I'm As Hungry As A Plastic Hippopotamus To Regret My Actions (And Write More Often.)

It's been a while since I wrote. A long time. I don't have any really serious "blogger" reasons for this that people tend to throw out. I love how serious us "bloggers" take ourselves. Hey, guess what? You need to know your email address and have the capability of making up a "secret password". That's how you earn the right to blog. That makes us the equivalent of a small child/rain man, guys. Not a journalist.

I did put on my thinking cap, though, and thought, "hey, maybe If I wrote less than 4,000 words per post, I'd write more often." So I'm gonna try that out. You know. Smaller, more concentrated rants. Considering I've been holding on to something I've wanted to write about that occurred in the beginning of July, maybe it's time to rethink "strategy."

See what I've done here? I've made fun of bloggers for taking themselves too seriously and then taken myself too seriously. How's that wizard shit for you? I just top gun high-fived myself.

On that note.

This July, I one-upped myself on the "how much of a scene can I put on" olympics at a wedding. My wedding talent, to date, is pretty unstoppable. In just about two years, I have:

- Lost two suit jackets.

- Been declared dead by a taxi driver.

- Been taken home by the police.

- Fallen asleep on a street corner in tanbark.

Pretty tough to beat, just in general, right? Well. Hey. I tried. So here's the tally of what I did at a wedding this July in Carmel, California.

1. I went to said wedding with my ex-girlfriend from the ninth grade because I didn't have a date. The same girlfriend whom I gave mono to, broke up with when she got it from me, and then proceeded to not really talk to her much until said wedding. Seemed like the right idea.

2. I cried talking about my feelings. To my best guy friend. No, I'm serious. I cried. At a wedding. Talking about my feelings. To a man.


3. When someone asked me if I'd like to meet their attractive friend because I was a "sweet guy" I said "no." THAT'LL SHOW THOSE ATTRACTIVE GIRLS, DREW!

4. I stole a glass of wine from a a table full of grandmother-type people. Meaning, presumably, I stole alcohol at a wedding from someone's grandmother. I stole a fucking wounded soldier from someone's grandmother. I saw her looking for the glass later. Keep in mind this was an open bar. So there was absolutely no reason to kick an old lady in the alcohol shins.

5. At one point, I asked a girl to dance. Took her out to the dance floor. Stood there, and didn't dance. I don't know which one of us was more confused.

6. While dancing with my Jewish friend, I told her that my mom once said that, "Jews are a lot of fun. We're the closest thing to black people that white people get." She told me to immediately tell this to her mother, who was dancing right near us. So I leaned over, and like a horrific game of telephone, had this conversation with her.

Drew: "My mom says that Jews are like the black people!"

Jewish Mom: "..."

In the most awkward way possible, I threw out an accidentally blatantly racist statement to a 50 year old woman on a dance floor. Amazing.

And finally...

7. At the end of the night, even though I had a place to stay on the property where the wedding was being held, I took a bus back into town, which was 30 miles away from said bed that I was going to sleep in. I did not bring any money or identification on this endeavor. So in the morning, I called a cab and asked him to drive me to, "the preserve...it's at the top of a mountain in Carmel. I have no money."

I'm not allowed to drink anymore at weddings.

Here's a mixtape.

Rocket Shoes Mixtape 32: I'm As Hungry As A Plastic Hippopotamus To Regret My Actions

Stream the whole thing right here.


Download the whole thing right here.

(For the record, I'm making an air Star of David in this photo. I'm not throwing up the Roc.)

(Who am I kidding, I'm probably throwing up the Roc, right after telling someone's Mom that Jews are like black people.)

Drew Hoolhorst

I have a black belt in feelings.