DISCLAIMER: The problem with drinking a bottle of wine all by yourself on the 4th of July is that you have trouble remembering what happened. All of the statements presented here are clearly factual, until otherwise proven (with photographic evidence) that I am lying.
I’d been anticipating the 4th of July for a couple weeks. I took off work both Thursday and Friday, spending Thursday at various doctors’ appointments (including the dentist’s, where I found out I have another four cavities for not flossing every single day. Let that be a lesson to you). Number 2 and his brofriend, Juan, came down Thursday afternoon, dressed in white and went to go play tennis and have a circle jerk while BF & I went to yoga. No homo.
Came home, cooked filet mignon and asparagus and potatoes. Lounged, introduced the boys to Mr. Yogato. Chief drove from his Boston booty call and arrived at 1am Friday morning. And then he woke up at 7am, freezing, and decided to go get donuts. They didn’t open until 8, but he waited outside anyway. Such a good brother.
BF & I woke them up at 9. We’d been planning a photo safari of the places in DC that were significant to us (so that I wouldn’t miss it too much when we leave for NYC mid-August). It was a gorgeous day, so instead of driving as we’d planned, we all rented bikes: me, BF, my two bros + brofriend, Juan. I overestimated our stamina and planned a 15-mile bike trip around DC. I wanted to visit each place we’ve lived, along with where we went to school and our favorite places to go.
Our actual route took us up the Capital Crescent Trail and into Maryland, then back to DC, UP Massachusetts Ave to AU (worst idea ever after already having biked 8+ miles), my old dorm, then to Tenleytown. I needed to show my brothers that the Tenleytown Metro Station does not look the same way as it does in Fallout 3.

We stopped at Whole Foods to inhale pizza, and then biked down Wisconsin through Georgetown, where Chief nearly died (both at our hands, since he intentionally braked and made his P.O.S. bike squeal the whole way, and at the hands of other drivers, since he was riding like a jackass).
In my tired state after the ride, I estimated that we probably rode 12.6 miles. I rechecked my math and found that we actually rode 14.4 miles, which makes it official: I am a badass (and I cannot/should not do math). Before our bike ride my other brother, Boss, decided he wanted to join the fun at the last minute. Instead of riding with us, he rode the train down and met us post-sweatfest.
We came home and I took a nap while Number 2 and Juan jerked it to Federer before going out for Thai. We came home, they made Creamsicles (Spiced Rum and Orange Soda—aka Death in a glass) and I made a nectarine-blackberry crisp and we carb-loaded on that and my homemade ice cream in anticipation of a day of drinking on Saturday.
Not ones to be let down, I promised my brothers a party at a law school friend of my boyfriend’s, complete with 2 full kegs and our own fireworks, courtesy of Number 2 and his cuddlebear, Juan.
And I also had a full bottle of Kim Crawford all to myself.
BF contributed by making a vat of pulled pork that took three days to make. He brined it for two days, and then spent all day Saturday smoking & basting it. Meanwhile, I played Suzy Homemaker, baking blueberry jam-filled lemon cookies, as well as lemon-cheesecake squares, for the party. No homo. Although, some people thought otherwise:


Several rounds of beer pong (during which Boss carried me all the way except for the one shot I made by myself), we proceeded to get sufficiently trashed. Remaining true to his manipulative-for-the-purposes-of-amusement nature, BF coaxed a kosher friend into
trying his BBQ pork, took a picture (for evidence/posterity), and promptly threatened to email it to god@gmail.com. It was worth it. That warm feeling in your belly, Rob? Those are the fires of hell.
My brothers (all of them) thought that one of our friends looks like Jeff Goldblum circa Jurassic Park, and decided we should start a website with pictures of celebrity lookalikes. We already had one celebrity lookalike sighting in 2006: we saw Gandalf/Dumbledore at dinner in Park City.

During that night, I also realized we had another celebrity impersonator: Allen from The Hangover, who politely removed his sunglasses for the picture.

The rest of the night is kinda blurry, which makes sense, given that we lost at beer pong. I remember:
- when we first got there, JB. was throwing a fit because someone had turned off Michael Jackson and put on rap. When he started threatening to punch the guy in the face, Boss got worried the cops were gonna come and asked me if it was okay that they were there, even though they were underage. So, I made the responsible decision of making him a strong drink.
- my brother trying to figure out the perfect trajectory of the ping pong ball in order to make it into the cup (excluding wind resistance, off-balanced starting position from being drunk, and the moisture from cleaning off the ball)
- some douche from UChicago going to my bro, “WOW only fucking 18 year olds try & blow into the cup to knock it out,” to which my brother said “that’s suitable, given I AM 18.” Then UChicago starts talking about how my bro is a tool, and even though Boss is going to MIT, UChicago is a “WAAAAAYYY better school.”
- how at the end of the night someone had thrown beer all over UChicago, and Chief & Boss had left, trying to get into a strip club with their obvious fakes.
I remember sending Trish 150 texts asking her when she was coming, and then she finally showed up for about 4 minutes; my brothers lighting off fireworks in the middle of the street, and some chick with double d’s macking it to Boss (he & Chief were studs that night). I remember Chief was wearing a t-shirt that said “Support Local Music: Sleep with a Musician,” and how it almost got him laid.
Perhaps the best, and least sensible, memory of the evening was when I took off my shoes mid-conversation with BF’s cousin and some other people, and then returned, causing some surprise at my stature.
Them: Wow, you are really short without your heels!
Me: Yeah, I know, it kinda sneaks up on you. Like a midget in a horror movie.
BF’s cousin bet me $5 I wouldn’t remember I said that the next day, so BF helped me cheat by sending me a text of it.
As far as I’m concerned, I not only proved myself to be not only a bike-riding menace, but also a drinking champ. Unfortunately, I can’t really remember all of it.




