All in Drinking
I'm not sure why women would give me their numbers, even unsolicited on my part. When they do, and I reach out, why do they not return my calls?
Spent the last week of July this year down in Belmar, New Jersey in the bottom half of my ex-sister-in-law’s two family house. Its a great house, equidistant between the beach and the center-of-town. However, my favorite thing to do is, at the end of the day, after the sun goes, is plant myself on the front section of her wrap around porch.
Author’s Note: This is not a spoiler alert, this is more like ‘if you don’t like what I say next, do not read further.’
It was like listening to two forty-something frat boys trying to one up each other.
Author’s Note: For this post, I am not using real names. I’m not hiding a crime (well, not really) and the people involved know who they are. Usually, I would ask the people in the post if I could use their names, but in this case, I don’t have access to everyone, so ‘the names have been changed to protect...me.’
I grew up at a time that drunk driving was encouraged (kidding, of course – sort of).
A good conversation is one of my favorite things. Conversations in bars are even better (just add alcohol).
No one wants to die in a stupid way. Something that will end up a punch line of their life once they are gone. Preferably, I would like to die in my sleep and, one night a few years ago, I almost got my wish.
Each Monday night a group of us play trivia at a bar in Annandale (New Jersey). Its a big bar and a very friendly group of teams.
That is, it was until last Monday.
Author’s note: By the end of this post, I come off as the bad guy (for good reason).
So, there I was, living in New York City, working in the financial district, having gotten a trainee position at an international insurance company and thinking “Wow, kid, you done good”.