Tag Archive for shenanigans

Fantasy is Perfection

January 5, 2011 Uncategorized

Normally I don’t make a big deal out of New Year’s Eve. We always seem to have one each year so I don’t really make a fuss out of going out but for 2011 I went to a club in San Francisco’s Castro district. The kind of club where you walk in and lovely gentlemen are dancing on the bar in their underpants. Yes, that kind of club. It was magical.

Minutes after getting inside I thought one of the go-go dancers looked familiar. It took me a couple minutes to realize that it wasn’t anyone I’d gone to school with and knew personally but rather my favorite porn star, in the oh so delicious flesh. (Now before you go getting all judgmental about the fact that I a.) Admit to having watched porn and b.) Have a favorite porn star, remember that just because you may call it “Romantic Comedies” doesn’t make what you watch any less porn-y. I just have the balls to admit it.)

I spent the next hour telling my friends how I “knew” him and lusting after him from a distance. I was too chicken to go up right away and slip a bill in his tighty-redies. I continued to drink, switching from tequila to vodka then champagne at midnight, and kind of forgot that he was there. By the time I remembered it was well after 1am and all of the go-go dancers were gone. Sad that I never got to get up close and take a picture but after thinking about it I’m kind of glad I didn’t.

Fantasy is perfection and the last thing I needed on my New Year’s Eve was getting up close and realizing my dream man had blackheads or extreme pores and ruining my fantasy. It’s one of the reasons I hope to God that I never meet Justin Timberlake. Judging from interviews and stories he seems like a dick. Let’s be honest no one answers the question on when you’re recording your long-anticipated next album with “Does a painter make a painting because he has to make it by December 21st? No, he doesn’t. It happens when it pours out of him. That’s how music is for me” and not come off sounding like a douche. I much prefer the fantasy I’ve made up where Justin and I are BFF’s. Meeting him would just ruin that.

Sure, having a picture with the porn star would have been great and all but the nameless hottie that I occupied my time with on the dance floor and later in our private booth served me just fine. Making out with him was even better, especially considering the fact that I didn’t have to slip dollar bills into his drawers to get his attention.

Adventures in Vacationing Part 1 – I’ma Do Me

March 23, 2010 drunkst, shenanigans, vacation

This is the first in a multi-part series about how hard I can vacation. I call it a multi-part series since I don’t yet know how many parts there will be. That all depends on how many memories I can piece back together from my Facebook status updates, Tweets, outgoing text messages and calls I receive from friends recapping the drunk messages I left them.

That’s right. I’m 29 and still leaving drunk messages. In my defense, I didn’t start drinking until about 26 or 27. If you think about it, my drinking age would put me somewhere between 18-22, the perfect drunk dialing age. Stop judging.

Other than church wine like the good Catholic altar boy that I was raised as, I never drank alcohol until about 3 weeks after my 21st birthday. I just wasn’t that interested in it. At 29 things are very different. I have recently discovered that just like grief, my drunkenness has different stages.

Stage 1: Giggly Aldo
A couple of drinks in I start giggling for no apparent reason. This is the stage most of my friends are familiar since it’s so easy to tell. I sound like an 8 year old girl. Not the best look on a 29 year old man but it’s out of my control.

Stage 2: Sassy Aldo
A few more drinks in I develop an accent that is a mixture of Brooklyn and Madea. I start sassing people in louder tones, being more aggressive and telling it how it is. The misspelled text messages filled with poor grammar start pouring out of my fingertips at this point. The iPhone is a wonderful invention but spellcheck can only do so much. Once you start putting X’s in the middle of champagne, iPhone can’t keep up and just let’s you do you.

Stage 3: Alejaandro
Alejaandro was recently named after the Lady Gaga song “Alejandro” but being the Latino that I am I really wanted to make sure white folks stretched out that middle A sound. Hence, the extra A. At this stage I am known to break into a fierce catwalk strut that contestants on America’s Next Top Model wish they had. This is especially amazing to watch on the streets of Manhattan. At this point I have no problem in telling people all about themselves whether in person, via text message or drunk dial.

Stage 4: Jack Grey, the assistant
This weekend, after 2 bottles of cahnpahne, some tequila and two buckets of Coronas with lime by the pool I reached a new level of drunkenness that I did not know I had. Jack Grey was an alter-ego that I invented years ago that I was going to use after I faked my own death, had massive amounts of plastic surgery to change my appearance and became an international jewel thief. I was going to be a manly Catwoman, complete with sexy black leather outfit and a motorcycle on top of which I would do Justin Timberlake after having saved his life. I’d be a good-hearted international jewel thief after all.

Saturday afternoon after spending 6 glorious hours lounging by the pool and drinking with my friend like it was our job, my assistant Jack Grey started calling people in my contact list and letting them know that Aldo would not be calling them and leaving drunk messages anymore because Aldo was now ‘grown’. My assistant Jack then proceeded to tell people all the shenanigans I had gotten into during my 8 hours of drinking. (We started hours before we got to the pool.)

Where Alejaandro’s speech pattern can sometimes be hard to understand with all of his slurring, Jack Grey remained absolutely professional during each and every call. I was told Jack didn’t even sound drunk. The scary part is that I have almost no recollection of Jack picking up my phone and dialing people. The only part I remember is taking Jack’s drunk ass to the shower, the only place he wouldn’t take the iPhone into, sitting on the floor of the tub while water ran down him. It was the only thing that made Jack sit down and behave himself.

If you were one of the lucky ones to receive a drunk call or text message from any of the four individuals mentioned above consider yourself lucky. They are good for hours of entertainment and if the whole Tiger Woods debacle has taught us anything it’s that those messages can someday be worth something. At the very least they might get you on the cover of People.

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