Hiking Etiquette

I’m going to go right ahead and say I’m a pretty active guy. As I write this, it’s about 5:30 in the morning and I’m getting ready to head to the gym. I just finished walking the dog about 3 miles. I even eat somewhat healthy…somewhat. I enjoy the occasional giant glass of wine and I’m a sucker for French Fries. Not so much a dessert guy though, although for a solid two years my friends called me “Fat Vinny.” But we’re not here to talk about my diet, or the irreversible psychological damage my friends have done to me over the years.  We’re here to talk about the new craze of hiking.

I say new because I don’t think most people were into hiking before they found out they can Instagram a selfie from the top of the mountain (guilty). Most of the hiking I have done since I’ve moved to Las Vegas has been alone. I thought it was a cool solo thing to do.

This should be rule one of hiking etiquette. Never go hiking alone. You don’t want to end up like a fucked up Liam Neeson movie. You’re not going to be able to walk on a broken leg or fight off an Arctic Wolf. You will unfortunately meet your demise rather quickly. At least least any of us Americans. A year ago in Japan, 7 year old, Yamata Tanooka, was left in bear infested woods by his parents as punishment. He survived 6 whole days until someone found him by accident. His father was quoted saying, “I really didn’t think it would come to that. I went to far.” Oh, you fucking think you went too far? I don’t know how you survived Yamata, but next time you’re at the zoo, push Daddy-o into the bear infested bear pit, see if he lasts 6 days.

So, don’t go hiking alone. You’re not as savvy as that 7 year old. A few months ago, I went hiking with a friend and I fell off about a 6 foot lip while we were coming down. It was definitely a lot scarier for me than it was for my friend. He was laughing his ass off while I was laying there moaning in pain. Overall, I was fine but if I would’ve fell off the actual drop, I’d have been shit out of luck. 

Also, I don’t care if you don’t know where you’re going, but at least know where you came from. Asking the next guy you see on the path which direction you should go is not going to be the move. One, he probably doesn’t know where he’s going either. Two, when people ask me for directions I just like to point and say, “yep, just head that way.” Just follow the trail signs and remember where you parked and you should be ok. Like I said, “should be.”

One part of the etiquette I’m not really too sure about is when you start walking the same path as another group. I’m not about to do a 3 mile hike with three weirdos who continuously talk about how they don’t normally hike and they continuously ask about the hikes you’ve been on. Shut the fuck up and enjoy the nature or whatever. We just decided to walk much faster than these people until they were no longer near us. As much as I love listening to people, I’m completely antisocial. I want little snippets of these people’s lives not a 2 hour hikes worth. 

I want to be real honest here, I fucking hate hiking. I don’t mind it once I’m at the top of that bitch. But hiking here is like hiking up a big dirt hill for hours. Nothing changes. A couple cacti here and there. No running water whatsoever, and when you get to the top guess what you see. You see the one thing you were trying to get away from to begin with. The fucking Las Vegas Strip. People always say enjoy the journey and I believe that, just not when it comes to hiking. When it comes to hiking I’m strictly a destination type of guy. 

The Impossible Task of Making Friends

When is the last time you have made a friend? Was it because you were perfect soulmate bffs? Or was it because you just spend x amount of time with each other? Did you start talking because you have the most similar interests? Or do you just have a similar complaints throughout the day as they do? What the fuck is a friend if not a person you jointly complain with?

If you ‘re now saying to yourself, “no, I make friends all the time by getting to know people and their interests,” I’d have to say you’re a better person than me. I haven’t made a new friend in about 9 months. Going to school, you make friends easily. The purpose of college is to network. If you can jump through all the hoops while you’re “networking”, then you get this stupid piece of paper at the end that says you’re smart. Don’t let it fool you, you’re not. You can even go back for two more years and get a master’s degree to be even smarter. Once again, that doesn’t make you any smarter either. The one thing you probably did gain, is a few solid friends, whom you may not even be friends with any longer after you left.

Now, let’s get to the real problem. How to make friends as an adult. Is that even a possible thing? I live with my girlfriend now, so it’s not like I can just go find new roommates to make friends with. So, what do we do to make new friends?

Well the first thing we did was tried to become regulars at a bar. If you read this blog before then you know this. If not, go back and read it, I don’t have time to re-explain. We decided after slowly becoming regulars at this bar that we actually fucking hated it. The bar was filled with smoke and the worst people in the world. The last time we went, we sat next to some fat shmuck who was drinking Budweiser and sang the entirety of Jolene by Zac Brown Band. As he was about 1/4 of the way into the song, I asked Marisa if she wants to go somewhere else, and I got the usual indecisive girlfriend answer (no offense Bae). Now about half way through the song, I ask again and get the same response. 3/4 of the way through, I finally decide I have had it and say, “chug that beer, this is no longer “our” bar, we have to leave So, clearly, regulars at the bar is not an option.

Then we thought we’d try BumbleBFF. We thought let’s try something really fucking stupid. If you’re wondering if that worked. Don’t wonder, don’t try it. Fuck the internet when it comes to making friends. For all you people that met on Tinder, let me know how that’s going. 

Finally, we thought let’s go out and meet friends the old-fashioned way, we’ll go to a bar. Well, we did just that. First bar, there was no one around. We scouted out a few couples and came up with their interesting back stories. All in all, they weren’t for us. The next bar, well, we obviously made no friends, otherwise why would I be writing this bullshit. But we did see this one drunk psychopath. This jerk off was surrounded by 3 Vegas juiceheads and one of her girlfriends. She had her eyebrows drew in just perfectly, which if I may add, is such a weird practice these days. I wonder if men are going to start doing the same thing for their chest hair to look as sexy as I do. What she did not have drawn in perfectly was her eyelashes. Nope, those babies were hanging right off her eyes like hair hanging off the wall in the shower. She kept trying to like stick them back on too. When my contact is falling out I take the fucking thing out. I don’t stand there playing with my eye for 30 minutes laughing like I just finished my 3rd pumpkin spice latte.

So, what do I think about making friends? I think it’s close to impossible for someone like me. I think people think I’m an asshole before they even meet me. Unfortunately, they’re right. But they don’t have to know that before they even meet me. Some people just act so uncomfortable around me. Maybe one day we’ll meet another couple friends here in Vegas who will drink with us, hike with us, or just make generally poor decisions with us. Maybe they’ll even carve a motherfucking pumpkin with us this month.

Sports with Friends: I Thought She Knew Something About College Football

Written by: Nicole

The transition from summer to fall is symbolic to many people for many reasons: the start of a new school year; the time of year you promise yourself you’ll stop meeting your friends for rooftop happy hour on a Wednesday only to wake up at 4am hovering over your sink repeatedly chugging glasses of water; the time of year you give up on the Mets (if you haven’t already); the time of year you see four thousand Instagram posts of pumpkin spice lattes with the caption “lol I’m so #basic”; etc., etc., etc

Since 2009, fall has meant something else to me. Fall means college football season. I’ve gone to two big football schools over the past nine football seasons and attend/watch pretty much every game, but I somehow don’t know shit about college football. People constantly think I know things about college football being that I’ve been immersed in it for so long, but I’m honestly just here for the beer, food, and the excuse to drink at 9am on a Saturday at age 26. So yeah, here I am doing a blog on sports (kind of).

Growing up, my family wasn’t really a football family. My dad grew up in Europe and we’re all extremely short—except for my sister who should just admit she’s adopted at this point—so we were soccer people, and unfortunately Mets fans. In 2009, I graduated high school and went to the University of Miami along with an extremely geographically diverse student population the rest of Long Island. That’s when I became to LOVE college football season. 18-years-old, living in Miami, tailgating and rooting for a team that was not only good, but was fun to watch. I ended up living in Miami for six years, where I had Canes season tickets every year and attended every game against FSU, both home and away.

In 2015, I moved to Ann Arbor, Michigan. Yeah, I moved from the “Sunshine State” to the “State with the Largest Municipal Bankruptcy Filing in the U.S.,” otherwise known as the “State with no Sun.” Besides there being a lack of sun, an uncomfortable amount of white people, and an absence of decent food, Ann Arbor isn’t bad—especially in the fall when the entire state of Michigan congregates in the Big House, because what the fuck else is there to do here

Tailgating here is awesome, but wildly different than Miami. For starters, in Miami we took an hour bus ride to an NFL stadium which constituted part of the whole tailgating thing. Thinking back, it was often when a lot of the damage was done—just walking onto the bus with bright eyes, experiencing an hour of mayhem driving up i-95, and hopping off the emergency exit on the side of Florida Turnpike looking like Ms. Frizzle forced you to funnel 3 Natty Lights while riding the goddamn Magic School Bus. Then, we’d find an opening in the fence of parking lot and make our way to the tailgate where there would be a bunch of shit going on, which almost always included an entitled kid from the northeast “DJing,” otherwise known as “plugging an iPod into speakers.” We’d eventually head into the nearly-empty stadium (Ever been to a sporting event in Florida? Shit’s bleak), which didn’t really bother us because this wasn’t an NCAA stadium. This was a NFL stadium, which meant…more beer – imperative to a marathon. After enough was enough, we’d take the bus back to Coral Gables, where it dropped us off directly across the street from a TGIFriday’s. I cannot begin to imagine how many mozzarella sticks I ate post-football game between 2009-2014 and I’d prefer not to think about it

Back to Michigan. I should probably note that the most glaring difference between tailgating in Miami and tailgating here is my age. I’m 26 now and I literally look like a narc roaming through college students’ tailgates. Anyway, I woke up on the day of my first Michigan game SO excited and ready to go at 8am. I asked my friend where the tailgate was and she said, “So-and-so’s house.” Confused by this, I answered “Oh, not the pregame, the tailgate—like how far is the stadium?” This is when I found out that Michigan tailgates take place on the front lawns of the houses—this was going to be an issue. I was snooty and most of my law school friends went to nerd schools for undergrad so they didn’t have big football programs, and I just figured this was another weird thing about Michigan (there are A LOT). Happy to admit I was wrong. First off, Ann Arbor is wildly strict about open container laws, so they’re not really big on the whole “walk and drink to the stadium” thing. As most of you know, Florida is a lawless state, so I wasn’t used to this. Second, the stadium is a college football stadium, aka no drinking on stadium grounds. I still find this interesting because it just encourages underage kids to binge prior to the game, and also encourages 26-year-old adults to binge prior to the game and then complain about developing a headache in the third quarter. Oh, “drink some water,” you say? If you think I’m going to pay $5 for a bottle of water, you are out of your fucking mind. I’ll stick to complaining. Regardless, this encouragement provides for an interesting tailgate

Anyway, we get to the tailgate and I obviously know close to no one, as it was only my second week in Ann Arbor. It was at this point that I decided some hard alcohol would be a good idea, a quick shot-ski could bring out some of my social skills. I proceeded to drink some beers and felt like I was actually becoming friends with some people. My new friends told me about the strict open container laws and that we had to do all of our drinking at the tailgate before leaving, as in we had to compensate for lost time we would have otherwise had at the stadium. After playing 47 drinking games, we stumbled to the stadium. Shit is UNREAL. Literally feels like you’re swimming in a sea of Michigan fans, I’ve never seen anything like it in my life (DEFINITELY not at Miami). I’m going to be honest, I don’t remember a lot of that first game besides my bewilderment of the sheer number of people in one place, so that’s really it about “the game.”

My friends and I were walking home from the game, walking that fine line of “am I blacked out, or…?” when I felt an alarming need to pee. I realized I had not peed all day—it was probably 3pm at this point and you’d be surprised how many light beers I can fit into this little body over the course of a day. I was too awkward to tell my new friends, so I told them that I had to stop somewhere on my way home. I obviously didn’t have to stop anywhere, I hardly knew where I was and I didn’t know how cool a restaurant would be with a drunk, noncustomer barging into the bathroom. Once I got away from them, I sprinted home. No joke—sprinted through the packed streets of Ann Arbor. I thought I wasn’t going to make it several times (pretty sure I was gripping my crotch the entire way), but I made it to the law quad. I was so proud of myself, I made it, I made it!

And then I peed my pants. I was wearing jeans. I couldn’t stop, so I literally just sat down. Right in the middle of the law quad, on concrete, leaving a massive puddle. I looked around and miraculously no one was around. I must have beaten the crowd while I was sprinting, so in hindsight I’m grateful for pulling that weird move. I scurried home and proceeded to shower in my jeans. I didn’t tell any of those “new” friends until six months later

So yeah, it’s been a wild ride. Transitioning from Miami to Michigan tailgates was weird, yet awesome. Even though this is my final season of a nine-year tailgating streak, I hope I’m still mistaken for someone who knows about college football, and I definitely hope that I am lucky enough to experience a tailgate so fun that I pee my pants.

Written by: Nicole

This is how they Repay you

The other morning I was out for a walk before work. I do the same path every day. I walk behind my apartment complex and it leads to a little shopping center that I pass. This specific morning it was early, about 5 am. I see that a truck had been broken into. There was glass everywhere. The doors were open. Shit was everywhere. As I was walking, I debated what I should do. I mean, the robbery already happened, should I even bother calling the police? I don’t know what the protocol is on that. I didn’t want to call 911 because I felt like they’d think I was an idiot. It obviously wasn’t an emergency. I really didn’t want to call anyone at all. It’s not my fucking business what happens in this shopping center, so what do I give a shit. 
I ended up deciding to call the police department itself, instead of the emergency number. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I call up and after a lot of button clicking and redirecting, I finally get to speak with a human being. I tell her my name and say, “hey, I’m just out walking the dog and I saw a car had been broken into and basically destroyed on the corner of etc etc. So, she says, “hmm, hold on one second.” She comes back and says that’s right outside of the area we care for so you should call the other police department. I said, “I already tried that department, they’re not open until 8.” She then tells me, “ok, well then you can call back at 8 and report it.” I ask her, “if it was in my complex would you come see?” She responds, “well, yes that’s part of Henderson police jurisdiction.” So you mean when I literally step 25 ft out of the conplex you can’t come help? Super comforting. 

What the fuck is wrong with this woman. Does she actually think I’m going to just again, waste my time to make this phone call again? It’s not even my fucking car. You try to the do the right thing and this is what happens. So, I said, “look lady, I’m not calling anyone else, do whatever you want with this information, but I’ve done my part as a concerned citizen.” I don’t give a shit enough to call again. I barely cared enough to call the first time. I mean the two cities that I live between might as well be one. It baffled me that she couldn’t do anything at all. She would rather me wait for three hours.

I guess its just a car theft so it’s not that big of a deal. I just wonder what I would’ve done if it was actually my car. I obviously wouldn’t have waited until 8. I would’ve called 911 and said, “we have an emergency, the woman over at Henderson dispatch is a fucking moron. What are we going to do about that?”

People really are doing the opposite of what Robert Frost said. No one is taking the path less traveled. People are taking the path of least resistance and for this lady, it was the ‘do nothing’ path.

Sports with Friends: The Yanks Take on Citi

Written by: J

Hurricanes Harvey and Irma sucked. There’s no question about it. Harvey went to Houston and fucked shit up, then Irma saw his snapchat story, said, “hold my beer,” and made her way to Florida to one up him. My heart goes out to all those who were affected by it. Unless you live under a rock, you already know that these storms caused some serious damage as they ripped through some areas – which is far more important than what I am about to talk about – but they also had a relatively unique impact on the sports world, causing games throughout Texas and Florida to be postponed, cancelled and relocated. In Miami alone, Dolphin fans were forced to wait for their inevitably disappointing Jay Cutler-driven season to start. University of Miami fans were robbed of a marquee matchup against the Arkansas State Red Wolves. Now, I get that football season is back, but as a washed up baseball player who was cut from my high school team (not to brag/fuck you Coach Sheedy), I think its important to remind everyone that playoff baseball is right around the corner, and a few baseball series with playoff implications were relocated as a result of the storms, which was far more important to me. Most notably, a three game set between the Yankees and the Rays was moved out of Florida and up to New York.

Normally, Yankees vs. Rays games in Tampa Bay are filled with New Yorkers who retired to a senior development in Florida, where the key to getting laid is to simply have the physical ability to get it up or enough mental awareness to drive places. So, moving the series to New York really didn’t seem like that big of a deal, but to preserve some type of home field advantage for the Rays, this was moved to Citi Field instead of Yankee Stadium – an interesting development. As a Yankee fan, I am not afraid to admit that Citi Field is far superior to Yankee Stadium, a place that kicked me out for wearing a judge costume the first week of this season and where the consistent answer you get when you ask for honey mustard sauce in the left field bleachers is “we used to have it, but we don’t anymore.” For starters – what does that even mean? Where the fuck did it go? Did someone break into Yankee stadium and steal all the honey mustard from that section? If they did, they should make an Ocean’s Eleven style movie about it staring the Fast and Furious cast – because that’s a movie I’d watch. Anyway, this series was a big one for the Yankees, who are in the midst of a playoff run and are notorious for casually getting swept by the bottom-of-the-standings Rays when it really matters. That, and the fact that they were offering best available seats for a $25 flat rate, prompted me and some buddies to go to game two of the series. Here are some takeaways:

“Holy shit these lines are unreal” – This was a reoccurring theme of my night at Citi. Who would have thought that everyone and their uncle would show up to a Yankee game at Citi Field for $25 tickets, right? It was an impromptu game and Citi Field was clearly understaffed, which is completely understandable based on the circumstances. I heard from a completely unreliable source that the average wait time at a concession stand was roughly 45 minutes and I’m not ashamed to admit that I missed an inning of the game so that I could shove two Kosher hotdogs down my throat and wash them down with a $6 water. At one point, I overheard a guy talking about the wait for Shake Shack in such a concerned tone that you would have thought the Wilpons kidnapped his family and were holding them for ransom to dig themselves out of the hole that Bernie Madoff’s ponzi scheme left them in. Great kosher dogs though.

“Get Sonny some runs!” – Now for some actual baseball talk. Sonny Gray was the Yankees big trade deadline acquisition. If you ever watch an interview with him, he isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but damn can he pitch. I personally had some doubts about Sonny when we made the trade, but since then, his stats have been as advertised. In 8 starts for the Yanks, Sonny has put together a 3-5 record with a 2.66 ERA and .206 BAA. People immediately look at his 3-5 record and say he hasn’t lived up to the hype and those people are idiots. The man has gotten zero run support from the Yankees offense when he pitches. In five of his eight starts, the Yankees have scored one or less runs to back Sonny up – all 5 resulting in losses, Tuesday’s game at Citi included. You can’t win if you don’t score runs – bottom line.

“Sittin’ Pretty” – Overall, we took the series at Citi 2-1 – I have to admit, it was nice to win a series on the Mets turf this way after the whole “Take Back NY” stunt they tried to pull, as they blue balled their entire fan base with an honestly impressive collapse following their World Series appearance two years ago. We head into a four game weekend set against the Orioles, three games back in the division, but three games up in the wildcard. Even though we have been playing well lately this team just does some stupid shit. With the third best run differential in baseball of +155 our record should be better than it is. We are either winning by 9 or losing by 1 and have lost too many close games from either a bullpen collapse (which I think we figured out) or a no show offense. Despite some shortcomings, the Yanks have won their last four series and I think we are in good shape. We have the talent and depth to compete with any team; it’s just a question of whether we can put it all together when it matters. We’ll see what happens comes playoffs, but I think its safe to say that we have officially taken back New York Citi (see what I did there?).

Written by: J

Twisted News Thursday

I write a lot about nothing. Mostly everything I write is nothing. Today, I decided to write about something more substantial. I’m adding a little bit of a news column to this blog. I’m going to take the most fucked up, ridiculous, and twisted piece of news and write how I feel about it. This week, I picked something up off of the Las Vegas Review Journal.

Today, I want to talk about Scott Dozier. He is what they describe as an “American Criminal.” Pretty weak standard for “American Criminal” if you ask me. When I think “American Criminal,” I think about Benny Eggs or Lucky Luciano. I even think of Bugsy Siegel. These people are criminals. If you don’t know who they are, look them up somewhere. You’ll understand what I mean. They are the OG, if you will.

I hear the word criminal, I think of someone smart. I don’t think of a meth dealer, who kills off his low-level dealers for a measly $12,000.  I mean don’t get me wrong, I could use $12,000. It wouldn’t be measly to me. But that’s exactly what this man did.

Scott Dozier killed, 22-year-old, Jeremiah Miller. Jeremiah Miller was one of his “drug associates.” Drug associates is the word they used in the article, not sure why. So, despite it being wrong that he was killed, I don’t feel badly. I would be lying if I said I feel that way. It’s not my place to say someone deserves to be killed and I don’t know this guy’s back story. If you’re meeting a meth dealer, in the parking lot of a place called La Concha, you must’ve considered there was at least a chance you only had a few hours left to live.

So, Scott ends up killing Jeremiah Miller. They think he shot him, but they really don’t know. Not because they didn’t find the body, no, they found the body. They found the body alright. It was sawed into pieces and stuffed in a suitcase, outside an apartment complex in West Vegas.

First off, a real “criminal” would have done a better job of hiding a body, I assume. This guy was just a wackjob who was so narcissistic, that he didn’t even care if anyone found the body. He didn’t care if a kid found it, a woman found it, a man found it, or even if the police found it. Second, what was the point of cutting this guys into a couple pieces if not to hide the evidence? There wasn’t a point. He’s obviously a real sociopath. Not the kind of sociopath described in the beloved show Seinfeld. A real, sawing bodies type of sociopath.

Now, the part that is really interesting is that Scotty is scheduled to die on November 14th of this year. Despite not believing in the death penalty, there is one thing that bothered me about him. And it bothered me more than him chopping up his 22-year-old companion. When his date of death was assigned, he had the audacity to ask the judge, “what do I need to be mentally prepared for?” Listen SCOTT, when you chopped up Miller, did you stop and say, “hold on kid, you should be prepared for me to shoot you and then chop you up into undefinable pieces?” No, because, we aren’t supposed to see death coming. We aren’t supposed to have to “mentally prepare” for our own death. That is torture in itself. You didn’t give that meth-loving jerk off an explanation. Why should you get a description of what it’s going to be like if you didn’t give this poor fuck an explanation. What should you expect when you get your lethal cocktail? I don’t really\ know but my mother always said, “It’s all fun in games, until someone saws a motherfucker in half.”


Sports with Friends: Welcome to Fall

Written by: Iceberg

Welcome to fall. The NFL is back and the great fucking pumpkin season of pumpkin beer, pumpkin picking and pumpkin spice lattes is upon us. But I am hear to talk about September’s forgotten soldier, formally known as the boys of summer. Yep, if you haven’t already guessed from my half made up sayings, that’s right, I’m talking about baseball. Every year I hear “baseball’s boring” or “baseball’s too slow” well thats why your cousin Vinny brought me here. To convince you that is EXACTLY why you should like baseball. I am about to give you 3 reasons that will make you a baseball fan for life.

Naps: You ever wake up hungover on a Saturday morning and cannot fall back asleep? Well boy, do I have a solution for you. Its called turning on a 1 o’clock baseball game and watching the first 2 innings as the announcers gently tuck you tight under the covers. You wake up during the seventh inning stretch feeling like a new man (or woman, I’ll have to ask your cousin Vinny about his target audience here). Not only do you wake up in the 7th, but sometimes you wake up to a one run game, with guys like Dellin Betances throwing 100 mph cheese, that will make your dutch oven beer farts smell like roses. Nothing better than close baseball games in the 7th inning on and thats a fact.

162 Games: Has a friend ever asked you to go get some tacos and tequila on a Tuesday night? Maybe go out on a Wednesday to get 2fers? You want to know how I respond? “Fuck that I have have to go to work tomorrow. I can’t be doing that. I’m not in college anymore. However, I will go to that crummy local dive bar that so happens to have $2 miller lites on a Wednesday to watch the Yankee game.” You see what I did there? You see what I tell people at work or a girlfriend so that she won’t get mad at me. My point is baseball is always on and it always gives us an excuse to hangout with friends or pound back a couple of casuals. People say that baseball players should not be payed millions compared to the hard-working teachers. Well, I’m pretty sure the school year is only 161 days and baseball is 162 so you tell me whose working harder.

Chicks: Has anyone been to a baseball game recently? Because I have. One thing I noticed was all the beautiful girls there. (I was of course there with my mom) Now, I am not saying you go to baseball games to pick up chicks. However, if you find a girl thats cool enough to go to baseball games with you (most likely because her father would take her as a young kid, because in his heart he wishes he had a son) than you keep that girl around. There are a few things that are certain in this life and they are death, taxes and chicks digging the long ball. And hey, if you don’t believe me, just take a look at Aaron Judge’s Shrek like face and then look at his Instagram model girlfriend.

Written by: Iceberg