Happy Holidays!

How can you not love Christmas?

It's just so much fun. Everything about it makes me so happy. The way the room looks with the Christmas tree light on. The way the air feels and smells. It's just different at Christmas time, you know?

Having the whole family back together is so great. And it happens less and less now. Obviously, I see my brother a fair amount because we both live in the DC area. And because we're both in the same area, my parents make it up our way a good bit since it's a reasonable drive. My sister, however, lives in south Florida for grad school. I am honestly having a hard time remembering the last time I saw her. It really might have been last Christmas. Well, she and her dog will be here tomorrow at the latest.

Every family has their own traditions and Christmas memories, and, obviously, I'm no different. I'm pretty sure I remember talking about this one, specifically, at some point over the past couple of weeks with someone. I think it's kind of funny.

I'm not sure when it started, but I remember it in the early- and mid-90s, after we moved to North Carolina. For reasons I'm not sure I'll ever understand, Kathy Lee Gifford recorded an album of Christmas music. Because of course she did. Well, my mom had the CD and loved it.

Whenever she made her Christmas cookies (for the WIN, by the way), she'd listen to the Kathy Lee Gifford CD. So many of my teenage Christmas memories take place with Kathy Lee Gifford singing "Gloooooooooooooooooria in excelsis Deo" in the background. Like you do.

But man those cookies are my JAM. I've already eaten way too many of the homemade chocolate chip cookies since I got home.

So! Since my dad's Jewish, we also celebrated Hanukkah. By celebrate, I clearly mean we just light our menorah. And since the exact dates of Hanukkah vary year to year, there were definitely years (like this year, P.S.) where we turn on our Christmas lights and then immediately light the menorah.

In fact, from my position on one of the more comfortable recliners on which I've ever sat, I can see a menorah ornament on our Christmas tree, which is also topped with a Star of David. Again, like you do.

Funny story. A few years ago, I wanted to buy my own menorah for my apartment. I was living in Raleigh at the time, and I know the south is not always known for its religious diversity. But I still felt reasonably comfortable that I would find a menorah someplace. I don't normally go to Wal-Mart. I generally find it to be a wasteland of humanity. This time, I figured its mass appeal would mean it would surely have a menorah and/or other Hanukkah things.

I walked out to the big holiday section they had outside. I didn't immediately find anything, so I asked the clerk.

"Excuse me, do you have any menorahs anywhere?"
"What's a menorah?"
...
"You know. It's what holds the candles you light during Hanukkah."
"Hanukkah?"
Well then. "Yes. Hanukkah. It's like Jewish Christmas."
"Ohhh. No we don't have any of that. You can check the candle section though."

Clearly, he missed the point. I humored him and went to the candle section. Predictably, I had no luck.

There was a Big Lots in the same parking lot as the Wal-Mart, so I walked over to that store to try my luck again. There was no sign of any Hanukkah things in the holiday sections, so I asked again.

"Hi. Yeah I'm looking for a menorah."
"You're looking for what?"
"A menorah. The thing that holds the candles for Hanukkah. Nine candles."
"Oh a candle holder. Those are over here. See? This one holds nine candles."
"Noooo that's not exactly what I meant. I don't need just ANY candle holder that holds nine candles. A menorah is a very specific item."

I went to Harris Teeter because I know they have a a reasonable selection of kosher foods and other Jewish items. When the clerk pointed me to the candle section, I just walked out. I did eventually find one at Bed Bath and Beyond, so it was, eventually, a successful effort. So yeah. That happened.

Anyway. Back to Christmas! My favorite Christmas tradition, by far, is our yearly Christmas Eve viewing of "The Muppet Christmas Carol."

We moved to North Carolina in October of 1993. So the Christmas of 1993 was going to be our first without all of our extended family involved. I was 11 years old, and we'd just gotten the movie. Christmas Eve rolled around, and I figured, hey why not. Who doesn't love the Muppets, right? Let's see what the movie is about.

Well. It was awesome. It's still awesome, of course. And this will be the 19th year we've watched this movie on Christmas Eve. I can't wait.

Every December for the past few years, once it gets to be two weeks or so before Christmas, I'll post the first line of the lyrics from the opening song on Facebook. My brother and sister will inevitably reply with the next lines.

And now, through the miracle of social media, some of my friends have discovered our mutual love for the movie, and they will join in as well. So good.

So yeah, I really can't wait to watch this movie. And I know. I'm 29 years old, but I don't care. I've come home and spent Christmas with my family every year so far, and I really don't anticipate that changing anytime soon. I love being home for Christmas.

To everyone who stops by this page to read when I write, thank you from the bottom of my heart. I hope all of you get to be where you want to be this Christmas. And a very, very happy holidays to you and your loved ones.

"It's in the singing of a street corner choir,
it's going home and getting warm by the fire.
It's true wherever you find love,
it feels like Chriiiistmaaas!"

Back next week with my week-long year-in-review. I really can't wait to write those posts. Anyway. Later, kids!

-BG

Hey. Thanks.

Yeah. I know I'm a couple weeks late on this, but Thanksgiving happened while I was on my blog vacation. Naturally, I have some thoughts.

It's no secret 2011 hasn't been my best year -- although it did rally something serious starting at the end of October. Well, when you go through rough times, you learn a lot about yourself and your friends and the people who care about you.

I've definitely got that. I learned more this year than I ever have before -- about humility, about perseverance, about trusting my instincts, about not being afraid of accepting help, about the importance of a positive attitude, and so on and so on.

Finally, I feel like I've made it through the storm. I feel so good, and there are innumerable things for which I'm incredibly thankful. Since I didn't write anything on Thanksgiving, I figured why not now?

Fair warning, though. It's about to get real up in this piece. So in the spirit of Thanksgiving (two weeks ago), I couldn't have made it through this year without the following things (some very obvious, some maybe not so much), albeit it an incomplete list:

My Family -- My dad slipped me a $20 bill every time he saw me. My mom sent me home with food every time I saw her. My grandfather was so upset when he heard about my job back in January, he sent me a card with a check for $50 in it. Seriously. That happened. Is it getting dusty in here? I mean. There aren't enough words.

My Friends -- You guys. For reals. You're all ridiculous, and I don't know what I would have done without our weekly (or more often) debaucheries this summer and fall. You were there with a kind and encouraging word when I needed it and with a disparaging word when it was necessary haha. And you continue to be awesome.

Fridays at the Bottom Line -- The best happy hour in DC. It's tough to beat the $1 beer specials. We can go in there and all get drinks for like $25 total, which would cover like three drinks anywhere else in the District. Many a ridiculous night has originated at the Bottom Line, and I hope for more to come VERY shortly. Like this week, I hope.

Running -- Reluctantly crouched at the starting line. Engines pumping and thumping in time. The green light flashes. The flags go up. Churning and burning, they yearn for the cup. You're fired up right now, aren't you? The first few lines to "The Distance," by Cake. It's the first song on my running playlist every time I run. Since April, when I started watching what I eat and exercising intensely, there have been times where I was simply overwhelmed. And nothing cleared my head, got the blood pumping or burned the energy better than a solid four-mile run. Whenever I go a few days or weeks without running, that first run back is a rush of excitement, and I always remember how much I love it now. It's so funny because I hated running until I forced myself into a half-marathon two years ago. Since then, I've run two 5Ks, and I registered for a second half-marathon here in DC in March. CAN'T WAIT.

Losing Weight/Being Healthier -- You may have heard, but I've lost more than 40 pounds since April. You know what never gets old? I wore pants yesterday I couldn't even pull up to my waist just a few months ago. Never mind buttoning them, I couldn't even get them up to my waist. And I wore them comfortably yesterday. Incredible. I was wearing XL shirts just eight months ago. Now, I wear mostly mediums. I have a size medium coat. What in the world. This time last year? I was almost 230 pounds. I weighed in Monday night after my run at 186, which is even more of an accomplishment given how I spent the months of October and November up and down the East coast. More on that next week.

Dancing -- Dude. I never knew how much I loved it until this past summer. But, man, what an unbelievably freeing and exhilarating time. Play a little Jackson 5 ("I Want You Back," especially) or, really, any 60s music, I'm totally in. Oh who are we kidding...I'm good with anything. Lulz.

My Job -- First and foremost, I straight-up love my co-workers. You guys are brilliant and hilarious, and I could not be more excited about this opportunity. It challenges me in new and exciting ways every day, and I'm learning something new seemingly by the minute. What more can you ask for?

My Best Friends -- Jon, you are like a brother to me. We've been friends for, what, 17, almost 18 years now? Incredible. You have a way of cutting right to the point in exactly the way I need to hear it exactly WHEN I need to hear it. I often, unwisely, do not heed your advice (just as we both know I probably won't this time...LULZ), but, rest assured, I know I probably should haha. And it is always most appreciated. Sometimes I just need to go down magnificently in flames, consequences be damned, you know? C'est la vie. And Mike. There may be no stranger "bromance." Despite the fact that we have only hung out in person maybe four times total, I don't think it's an exaggeration to say I have talked to you more than anyone else this year. Disturbingly parallel. Whatever happens with one of us, I can know without question the other has either already done it or will be doing it shortly. Lulz, indeed.

Last and, most certainly, not least, the past five weeks -- I mean. What can I say? Simply amazing. Thanks, "Lola." Always.

-BG

RIP Lorenzo Charles

Just a warning up front: I'm going to get pretty excited about being a State fan in this post. So, you know. If you're a State fan like me or if you just like the way I write, by all means, continue on. Otherwise, you have been warned.

You've probably seen or read about the death of N.C. State legend Lorenzo Charles this week in a bus accident.

If you went to State, or if you're a basketball fan in general, you know the story of the 1983 Cardiac Pack. Charles caught the last-second heave from Dereck Whittenburg and dunked the ball home as time expired to give the Pack its second national championship (still tied for sixth most all time, by the way, making State one of only 14 schools with two or more national titles).

That team was the first Cinderella. The term "survive and advance," which is so popular now among coaches and analysts originated with Jimmy V during that run. It remains the biggest shot in NCAA tournament history. I will not argue about this. Facts are facts. The dunk, followed by Jimmy V dashing around the court afterward, is one of the most memorable scenes in the history of March Madness.

This post isn't so much about that iconic scene as it is about the feelings and emotions Charles' death brought to the surface.

Let me tell you something about State fans: we are a legit family. We are often the butt of jokes of almost every other school in the ACC, and the result is an almost cult-like protectiveness and intense love of each other. We band together because we have to and because, very often, we have many of the same awful -- and, a bit more rarely, wonderful -- experiences.

My ex-girlfriend used to make fun of me because of the wolfie hand sign State fans make at each other. But it's universal. If I'm out walking around or driving around and I see the Block S or some other State insignia, I know that person gets it. I make the hand sign, and, invariably, the other person smiles and makes it back because he or she knows I get it. It means instant brotherhood.

I spent a few formative years in New Jersey. I didn't move to North Carolina until I was 11. I didn't grow up a fan of any of the North Carolina schools. I sort of liked both UNC and Duke then because they were both successful while I was young, and that's what young kids do. They root for the winners. I knew of State. I knew of Jimmy V, but I didn't really understand what it meant to live in North Carolina and choose one of the three.

I never did, really. Not until college. And even then, I was originally accepted to Wake Forest. I'd told Wake Forest I was going to attend in the fall. I was getting orientation information and welcome phone calls. It wasn't until my old calculus teacher said I should consider State's engineering school because I was really good at calculus.

So I did.

While I didn't stay with engineering for long, I do not regret for one second choosing to attend State. I love everything about my tenure there, and I love how much we love our school.

Here's another thing about being a State fan: it takes work. It's not easy to root for State.

Think about it. How hard can it really be to cheer on Duke or UNC? I live in Maryland now. There's no other school around. How hard can it possibly be to cheer on Maryland? These are the three most successful ACC programs of the past 10 to 15 years.

Oh, poor you. Your team only won 23 games this season. Nothing against fans of these teams (well that's not true. I have a lot against fans of these teams, with a grudging exception for my friends haha), but c'mon.

State has been cursed with mismanagement, bad decisions, sloppy play and terrible luck. But that's OK. I love this team and this school. And I'm 100 percent proud to be a State fan.

ESPNU ran a series of commercials about colleges a few years ago, and this was the essence of State's commercial:

This is not red.
Not light red or dark red.
This is behaving like a pack of wolves.
It's where Torry first went deep and where Lorenzo made the shot.
This is never giving up,
Not ever giving up.
No, this is much more than red.

I get the chills when I read that to this day. Every time. I once wrote a column about it for Technician back in school. I got more feedback about that column than anything else I ever wrote for any newspaper for the simple reason it speaks to State fans.

As I wrote in the column, we always believe. It happened once. It can happen again. Why not now? Why not this game? Why not tonight? I was there for two of those exact scenarios back in 2006: the back-to-back games against Boston College and Florida State. I won't go into detail about them here, but man. Look them up if you need to. Awesome.

The point is the things that make us State fans go much deeper than "oh our team is so good!" Because, frankly, they haven't been very good for quite some time. And for as frustrating as that is now, whenever the teams finally break do through, it will be that much sweeter for us.

But State is responsible for some of the most important and memorable people and moments in the history of college sports -- especially basketball.

We are largely responsible for the formation of the ACC in the first place. Everett Case, who made State the dominant basketball program in the Southern Conference and early ACC, is responsible for many of the traditions schools everywhere still use.

In 1974, David Thompson, the best college basketball player ever, and his team ended the run of eight straight national titles for UCLA in the Final Four before taking the title themselves. And of course, the 1973 team went undefeated, but it was prohibited from tournament play for some terrible reason or another.

Then there's 1983. The original Cinderella team. And Jimmy V. It is impossible to watch his ESPY speech without getting teary-eyed. He died not long after, but his motto, "Don't give up. Don't ever give up," has been a mantra for State fans ever since. So much of what he said that night is valuable life advice.

"To me, there are three things we all should do every day. We should do this every day of our lives.
Number one is laugh. You should laugh every day.
Number two is think. You should spend some time in thought.
Number three is you should have your emotions moved to tears, could be happiness or joy.
But think about it. If you laugh, you think and you cry -- that's a full day. That's a heck of a day. You do that seven days a week, you're going to have something special."

I like to think I've tried to live like that, especially these past few months where I've really been working on turning things around.

And then of course, the last thing he said that night:

"Cancer can take away all my physical abilities. It cannot touch my mind, it cannot touch my heart and it cannot touch my soul. And those three things are going to carry on forever."

Wow. What else can you say?

Because of how tight-knit we are (and I'm not saying other fan bases aren't like this. I'm just not writing about them.), things like Charles' tragic death hit us hard and bring up these emotions.

I love being a State fan, and I love that we have these common experiences and events in our past that draw us together. It's just hard work sometimes. But man will it be worth it when our time comes.

RIP Lorenzo. Go Pack.

It is your birthday.

Well, it's actually my birthday. I turned 29 today. Today is the first birthday I've actively dreaded. I suppose that won't end any time soon now.

I actually really enjoyed 23-26. Those were good birthdays and years, really. Turning 23 was fine because it was still early 20s. And I was able to justify 24-27 as mid-20s.

My 28th birthday made me a little uneasy because it was uncomfortably close to 30, and it is most decidedly late-20s. You can't spin 28. And you for damn sure can't spin 29. I'm now one away.

As the joke goes in Forgetting Sarah Marshall, you've got a great career ahead of you. You have, like, four years until you're 30.

How in the world did this happen? Fuckin' a, man. I graduated high school 11 years ago. I started college 11 years ago in August. I graduated from undergrad SEVEN years ago this year. What the shit.

This won't be a sad-bastard post though. I'm not sad, really. I haven't been this happy in just about as long as I can remember. It's been a tough few months up until this point. There were some issues that needed exorcising. The issues were there for years based on things I did and needed to do in untenable situations. I've written about some of these things over the past couple of weeks, and maybe I'll write about more of them more specifically later on.

But right now? I'm 29 fucking years old man. I'm in a better place mentally than I've been for quite some time. Physically, I'm looking and feeling better than I have in years. I'm not all the way back, but I'm getting there. Progress. I has it. I have a little less hair than I'd like, but hey. What can you do? I didn't win the hair genes jackpot. It happens.

I have my health. I have an amazing family. I get along spectacularly well with my parents and brother and sister. I have uncles, aunts and cousins that, no matter how long we've been apart, when we get back together it's like we never left at all. I have friends that would drop everything for me if I needed it, as I would for them. I have the best dog in the history of dogkind.

The Yankees are playing well. The N.C. State basketball irrational hope and optimism express is ramping up again, as it does so often. I just feel good. You know?

I love where I live. There really is nothing like living in the DC area. It's amazing. Plus, there are SO many job opportunities around.

It could be so much worse. I have so much to be thankful for, and I feel so incredibly lucky. Thank you to every one who ever comes to this page and reads my thoughts, however random and unimportant they may be. This is fun for me. I like to write. Sometimes I can be funny, though probably not nearly as often as I think. But I'm having fun writing again.

I got to spend last night with two of my closest friends from the old college newspaper. When you work at a college newspaper, you are in the trenches with these people. You become family. Because everyone hates the college paper. It's always terrible writing, and you can't get shit done because people look down on you as "just a student." Shit's tougher than it looks, man. So these guys are family.

And then tonight, I'm going out with my best friend and his girlfriend. This guy man. We've known each other for 17 years now. We have been through some shit. It goes beyond friend with him. He's a brother to me. So we'll probably go through some more shit tonight. Like you do. Debauchery. Party of three.

So you know what? Yeah. I'm 29. I feel good. I'm looking better. I'm approaching the best shape I've ever been in. I'm healthy, safe and happy. I've shaken off the doldrums that plagued me for the past several years. Life is good, man!

Today felt like a good day to look back at how things have gone and where I have them going. It's a real benefit to having a birthday almost exactly halfway through the year. Plus, with turning 29 and with all the changes that have been going on lately, I have felt even more nostalgic than the usual "a lot." Thanks again for reading.

I'm heading back up north tomorrow, so I'll be back writing on Monday!

As for today, happy birthday to me! LET'S GO!

-BG

Ohhhh Savannah Part 3

My Weekend in Savannah; Or Why You Shouldn't Send a Text Saying "I'm at a Hospital" after Midnight Part 3

When my cousin Kris got married in September of 2009, it was the first time the whole family had really gotten together when we were all above drinking age. My dad and his brothers and their families and us got together a few times for huge vacations, but the cousins were always younger. I think I was 18 on our last big all-inclusive vacation.

So this wedding was absolutely insane. Best wedding I've ever been to, and I don't anticipate that changing any time soon. They had a live band playing 80s and oldies, and trust me when I say that's the most efficient way to get the maximum amount of bodies on the dance floor.

Well, it was a big family wedding with an open bar. The drinks were flowing, starting at around 3 p.m., ending around 10 p.m.

Let me tell you something else about me. When I get a couple of drinks in me, I have the propensity to dance. As my friends from softball can attest, what happens once we get two or three beers down? I start to jam in my seat.

The wedding was no different, except instead of three or four drinks, it was 13 or 14 drinks. And the band was playing 80s music. I'm sorry, but if they're going to play "Billie Jean" I am compelled to dance. I am, of course, making no claims about being any good at it. It just happens, and I have a hell of a lot of fun.

What does this have to do with Savannah? Uncle Steven apparently began referring to me as the "funky cousin" based on my performance at the wedding. So his girlfriend Kim and Lindsey's friends Nicole and Laura knew me as the funky cousin before I arrived. I believe his exact words were "I've never known a Jew with rhythm until you, but I suppose that's because you're only half Jewish." I mean. I'll take it. Gladly.

Much to Kim's great delight, it took exactly two bourbon sweet teas at Bernie's on Friday before I was jamming gleefully in my seat and saying things like, "This is most definitely my jam," and "I can't dance to this, man, play something else."

So there you go. This guy: funky cousin. Nice to meet you.

Back to the haunted zombie tour! After the guy's camera battery jumped out, the girls and I were all sufficiently creeped out. I'm sure there is a perfectly logical and reasonable explanation for the battery jumping out. Of course there is. But even if the hatch pops open, there's usually something holding the battery in, right? At this point, after all the drinking and ghost stories, and it's close to midnight or after midnight -- the mood had been set, and we were perfectly happy believing in the not-so-logical explanation. It was more fun anyway.

The tour continued to other cemeteries and houses with creepy pasts. And, of course, no haunted tour is complete without a stop by an abandoned hospital. Unfortunately, we couldn't go inside, much to my dismay. They were in the process of "getting clearance" to go inside, whatever that means. But it wouldn't be possible until August, and even then, it would cost $100 to go on that tour. Oh well.

As I mentioned back in part two, Matt and Jeb's constant texting was a theme for the night. Still, I wasn't any less drunk than before, and it wasn't any less dark outside. I got another text from my brother, "Hey where are you? We want to come meet you."

Yes, I understand that. I still don't know where I am, so I gave them the only descriptor I could.

"OK, well I'm at a hospital."

Right. At the time, it didn't occur to me at all what a text saying I was at a hospital would mean, especially with it being nearly 1 a.m. and following 12 hours of drinking.

The texts stopped and the phone calls started picking up at that point. I excused myself around a corner and explained I was not, in fact, injured, suffering from alcohol poisoning or in an actual hospital. Haunted tour. Abandoned hospital. Relax. And no, I still don't know how to tell you to get here.

The tour finally ended at a bar called McDonough's at around 1:30 a.m. One of the girls wanted to keep hanging out, the other admitted they were driving to Chicago at 7 a.m. (where they're from), and it's a 16-hour drive, which meant they'd be waking up in four or five hours. Not really conducive to continued hanging out, unfortunately, so we said our goodbyes.

However, I finally had a legit landmark to give Jeb and Matt. They arrived 15 or 20 minutes later, and we went into the bar for a handful more drinks. I think I had two more drinks in there to bring my total for Friday to the following:

4 bourbon sweet teas
8 beers
2 lemon drop shots
1 Washington apple shot
1 cider

Yikes.

The bars don't close until 4 a.m., but I had no interest at all in closing down the bar. Around 3 or so, I recognized the importance of getting some food in me since we didn't actually eat dinner, and all I'd had to eat all day was a chicken wrap at around 12:30 p.m. Someone in the bar suggested a place across the street called Parker's, which turned out to be a gas station with a breakfast hot bar inside that was open 24 hours. Like you do.

Needless to say, Matt and I went. Jeb stayed behind for a bunch more drinks and closed the bar. I ended up eating two sausage, egg and cheese biscuits, some cheese grits and a little fried chicken. Matt had a similar spread. It was amazing. Well, no. It was gross, I'm sure. But it was exactly what we needed.

We found a table out front of the gas station and hung out for, like, two more hours. Jeb stumbled over around 4:30 and went inside for some food. He came out with two huge take-out boxes of food. Apparently, he asked a rather large man for suggestions, and he ended up just asking for what the big man got.

One of the boxes contained only a foot-long piece of fried fish. I don't know what kind of fish. I had a bite of it, and then we ended up giving the fish to a homeless guy. The other box contained cheese grits, scrambled eggs, hash browns, sausage and bacon. And, oh by the way, sitting there in the middle of the cheese grits was a kielbasa. Of course.

We had a great time just sitting out front of the gas station at our table. Talking to all the drunk guys and girls that stumbled by. We had a group of about five girls that sat with us for about 30 or 45 minutes while they ate their drunk food.

I never could have imagined when I woke up to drive to Savannah on Friday morning that the night was going to end nearly nearly 23 hours later with eating breakfast food from a gas station. Luckily, it turned out our hotel was only a few blocks away. We stumbled back and fell into bed around 5:30 a.m.

What. A. Night.

The next day was much more low key. Fortunately, I continued my lifelong streak of waking up without a hangover. GREAT SUCCESS. Once I had some water, I was good to go.

We found a restaurant for lunch that served oysters and margaritas. I had three margaritas, and then we wandered around Savannah in daylight (for a change) for several hours. We managed to stumble across the very first haunted house from the night before -- the one with the camera battery incident. It was less frightening during the day.

We ate some dinner, and then hung out at a dueling piano bar for a few hours. No real crazy stories at that point.

I'd never been to a piano bar before, and I was told this one was a little disappointing. They played a few too many songs I didn't care about at all. But there were a few that got me out of my seat and into my "funky cousin" suit. Faaantastic.

Like I said, it was a more low-key night. We got back to the hotel and into bed around 2:30 a.m. The final tally for Saturday was:

3 margaritas
2 beers (one was a to-go beer, while walking around a park!)
3 jack and cokes at the piano bar

Got up the next day, ate some breakfast and drove back. All the weekend did for me was reinforce the need for drunken cousin debauchery way more often.

I would go back to Savannah tonight for a repeat performance. After everything that has gone on the past several weeks and months, I needed this more than I can even explain. All in all, on a scale of 1 to 10, the weekend in Savannah gets a 73.

Check out part one of the story here and part two of the story here!

So! In other news, tomorrow is my birthday. It's the first birthday I haven't been excited about. I'd like to post again tomorrow because I'm heading back home on Friday and likely won't write anything after spending, what I can only imagine will be, the whole day in the car. And then I'm heading out for a softball friend's birthday on Saturday night! Hey-oh! I'm a busy guy these days.

That's all I've got for now. LET'S GO!

-BG

Ohhhh Savannah Part 2

My Weekend in Savannah; Or Why You Shouldn't Send a Text Saying "I'm at a Hospital" after Midnight Part 2

Here's the thing about me. I'm not a heavy drinker. At all. Every once in a while, I throw a ridiculous night in there. But for the most part, if I'm out drinking with friends, I feel a pretty good buzz after maybe four drinks. It doesn't take much.

By the time we got back to the hotel after the second bar on Friday afternoon to prepare for our haunted pub crawl, I was at least 10 or 11 drinks deep. So it's around 7:30 p.m. I think, and I'm gone.

I remember getting into a cab to get to the starting point of the pub crawl, a bar called Moon River. I have absolutely no recollection of the cab ride there. Apparently, my brother, my cousin Lindsey and Lindsey's two friends joined me in the cab, and there was a lively discussion about tattoos and possibly getting some later on? (We didn't, apparently.)

I don't know.

My memory catches back up when I'm standing at the bar with Lindsey's two friends (Laura and Nicole), ordering a water before we head down to the basement for the start of the haunted tour. The water definitely helped, as I remember everything else the rest of the night.

On the whole, the haunted pub crawl was only OK. It was pretty cool to walk around downtown Savannah and near River Street and just kind of hang out.

The first stop was the best, with some pretty cool stories of people seeing things and strange happenings. I'm afraid the alcohol has robbed me of the details of the stories. So we're downstairs in the basement of the first bar, and I'm talking to Jeb and we notice these two girls standing reasonably near us.

I start chatting them up as we're going through the tour, just talking and hanging out. We go upstairs to the bar to get a to-go drink (no open container laws for the win! We brought drinks from the previous bar to each new bar all weekend).

The girls and I walk outside because the tour is getting ready to leave. We get to the next bar when I look around and see Uncle Steven, his girlfriend Kim and...none of the rest of our party.

Matt, Jeb, Lindsey, Nicole and Laura are just gone. We couldn't even make it past the first bar without losing 60 percent of our party. Sigh.

I start getting texts from Matt and Jeb, which ends up being a theme of the night, except I'm in the middle of a city I've never been and, oh yeah, drunk. I have no idea where I am, which also ends up being a theme of the night.

As I said, the tour was unremarkable, but the bars were pretty cool. We're in the second bar on the couch just relaxing before we leave for the next stop when the tour guide gathers everyone outside to leave. Uncle Steven came up to me to say he and Kim were calling it a night because it was like 9:30ish at that point. I, obviously, was not ready to head back just yet.

So the party of eight we left the hotel with to go on the tour was now down to just me after only the second stop on the haunted pub crawl.

There were two more stops on the tour. I bought the girls a drink at the third stop, some kind of cider. Pretty tasty, I think. But I have to be honest, I don't really remember what anything tasted like at that point.

Matt and Jeb kept texting me to find out where I was, but I had nothing. My only directions were "we turned left at a light, and then right down an alley." So, yeah. Not very helpful.

At the last stop on the tour, the three of us get one more round of drinks, and the girls ask me if I want to join them on the midnight zombie tour they have next. Yes I do. Yes. I do. The tour actually did sound pretty awesome -- going around cemeteries and haunted houses, etc.

One small problem. They didn't know where the tour was supposed to start. Obviously I did not either. So we just kind of wandered around Savannah, trying to find a group of people on a tour. We walked and walked. Turned down this street and that street. They called their hotel (where they booked the tour), and the hotel said it was starting at some bar called Cleary's I think? We finally find Cleary's, and we get there right at the meeting time for the tour. There are no people. Of course there aren't. We do the only thing we can do and keep wandering.

There are squares all over the city with parks in them. We turned a corner and saw there was a square with a cemetery in it. This looked promising. We made our way to the other side of the cemetery, and there's the tour! We'd somehow only missed the introductions.

The wandering around, however, did nothing to help my bearings or sense of where I was in the city. So Matt and Jeb kept texting, and I kept saying things like:

"I don't know where I am."
"I've never been to this city before. I'm drunk. It's pitch black. It's after midnight. What makes you think I can answer these questions?"
"There are houses around. Does that help?"
"You keep asking for locations, but I don't know what to tell you. Houses don't have signs."

So on the tour we go.

There's a house in Savannah that no one wants to own. Hasn't been lived in for more than a hundred years. The house has no electricity -- it doesn't even have a power box to make it capable of having electricity. Allegedly, a girl was found tied up in a chair in the window in the late 1800s. Dead, naturally. If you take a picture of the window, you're supposed to be able to see funny green orb-like lights in the window where she was found.

Of course, I forgot my camera. Like you do. But! One guy tried to take a picture, but the battery jumped out of his camera and hit the ground as he tried to snap the photo. So. That happened.

This is getting pretty long again. Part three coming soon, with the exciting conclusion and why my family refers to me as the funky cousin. Yes, really. Holla.

Ohhhh Savannah Part 1

Sorry for missing my Wednesday and Friday posts last week. This whole driving to Charlotte and then to Savannah thing really threw me off. Anyway, I've got some stories from the weekend, and I'll share them here. I'll probably break it up into at least two parts so you aren't faced with too much of a ridiculous post. Anyway, here's part one!

My Weekend in Savannah; Or Why You Shouldn't Send a Text Saying "I'm at a Hospital" after Midnight Part 1

Let me tell you something about Savannah: It is awesome. Like, for real.

As you know, I drove from DC to Charlotte on Wednesday, and then from Charlotte to Savannah on Friday morning.

Two of my cousins had been planning this trip for a couple months, and they were trying to get everyone down there to have a little fun together. We always have such a ridiculously great time together, and we absolutely need to do this more often than just weddings. Yearly, etc. And the great thing, as observed by my uncle, is it doesn't matter how long we've been apart, or how long it's been since we've seen each other. We get together, and it's like we hang out and talk to each other every day. It's never awkward; it's never weird or strained. We just get together, and we know we're having a great time.

I really wanted to do this trip from the first I heard about it, but I always just kind of figured I wouldn't be able to go because of everything going on with the job thing, and it's an insane drive from DC to Savannah, etc. Just seemed like it wouldn't work out. Well, things have changed over the past several weeks, and I suddenly was overwhelmed with the desire to go out and drink and participate in general debauchery (the sorts of things at which my cousins are quite good).

My cousin Jeb messaged me on Facebook chat on Tuesday in a last ditch effort to get me to come. I'd already resigned myself to missing it. With the dog, it just was a lot of logistics to work out.

Then I started thinking. Matty is in Charlotte. Charlotte ended up being less than a four-hour drive from Savannah. My dad travels around a lot for work, and I knew my mom was going to be in Florida watching my sister's dog because she was going to be in Chicago hanging out alone for back-to-back NKOTBSB concerts. I know. Long story. But! It turned out my dad was coming back to Charlotte early on Friday. If I could get myself to Charlotte, the logistics behind the drive became much more palatable.

So I just said, in so many words, "fuck it." I told Jeb I was in. I called home and told them I was driving home the next day, and we were going to do it. Spontaneity has never been a strength of mine. I've always been a go-with-the-flow kind of guy. Take it as it comes. Just kind of hanging out and seeing what happens. Well I figured I would change it up a little, stop thinking and planning and just do it.

I packed a bag and left the next day.

My brother and I left at 8 a.m. on Friday. I knew we'd have to come home on Sunday, so I wanted to get there as early as possible to maximize our time in Savannah.

I should have known how things would go when I called my cousin Jeb around noon to let him know we were close, and he was still in bed because of the night out before. Turns out he, his sister Lindsey and Lindsey's two friends were out until 5:30 a.m.

We grabbed some lunch at a cafe around the corner and walked down to River Street. The car stayed parked at the hotel the whole weekend, which was fantastic. We were close enough to walk everywhere we needed to go.

Once we got to River Street, Jeb was complaining because we'd been there for an hour and hadn't had a drink yet. So Jeb, Lindsey, my brother and I found a place called Bernie's Oyster House. I was drawn in by a sign promising sweet tea with bourbon in it. As I said on Facebook that afternoon, it's like they knew I was coming.

Oh boy were they fantastic. It was just after 1 p.m., and things went progressively downhill from there.

The bourbon sweet teas were like silk. I told the bartender it didn't even taste like there was any alcohol in it, and he responded by saying he put in a lot more the usual because he liked our group. Great success.

Well I had four of those bourbon sweet teas. And, as I recorded on Facebook, the first shot of the weekend occurred at 2:34 p.m. I believe it was a Washington apple. Two lemon drops followed not too long after.

We ended up staying at Bernie's until around 5 p.m., just hanging out and drinking a lot. One of Lindsey's friends met up with us there, and so did my uncle and his girlfriend. From there, we went to another bar, but I was most definitely drunk by that point -- along with my cousins and brother -- and have no idea what that bar was. It was pretty wide open, with some pool tables and bottles of Sweetwater Blue -- a great beer that tastes like blueberry muffins. If you've been to the World Beer Festival in Raleigh (well I'm sure it's in many place, but I went to the Raleigh beer fest), you may have tasted this beer. So good.

I think I had two or three. Honestly, this is the point in the evening where things get a little fuzzy. We walked back to our hotel, and Jeb and I hung out in the courtyard area outside with another beer or two while we waited for everyone to get ready to go to our haunted pub crawl.

The pub crawl is where things really got interesting. Part 2 to come!