I’m gonna start this off with an apology because Part 3 of this pathetic autobiography is about to be long as shit. I know I have already put y’all through so much awkwardness and long winded details. This has been like the worst Book It program ever, and I wish I could give you all a personal pan pizza for reading this shit. I can’t. I’m sorry. Deal with it. Move on. Because here we go…
How low can you go
So in 2010, Jeff and I went to the Alabama vs. Florida game in Tuscaloosa. It was a big game. Both teams were undefeated, so it was an 8 pm kickoff in primetime. That’s pretty cool..unless you drink like we do and are forced to pace yourself all day because CBS is a ratings whore who apparently hates blackouts and fun.
So, that afternoon we went to the quad – the main tailgate spot on Bama’s campus. Now, this was Jeff’s first time being at a Bama game, and I had talked it up WAY too much. I also assumed that we would be able to casually mix and mingle with tailgates, so drinking and passing time wouldn’t be a problem bc – Southern hospitality and Roll Tide.
I was wrong.
Nobody wanted us in their tailgate. And, we weren’t even drunk to where we could have earned that right to deserve these shuns and outcasts.
Somehow we finally made friends. Now, I literally have no recollection of how we even started talking to this group or how we befriend them. But, we ended up getting in with a group of 5 black guys that were all former Division 1 College Basketball players. For whatever reason we were on fire, and they thought were hilarious and loved us.
At some point the song “How Low Can You Go” from Ludacris came on, and a dance off between two dudes ensued. There was a black guy and a white guy, and shockingly the black was absolutely destroying Tad or Tevin or whatever his name was.
So, “How low can you go” is blasting. All, of the sudden I look over in the tailgate next to us, and there is an elderly woman (mid 50’s. Which I didn’t know because I was drunk in my defense). Anyway, Joan is leaning over in a fold up chair trying to get a beer out of her cooler. And then, she just slowly teetered over and fell while the chair literally collapsed around her like a fucking Venus Fly Trap.
EVERYONE was immediately concerned.
Except me since I was hammered.
And, that’s when I leapt into their tent standing over her and pointing yelling, “HOW LOW CAN YOU GO?! HOW LOW CAN YOU GO?!” Which was followed by Jeff swooping in, arms out like an airplane, circling her, yelling, “Go Looooooow.”
We were fucking cracking up. We go back into our tailgate with The Fab Five, and they are dying. Everyone’s laughing, they’re high fiving us, and dapping us up. Then when the laughter stopped we looked around and there was literally NOBODY ELSE who thought me publicly shaming Rose from the Titanic was funny or acceptable. People were disgusted. Whispers, frowns, and pointed fingers ensued until the awkwardness became so uncomfortable that we finally left and went to the stadium…and continued to laugh the entire way.
Equality/ Yes You Can!
One time in 2013, I went home with a girl, and I was half way through getting to second base (with my hand/ fingers…I’M NOT GONNA SPELL IT OUT FOR YOU FIGURE IT OUT FOR YOURSELF. UGH!). So, as I’m fingering and fumbling I decided to do some exploring to find that whole clitoris thing I heard about on that baseball trip a few years prior. However, I was super drunk, and my “exploring” probably had the same efficiency as a blind man with a metal detector trying to find a treasure on a beach. I had no clue what was what or what was where.
Luckily, she started to “assist” me. Not in a sexy way. It was more of a “Ok, please stop, I’ll just fucking take it from here.” Like she was an angry instructor in the passenger side seat of a Student Driver car.
Then, in my drunken defeatedness, I said, “Yeah, yeah, you find it.” What? You find it! Like I was some angry republican finally putting a foot down to bullshit feminism.
“No! No! No! YOU’RE the one who wanted the right to vote and equal pay in the work place. YOU CAN FIND YOUR OWN CLITORIS!”
So, if you’ve read Part 1 & 2 of this series then it will come as no surprise that I have an immense amount of Daddy Issues.
Background on my father – his name is Dyke. He’s kinda charming and cool for a Dad. And, when I say charming and cool, I mean he used to wear camo cargo shorts to my high school baseball games, once bought a $200 black leather jacket specifically to wear to a 3 Doors Down concert he took me to, AND dated a 23 year old who worked at a fucking TGIFriday’s in Tuscaloosa, Alabama when he was 54.
Anyway, yes he’s great. And, I love the dude, but we’ve had some ups and downs.Now, one thing I will say about my pops is that only thing more consistent than his commitment to bad facial hair and decisions is he has a hard time saying sorry.
And, that was painstakingly obvious when, on TWO separate occasions, he took me to shitty concerts as a form of apology. And when I say shitty I mean – a Mary Chapin Carpenter concert when I was 10, and upper deck seats to see Ted Nugent and ZZ Top when I was 17.
Listen, the main takeaway from that story shouldn’t be you feeling uncomfortable. And if it is I really want to apologize.
Actually not really…Because that story isn’t uncomfortable. What is uncomfortable is your dad scalping tickets to a radical Republican Rock & Roll star who peaked in the 70’s and thinking that is an actual olive branch. Jesus. Get a fucking Hallmark card next time Dyke.
Losing the V Card
So one thing that may surprise you is that I actually used to be a respectable person in college. I was honestly saving my virginity until marriage. Now, obviously that didn’t work out. But, I did hold onto that V Card until the ripe age of 23.
So, I was going through like the 230942380th breakup with my college girlfriend, and I got white girl wasted that night and decided I was hell bent on losing my last piece of morality. Then, I proceeded to go home with someone and end this virginity thing once and for all.
I know what you’re thinking, and yes I was awkward AF the entire time, and had no clue what I was doing. For roughly 10 minutes (true) I just laid there yelling at myself in an internal monologue about how terrible of a person I was for doing this. Then finally “it” happened, and my card was snatched up like it was Kevin McCallister’s stolen credit card in Home Alone 2.
I didn’t know what to do. I just laid there asking myself why I just did that after all those years. Luckily the girl was super sensitive and caring and said all the right things to make me feel okay about my first time.
Oh wait. No the fuck she didn’t. What she actually did was pat me on the fucking chest twice, and say, AND I QUOTE, “Yup, that’s what all the fuss is about.” Then proceeded to get her shit and leave.
Basically, it was everything I dreamed it would be.
Anyone that knows me knows I’m a huge Alabama fan. And when I say “huge”, what I really mean is “unhealthily obsessed” Alabama fan. So here are two quick stories of where my fanaticism was absolutely unacceptable…
2007 – I was drunk in Phillips Arena for the opening night game of the Atlanta Thrashers. As we were walking in, I saw a person in an Auburn hoodie out of my peripheral. I immediately yelled out, “Hey Kid! Have fun being average for the rest of your life!” Also, I said “kid” because he was literally an 8 year old. An 8 year old who was apparently a more stable adult than me.
Bama vs. Auburn 2010. VERY intense game. I was actually there, and I was way too overzealous with my excitement. I started pounding red bull vodkas with a chaser of VERY hood trap music at 9:30 in the morning. Basically, I was laser focused on one thing and one thing only – not losing to our rival…That’s why I will STILL defend my text response I had to my then girlfriend who sent me a scandalous pic of her in a see through red neglige. She looked incredible, but she also captioned it with, “How do I look in red.” Any reasonable person with half a brain and actual priorities would’ve responded with a compliment, However, I responded with, “It’s Crimson. We wear Crimson.”
Bama vs. Auburn 2013. The fucking worst. Bama was undefeated, yet lost to Auburn on a miracle play where a cornerback caught a missed field goal attempt and ran it back 109 yards for a touchdown. The entire year went down the drain on literally the most miraculous play in the history of college football. When that happened, I got blown up on social media. And for good reason because I’m a douchebag. I received 67 texts, emails, and/ or messages within 5 minutes of that fucking touchdown. So, what did I do? I let my logic and reason and responsibility take over, and I got off social media for the night, so I didn’t overreact.
False. I got blackout drunk and waited for the wrong/ right person to talk shit. And it happened. Her name was Michelle. She didn’t even know anything about football. She just thought it was funny that my favorite sports team lost. And, that’s why I thought it was ok to post a DETAILED story on Facebook that she had told me about shitting her pants on her Freshman spring break in college.
I didn’t choose the thug life y’all. It chose me.
Susan G. K-Oh-Man
In November of 2012, I went on a guys trip to Nashville. The buddies I was meeting had been there, and drinking downtown, for a few hours. So, when I got there I immediately was playing catchup. Fast forward to tomorrow morning, and that’s when one of my worst moments as a human being happened.
Keep in mind that there is literally no way to make what I’m about to tell you ok. It was terrible. It was despicable.
HOWEVER, I promised you 30 of my worst stories of all time. So…
I woke up in a Holiday Inn on Vanderbilt’s campus in between the wall and the bed. I had no idea what was going on. I jumped up, and tried to survey the room and figure out my life. The room has two double beds. In those beds are a combined 3 girls, and 1 guy who luckily was my friend. Before I can start piecing together any memory from the night before one of the girls wakes up. We make eye contact. Now, I didn’t want to be rude or aggressive, so I calmly asked her, “WHERE THE FUCK AM I? AND WHY THE FUCK AM I HERE?!”
Her response – Verbatim – was, “Oh, y’all two were crazy last night (points to a girl in the bed I was closest to). Important fact about said girl I slept next to – she had very, VERY short hair. Not like a Bob, or Rachel from “Friends.” Short hair like a 9 year old boy getting a buzzcut for the start of Summer.
Anyway, her friend continued…”Y’all ran out the bar trying to get matching tattoos of a pink ribbon.”
I responded with a very subtle and logical response because I was aware of my surroundings, and situation…
False. I said, “ Why the fuck would I get a pink ribbon tattooed on my ribs?”
That’s when the girl with the pink ribbon/ dragon tattoo and hair like a dandelion responded with, “Because I told you we’re here celebrating me beating breast cancer.” God. Dammit. Chris.
If that wasn’t bad enough, the group then started to recap the night before…Again, I want to say that I am in no way condoning my behavior, and I am still ashamed at what I’m about to say…
This poor girl and I apparently attempted to hook up. However, I was absolutely incapable of any response to her advances because of my I had so much Fireball that my Little Dupree took a trip to Lake Flaccid for the weekend.
That didn’t stop me from encouraging her though…with the uplifting words, “Don’t give up. Don’t ever give up.” If that sounds familiar it’s because its from the famed speech from Jimmy V/ Jim Valvano at The Espy’s when he gave a tear jerking motivational speech about his attempt at surviving his cancer.
And then, in my blackout – I decided to use the SAME SPEECH to encourage a stranger to battle against against all odds, and whiskey dick, and continue an OTPHJ.
Luckily, karma kicked me in the ass immediately. As, I was walking out of their hotel room, she said, “Let me know if you want to watch the game later today…Gig em.” That’s something that only Texas A&M fans say, and we were playing them that day. So, obviously I corrected her immediately with, “Uh, no. We say “Roll Tide.”
She then informed me that she just graduated from A&M.
Alabama lost that day, and it ruined an undefeated season which I’m sure was tough for those players to handle. But, I know whole heartedly, that loss was 100% my fault and not theirs. Sorry guys.
Bros Crab Shack
So, in addtition to being wildly ignorant to anything regarding sex or being an adult, I am also very neurotic and I overanalyze everything. Like the time I had convinced myself I had an STD and/ or bed bugs. Which was fucking stupid because I didn’t even have sex with the person I thought gave it to me. How do I know that? Because I thought they were literally from a couch I slept on at a friend’s apartment.
Then, one of my idiot friends drunkenly mentioned, “It could be crabs.” And, I proceeded to take that and run with it. Actually, more like, Usain Bolt sprinted with it.
I was so convinced. I started to notice red splotchiness all over my body. It was on my arms. It was on my legs. And if it was there I convinced myself that it was probably everywhere – including my hair.
Now, a simple doctor’s visit or even a basic fucking google search would prove that theory completely wrong. But, I’m not about that logical life. So, I proceeded to dive deep in a rabbit hole of irrational crazy.
And, I finally realized that when I was at a Kroger self checkout at 2 AM with only 3 items: Kroger Sushi, a Diet Coke, and a Lice Bath kit.
Finally, after several lice baths, and hours spent staring at the mirror from point blank range looking for literally any movement in my hair from these ghost bugs – I went to another doctor.
I go in, and I waited for quite some time, but finally had to leave without seeing the doctor because I had an appointment. During my appointment I get a phone call from CVS saying my prescription’s ready. I didn’t call in a prescription. I freaked the fuck out. I drive to CVS. They hand me an ointment and refuse to discuss it aloud because of my own privacy. They tell me to go back to my doctor. But, it wasn’t my primary doctor. It was a minute clinic.
So, I drive back, and I am in full on panic mode. Oh! Also, during one of the neurotic sleepless nights where I thought I had crabs and scurvey and literally anything else Web MD could’ve said. I shaved my entire body. Then two days later thought the splotchiness may have been a break out of some sort. So, I get to the doctor’s office, and am freaking out.
She finally comes in, and I just word vomit all of my fears and insecurities about this impending small pox virus I obviously have. She laughed. She fucking laughed. And I freaked out asking why. She said let me see what you’re worried about? She points to my downstairs and then said, “Oh wow. Ok. Well, that’s razor burn. And, all these spots and red splotches on your arms and legs – those are hives. Which you gave yourself from stress. You don’t have an STD. You just need to calm down sir.”
In 2012, my good friend Kyle Price was getting married, and he gave me the honor of being one of his groomsman. He kinda fucked up with that decision.
So, the wedding was on a Fall Saturday. Let me preface this by saying I didn’t take this wedding seriously. I didn’t really care for his fiancee at the time (Candace if you’re reading this I love you now and you know that). And, the thought of Kyle being the patriarch leader of a family was fucking ridiculous. This was a college roommate of mine who I once watched make a breakfast of Kool-Aid and Cool Ranch Doritos at 12:45 in the afternoon.
All, I knew about the wedding was it was near Savannah, GA where he lived, and that I was riding down Saturday morning with, my girlfriend, a buddy of mine, and his wife who were also attending the wedding. So, I never bothered to concern myself with directions or anything else important to this occasion.
Sadly enough, the night before the wedding, my girlfriend, and I got into a HUGE fight and broke up. So bad that I slept on a leather sofa in the back room of my favorite bar where my car was parked.
Thats not sad guys. That’s called efficiency. Anyway, I woke up late. The wedding was at 4, and I got in the car and on the road at roughly 11. Again, I didn’t know any of the details about this wedding because I was too busy being a selfish asshole instead of taking this seriously. All I knew was that we were staying at a Hampton Inn in what I thought was Savannah. So, I start driving. My ETA is 2:45. That however, didn’t account for the 2 times I had to pull over on the highway and throw up, nor did it account for the fact that I HAD NO FUCKING CLUE WHERE I WAS GOING.
That’s why it was weird when my phone died around 2, and proceeded to find an exit with a Hampton Inn, march in, and exclaim that I thought I was staying there. When, I found out I wasn’t i took it in stride and did what any responsible adult would do – I asked to charge my phone in their lobby while I chugged Gatorade and threw up repeatedly for 10 minutes.
One blessing from all of this is that despite never looking at the directions – I had entered the actual address in my phone before it died. So, when it turned back on I was able to calmly see the directions which showed me that I was doing fine…except for the fact that the wedding wasn’t in Savannah and was in Jekyll Island an hour and a half away. It was 2:45 at this point. I wasn’t gonna make it. Jesus Christ Chris. So, I call Kyle and tell him that I fucked up and how sorry I was, and he actually said, “It’s fine Chris. We’ve come to expect this out of you, so we had a stand in in case this happened.”
I pull into my actual Hampton Inn at 4:02, and I rush into the lobby holding an un-ironed Groomsman’s shirt yelling, “Do you have any wrinkle releaser?! Do you have any wrinkle releaser?!” The receptionist literally said, “Are you Chris? Yeah we heard. Room 402 sir.” I run up stairs and realize I don’t know how to iron my own shirt. I was so defeated and upset with myself that I didn’t know what to do. Especially with the shirt. So, I hung it in the bathroom, turned the shower on the hottest temp possible, and sat down to pee. It was a low point for sure.
I finally get to the wedding at 4:25. I walk into reception hall to find that the ceremony itself was over. So, I rush outside to apologize to Kyle and his now wife. Amazingly, they laughed it off. Even Candace. They couldn’t have been cooler with how much of disaster I was. We go inside, for the processional of the bridesmaids and groomsmen and bride and groom. Kyle then looked at me and said, “Ehh, why don’t you sit this one out Chris.” So, I walk into the reception hall wearing EXACTLY the same outfit as the other groomsmen, and that’s when everyone realizes that I’m the asshole that actually missed the fucking wedding he was supposed to be in.
Down, but not out, I decided to make up for it by balling out at the bar/ after party. Now, that was held, in the hotel bar at the Hampton Inn. Why is that important? Because it was small venue with a lot of alcohol, a lot of people, and a lot of potential for more fireworks/ memories from me.
So, at some point during the night, I hit on someone I shouldn’t have who was in a relationship which caused him to get mad, storm off to his room, come back downstairs, and threaten to fight me while wearing a cutoff shirt. It was then when I realized that I needed to avoid any other incidents on my end that would further damage my reputation at this event. After all, I already missed the actual fucking wedding.
So, I slide to the side of the bar, and a buddy mine said, “Hey that guy is a huge Bama fan. Go talk to him.” I did. And, he was not. In fact he was the polar opposite.
He was a very well educated, black lawyer, who also happened to be gay. And, he was mad. About everything. Especially me trying to force a football conversation on him about Alabama. Anyway, he was very drunk, and kept trying to instigate an argument. Which honestly wasn’t his fault. He was smarter and more successful than everybody in that room, and honestly white people kinda are the worst.
So, I had walked away to the bathroom, and mid pee it hit me that I had left this very well educated gay black lawyer in the same room with Kyle’s redneck white family (I’m not saying that to be mean, but one family member was wearing a fucking sweatshirt at the wedding. Sorry Kyle). So, when I come back all hell has broken loose, and there is a legit hostile standoff happening where the lawyer is being asked to leave.
That’s where my immaturity and dickheadishness resurfaced and I sarcastically asked him, “Wow! What happened?” He leaned in and said, “You fucked with the wrong person. I won’t forget this.”And proceeded to throw a drink on me then walk out.
However, he couldn’t because Kyle’s uncle who was a retired cop came sprinting around the corner and straight up speared him to the ground. That’s when the cops were called.
That’s also when I blacked out, and remembered nothing else.
Until the next night. After a 5 and a half hour drive of hungover misery I finally made it home, and all I wanted to do was go to sleep. Then I got a phone call from the Jekyll Island Sheriff’s Department asking me to verity the written statement I gave about the incident’s the previous night.
I was shocked. I said, “I had a written statement?”
And he replied, “Not exactly sir. You started to write your statement in cursive to show the girl behind the front desk how much better your cursive handwriting was than hers. THEN you stopped and made her write the rest of your statement in her cursive to prove that yours was better.”
Wow. Nailed it. Literally that is 100% a perfect description of something I would do. Then he read the statement which stated, “Hey man let him go. It’s not a big deal. He’s just drunk. All he did was throw a drink on me. Ya know, like a lady would.” (True story I was asked to actually read that and testify in a court of law months later)
All in all it was a beautiful wedding.