Drinking on the Job with @mtn_dew
I knew last Monday was going to be awesome before the awesomeness even got awesome. Yeah, that’s right. I just used awesome three times in one sentence. And there’s only one reason why a man should ever inject a trifector of awesomeness into a grammatically astonishing sentence: when a night promises an alliterative combination of booze, babes, bros and bowling. Of course, the booze must be free, the babes hot, the bros broing and the bowling embarrassing.
So this story begins in the late afternoon as I’m sitting in Union Square, sipping the ambrosial nectar known to mere mortals as Blue Moon. I had plotted my objectives for the night in advance, which I revealed to the world at 4:33pm via my Facebook status:
Tonight I intend to 1.) abuse the privilege of an open bar, 2.) bowl my fucking face off, 3.) ignore my date, 4.) hang out with my wingman/BFF Golden Boy, 5.) get into petty arguments with Golden Boy over the subtleties of game, 6.) ignore Golden Boy, 7.) hang out with the editors a TSB as they are paying me write a column about nonsense and awesomeness.
At 7:32, I had a few of my objectives met as my date sat across from me, looking around bored as I chugged beer and argued with Golden over something frivolous. With that auspicious start to the evening, Golden and I ushered our dates to the L train and embarked into the heart of hipster darkness: Brooklyn.
One stop into Brooklyn, we hoped off the subway to roam in search of this phantom bowling alley. We scampered down desolate streets as hipster men wearing their girlfriend’s tight black jeans scowled at us. Keep in mind, I am a short, obnoxious, spiky-haired Long Island douche bag and Golden is a tall, aggressive, curly-haired New Jersey douche bag. When we get together, our douche powers combine to form a Captain Planet of doucheness. We’re the dudes fathers hide their daughters from, children have nightmares about, and hipsters use to inspire their miserable whine-fests.
I stopped one dirty hipster and asked for directions. He was wearing a flannel shirt so disgusting I think I saw stink lines emanating from it as if he were a smelly cartoon character. He gave his greasy black emo hair a dramatic swoop and hissed, “Can’t help.” As he scampered into the distance, I heard the faint bass bump of house music. We followed the thudding rhythm like the Sirens’ song and, sure enough, it led to this super chill “underground” release party.
I have to hand it to Mountain Dew – this party was dope. After getting our hands stamped, the door girl informed us we were now eligible for unlimited booze and bowling all night. Golden and I looked at each other but no words needed speaking – it was simply time to get weird. And weird we got.
First, we hit the bar as if it was D-Day and we were storming the beaches of Normandy. Our dates had matching looks of fear and disgust on their faces as Golden and I proceeded to order enough alcohol to put us all in a coma.
As we were carting the booze off the bar, I felt a hand on my shoulder.
“Rob?” I turned to find a man who obviously has a keen eye for debauchery: my editor, Mike Stoute. I also met Pete the Freshmen and Bobby Rio, completing the TSB inner circle of complete awesomeness. We proceeded to party like a Lil Wayne video, guzzling Diet Violet Mountain Dew and vodkas (which are absolutely delicious btw).
Before I knew it, I was rip-roaring drunk, starting outrageous fights with guys hitting on my date, and blacked out before I could think of a conclusion to this story. Sorry dudes, but here are the take-home messages from the Mountain Dew Release Party:
1.) I need to get a Twitter account to document my descent into drunkenness in real time
2.) Vodka + Diet Violet Mountain Dew = delicious way to get smashed
3.) TSB dudes are legit
4.) I am an abysmal bowler
About Rob J. Rob J. is a writer and dating instructor in New York City. Themes that resonate in both his teaching and writing are masculinity, genuineness, rational self-interest, and general awesomeness.