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Posts Tagged ‘Suit Up Sunday’

Suit Up Sunday and a failure of epic proportions

In Just absolutely dominating people on January 20, 2009 at 12:38 am

Keystone Lights were crushed, a delicious smorgasbord of food was served, and one attendee of Suit Up Sunday had to hide the fact that he cried by leaving the room to “go to the bathroom.” Only 4 out of 5 attendees dressed appropriately, but everyone had a strong showing. Without further adieu, the participants:

Yours truly: Since the last days of 2008, I have been waiting for an occasion to break out the camel hair jacket that I found in the back of my old closet while I was home for Christmas. In addition to my salmon (it’s a super sexy, ultra-manly version of pink for those of you not in the know) shirt and pinstriped pants, I had the magnificently retro (though equally heinous) maroon, green, blue and orange striped tie made by The Racquet Club.

Cali: His 1980s Le Tigre jacket and khakis combination over a white dress shirt and blue tie screamed IT Director, but quickly became “out of work IT Director” when we discovered that not only did the shirt have short sleeves, but the tie was a clip on. However, his status upgraded to “badass IT Director” when he revealed that the clip on was authentic airport security that he had purchased from a laid off airline worker on ebay for the princely sum of $6.

The Chaz Bone: Chaz definitely won the award for most accurate portrayal of the men in the Canadian Club ads that helped spark interest in Suit Up Sunday, as his 1970s Brooks Brother plaid suit that was passed down from his father made it clear that not only is he a soon to be distinguished businessman, he was the classiest of the bunch. To that end, he provided delicious Scotch.

Beads: As anticipated, Beads rocked the 3 piece Burberry suit to perfection as he paired it with a solid red tie and sunglasses. With his new Boston Terrier puppy, Peaches, added in, the only thing that was missing from his outfit was a leash and a cane.

Xtine: Xtine is Beads’s lovely wife who not only puts up with his shenanigans, but also puts up with ours. Not only did Xtine not class it up, she also made a side bet with Alex that we wouldn’t dress up for Suit Up Sunday, which was like betting that the hapless Devil Rays and the moribund football Cardinals would make it to their respective championships. Wait, what? Anyway, because she lost, she had to drink with us all day. Unfortunately, even after several beers she refused to class it up by even throwing on a sundress (we originally pushed for her wedding dress, to no avail). However, she allowed degeneracy to occur on her watch and made some delicious bean and cheese dip, so this transgression was overlooked.

My outfit was a calculated decision, as I wanted to channel a community college professor a la Robin Williams in Good Will Hunting. What class would I be teaching? Bitch Slapping 101. Beads, as expected, was unaware that we were even in a bet until I directed him to JSF. Soon everyone in the room was anticipating the Slap Heard Round New Jersey. Not since the Soporanos went off the air has northern New Jersey seen the level of pain I planned to induce. People all around the nation were debating whether Beads would be able to continue law school after I caused the right side of his face to cave in. Upon signing into my email account this morning, I promptly received a gchat from my mother (ghact with parents is kosher, being friends on facebook is not). No hello, no good morning. Just “did you slap him????”

The answer is yes, but as I relayed the details to her, I’m surprised she didn’t disown me. What am I talking about? I’m talking about failure.

The best idea would have been to wait until late at night, when the booze had run its course and Sunday Funday had stretched into Monday. But I started trembling with so much excitement that I would literally spill half the bean dip off my Tostito before getting it to my mouth. After being in his home for an hour, it became time to break to seal, and I had to first pass Alex.

What followed was perhaps the most disappointing, embrassing, regreattable moment of my life.

For a brief ten seconds, I became the idiotic kid who is so excited to open his Christmas present that he breaks the toy inside. In what can only be described as a “Jim blows his one chance with the hot foreign exchange student Nadia” moment, I made a split second decision to just go for it, and reached my right hand back to deliver the slap. My form was off from the start, and instead of making his head turn around like an owl, I barely grazed him with the tips of my index, middle and ring fingers. I have seen kids in kindergarten classes slap people harder for cutting them in the snack line. I have seen elderly women slap each other harder for an alleged scoring mistake during a Saturday morning bowling league match. I have seen babies slap each other harder than I slapped Beads.

As the laughter roared behind me, I walked into the bathroom and slumped against the wall. It was over. The slap I had written about, obessed about, dreamed about for over 96 hours had come and gone and I was left with nothing but shame, confusion and regret. In other words, it was a lot like my first kiss. So, the great slap of 2009 will go down not as the bone crushing slap that you all wanted, but as the slap that was as soft as an angel’s kiss.



The illustrious Mr. Beads, Suit Up Sunday, and the Booze Bet

In Just absolutely dominating people on January 15, 2009 at 1:55 am

Two things I can’t live without? Water and sleep. Two things I wouldn’t want to live without? Killer music and selecting attire for the sole purpose of being awesome. Right now I am listening to The National’s Alligator, so I have the former covered on my end. A fine example of someone who loves the latter is my somewhat reformed (social probation to law school, holding a bottle of Colt .45 in his left hand to a having ring on that hand) roommate in college and one of my best friends, Beads.

Beads is one of the most legendary characters you could hope to meet, and also one of the people in my life who I have the most respect for. The ability in college to consistently walk near the precipice of expulsion while sitting pretty on the Dean’s List was an inspiration for me, though I never achieved either, for better and for worse. Sure, he may have broken his foot drunkenly walking up the stairs a week before we graduated, and yes, he may have let our Australian roommate talk him into getting a pink cast. But that was so 2005. Today he is the owner of a home and a puppy, an accepted member of his wife’s family, and a future lawyer. But you know what? Under this facade of respectability, he still a wildcat. Now that he is married, his shenanigans have to be a more controlled, but when he wants to, he can still bring the heat like no other. For instance, he couldn’t make it to our New Year’s Eve Party this year, but he arrived bright and early for Day Two with Mad Dogs in his hand and helped ensure that we would have to work hard for the next 364 days to top it. The first site that comes up with you type Mad Dog into Google? Enough said.

Anyway, one passion Beads and I share is for sometimes dressing ridiculously.  For instance, he spent the entire night of his bachelor party walking around Atlantic City in a custom made, 3-piece Burberry print suit that he acquired for the princely sum of $20 while studying abroad in China. I showed up at his house two nights before his wedding with a mustache.  My Halloween costume this year, a member of Team Zissou, featured his baby blue Wal-Mart sweatsuedo, which I borrowed from his place after we had gone out the previous night in Morristown NJ with matching Fu Manchus for no other reason than it was high time for a good facial hair party.

So, when I threatened to “wear a suit just to spite [him]” after he invited us to his house this Sunday to watch football and instructed us to “keep it informal,” the idea for Suit Up Sunday was born. As a result, I will be traveling to Morristown NJ with the Chaz Bone, another college roommate of ours and an all around swell guy. We will be wearing our most dashing thrift store style outfits, watching football and drinking heavily. It reeks of class and ridiculousness. I am actually looking forward to riding an hour on NJ Transit dressed to the Salvation Army Nines to take part in such a spectacle. The ultimate goal, of course, is to look like the guys in one of those Canadian Club “Damn right your Dad drank it” commercials (It now becomes even more woefully evident that I need to learn how to incorporate pictures onto this). To that end, Beads has promised Canadian Club, and because we are just that classy, Keystone Lights.

To create the stakes, I have come up with the following Booze Bet for Suit Up Sunday:

1) For every day that comes after he reads this for the first time, I owe him a shot.

a) So, if he reads this today (Thursday), I owe him three shots (for Thursday, Friday and Saturday), and so on.

b) Sunday is not only God’s Day, it is also Suit Up Sunday, so if he reads this then, he will have three shots poured when we enter his home, so we can all adequately make a toast to our sick outfits.

As we will not mention this bet before my arrival, upon my entrance, one shot must be poured and ready for immediate consumption, and Beads must tell me how many additional shots (if any) I owe within 5 minutes . Otherwise, I will let loose an evil laugh and instruct him to check out JSF to discover that:

2) If he greets me at the door with no shot, it will mean he has not read this, despite having wasted massive amounts of time surfing the internet since I posted this, and he will therefore owe me one of the following penalties (of his choosing):

a) 1 slap across the face (this may sound harsh, but I think he actually enjoys being slapped)

b) 1 shotgun of a Keystone Light followed by 1 shot of Canadian Club

c) He has to get up and fetch me a fresh drink whenever I request it for the remainder of Suit Up Sunday

As always, there are few things that give me the fever more than Sunday Funday.