Marco, Magicians And Mass McNuggets: The Prequel.

His reaction was practically immediate.

“I’m moving to New York,” I told him, “And I…I probably won’t be coming back…at least not for a while.”

He looked at me. Surprised. Contemplative. Confused. And eventually after a few lingering moments had passed he looked at me again and said

“Party on.”


Al Reade was just one member of the group.

IMG_7218 - Version 2

This is Al.


The college staple friend who you relied on for drunk food purchases, solid friendship and the yelling of nonsensical things on regular basis.



To the face.


And then you had Hallie. The practical one. One second her hair is neatly pinned and ever so slight blowing in the wind as she aced every exam, internship and life decision

Lookin rather fresh, Hallie.

Lookin rather fresh, Hallie.


and a few hours later that same hair is being whipped around on the dance floor with tequila shots as her latest shampoo.

Tequila Hair.

Tequila hair bitches

Next up is Brandon. Known for only drinking 2 things: whiskey and water.

Well I guess I lied...I suppose he drinks Corona too...

…with the exception of these 4 simultaneous coronas I suppose.


You know how you have those friends who take care of you when you’ve been partying a little too hard? Holds your hair back? All that shit? This is not one of those friends. He’s the guy in the far left corner of the room laughing hysterically at your misery.




Telling you you sound like a sea lion as you throw up that 1 shot too many. Why do we hang out with him?…I haven’t the slightest.

Then there’s Penny Erikson.

So deceivingly composed.

So deceivingly composed.


You may know her from her near social death experience with Lana Vancouver. But on days that don’t involve throwback men from her high school days, she’s known for her excellent wingman capabilities and will most certainly teach you how to Dougie in exchange for cheese.

The classic hip bump with strangers. Total Penny move.

Teach you the Dougie in casual exchange for Gouda? Done deal.


And of course, Olive:

Why wouldn't you want to be friends with this face?

Why wouldn’t you want to be friends with this face?


You may recognize her from her blogging ways and copious amount of shenanigans. And when she isn’t creating a facade of general composure in her professional and/or daily life, she’s most likely getting trapped in park or partaking in activities that resemble this:

Like what you see? Let's be friends.

Like what you see? Let’s be friends.


Now back in 2011 we had heard a distressing rumor that some apocalypse known as “graduation” was set to hit that following May.

And an even more distressing rumor that it meant our friendship would no longer be glued together with drunken nights, close proximity and happy hour specials. Well, at least not all the time. And at some point  during the mad rush of reality, I scored an internship at O Magazine  that answered the damn question of every parent, professor and friend who asked “SO LIKE WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO WITH YOUR LIFE AFTER YOU GRADUATE?!”.

I was going to New York.

 And I needed to break it to the gang.

So one day I sat Al down and decided to just tell him

“Hey so…I’m moving to New York, and I um…I probably won’t be coming back…at least not for a while.”

He looked at me. Surprised. Contemplative. Confused. And eventually after a few lingering moments had passed he looked at me again and said

“Party on.”

 And that we did. 

Fast forward. Play


December 30th 2011

That very December, the 5 of us were together once again. Ready to take on NYC. Ready to pretend that the armageddon known as “graduation” was just but a road bump in our friendship ways.  A lot had happened since the last time we were all together in May.

– Al was now a traveling consultant

– Hallie was kick-ass lobbyist in DC

– Brandon rocking the world as an industrial designer

-Penny landed a job as a store designer for a world famous retail brand

– And when Olive wasn’t copywriting for the fashion world she was producing ridiculous works of written art outlining her daily shenanigans for all the world to see.

But here they were. 

Suitcases in hand. Standing at Olive’s first apartment in New York City. Ready to relive the college days, in a not so college place. And the thing is we had no idea. Not a clue that this 3 days rage extravaganza was only but a kick off for a string of new years eve traditions to come. Unaware that this very trip would be only a prequel for the 2012 trilogy episode that would follow up just one short year later.

So what did I do this New Years, you ask? Well. I’ll tell you. But. In order to understand and prepare for the nonsense of my 3 part trilogy of a New Year’s 2012 (stay tuned). I created a list for you. Of what the original 5 of us did in 2011. Upon our first reunion. How we made our group triple in size the following year and invested in so much ludacrisy in 2011, that the sequel had no other choice but to close out 2012 with “olive the people” I dig the most.

Top 7 Most Ridiculous Moments of NYE 2011

(that set the bar so damn high for the NYE to come)

Night 1

Earlier that evening I guided my friends to a local pub dubbed “The 13th Step”. I comforted my midwestern pals when they soon discovered that the cost of alcohol would indeed be the equivalent to a down payment on their house, car and student loans combined. And after accepting this fact we began unruly banter that ended in a set of rules established for the 3 days of shenanigans to come. And it was the breaking of these very rules that outlined the very moments I am about to share with you. And the rules are as follows:

Rule #1: There are no rules

Rule #2: Don’t be a dick

Rule #3: Everything goes

Rule #4 No shame

Rule#5 Never apologize

Rule #7 Rape is never okay

Rule #8 There is no rule #6

Back to the story. Once the gang were done cheersing to the new list of rules and regulations, they went to the one place that they had dreaming about for hours. A place where…all your drunken dreams come true…and place know as…


Have you ever 3am?

Have you ever seen…anything…so…beautiful…at 3am?


We limboed under the golden arches – as Brandon bee-lined for the counter and politely screamed A ROUND OF DOUBLE CHEESEBURGERS PLEASE. The cashiers looked at us with startled faces. The asian man who just ordered nugs practically choked on his freshly purchased heaven at the shock of our entrance.

And then she did it.

The cashier broke Brandon’s ice-cold heart.

When she said

“I’m sorry sir. We’re out of double cheeseburgers. We’ve only got nuggets tonight.”




Olive  began to panic. What’s a girl to do when a fellow member is suffering a broken heart via cheeseburger? Start a chant. That’s what.

I pulled Hallie aside and whispered to her “What is the policy on chanting inside of restaurants?”

She looked at me and said “Rule #1 Olive…there are no rules.”

I began in a low voice:


(then a little higher)




and finally


and ended with a


in which the asian man with the nugs screamed



And before I knew it the entire establishment was going ape shit and I realized that in breaking Rule #1. I had

1. Started a community chant about Nuggets at 3 am at the local gold arches hot spot

Night 2:

After a day full of obligatory touristy shit. We put on our party pants and ventured off with  2 lads  that lived in the vicinity who used to partake in our shenanigans during our college days. They looked like this:

A reunion of mixed emotions

They coerced us into joining them at a bar nearby…told us the place was close. But after walking



40 blocks later, panting, distraught, confused. We realized that this simply twasn’t the case. I took a seat at a booth with Hallie and Penny and what non-chalantly started as throw back banter to the time Olive may or may not have TPed her own bathroom on her 21st birthday turned into gradual episode of witnessing the gentlemen of the group transform from reminiscing bros to absolute primates

How I normally greet my long time friends, for sure.


So should I just…I can…Okay.


That’s right. I have snacks.

Now normally I wouldn’t care. And no fucks would be given on my behalf. In fact, I’d clap in jovial satisfaction that my friends were investing in so much enjoyment, however, one sip of budlight later I heard a deep octave scream from a bouncer chasing our two suspiciously familiar men off the premises yelling a direct quote that went something like :


2. Receiving death threats from a local bouncer 40 blocks down the road


Needless to say….we bounced. (pun intended) 


Freshly dispatched from our first location. I explained to Al that this was a direct consequence of breaking

Rule # 2 – Don’t be a dick.

And that we should in fact be on our way.

Fast forward one dinner and 13 seconds later and we were lookin good. Feelin. good. X bottles of wine in at a local establishment called Vino Vino and sprinting down the streets of Manhattan when Hallie suddenly pulled my hand and led the gang into a hidden establishment named  Keats and elegantly screamed WELL WHAT THE FUCK EVER LET’S JUST GO IN HERE. *Kicks down the door*


Mother fucking crickets. 

Now what we did know was that Keat’s was advertising some pretty enticing drink specials…but what we didn’t know was that there were only 5 people in that entire bar that did not derive from the blood and crips part of the Bronx…and those people 5 were us. But no matter, we used our minority ways to our advantage and attempted to make a peace treaty with the local gangsters by snatching two microphones, hopping on a slightly elevated stage and obeying the local DJ when he said  “Hey…you bitches know ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart or Some Shit.” And fantastic news, DJ.We knew both Total Eclipse of the Heart AND some shit. Which lead to our 2nd shenanigan promoted by our Rule #3. Anything goes.

3. Serenading the Blood and the Crips with good old fashioned Karaoke Sesh

We began harmonizing like this 

We began jiving like that

Began jiving like that

Began raising the roof in classic white girl style like this (not well received – retreat retreat!)

Having discrepancies about our choreography like that

DJ shutting down our microphones after physically upsetting the local gangsters with our ill prepared performance.

Cued the DJ into shutting down our microphones after physically upsetting the gangsters with our ill-prepared performance like this.

Not getting the memo and passionately investing in the chorus anyway like that.


With the exception of clearing our the premises, we felt good about our performance, and shuffled over to the bar ready to embark on a congratulatory shot between the lot of us until Olive heard an echoing

“I can tell you’re one of




from behind her.

She peeked over her shoulder and through her brunette curls.


“You. With the short body and electronic dance moves.”

My body was indeed short and my moves debatably electronic. But what could I possibly have in common with this short statured man in a silky red blouse?

 “I know what you’re thinking.” he said “What could I possibly have in common with a short statured man in a silky red blouse.”

Eerily spot on silky blouse…

Silky blouse told me that he was a gymnast. And could tell I was one too (true news). He then explained that he trained for a 8 years and was on an inexplicable vendetta to retrieve as many yahoo e-mail accounts as he deemed necessary.

The group and I exchanged glances and we all agreed.

A bargain was officially in order.

“See here silky blouse” Olive began, “I indeed have a yahoo e-mail address. But…would you, per chance care to exchange these goods for a round of alcohol for me and my fellow friends?”

He slid his perspired hands down his silky blouse and said “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

He bought a round of 5. Completely ignoring Brandon’s presence. But no matter his participation was the least of my concern as I basked in success of our 4th rule “No shame.”

 4. Bartering yahoo e-mail addresses for a round of shots


Cheers! And none for you Brandon Eder.


After a round of red headed sluts, (take that as you will) I invested in a few more minutes of obligatory banter of the pros and cons of stretching on plywood, wrote “” on a semi-drenched napkin, and sent him on his way.

We were happy, drunk, hoarse and at the stroke of 4am were ready to head back to Olive’s upper east side abode, surpass the golden arches that we not so subtely chanted at just 24 hours prior and rather… invest in another snack…a more expensive snack…a snack that one should very much inquire about it’s origin. One that costs $40 and comes in cupcake format that looks like this:

Classin up the drunk food.

Classin up the drunk food.


Who the fuck sells a $40 cupcake, you say? Crumbs bakery. Who BUYS a $40 cupcake?…Guilty

What was the reasoning behind such a purchase?

Rule #5: Never Apologize

Especially when it comes to food. And thus Shenanigan #5 was born:

5. Unapologetically demolishing a $40 cupcake…at 4am…

And the demolition went like this:

The “WHY DON’T YOU LOVE ME?!” Approach.

$40 cupcake: Baked with goddamn love.

$40 cupcake: Baked with goddamn love.


The “IT’S ME AGAIN” Approach

The perfect blockade for unwarranted affection.

The perfect blockade for unwarranted affection.


Hey who said a drunken make out sesh had to be with a human?

Hey who said a drunken make out sesh had to be with a human? 


The “What do you mean you’re 16…?” approach

Well this was unplanned.

Well this was unplanned.


The “Beer goggles are fading so I’m gonna close my eyes for both of our benefit” approach

Sorry if I swept you off your feet.

Sorry if I swept you off your feet.


Night 3:

Tonight was the night.  New Years fucking eve. The girls drenched their lashes in mascara, rouged their lips with lip stain while the men tied and retied their ties ready for an evening to kiss 2011 goodbye forever. Literally. We purchased the finest bottle of $4.99 wine, hit up the local subway

Your least classy bottle of merlot, please.

Your least classy bottle of merlot, please.


 Dressed to the nines like such:

Well done, Spankers.

Well done, gang.


And embarked on the last few hours of 2011, ready to milk them for all they were fucking worth. Tickets were ripped. Coats were checked and we obediently followed the strobe lighted halls




to our NYE bliss.

Cue in the lipstick attack.

There we were. Rolling in a crew of 5, cheersing the night away to an evening of not so innocent folly

Handsome men.

Look at you. Acting all classy and shit.



We’re trying


when she came from

The complete opposite side of the room.

She was a quick son of a gun. Inflicting red lip stick kisses to every gentleman near and far. Leaving clouds of dust and lip stick branding as the only trail of evidence. What did she look like? I don’t know. But what I do know is that every time I turned the fuck around. Al and Brandon were just a little more pink than they were before. Sporting the Rule #7 : Rape is never okay – look and essentially

6. Falling victim to lipstick massacres that looked like this:


I’m not so sure he hated this…


A man exclusive event.

I’m not so sure he hated this either.


Lipstick attack of '11

Lipstick attack of ’11


But before I knew it we had danced, discussed and dodged lip stick attacks until 11:48pm. And 11:48 pm turned into 11:52. Which changed to 11:59. Which ended at midnight. Where I stood with my 4 best friends in perfect semi-sober harmony….

But not for long.

Minutes after the stroke of midnight and blissful reflection Penny Erikson was nowhere to be found.

Upstairs? No.

Downstairs? No.

Beneath the table? Yes.

“I’m so sorrrrrryyy” She wailed.


Happy New Year, indeed.


She disappeared once again. Al and I stayed stationary without concern. Breaking Rule #2 (don’t be a dick) waving away the fact that our friend was M.I.A. while we sipped on our all inclusive beverages.

Brandon came back to the table. Penny in one arm. Hallie in the other.

“I found these 2 fools in the men’s bathroom. “

Turns out Hallie was cradling Penny in her arms as Penny caressed the porcelain bowl that could also be found in the women’s bathroom as well.

“It’s a fucking one stall bathroom man. It’s a mans sanctuary, GET YOUR OWN BATHROOM”

Rule # 2 to you as well, Brando.

Penny began to apologize profusely. Explaining that she never meant to break rule #6. It was never her intention. And in that moment we all looked at each other and realized that…we had never made a rule #6.

 Hence rule #8 was born. “There is no Rule #6”

And to celebrate our last and final addition, Al attempted to comfort Penny in her queasy ways and explain to her that resembled Scarlett Johannsen when she was throwing up like that and even going as far as to

7. Pull up google images of  “Scarlett Johnannsen vomiting all over the place”


A decent attempt…but…no…

Which I must say proved to be quite the gem to find in Al’s search history the next day.

And on that next day my very best friends packed up their suitcases and they said to me

“Hey so, we’re going to go back home now and we…we probably…won’t be coming back…at least not for a while. But next New Years? We’ll fucking be here.”

I looked at them. Surprised. Contemplative. Confused. And eventually after a few lingering moments had passed I looked at them and said

“Party on.”

 The reunion of New Years 2012 happened just a few short days ago. And it was absolutely epic. I’ll be sure to tell you all about it. Stay tuned.