My Spring Break

March 26, 2009

First off, let me apologize: I haven’t made any posts pretty much all month. In fact, ever since I mentioned that I got 80 hits on a post, it’s been all downhill from there. It seems like Mike’s blog is as relevant as Jean Claude Van Damme’s career. Anyway, I’m going to keep on plugging away and win the hearts back of my readers.

The reason why I haven’t posted anything is that because for 10 days I was in Florida on Spring Break. I had a crazy time. Here are a couple tidbits I told myself to keep a mental note of and write about. This is purely a timeline post and there is, quite frankly, very little insight here. In fact, this is probably my most “college” post, as there are pretty much only stories of debauchery and stupidity. If you are looking for a more insightful post, click here or here.

March 13, 6:30am: I called the Night Ride service at school, which is a free drivers service for students who are typically drunk, to take me to the Metro. Come on, I didn’t want to walk there (I would get mugged) and I didn’t want to pay for a taxi (I paid too much for the vacation already). Anyway, I was sitting there when the driver made a small detour to pick up another girl who needed a ride. He stopped in front of an off-campus apartment building and a girl, still partially dressed from the night before came out with smeared make-up. In addition, she was crying. She sat across from me, still clearly intoxicated, with her legs wide open and no underwear on. Of course, I found this kind of pathetic (very pathetic actually), and a little entertaining. So, I said the first thing that came to my mind, “Tough night?” She said yes and she continued to tell me about her night. After this little run-in, I realized how lucky I am to be surrounded by classy women, either as friends or as love interests. Never would I be interested in this type of classless girl. I pity her, but I also pity the guy she ends up with. Accordingly, I figured if this was a telling sign of my vacation to come, I would be having a ridiculous time.

March 13, 8pm: After a day of sitting out at my grandparents’ pool, they took my to a Shabbat dinner at their community’s clubhouse. I was introduced to many retired people. Obviously, they had heard about me and my brother from my grandparents because they knew more about me than I know about me. It was pretty cool, actually. I love my grandparents so two days later I decided I would tell my friends about my grandparents and how cool they are (a reversal of roles, if you will).

March 13, 10:30pm: My school’s basketball team won. I was happy. I love my school and I love feeling spirited about it. This is going to be one of those little things I miss when I graduate in two months.

March 14, 11pm: I won the yearly miniature golf tournament amongst my grandparents and my brother. I won in dominant fashion. I was also sunburned, so winning while being sunburned was a testament to my skill and character.

March 15, 11:30am: My friends, after driving for 12.5 hours from school picked me up from my grandparents’ house to start our spring break. I was shocked that they were so upbeat and happy, especially after driving through the night. I give them credit. I would have been a miserable son of a bitch. Anyway, they schmoozed with my grandparents for a little and we were off. I really wish I could have spent longer at my grandparents. I really enjoy spending time with them. They aren’t typical old people. They are really fun and with it. If I can be as fun when I’m their age, I’d consider my life work insofar a success.

March 15, 3pm: We finally arrive at South Beach and meet up with the rest of our crew. We are all excited to be there together. I am still in shock this actually happened for many reasons. First, with a big group it is hard to get things done. Second, if you know my group, we all debate what our plans will be for the night or weekend or whatever and then end up doing the same thing we do every weekend (which involves going to a bar and leaving disappointed). This is just a shock to me.

March 15, 5pm: We have our first group debate. I’m not going to use the word “argument” because that implies that it is actually serious. Every one of our “debates” on this trip were pretty pointless and in retrospect seem small, but someone on the trip said something to me (and quite frankly I don’t remember who it was, when it was, or in what context it was) that if we didn’t care about each other we wouldn’t be arguing at all. I like what that person said. If only I knew who it was. I would probably give him or her a handshake or something (or a milkshake or anything else that ends in “shake”).

March 15, 10pm: Four of us guys were walking the beach when four girls began walking our way. Both our conversations stopped. I was nominated by my friends (who were clearly afraid to talk to them) to say something smooth to them. And in my lowest point on the trip, I said nothing. I don’t even know why I bring this embarrassing moment up, except to say that I am a pussy. If only girls were the one that initiated things, life would be easier.

March 16, 8am: The day of the cruise had finally arrived. I woke up with one of my friends’ legs on top of me. What? We had to share beds. We like comfortability, but we also like spending 20 bucks a night on a hotel. Anyway, I push him off and am wide awake. We had been planning this cruise for six months and it was finally here. I was stoked.

March 16, 1pm: On the boat, my group of thirteen friends had probably already gone through around forty soft serve ice creams. Soft serve was unlimited, which is how the entire world should be.

March 16, 9pm: After around my first five courses at dinner, I took a brief intermission and looked around. Thirteen of my closest friends were surrounding me. It was pretty cool that we were all sitting down together and enjoying a good meal. I know we do this a lot, but I don’t think any of us have taken the time to actually consider how special it truly is. I can clearly say that our situation is very unique and to have the opportunity to do what I was doing was pretty cool.

March 17, 10am: We arrive in Key West and the guys separate from the girls and go to the beach (the girls wanted to shop). Fortunately for us, it was sunglasses weather for the third straight day (the definition of this stays sacred and secret within my group of friends… but it’s quite easy to figure out). Six of us guys had to squeeze into a taxi, with five in the backseat. It was quite a sight. The taxi driver was pretty ridiculous, too. Just another crazy chapter in the story of this vacation.

March 17, 2pm: In honor of St. Pattie’s Day, we got drunk. I have a new appreciation for day drunk. I used to think this was reserved for the coolest of frat brahs or the drunkest of alcoholics, but now I see why both do this. First, it doesn’t kill the rest of the night. In the night, you have two options: drink again or just enjoy the night. It’s pretty great. A couple of us guys decided to play mini golf on the roof of our boat. Quite an experience being drunk. First off, it is more difficult to play. Second, there was so many kids playing, and our interactions with them were hilarious. It is important to mention that I won in dramatic fashion on the last hole, thus continuing my undefeated streak on this vacation.

March 17, 8pm: This was the formal dinner night, the captain’s dinner. We got all dressed up, and in typical Mike form, I rocked the blazer. As I have said previously, I like suits and formal events. Accordingly, I love drinking in formal attire. This was the perfect opportunity to accomplish both. However, my friends hate on the blazer. I love it, so they could back off. I will wear a blazer until my death (Note: I just reread this paragraph and it sounds like a third grader wrote it, so I’m going to stick with that. A third grader wrote it).

March 18, 1pm: We arrive in Cozumel, Mexico and get off the boat. After an hour of “debating” where to go, we finally find a Mexican man named Tony who offered to drive us around all day and take us to a private beach for 25 bucks a person. Looking past the whole possibility of him abducting us, we agreed without a doubt. As he led us to his van, my friends kept on telling me to keep up with him, so he didn’t ditch us.

March 18, 1:30pm: Tony asked us if we wanted beers for the car ride. Once again proving my theory that Mexico has no laws, we agreed. We stopped at a sketchy convenience store across from a cemetery and picked up a 12-pack of Sol beer. We didn’t even want to get drunk; we just drank just so we could say we drank in a car.

March 18, 2pm: We arrive at our private beach, and it is absolutely breathe taking–unlimited snorkeling, kayaks, volleyball, padded beach chairs, and a pretty swanky oceanside bar. Some of us immediately went for the snorkeling, including me. It was pretty cool, but after about an hour, we were tired and retired to the beach for chips and salsa and drinks.

March 18, 3pm: We get our first drinks: iced margaritas. Great call. One of my friends told our waiter, who insisted we call him “Emmitt Smith” (clearly the only American he knew) we wanted it extra strong. He put at least four shots of tequila in. After drinking our first and eating a lot of chips and salsa (very spicy), we moved to the ocean for our second round, where we enjoyed the strongest strawberry daiquiris man has ever had (and if you include the amount of sea water that got in, it was even worse). At that point we all were pretty drunk.

March 18, 5pm: We screwed around in the ocean for awhile. The water was so blue and perfect. If you looked under the water, you could see for a hundred feet. We moved to drinking Sol beers and were about around our seventh round while wrestling on a dock in the water above a reef. Pretty cool to be swimming around with tropical fish. This was easily the best time I had at a beach, the best time I had being drunk and one of the best memories I have of my group of friends. So cool.

March 18, 7:30pm: We leave our paradise to go shopping in Cozumel. The car ride back was insane. Tony blasted loud reggaeton music and could have been as intoxicated as we were (once again, no laws in Mexico). At one point he left the steering wheel and took a picture with us. The video evidence we have is incredible.

March 18, 8pm: Tired of watching the girls shopping and still incredibly drunk, a friend and I wandered off from the group and went searching in Cozumel (not the most brilliant move). We ended up in an alley where we found a gelato place (sounds weird, I know). We attempted to speak Spanish to the cashier guy and hit on the other girl at the cashier. We left for fear of being in Mexico in the dark.

March 18, 9pm: We are all passing out at dinner. It was quite a sight.

March 19, 1pm: We all sit poolside for our day at sea. Nothing too eventful happened. I have to say that after the excitement of the day before we needed a relaxing afternoon. I just sat there and reflected on the past couple days and realized how lucky we all were to share this experience. I know not everyone gets to experience having a tight big group of friends, but I wish everyone could.

March 19, 3:30pm: We all go to the poolside bar to watch our school play in the first round of the NCAA tournament. It was quite an exciting game (which we eventually won) and because of our cheering and chanting we essentially got everyone poolside to hate us. It didn’t matter. We were in our own world.

March 20, 11pm: Off of the boat and back in Miami at our hotel, I meet this incredibly attractive girl, which I will get back to in a little. Anyway, we all drink and my friends call it an early night. I, of course, decide that I am going to stay up and mingle with the other people that are staying at the hotel at the pool and the bar. I’m pretty sure this hotel was god’s little social experiment because this was the oddest mixture of odd people I have ever seen. First, there were a bunch of British people (I, of course, hated them for no reason because their accents got every girls’ attention). Then there were these two older guys (probably in their late 30s to early 40s) who were on such another level of drunk that I have never seen before. You couldn’t even make out a word they were saying. One guy, Caesar, was no taller than five feet and just repeated “Hail Caesar!” over and over again and rambling in a high pitched voice. The other was this gigantic guy named Danny who couldn’t complete a sentence and randomly broke out singing the Pussycat Dolls song “Dontcha.” There were also other drunk foreigners, but I don’t feel like going on and on about them. They were just ridiculous. And this girl that I spoke to all night, ended up being engaged. Nice of her to mention it to me earlier. I could write a novel of my failures with girls, and a short story of my successes (sounds like the name of a Fall Out Boy song). Whatever, quality over quantity (for the most part).

The next day we left for home in the evening driving all night. I got back, and slept for seventeen straight hours after a long vacation of no sleep, consistent drinking, tropical sun and more classic stories then I can count. I am incredibly gracious to my friends for providing me with an amazing time. I know this is a memory we will all share forever, and will talk about it for years to come.

Damn You, Facebook.

March 11, 2009

So just about everybody is doing the “25 random things about me” on Facebook, so I figured I should do one too.  Except not on Facebook.  Here it is…

1.  I despise mustard.  First of all, anything that is yellow is not appealing to eat.  Second, the consistency is disgusting.  It’s a little thicker than ketchup, not as watery and is really quite disgusting.  The horrific taste doesn’t help.

2.  I don’t like people who judge people’s tastes in music.  Who the fuck are you to go around and decide what kind of music is “good” and what is “bad?”  When did you become the all knowing judge of music?  I don’t get it.  Everyone has different tastes, so back off.

3.  My life has been defined by fads: Ninja Turtles (don’t even get me started on how many Ninja Turtle action figures I have), Mighty Morphin’ Power Rangers (does anyone remember the six-parter about the birth of the Green Ranger?  I sure as hell do), pogs (still have them in my basement), and Pokemon (damn you Pokemon, I spent thousands of dollars on games, cards, movie tickets, etc.–all to try and catch them all.  And when I did catch them all, you released 100 new Pokemon).  The list goes on and on.  Does Facebook count?

4.  I am ultra competitive.  Just ask anyone who’s played Trivial Pursuit with me.  This all stems from the fact that in my entire illustrious sporting career that has spanned two decades, I have won two championships:  soccer in 1998 and bowling in 2001.  Because of my lack of success, I overcompensate in everything else (don’t ask me about that time I challenged a teacher to an Andrew Jackson-esque duel over my grade).

5.  I have a rediculous memory… except for remembering names.  I can remember anything–birthdays, sporting events, secrets, good and bad things–but I can’t remember names.  Here is why: when you introduce yourself to someone new, you immediately begin to think of what you are going to say next (i.e. How are you?  You have big boobs! Etc, etc.).  Thus, you completely forget to listen to that person’s name.  Trust me, I’m not alone on this.

6.  I do things for the story.  Some may call Mike an outrageous character.  I say he just does some rediculous things just so he could remember them and have the stories to tell for years (i.e. the 1216 prank war of spring 2008… don’t get me started).

7.  I love sports.  I can remember stats, information, specific games, who played when–I’m just really good at it.  This is because it is actually something I am passionate about and care about.  I love watching, playing, fantasying, videogaming–pretty much anything that makes me feel closer to the game (for instance, playing Madden with the worst team and only drafting University of Maryland players… what?  I love my school).

8.  Loyalty is key for me.  No matter what situation it is, I think being loyal is the most important thing.  In a relationship, friends, sports teams, school–it doesn’t matter.  For me, I know I will always back up my friends no matter what.  If a huge football player starts a fight with my friend, I will help my friend, although we would probably both end up with our asses kicked.

9.  My favorite kinds of movies are movies that make you think and have deep character development.  It could be a comedy, drama, chick flick (most likely not, though), whatever.  As long as I leave the movie saying, “That was a complete movie,” I am satisfied.

10.  I think it’s hilarious when people get injured.  Not a serious injury, but getting hit with a football in the balls or someone hitting their head on a table or something.  I’m sorry, I can’t help it.

11.  I’m pretty proud of the fact that I am still incredibly close with three of my oldest friends.  I have grown my entire life with them and will probably continue to… unless one of them continues to wake me up with stupid-ass text messages and phone calls early in the morning.

12.  I am very sentimental.  I try to take something (physically and emotionally) from everywhere I’ve been.  I have a box of crap from high school, a huge box of stuff from when I went to Italy, etc., etc.  Why do I need a napkin from a restaurant in Italy?  I have no idea.  Emotionally, I am also sentimental.  It is going to be tough to move on from my current fake reality in college in two months.

13.  Apparently, my catch phrase is “wow,” which, now that I think about it, is said in a drawn out deep voice, many times a day.

14.  I like wearing suits.  This is pretty much the sole reason why I am going to law school–for the potential to wear more suits.  I like feeling classy.  Maybe even a little elitist.  I even go out of my way to wear suits in all situations.

15.  I like telling stories, mainly about me and where I’ve been and where I’m going.  When I think back on the past five years of my life, it’s kind of wierd.  It seems like a crappy fiction novel to me, which is probably why it’s so easy to write about (crappily, of course).  When I think about some of the things I’ve done and said in the past, I think, “That couldn’t of been me.”  Then I think some more and realize it was and I am completely ashamed.

16.  I love renaissance art.  It started in high school with a teacher who, although was a complete hippy, was influential in getting me to open my eyes to new things like art and religion.  It started from there and individually, I have read up on all types of renaissance art.  In accordance, this was one of my main deciders in going to Italy last winter.  Not a huge fan of impressionist or modern art, though.  My favorite renaissance artist is Caravaggio and my favorite artist ever is Norman Rockwell.  Inquire within.

17.  If I could change one thing about me, it would be my entire personality… I’m kidding, I like that (I stand alone on this).  Actually I would change my hair.  I hate it.  It’s awful.  That’s why the majority of photos I’m in over the past six years feature a Yankee hat.

18.  I’ve got an interesting type for girls: first, I am a big fan of sweet, pretty girls that have good personalities and a good sense of humor.  I like making jokes (most in poor taste) and if I don’t have a good audience, it will lead to uncomfortable silence, followed by more uncomfortable jokes to break the silence (it is a deadly cycle).  I also like girls that are tough on the exterior (not physically–that would be wierd), who you have to break down to get them to like you.  Of course doing this subtracts years away from my life, but I love the challenge.  Overall, I really don’t care what the girl’s personality is like, as long as she has a bangin’ bootay (this is a joke).  Actually, I just like confidence and if a girl came up to me and did all the hard nerve-racking work that guys are supposed to do, I think I would propose to her on the spot (unless she doesn’t have a bangin’ bootay).

19.  I have great legs.  They are muscular toned and not too big, but just right.  Seriously, they are beautiful.  I don’t know how it happened either.  But they are big, strong and beautiful.  Wait until the weather gets warm–it will be a show.

20.  It upsets me when I outgrow things I used to love.  For instance, I used to watch South Park religiously back in the good ol’ days, but now I can’t get into it.  In fact, I can watch an old episode (seasons 1 through 7) and laugh and enjoy it, but I have no interest in watching the new seasons.  I guess I’m growing up.  It’s sad.

21.  I have been known to quote Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.  Looking past the whole idea that the movie was created on drugs and that Willy Wonka is a borderline child rapist, this movie is awesome and incredibly quotable (it also didn’t help that our fifth grade play was Willy Wonka, thus ingraining all the lines into my head permanently).  My most abused quote is, “So much time, so little to do.  Scratch that.  Reverse it.”

22.  In my opinion, any girl who could watch sports, or accept the idea that I love sports is sexy.  One time a girl started talking to me about the New York Giants defensive backs.  I proposed.  She ran.

23.  I love barbequing.  There is just something relaxing about sitting out with good friends, drinking a couple beers and eating chicken and burgers.  If I could barbeque everyday, I wouldn’t because it would be too expensive, but I would like to keep the option open.

24.  I drove a 1988 Buick Le Sabre for five years and miss it.  The bench seat in the front was so comfortable.  No car like it.  Lasted 21 years with very little problems.  I dare any car to last that long nowadays.  It won’t happen.

25.  I like meeting new people, but I love getting to know the people I am friends with even better.  Looking at my situation right now, I have a good group of friends who are very close.  In fact, some see it as intimidating that we are such a tight knit group and don’t want to hang out with us.  However, everyone is welcome.  Especially is you have a bangin’ bootay.

Dance, Dance Sucks, Sucks

March 3, 2009

So for the past couple of weeks, people have come up to me and have spoken to me about my blog.  First off, I’m honored that anyone actually reads this–I had 80 hits on my last post… which is shocking since I don’t know 80 people.  In fact, I had a kid come up to me in the bar, introduce himself and say he is a huge fan of my blog (I told him he was a wierdo stalker and told him him to leave me alone.    I then ran away sobbing for some reason).  Second, when people talk to me about the blog, it just makes me uncomfortable.  I don’t know why.  It just does.  Third, these people tell me that their favorite post is my old Valentine’s Day post, which kind of sucks because that isn’t me now.  In addition, most of these people who say this probably wouldn’t like Mike from two years ago.  Anyway, because a lot of people like the ranting of that post, I figure I might as well include more of my rants into new posts and less insight.  It won’t be forced (see Lewis Black), but I will definitely rant on some things that annoy me.

So let’s start with something that has grinded my gears for years now: dancing.  I really don’t like dancing.  This started years ago.  Back in my youth, when this idea of sober dancing was prevalent, Mike was a short, round middle schooler.  We had dances a couple times a year and were the social event to be at.  I had avoided these dances for my first two years of middle school.  I thought, “Why should I subject myself to dancing?  I can’t dance.  I can’t even imagine myself dancing.”  But then my mother did the unspeakable: she signed up to be a chaperonat the dance.  In other words, I wouldbe forced to go.  And in other words, all my friends would be forced to go.

Well, that dance sucked.  A lot.  It just involved me and my friends doing the same thing we normally did on a Friday night, minus a Playstation.  We looked on as slutty twelve and thirteen-year-0ldgirls danced with the more confident guys who somehow knew how to dance.  And then you have the kids who could break dance–those kids were clearly sent down by the Lord himself because everyone gave those little assholes all the attention.

For the next four years in high school, I pretty much avoided these dances, minus the one to two times a year when  we would have our big class dances.  I figured if I wanted to stand against a wall with my friends and not talk to girls, I could do this at home without Usher blasting on huge speakers.  The lone exception to this was senior prom, which I look back on in embarrassment–how did I dance?  I probably looked like a moron.  Why was a girl dancing with me?  Is she aware I am not real with the flow?  But, slow dances became my bread and butter, simply because it doesn’t involve a lot of body movement (also, girls love the whole making eye contact thing while dancing–something you can’t do while getting your freak on while dancing to the latest Flo Rida jam).

Moving on to college, I discovered this concept of bars that had loud dancing music (I thought clubs were supposed to be the ones blasting dancing music, whereas at bars, you sit around and drink).  Even with the influence of liquor, I despise dancing.  Here’s how  I see it: dancing is a way to get girls.  No doubt.  Always has been.  Even I have been guilty of this in the past.  But the bottom line is: why do we have to sink to this level?  What happened to the lost art of dates?  Why is it that the only way to talk to girls in which you are interested in a social situation is at a loud bar while being intoxicated?  Way too many times I have seen a situation where you get interested in a girl (or for the ladies, a guy) and you go to the bar to seal the deal.  What is wrong with asking a girl to a movie?  Or out to dinner?  I just don’t understand.

And what’s worse about this situation is that every guy, no matter what, drinks heavily before going out because we know we will inevitably have to dance.  Then when we show up to these god-forsaken bar/club mutants, we are shown up by people who are much better dancers than us (those bastard break dancers from eight years ago strike again!).  So, we have one of two options: one, get more intoxicated, which doesn’t end well for anyone, or two, dance with friends who are girls because we have no better option.  And this second option is almost as bad as not dancing at all.  It’s like tying in sports.  Or dancing with your sister.  It is just a terrible situation.

To conclude, when I think of dancing, I first think of my years as a short, unconfident overweight little shit.  I also think of my years as a taller, more confident piece of shit.  And despite the fact that a lot of change has occurred over the years, some things never change.  Dancing sucks.  Unfortunately, throughout my years, it has degenerated so far, that the idea of going on sober dates is more extinct than Charles Barkley’s sober living.  How sad is that? 

Here’s my suggestion: girls, make it clear you want to go on dates.  We know you want to.  Us men are just too cowardly to ask unless given a very clear (explicit would be nice) sign.  Until this happens, we are going to continue to get very intoxicated, and attempt (and fail) to dance.