A while back, Alex and I were approached by TV producers to be contestants on a new reality show called “Write or Wrong.” We agreed and started filming the pilot episode. “Write or Wrong” was an occupational competition show, like Top Chef or Project Runway, where writers compete to see who’s the best. So, Alex and I moved into a house full of other up and coming writers. The network filmed for one day before completely abandoning the project. If you thought those “Real World” people drank too much and had trouble getting along, you can’t imagine what an apartment full of writers and endless booze will lead to.

The show, of course, was never aired, so Alex and I asked for the footage and spent 6 hours in a computer lab in Worcester editing the discarded footage into a five minute promo. Here’s “Write or Wrong”

I have been trying to keep the exporting of funds from my account to a minimum the past few months, which has meant drinking only one or two beers a week. That’s not very many. In fact it’s practically nothing. My tolerance for alcohol has gone way down. Which can be kind of cool since if I have two beers in a night now I’m feeling pretty happy with a nice little buzz instead of pouring down eight shots of whiskey and getting angry, “I’m still not fucking drunk yet!”

Last night I got drunk. I met up with some people while they were finishing up a pub crawl for the Saturday before St. Patrick’s Day, that oh holiest of alcoholics. I started with whiskey ’cause they’d all been drinking for hours. Some people already were calling it a night at 6:30. We bounced around too a few more bars, saw loads of different people and I’m gonna say I enjoyed myself. There was a quick smoke of marijuana at one point and that always puts me on Cloud 9. I got shitty. And it doesn’t matter; I’m in a bar, I know most everyone in it, whatever. I’ll just be drunk in a bar and not worry about gathering my shit until I’m sober enough to make my way home.

I got caught up in a few good conversations and then someone asked I wanted to smoke some more pot. Dun Dun DUN! Of course. Have I ever said no to that drug? Maybe once since I was 16. Now where is my jacket?

I couldn’t find that fucking thing for the life of me. I knew it was just me being drunk and having misplaced it. People kept saying, “I’m sure no one stole it.” Me too! I’m sure it’s just that I’m fucked up right now and can’t get my shit together to keep track of an article of clothing that will keep me warm once I leave this establishment, Goddammit! It took forever. I was highly embarrassed, because I’m a human and I lost my opportunity to bond of over a hit. C’est la vie. I waited for the place to clear out a bit more and made some inquiries as to whose jackets were whose and eventually around 2:35 I finally got my hands on it. A big thank you to Neal Stasty for knowing how much it would suck to lose your jacket in a bar and therefore helping me find it.

Maybe I should start drinking more. Get my tolerance back up. That or stop wearing jackets.

Abita Amber – 6
Anchor Steam – 1
Whiskey + Coke – 2

I’m not sure how many people were here at Julie and Erin’s last night, but there were two handles of vodka, a handle of Captain Morgan, a handle of whiskey, two other handles of dark rum, a bottle of tequila, two cases of PBR, a case of Abita Amber, a 24 of Miller High Life, a six pack of Anchor Steam, a six pack of Czechvar, a bunch of other beer, a few bottles of wine, five small bottles of champagne and other alcoholic beverages here and there. All that’s left is some margarita mix and mudslides.

Two different people brought feasts of Popeye’s, plus Erin’s family owns a catering business so they brought loads of meatballs, jambalaya and shrimp with pasta. It almost made me cry, but that was just some food leaking out of my eyes.

All the floats were crazy. Three times as big as any float on Friday. The theme had something to do with dreams or dreaming or dreamland or something. Kid Rock was on one of the first floats. That’s right, I saw Kid “Warrior” Rock in person which now qualifies me to live in a trailer and shoot rats with my handgun. Their house is right at the beginning of the parade route and they turn left at the house so all the marching bands perform right in front of the house. Cassidy kept the spirit of Mardi Gras going at all times with his megaphone, everyone and their mother were trying to catch beads and pretty early on I was reaching for some beads and fell off the porch right into a trash can. As I fell Julie’s aunt said a prayer for me. She rolled her eyes every time she saw me after and rightfully so. I did fall into a trash can.

Endymion: The Party was killer. Their theme was White Trash in honor of Kid “Loyalty” Rock. People kept drunkenly complimenting Julie and Erin on their success. I think they even made some cash and no one seemed to puke in a place where they shouldn’t. Although someone made out with someone else’s husband, which ended up with a few college students and comics taking care of a four-year-old we didn’t know the name of. He is very artistic! I gotta say, for a four-year-old he took some interesting photos with Julie’s digital camera. I did try and brainwash him a bit. He kept trying to get on the bed and I wouldn’t let him, saying: “See what I’m doing here? I’m The Man and I’m ‘keeping you down.’ It’s symbolic.” “Y’know who killed JFK? George Bush!” “The government is lying to you!”

I got some awesome beads that have Mardi Gras rubber ducks, but the best beads I think went to Mike. They had foam baseballs on them! BASEBALLS! Matthew Maragno grabbed everything. Kyle, from Seattle, did as well. Those two looked like living Mardi Gras beads, which would’ve been the sweetest beads ever! I would have fought tooth and nail or dove into two trash cans for living beads.