Douche Bag

Douche (doosh) noun - 1.(a) A stream of water, often containing medicinal or cleansing agents, that is applied to a body part or cavity for hygienic or therapeutic purposes. (b) a stream of air applied in a similar way
2. The application of a douche.
3. An instrument (read: tool) for applying a douche.

Some moments are just too good to pass up. You know what I mean. Those moments of Zen when the stars align and events unfold just perfectly. Last night on the subway, I had one of those moments and just had to capture it with my camera phone.

Last night around 7:30 PM on an uptown bound C train, I saw a the perfect, real-life personification of a douche bag. I’m serious. If a douche bag had two arms, two legs and could walk around the city, this is what he would look like. The douche in question was already on the train when I got on downtown...which would lead me to conclude that the douche lives in Brooklyn (shocker). He was rocking a pink polo shirt (the very first indication that someone might be a douche bag), although he didn’t have a popped collar, which is the tell tale sign of a douche bag. He was also wearing these circa 1983, I-hang- out-at-Studio-54-and-do-enough-cocaine-to-kill-a-small-rhino glasses and he had his name, well I’m assuming it was his name, “Joel” tattooed twice on his arm; once on his left forearm and once on his right bicep...probably in case he forgets how to spell it when applying for various fast food positions. Although it wasn’t clear what kind of music he was listening to on his ghetto, look-alike pink iPod, he wasn’t shy about over enthusiastically mouthing the words to anyone that would look in his direction. Classic. I had to get a picture of this guy.

The train was fairly packed and so I decided to move over to a middle poll at the West 4th stop in order to get a better angle. Perfect. I was standing directly in front of him. The problem was that I have never actually tried to take a picture of someone that wasn’t aware of what I was doing. I pulled my phone out and pretended like I was reading my text messages. I wondered what would the douche bag would do if he knew I was taking a picture of him. I started to get a little nervous. Fuck it. This douche bag is going in my phone. My readers need to see this. Click. Damn the picture is blurry. Let’s try again. Click. Perfect! The douche is immortalized. Save to phone. Done and done.

And without further ado, please let me introduce you to the C train douche bag...

Cheers,

NYCDG

Empty Seats

It’s almost 8:00 PM on a Monday night and I’m waiting for the F train to take me downtown to meet a friend for a few drinks. I’m in Rockefeller Center on the back end of rush hour so I’m expecting at least a semi-full train. Needless to say, I’ve written the possibility of finding a seat off long ago. When the train pulls up and the door open, much to my surprise, I see there are a ton of open seats in the middle of the car, yet several people are standing up around the area where I walked in. Whatever. I take two steps towards an empty seat when I discover the reason they are open in the first place. The middle of the subway car smells like rancid shit.

If you’ve lived in New York City for any length of time, I guarantee this has happened to you. The fattest bum I have ever seen is sitting by himself, lounged out in the middle of the open area. I’m not kidding, the guy smells like he’s spent the last month of his life at the bottom of the East River.

It’s at this point that I have a decision to make. I’ve already committed myself in front of 25 people by walking toward one of these open seats. I could turn around and find an open area to stand at the end of the car or I could suck it up and smell the not-so-sweet fragrances of a life on the streets...or in the dump, which is where it seems that this guy likes to spend most of his time. I take a quick glance toward the end of the car and it’s pretty obvious that the people down there are still within nose-shot of the unwanted stench. It’s at this point that I figure “fuck it” if these are the cards I’ve been dealt this evening I might as well take a seat at the table so I can see the action up close and personal.

[Sidebar: as I’m capturing this moment in prose on my Blackberry, the guy proceeds to stick his hand down his pants, wrist deep and is doing something “down there.” What, I don’t know...and really don’t want to know.]

You might think that after a long day at work, I would be pissed about having to endure the smell of warm, steamy shit for the next six subway stops, but I’m actually kind of enjoying myself. The best part about this whole situation is watching the reactions of the people that get in the car at each stop. First you get the looks of utter delight as they step into the car to discover there’s a dozen open seats on the train (a look I no doubt had on my face three minutes earlier). Then as the hot, putrid aromas enter their nasal passages and fill their lungs, a look of complete horror and disgust rushes over their faces as they realize they’ve just stepped into quite possibly the worst smelling subway car in the history of the world. It’s really quite amazing (and funny) to witness how human emotions can go from one end of the spectrum to another in the course of a few short seconds.

At the 23rd street stop one large, black woman actually takes one step into the car directly next to the bum and exclaims, “Jesus Christ! It smells like shit in here!” Without hesitation, she turns around and walks out. That’s one approach I suppose I never considered. To each their own.

I suppose the moral of this story is: approach empty seats on the subway during rush hour with caution.

NYCDG

The Drunk Guy's Top 10 U.S. Party Cities

I travel a lot. I'm a visit to North Dakota, Montana, Iowa and Alaska shy of having visited all 50 U.S. states. Actually, I move a lot too. In the last six years I’ve lived in six different states. OK, three of those states are in the tri-state area, but still.

As a perennial traveler, I have friends all over the country and when I visit them, I have the distinct privilege of experiencing their city as a local and not a tourist because they know the best bars, shops and restaurants. The number one reason New Yorkers hate Times Square is the constant flow of tourists walking around with theirs heads up their assess, hypnotized by all the lights and big buildings. “Just walk asshole, I have shit to do.” Anyway, as New Yorkers we know that if you visit NYC and never leave the Times Square area (and many tourists don’t), you are doing yourself a great injustice.

That said, I have been able to experience many U.S. cities, the way they were meant to be experienced: drinking in bars with the local, single crowd and off the beaten path of souvenir stores and cheesy theme restaurants. Here’s my list, in reverse order, of the ten best U.S. cities to party in.

10. Washington D.C. - the nation’s capital sneaks into my top ten due to the strong bar scenes of Adam’s Morgan, Georgetown and near-by Old Town Alexandria, VA. You can find great restaurants and beautiful people in all three. The major drawback is the pretentious D.C. power scene. Since everyone in Washington works for the government and is pulling in around $35K a year, expect a heavy dosage of “who do you know?” and “who do you work for?” talk. It’s a little disgusting, actually.

9. San Francisco - I’ve never seen as many white cab drivers in one city as I did the last time I visited San Francisco. I swear to God that one of the cabbies was Jerry Garcia...the guy looked just like the late Grateful Dead singer, although I don’t think my brother was buying it. Regardless, the city is full of great restaurants, great scenery and a plethora of chill bars with a funky, beatnik feel to them. The major drawback? Public transportation is somewhat of a bitch and cabs are expensive as all hell.

8. San Diego - I refer to this city as “Man Diego,” due to the disproportionate number of single guys to single women. I actually looked this statistic up once and found that 59% of singles in San Diego between the ages of 18-29 are male, while only 41% are female. Ouch. Talk about staking the deck (or the dick in this case). Granted, that 41% female is ALL quality, but don’t be surprised when you go out to the bars downtown and find sets of ten dudes conversationally masturbating around two girls.

7. Los Angeles - the level of pretentiousness in this city if off the charts, but if you’re able to suck it up and accept it for what it is, you’ll find tons of great places to go out. My personal favorites include the Hollywood/West Hollywood/Le Brea areas as well as Santa Monica. Public transportation and cabs in Los Angeles is somewhere between a bitch and non-existent, so make sure someone stays sober enough to drive to Roscoe’s for some fried chicken and waffles before heading home after the bars close.

6. Austin - the live music scene is this central Texas town is pretty much unrivaled. With the music, you can find plenty of beer swilling college students and even a fair share of beautiful, blonde and busty (everything really is bigger in Texas) 20-something women. 6th street is the place to go for the rowdy college Texas bar crowd. For a more chill, older Martini and cigar crowd venture over to 4th street. If you’re feeling extra adventurous grab 15 of your best friends, fill a cooler full of canned beer and spend a day floating down the Guadalupe river.

5. Las Vegas - you can find an answer in Las Vegas for any vice you might have. A weekend full of drinking, gambling, strippers and whores is the Vegas version of batting the cycle. So why is Vegas only number five on my list? From a strictly drinkers perspective you can get yourself into a lot of trouble in Vegas if you booze too much...which is absolutely set up by design. Also, if you’re a clubbing person, Vegas is great, but if you’re looking for a good old Irish Pub with great music, you’re not going to find one here.

4. New Orleans - I describe New Orleans as the best little shit-hole to party in and then get the hell out of...and this was before hurricane Katrina. The bars stay open all night long, you can drink in the streets (as well as piss and shit for that matter) and the drinks are the only thing stronger than the god-forsaken stench of the French Quarter. The last time I actually blacked out was in New Orleans. There was a period of three hours between 2 AM and 5AM that I don’t remember a fucking thing. All of a sudden, I snapped out of my drunken comma and I was drinking Cappuccino and eating Beignets at Café Du Monde.

3. Boston - the ultimate young-person’s city. Drinking isn’t something you do just to blow off some steam after work, drinking is a way of life in Boston. You go to a sports event, you booze. You go to a concert, you booze. You go to the Cape, you booze. To Bostonians, life is one big excuse to get fucked up...and who can argue with that? The partying drawbacks include the fact that some bars close at 1AM and some close at 2AM. (and there’s really no rhyme or reason as to why this is)...and it’s easier to find a sober person at a Red Sox game than it is to find a cab downtown at 2AM.

2. Chicago - There’s a reason why New Jersey/New York’s own Frank Sinatra called Chicago, “my kinda town.” This lakeside mid-west city is God’s gift to beer lovers. From downtown to Lincoln Park to Wrigleyville, you can find plenty of great bars with approachable and good-looking women. Hell, the women in this city will actually approach you. It’s unbelievable really.

1. New York - was there really any question as to the best city in the U.S. to party in? There are over 10,000 bars in NYC, they stay open until 4 AM and there are a plethora of cabs to take your drunken ass home at the end of the night. Not to mention, the city is full of great restaurants, beautiful women and heavy-handed bar tenders. This city is a boozer’s Toys ‘R Us with a bar and a drink for every taste and occasion. The biggest drawback? So many bars, so little time.

So what are you doing still reading this blog? Go out and party in the greatest city in the world!

Cheers,

NYCDG

Meet the NYC Drunk Guy

I sometimes see these stupid polls that people send out on MySpace that asks questions about yourself and you’re supposed to spend half an hour filling it out and then sending it along to all of your friends in the form of another bulletin. Well, I’ve been getting a lot of great questions about myself from readers lately, so I thought I would put together my own Drunk Guy survey comprised of questions from some of my readers. And if you have the animalistic urge to copy the questions, put them in an e-mail, answer them for yourself and send them to me...well feel free to do so.

Drink of choice: Jack and Coke

Favorite NYC bar: Bar and Books

Stats: 6'2, 185lbs, brown hair and green eyes

Interesting fact about myself: I was named after a famous baseball player

Favorite NYC restaurant: Carmine’s

Drunk music: Billy Joel

Weird hobby: I collect vinyl records

Favorite area to hang out: The West Village

Favorite cigar: Padron 1964 Anniversary Series

Mexican or Chinese (food, that is): Chinese

Favorite movie: The Shawshank Redemption

Favorite movie set in NYC: Annie Hall

Real occupation: Marketing

Blondes or brunettes: Yes, please

Favorite city other than NYC? London

Tits or ass? Ass - nothing like two turtle shells in a tight pair of jeans

Martin or Sinatra: Sinatra, of course

Favorite Scotch: Lagavulin 16

Subway Line of choice: 4,5 or 6...it’s the Lexus of subway cars

Gun to your head, Yankees or Mets? Pull the trigger

Biggest celebrity spotting in NYC: Woody Allen...although Tom Hanks is a close second

Late night eats? Ben’s Pizza - regular slices with garlic and oregano

Current summer points tally (see my“NYC Hook-Up Fantasy Game” blog in the May archives)? 4 pts - I’ll leave you to wonder how they are distributed

If you’d like to indulge me with interesting questions or witty prose, you can e-mail me at nycdrunkguy@gmail.com

NYCDG

Fenway Sucky, Sucky

I harbor no resentment towards Boston. I know there historically has been a lot of bad blood between New York and Beantown, but I would say that most of that ill will has come from the more northern of the two cities and has been based in some form or another around the cities respective sports teams. That said, when it comes to drinking, I think Boston is a great city to visit from time to time. I mean wouldn’t any city that’s known for it’s Irish population and sports teams plagued with curses (although that hasn’t been so true lately) be a great place to get bombed? This actually gives me an idea for another blog topic...stay tuned.

Anyway, I have a few friends in Boston that I go to visit every couple of months, I’ll call them Jersey and Boston Red. I’ve known both of these guys for about six years now and they’re quite interesting characters that in many ways embody the area of the country they are from...you guessed it, New Jersey and Boston, respectively. Jersey says things like “twournament” and “wudder,” and thinks that Bruce Springsteen and Bon Jovi are one person shy of making a Holy Jersey Trinity. While Boston Red is your quintessential Masshole, who has a fetish for everything related to Boston sports and would get freaked out if you ask him to leave the state of Massachusetts.

So I cruise up to Beantown this weekend so I can go to the Red Sox game on Saturday night with Jersey and Boston Red. Now if you’ve ever been to Fenway Park, you understand that going to a Sox game is an entire day event revolving entirely around consuming copious amounts of beer and foods that are sure to reduce your life span by a good few months. We get to the Cask and Flagon in the afternoon and proceed to start drinking like Ted Kennedy on election night.

About six pitchers into our Cask run, it’s getting close to game time, so we close out our tab and head over to the oldest park in the country. Usually when I visit Fenway, there’s a mandatory stop between the Cask and the stadium to get a sausage and peppers before heading in; however, on Saturday I was too full from lunch and appetizers to make it worth while...next time.

So we go inside and grab a couple of brews before heading to our seats. By the way, I think it’s park rules that you have to have two beers in your hands at all times at Fenway. It seems like everyone in the park is stumbling around carrying two beers with that look on their face like their two sheets into it and momma has just pulled out the clothes pins and is reaching in the laundry basket for the third. I especially like those dumb, hot, wanna-be Red Sox Nation girls with the pink hats and random beer stains all over their tight baby tees. I love going to baseball games in Boston.

Next thing you know, it’s the middle of the seventh and their playing “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” over the loud speakers. Another good drunk song, by the way...”buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jacks (AND A BEEEER!).” I always add that little extra line in for effect. The crowd around me seems to appreciate it.

As we get into the bottom of the seventh inning, this hot Asian chick with fake boobs, who’s sitting about six rows below us and slightly to our left, starts to get into a pretty heated argument with the guy behind her. She stands up and gets in his face and is yelling about something, while the guys around us start to tell her to sit down. As the argument starts to escalate and the white guy she’s with is trying to ignore his seemingly psycho Asian girlfriend, I, in my drunken-half-losing-internal monologue-state decide to yell out, “sucky, sucky five dolla!”

Well of course all the guys around me have a nice laugh out of my inebriated racist-sexist comment and we go back to watching the game. After a long pause (it was at least two minutes) an Asian guy, who happens to be sitting next to the psycho Asian girl who’s still arguing with the guy behind her gets up out of his seat, turns around, picks out a random guy about eight rows up and starts to shout, “What? You can say shit like that about my sister with my back turned, but you won’t say it to my face? Why don’t you come down here and say it to my face?”

Needless to say, this guy - who’s not sitting anywhere near me - has no clue what this Asian kid is talking about...which of course is my tasteless comment about his sister. He continues to call this innocent bystander out as the ballpark security get to his seat and proceed to escort him, his sister and her quiet boyfriend out of the park, to the delight of everyone around us.

I mean, yes they were causing unnecessary drama and they probably deserved to get kicked out, but I never once saw security come up to talk with the white guy that the Asian dude was calling out...or the white guy that was sitting behind them that the chick was arguing with. You can always rely on Boston authority figures to side with the white guys. After all, we’re just a bunch of Irish guys trying to get drunk and enjoy a baseball game.

NYCDG

Dating ADD

I have a disease. Actually, I’ve had it for quite some time now, but just figured it out the other day. Don’t worry ladies, it’s nothing serious like The Clap or that one monkey-fucking disease from Africa. No, no. Rather it’s a fairly common and non-lethal mutation of the ADD disorder called “Dating ADD.” Evidently you’re at high risk to be infected with this disease if you’re single, living in New York City and drink the tap water from time to time (mmmm nothing like ingesting the nectar from the Hudson River Valley Sanitary District...tastes like chicken).

Wait....what’s that?

You have it too?

That’s crazy. Maybe we should go out sometime, have a few cocktails, some great conversation, a few laughs, get all sauced up and make a few bad decisions late one night, then never talk to each other again other than a few random 4 AM text messages that read something like, “waante 2 fuk?”

I mean seriously, isn’t that what happens in this city? Seems like no one even thinks about getting married around here until they are 35 years old. And honestly, why should they? Single people in this city have more options than Justin Timberlake at a national high school cheerleading competition. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve met a ton of awesome girls and I usually have great dates, but there comes a point where it’s like, “OK, she was cool and we had a great time, but it’s time to move on.”

Maybe it’s just the ADD speaking, but it’s not just me. I mean every now and then I’ll start to really like a girl and then it will just kind of die out. Either I don’t call her or she doesn’t call me...or we’re just too lazy to make time to call each other because you know why? There’s a million more girls and a million more guys all living on an island about a mile wide and eleven miles long.

I’m sure that I’ll find a cure one of these days for my Dating ADD, but until then I’ll keep the texting option on my cell phone on the “unlimited” plan.

NYCDG

Numbers Game

I was out the other night and saw a couple that were obviously on one of their firsts dates. It became apparent that they were both pretty into each other, holding hands across the table and looking into each others eyes. Hold on while I pull the barf bag out of the seat in front of me. Anyway, as I was sitting there watching these two ogle over each other, I couldn’t help but think that this was all fun and games until they had “the talk.” You know “the talk.” That awkward moment, usually after sex when you’re laying there and she asks “baby...how many women have you slept with?” BAM! There it is. And once it’s out there, there’s no going back.

Now admit it, you’re curious about the answer to that question too, but guys just avoid the situation completely. Let’s be honest, no good can come from asking it, so why bother? Nevertheless, if you’re seeing someone for any significant period of time, the question will eventually rear it’s ugly head. Now as a guy, there’s one major reason not to freak out when you hear how many dudes your girl has given the proverbial ride to: she’s lying. Seriously, I mean doesn’t everyone?

No worries though, I’ve developed a formula that will get you within a few dudes of your girl’s true number. The formula goes something like this:

D = 1 + SQ + 2SQ + (SQ/2)^2

Simplified to

D = 1 + 3SQ + (SQ/2)^2

Where SQ = (CA-V)/3

The above terms are defined as:

D = dicks

SQ = sexual quotient

CA = current age

V = age at which she lost her virginity

This formula represents the culmination of years of research and is all based on the Sexual Quotient (SQ), which is essentially the number of years it’s been since your girl lost her virginity divided by three. The three is an estimation which when applied to the years since her virginity will give you the average number of long term relationships (over six months) she’s been in since that time. The “1" at the beginning of the equation represents that lucky fuck that took your girls virginity.

For all of you non math types, let me walk you through the reasoning behind this formula. For simplicity, assume that your girl is 30 years old and that she lost her virginity at 18, giving her a Sexual Quotient of four, meaning that she’s probably been in about four long term relationships since that fateful day (again this is an estimation). Since she’s dating you, those previous relationships did not work out, which also means that she’s been through the “I just broke up with my boyfriend and I can fuck anything that moves” phase. So let’s assume that each time during this phase she fucked an average of two guys. Finally, you have to account for those times when she’s not in rebound mode, but just needs sex and makes the late night “game time decision” as the bars are closing. This last part of the equation also accounts for the occasional ill- fated fuck buddy that everyone tries and never works out because one of the two “friends” usually develops feelings for the other (which is the reason you square the term).

OK, so according to the formula, you should think that you’re 30 year old girlfriend has probably been with about 17 dudes. Yeah, that’s right 17. If she tells you “four”, she’s either lying, fat, ugly or a combination of the three.

I like to think of this formula as a baseline from which to start. If it turns out that the number is less, you’re stoked. If it’s higher, well maybe you’re girl is a little slutty. Hey, life could be worse right?

So see guys, no reason at all to ask “the question.” All you have to do now is do your best to talk around the question when it’s asked of you and if worse come to worse, just lie...hell, you already know how many dudes she’s been with.

NYCDG

Drunk Songs

I wore my underwear backwards today. Not on purpose. I got up a little earlier than usual this morning so that I could get a jump start on the day, but evidently I’m not a morning person, seeing as I can’t seem to place the tag of the boxers against my back side. The sad thing is that I didn’t notice until about 11 AM when my morning coffee set in and I needed to relieve myself. I went to the bathroom and couldn’t seem to find the easy access folds that occupy the front of a pair of boxers. It was at this point that I though, “so that’s why I felt a little turned around when I was walking to work this morning.” The sad thing was that I could have just gone into one of the stalls and flipped them around in two seconds, but thought “fuck it, I’m having a pretty good day so far, let’s see how this turns out with them on backwards.” Actually, I ended up having a great day. I might wear my boxers backwards again tomorrow.

What does this have to do with drinking songs? Absolutely nothing. I just thought that you might get a little laugh out of my otherwise private embarrassment.

I spent the last week visiting my brother in San Francisco. Last Friday night we were out at a bar in the North Beach area that looked a little like a twist between an Irish Pub, Sherlock Holmes’ house, and Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride at Disneyland...or Disney World depending on what part of the country you grew up in. Basically, the place was cool and played great music to boot...which got me thinking about the best songs to hear when you’re drunk.

Before I give you my list, I need to preface it with two rules when it comes to drinking songs:

(1) You’ve got to be able to sing along with it - not harmonize, but belt out like a bunch of drunk Irishmen (extra points if you can sway your beer with the harmony)

(2) The song needs to have at least one element of cheesiness, make you reminisce about “the good ole days,” and/or question your heterosexuality. If it has more than one of those elements, chances are it’s a great drunk song.

Finally, when I say “drinking songs” I mean great songs to hear when you’re absolutely shit-faced. When you’re at the point where you don’t care what you sound like or look like or act like. So without further ado, here’s my list of drunk songs in no particular order.

Sweet Caroline (Neil Diamond) - “BUM, BUM, BUM!” You know what I’m talking about. You’ve yelled these same words late night at a bar or a house party. Admit it, Neil Diamond is the king of cheesy drunk songs. If you haven’t heard the rest of the Neil Diamond collection, give Forever in Blue Jeans, I Am...I Said, or Cracklin’ Rosie a whirl the next time you’re three sheets to the wind.

Brown Eyed Girl (Van Morrison) - You haven’t lived until you’ve tied one on and danced with a brown eyed girl to this song. And if you’re not with one...just improvise the words to match the eyes of the girl you happen to be dancing with. If you’re too drunk to know what her eye color is...well, who really gives a shit at that point?

Pianoman (Billy Joel) - Probably the best damn drinking song of all time. Who’s going to argue that this is the ultimate drunk song, written by the ultimate drunk, about all those other drunks that don’t have enough ambition to get their ass off of the bar stool and make something out of their lives?

After the Rain (Nelson) - The cheese factor is very high on this one, but before you blow this song off, get good and sauced one night and then throw on a little Nelson. You’ll see what I’m talking about.

Jack and Diane (John Cougar Mellencamp) - This little ditty about Jack and Diane is great to sing along to. Grab a few cold, coldies, get your ten or twenty best friends together and belt this one out at 3'o clock in the morning.

Tiny Dancer (Elton John) - the song that accompanied a critical moment in the movie Almost Famous. I’m convinced that this is one of the greatest scenes in cinematic history and a great song to go along with it. “Softly....slowly...HOLD ME CLOSER TINY DAAAAAAAANCER, count the headlights on the highway...”

Family Tradition (Hank Williams Jr.) - “Hank, why do you drink?” TO GET DRUNK! Hey, it’s the south and it’s a family tradition...along with fucking your sister and pimping your pickup truck with gun racks and Confederate flags. Nevertheless, great drinking song.

New York, New York (Frank Sinatra) - Ever had that late night buzz in your head as you’re stumbling home from the bars and looking around at the buildings, the taxis, the lights, the bums pissing in the alley and say to yourself “fuck, I live in the greatest city in the history of the world?” That’s right bitch, this is New York fucking City and we’ve made it. That’s what Frank was talking about and that’s why I love this song.

Cheers,

NYCDG