Once You Go Black, You Never Go Back, Right?

So one of the many highlights of my summer was my 21st birthday. As an only child that was constantly suppressed by my parents, my 21st birthday was going to be something amazing. Incredible would be another way to describe as it would be filled with drinking, more drinking, and hopefully scoring with a random chick. At least that's what I hoped. It never works out that way.

After spending my actual 21st birthday doing nothing but work and volleyball, I had to wait until the end of my swim season to finally celebrate. I went big with the 21st birthday. I set up an event on Facebook, invited everyone I thought would come, and hoped for the best. However, much to my dismay, many of the people that accepted were under 21. The point of inviting them was a joke, but apparently they didn't get that. Regardless of who showed up and who didn't, the 21st birthday party was still off the chain.

I first went with a few of my friends out to a driving range, drinking some brews and hitting some golf balls. I know I sound like a faggot when I wrote that, but its the truth. It felt really empowering to order beers. Especially when I was asked to display my ID. That feeling that I had every time I cracked open my wallet and flashed it was incredible. Anyway, back to the story. I spent a good amount of money at the driving range, picking up the tab as we heading into downtown DC for the rest of the night.

My friends and I went to Rhino Bar in Georgetown and details after that were very sketchy. Drinks by the handful were getting bought for me and of course, I was pounding them down. But the one thing that I do remember is an amazing story. I was on the bottom floor of the two-story bar with my friend from school, buying drinks for some friends. Suddenly, a nice-looking, sophisticated girl was looking my way and began to talk to me. For it being my first time out in Georgetown, I was quite impressed with myself that a lady began to talk to me. My friend and I began to talk to her and her friend, hoping for the best. When it seemed that her friend wasn't interested, I shifted my attention to the one who was giving me the time of day, not to mention the one with the bigger breasts.



I kept talking to this girl and eventually drank the drinks that I ordered for my friends. Being the stubborn person that I am, my goal that night was to try and get with this girl. Granted I do think with my crotch more than my brain when I'm intoxicated, but damnit I was trying. Some of the pickup lines I was using were like this:

"I may be 21 but I'm all man, baby."

"It's ok if you take advantage of me, I won't mind."

"What happened to your chopsticks?" (Not really.)

I was thinking that I was getting somewhere with these lines when she took me out on the dancefloor. I was feeling pretty good when I was dancing with this fine-ass chick, with boobs that were so big that she had to stop dancing every five minutes to adjust herself. I was freaking it with her since I was hammered, throwing my cautions to the wind. I didn't really care at that point if my friends were looking at me, I was trying hard to get what I wanted. However, shaking my ass like I've got junk in my trunk got nowhere. The next thing I know, some black guy comes in a steals my woman from here and promptly grinds his crotch and gyrates against her ass. It looked a lot like the picture below:


It was all of a sudden. In a moment's time, I went from "Big Pimpin" to "Sleeping Alone Tonight." Damnit, I was so mad. I had convinced my drunken self that she may have been with a black dude before, prompting me to text my friends the question "Is it true that once you go black, you never go back?" I don't know the answers I got back or even what compelled me to do such a thing. My memories of the night are fuzzy at this point, with exception of puking all over my DD's car. I clearly remember upchucking on 395 on the way home.

So here's the thing about the whole post. I know it was a long and boring story, and you probably didn't enjoy it. Is this myth true? I don't hate the guy, he had the same goal in mind that I had. But just the way he came in and seemingly swooped the girl away from me made me realize that maybe my moves aren't hip enough or even my neophytic ways in urban nightlife caught up with me. So readers, answer this? Is it true that once you go black, you never go back, right?

BFtP: #39 Get Featured on a Sports Blog (Part III)

After a weeklong hiatus from our epic tale, we resume our story after young Jason leaves Redskins' Training Camp and heads off into the sunset with the Cone nestled safely into his car's trunk.

Upon returning home and explaining to my parents about why we had to keep a traffic cone in our house, I proceeded to write about my incredible day in this blog that I had started at the beginning of the summer. This blog was supposed to chronicle my summer at home and would make writing my internship paper much easier to do, but of course, I found out that my work recieved Google Blog Alerts, so that wasn't happening. Despite the original intention, I decided to write down this extraordinary moment since the moment was fresh in my mind and I wanted to put down the pure joy and exuberance that I felt during that day.

The next morning, I had to return to work at my internship. My bosses decided to give me four-day weekends in the summer for a multitude of reasons, including 1) I would get my work done too quickly, 2) there were too many interns, 3) I lived the closest to home, and 4) I would always get on everyone's nerves. Fair enough. They would send me on "research" missions, where they would have me research certain things and report back to them. Although I loved the days off, the work was very tedious. Those first days back in the office during the week were always the worst, since I would seem to have work to do when I wasn't in the office. Of course, the first order of business after checking my e-mail and facebook was to see Steinz himself wrote. I figured that something would happen since he was interested in these kinds of things and he was writing shit down.

And then, I went to the DC Sports Bog, and BAM it was there. At the top of the page, there was an article about Redskin players autographing a traffic cone. Holy shit. I wanted to scream really loud and prance around the office but I could not because I was supposed to be fixing spreadsheets and making phone calls. Of course, I spent the majority of the morning placing and recieving congratulatory calls from my fellow comrades, ignoring the mounting pile of work. At midday, without a single thing done, my office manager walked into my office and asked what I was doing, as she could obviously see that I was way off-task. I had to unfortunately admit what I was doing and she told me that the boss wanted to see me in his office pronto.

I spent what seemed like forever in my boss' office that afternoon, explaining to him what I was doing and why I was at Redskins Training Camp instead working on "research" for the organization. I recieved a stern lecture from my boss about the importance of doing what you're told and blah blah blah. Like I really cared, since I was two weeks away from the end of my internship and the benefits of being on a sports blog outweighed the scorn I received from my bosses. Honestly, I was yelled at more for this stupid incident than for puking in the sink or even breaking the copier right before an event. Go me.

And with that, we end our story. Granted, there may be much left to be desired, but this is the story of how one my goals went down and was accomplished. I do not think I will ever do this kind of three-part story ever again.

Here are the articles if you're interested:

http://blog.washingtonpost.com/dcsportsbog/2007/08/the_cone.html

http://blog.washingtonpost.com/dcsportsbog/2007/08/skins_go_stache.html

Thank you and goodnight.

Blast From the Past: #39: Get Featured on a Sports Blog

Blast from the Past is a semi-rare segment that will grace 99thingsbefore30 every so often, when either I have completely run out of material or when I have completely run out of material, as this sentence has thoroughly proved. BFtP will delve into the depths of history to uncover tales about myself and how I completed certain tasks that have not been previously mentioned on this site. \It won't be pretty but we'll tell it to you like it is. Run-on sentences, misspelings, and random thoughts are the name of the game here, so yeah, it's kind of like that. And so without further adieu, we turn the clock back to July 31, 2007, where we meet young Jason as he heads towards Redskins Training Camp practice.

I can't really explain the story better than this. So here was my firsthand account of the whole story via Cock With Writers' Bloc.

"I went to training camp today for the Washington Redskins in Ashburn, VA. I had the day off from work, so my friends and I decided to hit up camp and experience it firsthand. We went all (crazy) with this, as we created a Facebook event, brought jerseys, and even carpooled up to Ashburn. At training camp, the word on the street from friends and other fans was that players would usually sign autographs for awhile after practice. When I heard this, I jumped at this chance, but I had nothing really great in terms of Redskins paraphernalia. Most people bring hats, balls, jerseys, etc. for players to sign, but that would be really boring and wouldn’t stand out. With the clock ticking against me, I had little time to buy new Redskins stuff. I grabbed a traffic cone from the trunk of my old car, that a friend had left in there previously, and we made our way to Ashburn.

We arrived at Redskins Park as practice was starting. I busted out the cone from my trunk and proceeded to carry it from the car into the viewing area. I watched the practice as I sweated my butt off, but I wasn’t interested in watching Ladell Betts fumble or see Carlos Rogers wear yellow socks. I didn’t haul this (thing) for a 30-minute drive to wear as a dunce cap or to direct traffic. I wanted some (flippin) autographs on this cone.

Practice ended after 90 minutes and the players slowly start to migrate towards the fans. I felt really unsure about this whole idea because 1) it was a (flipping) cone and 2) i was in front of kids. I hate children but the kids are more likely to get love from the players, since they had balls and hats, while I was a college student with a (flipping) cone. The players made their way over to where the cone and I were, and I lifted the heavy cone into the air. I yelled at the top of my lungs for Jason Campbell to sign my cone and Jason’s godly presence touched my cone as he grabbed the Sharpie out my trembling hand and signed it. I then knew what it felt to be a teenage girl seeing their favorite boy band. Except I didn’t cry.

I thought that it was pretty tits to get Campbell’s autograph, but then His Majesty Joe Gibbs made his way through the crowd and saw the cone as well. He took his sharpie and magically chicken scratched his John Hancock onto my cone. And then he and Sean Taylor proceeded to slap two (women) next me. (No, not really) Then we hit some bumps in the road. Rock Cartwright and Marcus Washington decided that they were too good for the cone and completely ignored the large orange cone that was in their face. It’s cool, you know, because Cartwright sucks and deserves to be cut after not signing it and Marcus Washington can just straight up suck my left nut."

To be continued...

Tomorrow: Learn Part 2 of our 3 part tale. What happens to Jason as he hits a bump in the road? Does it quit or keep on trucking? And what does a sports blog have to do with this.? Stay tuned and read about it tomorrow.