small, blurry, and often cracked monitor. Groggy bus passenger audiences sit captive watching his ponytail flail about as he nonchalantly karate chops helpless goons from Rio to Bogota. One time a Sarah Michelle Gellar movie came on, and a man in the front of the bus punched the driver for treason. Segal is king.

4) Balls Cold– If you own Arctic commando fatigues, you are in luck. If you have ever trained to survive sub-zero temperatures then you will be well suited for bus travel in South America. Apparently there are no such things as knobs to control temperature on buses here. The bus temp always hovers around the more reasonable ‘balls cold,’ to ‘cryogenics cavern cold.’ Just pray the trip is under 20 hours, if not, you will be dealing with respiratory illness and or frostbite. According to NOAA, (National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration) 24 people die in the U.S. every year from issues related to the cold. Last year in South America, 7,000 people died from cold buses and lack of blood circulation due to insufficient legroom. That is a made up fact, but seriously bring a hoody.

5) Anytime Minutes– Someone in your near vicinity will either dial or receive close to 500 cell phone calls. They will have an obnoxiously loud ring tone and will wait until the last possible ring to pick up. The conversations always have something to do with how slow the bus is going and what time they may or may not arrive. Look, we are all on the same terrible bus ride, text your mom or loved one when you are close. We’ll get there shortly barring any horrific accident involving high speeds and sketchy roads… oh wait.

6) Move Bitch Get Out the Way!– One of the most popular practical jokes in South America is to take a big clumsy bus with bad suspension, drive it 100 miles per hour in pouring rain over steep, curvy mountain roads while passing cars on blind corners. Don’t worry, all drivers in South America have watched Tokyo Drift at least three times, you’re in good hands. Sure, it’s pretty frightening for the entire duration of the trip, but once you arrive at your destination you exchange clammy high fives and nervous laughter with the driver. It’s really just a great joke.

7) Gnarly Food Decisions– Bring food and water like you are preparing for a long winter full of earthquakes. While some bus companies provide a luke warm, unidentifiable entrée, the majority will only stop once at the finest dimly lit roadside shack. If you have never tried a cold doughy ball full of raw chicken and old cheese, this is your chance. If you are a brave and self-proclaimed “foodie” then by all means go ahead, but be prepared to visit a farmacia or bano within the next several hours. Oh yea, and good luck with the bathroom. Some buses don’t even have one; others do but never have toilet paper, and some inexplicably read, “For urinating only.” My advice is a big bag of Doritos, yogurt and water.

8) Elbow Battler– If you are traveling solo, chances are someone is going to sit next to you. The best you can hope for is a small girl that doesn’t say anything or move the whole trip. This never happens. You will most likely receive some heavily scented man with a Napoleon complex who swears he needs just as much room as someone twice his size. Dude, I swear I’m not trying to be a dick, I just need a little more leg and shoulder room than you, its just how I’m built. Please stop battling me for elbow position and using every bump in the road as an opportunity to encroach on my already tiny seat.

That's more like it.

Hard Hollers at the Taco Truck

8 Mar


I have the excellent fortune of living in the presence of taco trucks. L.A. is cheese full of these mobile smile bringers. I have never heard anyone say, “Ah shit, there’s a taco truck here.” It’s always more like, “Ohhhhhhh shit!” Taco trucks bring two important things to street corners; burritos and drunk girls. This is one of the most underrated places to meet a girl in your city.

Drunk, Hungry and Horny
During the day the taco truck is a peaceful glimpse into local food culture where day laborers and business folk alike bond over cheap, tasty eats. When night falls, however, the truck is inundated with loud drunks testing out their 9th grade Spanish and spilling Jarritos on their shoes. I realize what I just described sounds awful to most people, but if you are tolerant and swift enough to dodge some wayward toronja, you have the potential to bond with a member of the opposite sex over the three most important characteristics of a 2am creature of the night: being drunk, being hungry and being horny. If you were to check a box of needs and emotions after leaving a bar or club, one if not all three would pop up. The comradery two hungry and horny drunks share while waiting in a line for food is unparalleled. The same girl who was not giving you attention at the bar, will suddenly open up to you like you’re Barbara Walters and her career hangs in the balance.
“What are you going to get?”
“A burrito.” She replies.
“Nice.”
It really is that simple. After that its no holds barred. Ask her favorite color, her thoughts on the Iraq war, her preferred fuck ficky. It doesn’t even have to make sense because you are both experiencing the same emotions and both striving toward the same goal.

Strategy and a Little Bit of Suerte
Let me put it in economic terms. A normal night out at a bar might include cover charges, several drinks, and hours of pursuing girls who may or may not be interested in you. Not to mention taking the risk of drunk driving or having to take an expensive cab ride home. All told it comes to around fifty dollars and a headache the next morning. If you went to your local town fair and there was a tent with a sign that read, ‘$50 to stare at women and then get a headache,’ you would burn that tent to the ground and write a formal complaint to town fair management.
Here is what I suggest: split a fifth or a 30 rack with a couple close friends and play Madden or Call of Duty from 9pm to 1:30 am. Take a bus to your local bar/taco truck area (you can walk, skate or bike too but mind the shit eating in bushes). Arrive at the taco truck just as the bars let out. Find a cute drunk girl who keeps whining, “All I want is a quesadilla! Oh my god.” Slide in line and start up a convo. Remember it starts out about burritos, but then go ahead and get crazy. She’ll be into it. You’re in taco truck world now. Suerte.