Disclaimer: Read the previous post if you haven't already. Otherwise, you'll be more L O S T than the greatest TV show ever created.
Sorry, Lopez Tonight. I know you thought you had that award all locked up, but I guess the voters had a change of heart at the last minute.
I left off making jokes about bacon grease and timeless disney warthogs, so we'll pick it up from thurr.
The Boars Head inn isn't an ordinary take-the-elevator-up to-your-room-and-crash-on-the-super-soft-and-fluffy-king-size-bed kind of gig. Its more like a really really really (did I say really?) classy motel.
When we finally drive over to the roomski, we discover that it is above sea level....barely.
Our room was in the basement of the place. We had window with a view of ground dirt and dead grass, but the other half of the room was fo sho underground. It was like a little mini cave. How charming.
Joking aside, the room was definitely of fancy shmancy hotel quality. You know a hotel means business when the bed posts have some really strange design on them and extend about 10 feet higher than they need to. I've learned that practicality is often ignored in aristocratville.
Anywho (yes, I actually just seriously used the word "anywho"), mom sauce was extremely displeased with our cellar dwelling. Apparently it was disrespectful of them. Maybe it was, but i'm pretty sure the hotel people weren't thinking that when they placed us in a room that looked exactly the same as every other room except for the fact that it was on the bottom level. But then again, I digress.
According to heavy D on the set, our room placement was such "because we're Jewish."
Jews being put in basements against their will. Never heard that one before.
Displaying all of the signs of the incredible hulk (other than the rapidly expanding green monster part), my mom was outraged. She decided to call up the hotel desk and demand a room change. And when I say demand, I mean she talked to them in that really nice mom way about how we were "unhappy." Its called "Mom Yelling." If I converted her attitude into "Dad", everyone in the vicinity would probably frantically start searching for the mute button so that their ears remained intact.
Needless to say, we were granted the room change. The new room was now on the top floor. The penthouse. This way, we could look down on all the serfs from our stately manor. Pass me the caviar.
By the way, there was absolutely no difference between the two rooms except for the fact that it would be slightly more convenient to train for a marathon in the new location. Blame it on the a-aa-a--a-al-titude
It was now 6:45, our reservation was at 7, the place was 20 minutes away, and we hadn't even started to get ready yet. I think we've gotten Kanye beat when it comes to "Late Registration." By a longshot.
Being that the place was all classy and overly snobbish, we had to dress up. And when I say dress up, I don't mean Barbie dolls. I'm talking about full out american girl style. The real deal.
I repped the Loafer/Khaki/Dress shirt/sport jacket look. Model agencies wish they were there.
Seriously, I could have passed for a southern plantation owner. The outfit was pretty spectacular, but the real kicker was my hair. Fresh outta the shower, I was rockin the flow to the max. Nate Archibald would have crumbled under my presence. In fact, the first thing my brother said to me when we picked him up five minutes later was, "wow, great flow on that hair. I gotta get me some of that" Mind you, I haven't seen him in three months.
I decided to temporarily change my name to L. Ryan Pauker for the occasion. Southern enough, don't you think? Now all I needed was an equestrian stable and a friend who deals moonshine.
After a car ride during which--despite all of us passing math---3 out for the 4 smallest members of our family sat in the rather cramped backseat, we arrived at the restaurant. If you could call it that. It was more like Draco Malfoys house if it served food.
We were chauffered to a grand entrance antechamber with more chintz couches than an 1800's Jane Austen Novel, and then to this dining hall that could have passed for a scene in an Oscar Wilde play. Amidst the ten or so immaculately furnished tables, there were numerous purposely positioned paintings and accessories--none of which added relevant ambiance to the setting. To top it all off, the room was elevated on some sort of balcony, overlooking some really nice landscape that was probably once owned by Jefferson Davis.
Things to note about the dinner:
-The waitress had to pretend to be all proper. However, it was clear that as soon as the place closed down, she was going straight to the bars to get hammered and let the night take her away to...okay i'll stop now.
-We ate with our good family friends, the Schnittgers. Mr. Doug is graduating with my brother. As always, he provided some excellent verbal exchanges throughout the meal, and did not hesitate to criticize the food.
-Everyone got champagne, so the waitress figured i wanted some as well. However, she decided to card us young folk. Me, not having a substantial ID, would've had to do that really embarassing thing where I have to explain that i'm not 21. Somewhat smartly, I claim to not have my wallet. She gives me this look like "I hate myself for having to card you because I started drinking at age 12", and then I save whatever her wistful response was going to be by interjecting that it was ok and that I didn't need champagne.
Logic says any normal person would be full after a four course meal. Logic needs to have a conversation with the elitist snobs over at that restaurant.
Despite being a gazillion times more expensive than a McChicken and a Mcdonalds cheeseburger, those somewhat edible concoctions would have filled me up more than that meal. It was pathetic. The Halibut I ordered was the size of my fist. And in case you didn't know, my hands are unnaturally small.
It really pissses me off that fancy shmancy restaurants think they can get away with forgetting to serve 75% of the meal. Who do they think they are? Honestly. If that's what you have to do in elitist society, I'd rather be a janitor. There's no doubt it'd be more well fed. I mean, haven't they ever seen this commercial?
It really was exactly like that. Elf food might even be an understatement.
By the way, I really want to go on that date sometime. Minus the $300 bill from the hillary swank spectacular.
As we all know, the best way to fight off a full stomach is by drinking alcohol. So NATURALLY, thats exactly what I did.
I stayed at my brothers place for the night. In retrospect it probably saved the weekend. Being with the rents for 15 consecutive hours at a time is kind of like spending an extended weekend with that really really annoying kid you once had to babysit.
Nobody was actually back at the apartment other than this kid who called himself "Charlie Tuna," so we pregamed a bit and listened to Tuna talk about how he once went to space camp when he was like 10 years old. Imagining the manifest of an astronaut list with someone named "Charlie Tuna" was just about as hilarious as that shirt Aldous Snow had to wear to dinner in forgetting Sarah Marshall.
Take my eyes, but not the shirt.
A few Gins later, I was starting to feel it. Which was good, because I wanted to be decently drunk when Oaf and I pulled the old fashioned Harvey Dent to sneak into the bar. Going to the bars with graduating seniors who don't even go to my school. I was about to be so cool.
Or not. Turns out the bars weren't any good, so everyone crashed back at my brothers apartment. Clowns with names such as "Big Daddy Chi, Patches, Mildew, and Smegma all filtered in. Oh, I almost forgot about the identical twins, Chutes and Ladders.
Discouragement of sobreity galore, Fifa on one TV, Mets fans obnoxiously yelling at the other TV, and the one really really drunk kid, the scene was about as collegely fratacular as you could get. There was even the disproportionate amount of girls in attendance. Just like in any male college setting, one was dating someone there, while the other two were friends of the girl and would definitely not be there if it wasn't for the girlfriend girl because they haven't made a strong enough connection with the housemates yet. Or maybe they passed that barrier. I couldn't really tell. The gin was gettin me all sleepy.
Of course, this festival of collegiateness" would not be complete without drunk food, so we ventured over to get...yep...pizza.
Grand total was seventeen bills.
"And I could get Pizza, TWO dollars a slice."
Geez Asher, adjust your song for inflation.
Song of the day: Acoustic Alchemy, norwegian recycling. music video is self-created. It is of nolan's graduation. enjoy