not pleased with us as guests
“Also 5:30 AM one of your female alumni was walking around the lobby with an Assumption tshirt and no pants. “
Took me a while to process this one, and between that and all the traveling I’ve been doing I haven’t been able to get around to posting something about this event that many of you have heard of already. If there were ever a series of events culminating in one massive poor decision, this evening was the blueprint for how to do things wrong.
Step 1: drink all day at the beach. Step 2: pregame at Eric’s more. Step 3: Go to Alibi (for those of you that don’t know, its a fairly classy establishment with a nice patio, read: not on par with us at this point). Step 4: enter famous local athletes. Step 5: take a picture of the most angry professional athlete on the Boston Red Sox, while in the bathroom.
I feel as though steps 1-3 are pretty straightforward, so I will only elaborate on the last two of the process. Now, obviously, we don’t have control over step 4 in almost any case, so in order to make the ultimate poor decision some luck has to play into the process. Anyway, I digress, here is the story of our evening:
We are casually drinking (rapidly downing) Corona’s at our classy establishment while everyone else has $15 drinks in hand, when Katie notices that Kevin Youkilis may or may not be sitting over in the corner near us. He does look exactly like him, but a lot smaller than I would have pictured so I’m reluctant to confirm. Further supporting her case is the fact that he is the only person allowed to wear a hat in the whole place. Shortly after this discovery and pseudo confirmation via the hat comment, someone who is definitely Nomar Garciaparra walks by, giving the ladies a smile. He appears to join Youk in the corner amongst a group of friends / bodyguards.
Shortly after Nomah’s arrival, Youk gets up to head to the bathroom, while he walks by and I realize it is definitely him I say “Youuuuuk” to which he doesn’t even pretend to acknowledge me, no surprise. He appears ornery already, like the fact he has to pee is bothering him since it is such an inconvenience.
Details remain fuzzy after this point, but it is my understanding that Eric was already in the bathroom, and on his way out when Youk arrived. Now, I can’t really think of a worse time to try to snap a picture of anyone, let alone the angriest man on the Red Sox, so a lot of the stupidity here should rightfully be shouldered by Eric’s decision making at this time. So, in the bathroom, Eric is on way out, Youk on way in, they pass eachother, at this point I’m guessing Eric’s brain said “take out blackberry, snap picture NOW” to which the rest of his body happily obliged. It is important to note that unlike most cameras and smartphones, the camera on his blackberry does NOT have the ability to turn off the faux-camera-sound. Cue the “faux-camera-sound” that will go down in the history of our friends as the worst noise ever. Youk loses it, starts asking him if he took a picture of his dick; “did you just take a picture of my crank?!?” (btw- crank? is this a new term for male genitalia that only I’m unfamiliar with?) Eric then asks for Red Sox tickets. Youk counters by demanding the phone. Then he pins Eric to wall of the bathroom via his neck, and deletes the picture followed by putting him in a sleeper hold. Though Eric is pleased to note that he was much more able to free himself from this wrestling move than he anticipated, he was certainly far from out of the woods at this point.
Scene: Lobby. Cue Youk’s friends and bodyguards breaking things up. In the lobby Eric & co are on one side with Youk and friends on the other, with hotel staff in between. Youk is red, sweating, more angry than I’ve seen him during any strike out. He is asking for Eric’s ID because “people need to know,” though who needed to know what still remains a mystery. Is he going to send people to fuck him up? Is he going to send people to give him free tickets for trashing his beer and battering him? He is going to report him as a sexual predator? Who knows? Needless to say, Eric was not providing him with the ID. Besides shouting that, he keeps railing about the fact he took a picture of his “crank” and that he should be arrested, call the cops, etc. Although, in case you didn’t gather from the story itself, it is VERY important to note that the picture was a blurry one of Youk walking, not actually of his dick. Which even if it was, I would say it is unwarranted to have gotten this angry, let alone at the actual situation.
Continuing on about how his night is ruined and Eric needs to be arrested, Youk has not come even close to settling down 20 minutes into this ordeal. The whole time Eric is talking about how he is sorry, that Youk saw the picture before he deleted it and it wasn’t of his “crank” and that he was ruining his own night by not letting it go.
To quote Eric, “He was acting like I had pressed my phone to his ‘crank’ took 6 pictures and was in the process of uploading it to facebook with the caption ‘youk has a tiny crank.’”
Finally the cops show up, and start talking to people around there. In the end, we just had to leave the bar in cabs, and Eric was permanently banned from Liberty Hotel / Alibi. My guess is that his friends and those around him told the cops not to worry about it and leave because if he did go to jail or anything.. the truth of the situation would have come out (Eric has no real picture and Youk can be charged with assault and/or battery) so they just wanted it to drop. Fortunately for Youk, someone there was rational enough to get this to slide because I’m pretty sure he’d have been arrested in the end.
So the moral of the story is, Youk is an incredibly angry individual, and you should not take a picture of him in the bathroom. Or probably ever. In fact if you see Kevin Youkilis anywhere off the baseball field you should probably just go the other way. And this all happened after a GOOD game that day, where the Sox killed the Royals. I can’t imagine him on a BAD day.
Some additional comments provided by Eric, after reading my account. I didn’t bother editing it or cutting it down because it is all very entertaining in my opinion:
hmm, some timeline/factual issues are a bit jumbled. bathroom scene unfolded as mentioned: i was just getting done washing my hands, and reached for the doro when he came in, as such, right after i snapped the picture, i was on my way out (door half open) when i heard “are you fucking kidding me, no no no” at the very same time as he put me
in a choke hold from behind. so i bent over sideways to try to escape, just as my beer shattered on teh ground i elbowed him with my left elbow in the mid section but, also, relinquished my phone (mistakenly of course, he grabbed it with my hand very close to him) to his grasp. so thinking he was just going to kick my ass, i pushed him into the bathroom, at which time i was standing in the way of the door and he was further in the bathroom, so, as if i am jorge posada he dominates toward the door to exit, at which time i am just trying to reach for my phone back from him, which he has in he left hand and i am on his right side, aka it was a futile attempt and he more or less stiff arms me into the area behind the door. then he storms outside, me following, and we argue for a few minutes, bouncers come over, investigate the phone with him to see what the picture is of. he relinquishes the phone to the bouncers after 10+ minutes and then he comes over to me and says he “needs all my info” because “people need to know me, they need to know who i am” at which point i say, “are you kidding me? you are just a dude, you are nobody that i have to give my ID to, just because you play baseball doesn’t give you any ID demanding jurisdiction” or something along those lines. then that cools down, then he comes back over, and i give him a sincere apology to tell him i meant no ill intent, and say SEVERAL times “dude, you saw the picture, it was NOTHING, nothing even close to nothing, you saw it, you deleted it, you know it was nothing” to which he replies with increased anger and MORE attempts to get my info, when i continue to refuse, he retires to his entrourage. this is when the bouncer comes to me and says “you either need to give him your info, or he is calling the cops and then you will have to gie it to the cops” and i said “duh, i’ll give it to the cops fuck that” when i told him fine call the cops, THEN he started yelling the “he’s got a picture of my crank on his phone!” (even tho he already deleted it and knew it wasn’t the case) i think he migh thave just said that to get the cops there. anyways it worked, cops came and said “kevin says you have a picture of his prick on your phone, we need to look at it” of course i was thrilled they wanted to actually, you know, consider the fact that he’s a lying peice of shit before accusing me, so that was a plus. then you know the rest of the night. one thing i left out, which was mildly entertaining was i was talking to the bouncer while he was w/ his crew and said (this is after he refused my sincere apology etc etc) “he is being such a fucking baby about this” at which point he charged across the lobby yelling “talking shit to me? you are talking shit?” meanwhile behing held back by giant black bouncer and some old guy (who he could have easily mowed down) to which i just laughed and said dude you really need to relax. i’v enever seen anyone want to kick my ass more than he did in that moment.
his most popular/most used lines:
THIS is why i don’t go out… ASSHOLES like you
ONE night a year i go out… ONE NIGHT
he has a picture of my crank on his phone
bottom line, he is a lying piece of dramatic shit.
The final word: Forgot to mention that Nomar didn’t even pause in his conversation while all of this was going down, even as police cruisers came up and cops were talking to Youk / everyone else. Also, there is no way possible to properly convey via writing the amount of rageahol that was consumed by Youkilis during this time. I have never seen so much anger, warranted or not, in my life.
Also, despite the drama of that evening, I have to say it was all worth it to add the word “crank” into my vocabulary. And from now on when a situation is less than ideal, say not getting a lime in your Corona, we can say things like, “man, if Youk were here, he’d ..” and then you fill in the blank with something like, “punch eight kittens in the head.”
That is all.
“I feel like I drank acid last night. Feel bad for me because I made idiotic decisions last night.
Follow up email:
Subject: “please send out a group email regarding your away msg thank you.”- Wonn
So, I met my friend Ian in Davis last night for what was supposed to be “a drink.” I completely failed at the “A” portion. After arriving, I met his hilarious friends, one of whom happened to be a female. Yup, as you may have now already realized, woman happen to be my elixir of poor choices. If one’s around, I’m going to be an idiot, which happens to suck for me, because they’re everywhere.
Anyhow, this girl just got a new job, so we celebrate…with shots of tequila…at 10:30pm. I have had 3 drinks prior to this at home and then 3 more beers at the bar, so when I have this shot, I am already blasted. I then follow this shot up with another shot and then am incredibly easily convinced that a dirty martini is in order. Girl: I’m considering having a martini since I don’t have to work tomorrow. Me: I’m having a martini.
Fast forward 2 hours and I am hammered drunk. Said girl and I agree to make out, but in private because we are classy and her ex bf is there. We leave the bar and proceed to make out in the park with creepy black face statues next to us because lord knowns Jim Crow = romance. Enough for me for the night? Not even fucking close.
Fast forward to 6am. I wake up in her fucking volcanic apartment off of Mass ave in Cambridge. I can’t find my socks. Maybe they are hiding with my dignity, who knows. I scamper out the door and down her labyrinth fucking stairs. I end up in the back yard. No big deal. Wrong. Fucking 18 ft fences surrounding me like I’m in Gitmo. I try to scale one, but see that there are only a string of further fences. Suddenly, a tenant appears. Thank God. Wrong a-fucking-gain. Said tenant is a GD Asian, non-American speaking idiot who can’t understand that my rumpled clothing and disheveled hair means that I am trapped in her internment camp backyard and need assistance so that I can get to work in time to be fired. After trying to communicate for many minutes, I finally just follow her like a serial killer back into the building and she points at the way out with a look that screams “if you try to rape me I will scream so loud that your ears will bleed.”
I manage to get home in time to be 30 minutes late to work, but just in time to make the meeting with my VP that I forgot I had to discuss how much I hate one of my bosses. Because of this, I’m sure that I convinced her that she should side with me. I’m eagerly awaiting Martha to call me and tell me how much I suck.
Yours truly,
JHM
So Jay’s bachelor party was this past weekend in Montreal. Surprisingly no one was arrested, and the most horrible thing I did was eat McDonald’s a couple of times late night. Or maybe every night late night, whatever. Still, given the fact it was a bachelor party with us for Jay, I would have imagined much more terrible things coming to fruition, so I would say given that context it was a great success. When the only thing you are taking home from a bachelor party is +10,000 calories you are in good shape. Well, not physically good shape, but you know what I mean. Anyways, on to a short story.
The night started with Ian and I purchasing Molson Dry 1.5 (I think) liter cans. That is approx 50oz, its like a tub of beer. Anyways, this wasn’t any beer, this was special instant black out beer. 10.1% alcohol content. Sick. I barely got 1/4 of the way into mine before deciding it was the worst idea ever conceived and moved onto BLs. I am a coward. Ian pressed on finishing the entire container of death juice, and we went out. Yadda yadda yadda, here are the texts from that night, as seen by myself the following morning:
(read starting from June 28th and note the timestamps)

So that was what I read the next morning, let’s Tarantino this thing and work our way back through the night.
I got back to the hotel at 3ishhhh, and tried my keycard, no dice. Went downstairs, told them it didn’t work, got looked at like I was a drunk idiot because I was a drunk idiot and they just asked my room number and swiped it, probably assuming I was just unable to operate a door in my condition. Comforting that there was no request for identification beyond that, but that’s besides the point now.
Back upstairs, still can’t get it to work. I decide getting into the room is now my second priority, because of how badly I need to urinate. I call Brian, he let’s me into their room, and I relieve myself and peek further into the room to see what he’s up to. The desk lamp is on in the otherwise darkened room and he is hunched over something on his desk. I try to peer closer, and he is hunched over an order of McDonald’s with an extra helping of shame. I say “hey–” but am cut off by him yelling, “DON’T LOOK AT ME!” I press a bit, saying “what’s up?” and he repeats himself, this time louder and more angrily, “DON’T LOOK AT ME!!” So I walk slowly out, closing the door behind me. Time to try the room again.
Back downstairs, I get another disapproving look from the hotel staff with my request to gain entry to the room I paid for, but someone comes upstairs. 45 minutes of the front desk calling the room, us banging on the door and them trying to unlock it with a master key later the staff guy asks me, “are you sure he’s in there?” to which I think to myself.. “shit maybe not..” He then adds, “if he is in there, he isn’t alive.” Comforting. Especially considering they aren’t able to get in. He brushes that under the rug and just says they’ll give me another room. As in, if you’re friend is dead in there don’t worry about it, here’s a free room!
I get into the room and text the group, matter of factly stating “Ian might be dead or not at the hotel. I can’t get in my room and neither can the hotel staff.”
They call, ask what room I’m in and come upstairs. We go back to my room, Jay knocks on the door and Ian just opens it. If it wasn’t for the fact I actually had another room given to me, my story would probably have no credence to it whatsoever. Jay didn’t even knock that hard on the door. After the audio barrage that we subjected him to it is a mystery why that woke him and the rest didn’t.
The next night, when Ian snuck out of that club without telling anyone again (Brian asked where he was going, and Ian answered, “shhhh”) he made sure to double check the door and leave a very well thought out / coherent text stating the door is unlocked, if he isn’t answering he isn’t dead and is just asleep, etc etc.
I guess the moral of the story is, don’t drink Molson 10.1% alcohol or your friends keycard will break and they will assume you are dead.