Rules of College Crashing: My Return to College Frat Life

Now that I have decided to pursue professional lothario-ism, I have a lot of time on my hands to try new things - like reading (don't recommend), falling asleep at any point of the day and in no defined position, and moonlighting as a college student at various universities. The latter has been a particularly fruitful endeavor. Of course, it's all for scientific and research purposes and NOT a shameful ploy to hit on college women and their young, easily impressionable and influenced minds.


My cousin is a junior at Santa Clara University and a member of a fraternity, which I shall not mention, lest the national organization opens up an investigation and decides to ban me from their houses all across the country. When I was younger, I watched an episode of 21 Jump Street where Richard Grieco and Johnny Depp go undercover at a high school. They play football and do other things, but in my mind, they banged chicks behind the scenes. Television is real, but sometimes they don't show the good stuff. Ever since that show, I have wanted to turn back the clock. In Junior High, I wanted to go undercover in Elementary School. In High School, it was Jr. High.... and so on. Now it's time to fulfill my destiny. I'm like Rodney Dangerfield going back to school, only I will do no studying or attend any classes - this I promise you. I will only engage in reckless, irresponsible college behavior.

My first night back I didn't fare so well.

I think I had built it up too much, and in turn, my cousin has not invited me back for an encore performance - even after having asked him repeatedly. Allow me to explain. I have a very youthful face -- some would say model good-looking -- so upon taking out some of my cousin's fraternity brothers for dinner, all of whom thought I was a college student, I thought, 'let's go with this!' After a few beers and a third of a handle of Captain Morgan's, I was liking this idea more and more. My cousin and I decide to go to his Fraternity house where my flask of Maker's Mark earns me the envy of his fraternity brothers and gives me instant credibility. They all like me because I drink hard and fast. Friendship in college is so easily earned.

After the Santa Clara Men's Basketball team loses a heartbreaker in the closing minutes against Gonzaga, some more Fraternity brothers come storming into the house. The largest man of the bunch proceeds to grab a plastic handle of vodka with a name I've never heard of and a $7.99 tag off of the kitchen table and promptly pounds half of the bottle. I look on, admiringly, and decide this kid is my new best friend. I tell him to hand me the bottle and I promptly take two shots of the worst vodka I've ever had in my life. Because I want this guy to be my new best friend, I talk mad smack to him and challenge him to a drink-off. He tells everyone he likes me. I am happy.

This guy outweighs me by at least 100 pounds, but I sincerely believe that I can best him. Even though I have been drinking for 3 hours prior, I have no doubt. That is my last memory. I wake up the next morning with puke all over my jeans and scramble out of my cousin's house to make it to work on time. He tells me later that day that I shouldn't worry about last night. Always a key indicator of having done something completely idiotic and embarassing. I don't know if ignorance is bliss, but my cousin tells me I puked all over his bathroom and spent a considerable amount of time in the Fraternity house bathroom. The worst part is that I didn't get to hit on any chicks. But it's okay, I have many other cousins in college, whom I have yet to embarass.

I have outlined a set of rules that I will one day use if I can manage not to barf all over myself by 11pm:

Rule #1 - Always come prepared with loads of alcohol.

- This will net you many, many friends and instant access into the inner circles of the wildest drunks in college, who also happen to be the most popular. Of course, you could always crash a college party withOUT acohol, but is the point to get drunk on someone else's dime, or to take body shots off of college campus's finest?

Rule #2 - Come prepared with a good back story.

Just like Wedding Crashers, you need to solidify your back story in advance. Being Pimps from Oakland, or Cowboys from Arizona, is comparable to you saying you're a Communication, Sociology, or Psychology major. Too many degenerates in those majors and they typically fill sorority and frat houses. That's throwing up a Hail Mary in the first quarter, because you risk someone saying, "oh really? That's my major. What classes are you taking?" Then you're screwed.

Rule #3 - If unprepared, just say you're visiting friends for the weekend.

Use your old school as the alias, because you're bound to know enough to get by. Then, proceed to get more drunk than anyone else, because at that point, everyone will know better than to talk about anything else that doesn't have to do with sex, booze, shots, sports, late-night food, and quote movie lines from Wedding Crashers, Old School, and Superbad.

Rule #4 - Never commit yourself to anything solid.

If pressed for specifics on where you live or know, always be vague - women are more intrigued by that anyhow. If continually pressed, just yell out: "shots!"

Rule #5 - Wear a polo, college-logo shirt, or a shirt with a quote mocking societal norms.

You want to fit in, or stand out with something that is a conversation starter.

Rule #6 - Know the college's star basketball and football players (memorize their stats).

College kids love their sports teams. They will continuously talk about the same subject and try to one-up each other on knowledge.

Rule #7 - Know the current hip-hop songs.

You gotta know what kids are listening to these days. It's annoying and not as good as gangster rap, but when a song blares out of the speakers, you don't want to be the only person who isn't bonding by singing along and dancing.

Rule #8 - Learn to mix and blend drinks.

College kids only know a few things about drinks: Kalishnokov's Vodka (Popov Vodka's even cheaper cousin), Coors Light, and jello shots. The women will marvel at your Fuzzy Navel's, loaded with alcohol, and the men will envy your skill.

Rule #9 - Never party with a douche bag.

You can pick these guys out of a party anywhere. They will turn violent when they are drunk because of all the testosterone and they will KILL a buzz and a party. They have biceps the size of bowling balls, shirts the size of Baby Gap, and rather than shake hands, will chest bump as if you were in a mosh pit. (See here for reference.)

Rule #10 - Master your flip-cup and beer pong.

These games are college essentials and may earn you the love or ire of your newfound friends.

Rule #11 - Teach new drinking games.

Whenever possible, teach new drinking games to those around you. The pedestal of attention and position of authority will win you the attention of that undecided female.

Rule #12 - Learn to dance.

Drunken make-out sessions don't happen in a crowded, well-lighted kitchen, or a testosterone-filled garage over beer pong, they happen in the darkened, makeshift dance-floor in the living room. Of course, they also sometimes happen in the backyard over a shared drink and pretend philosophical conversation - but that would mean you'd have to be philosophical.

Rule #13 - Never fall in love.

Finally, like Kevin Costner in The Bodyguard, you can't let your emotions get in the way. You've got a job, and besides, in the long run they just don't have enough life experiences to interest you. I mean, would you really want to tell someone someday that you met when you were college crashing?!!?

Well, what are you waiting for? Go out there and have some fun and relive some glory days while you still can. Look a little too old?!?! Well guess what? You're a grad student who decided after a VERY successful first career that you wanted to come back to school. Having a yacht and a home in the Bahamas was nice, but can never quench your thirst for knowledge.


Sincerely,
Kevin
The Moonlighting College Bachelor

Why It's Time to Start Burning Books Again

Recently I did something unfathomable. I read a book. I hated it. It was awful. No pictures. No scratch and sniff. No 'buy a book, get a free medium fries and soft drink for free'. No unicorns. And the list goes on and on.

The book was by Dan Brown, whom I have had reasonable success putting his words together and grouping them together to understand them as a sentence. But unlike The Da Vinci Code, his newest offering, The Lost Symbol, was a real pain in the arse. I wanted to punch someone at the end of each chapter. Not because it was so good and elicited such passionate emotions, but because Brown took so much effort to write a "thriller" that nothing was ever revealed until the last 5 pages.


Here are a few sample chapter endings.

Chapter 32

Blah, blah, blah.....

"Gadzooks," said Robert Langdon, world's smartest man with the lowest libido of any fictional character who deals with hot women in books. "I can't believe I didn't decipher this before, I must've stored that footnote in my brain inbetween my encyclopedic knowledge of 73 B.C. and 71 B.C."

What Robert Langdon realized would change his life forever.


Chapter 33

Blah, blah, blah.....

Katherine Solomon was aghast at what Robert had discovered. While a little confused that Robert Langdon had taken no notice of her exposed bossom, Katherine remembered that she, too, was a genius amongst mortals.

"Robert," said Katherine, "you don't think this means what I think it means does it?!!?"

"I'm afraid so," said Langdon.


Chapter 97

Katherine and Robert both looked at each other, afraid and confused, knowing their new knowledge would change their lives forever. While looking at Katherine, Robert never once glances down towards Katherine's exposed breasts or hip-hugging mini-skirt. He has too much going on in his brain to think of sex at a moment like this that could end civilization as we know it.

"We have to go to the authorities," said Robert.

"Wait, why don't we tell the readers what we just learned 80 pages ago," said Katherine.

"NO! Are you mental!!??!" said Robert. "Those simpletons would never know what to do with that kind of knowlege until at least 400 more pages."

"You're right, Robert, like you always are," said Katherine. "By the way, did you notice my breast?"

"What breast?" said Robert. "We can go to KFC later. Now, quick, follow me!"


The above summary is not an exaggeration. It's real. Like Lost the last few seasons. Nothing happens. It's time to start burning books at the center of town square again. Just gather them up and toss them into the bonfire or use them as toilet paper. They are ridiculous and lame. Afterwards, we will all have a drink at the local saloon and spit into spittoons. Knowledge should be gained from moving pictures and Tivo and not the written word. For instance, if it wasn't for moving pictures, who would've known that Soylent Green is people? I rest my case.

fhiaopfhduashd pdsuriepqureq wxmiemiowfbdkfja;

See that gibberish up above? I just made you dumber. Stop reading and start burning!

Shame on you, Dan Brown!


Sincerely,
Kevin
The Illiterate Silicon Valley Bachelor

Sexiest Male And Female Songs Ever

I don't think anyone has ever referred to me as sexy, but I'm certain numerous people have thought that at one time or another - especially when I got on the bus yesterday in my Z Cavaricci's and Cross Colours and that homeless lady totally checked me out. Don't worry, girlfriend, I'm scouring the Missed Connections section of Craigslist almost daily. I'll find you. Therefore, after this conclusive scientific analysis, I'd like to consider myself an expert on sexiness. In my history of listening and learning music, starting with the 'Reading Rainbow' theme song when I was a young tyke and ending with the 'Now I know my A-B-C's' song just last week, I have consumed much music.

Now there are 'baby-making' songs (i.e. think Maxwell, or Debbie Gibson) and there are just songs that are lyrically sexy and performed as such. I now present you the sexiest songs sung by a male and female ever. They make me want to get freak nasty.

(I don't know about you, but the thought of me getting freak nasty made me taste yesterday's Arby's just a little - hopefully you were not as adversely affected.)

Sexiest Song Sung by a Male Artist:

Billy Currington, Must Be Doing Something Right



Sexiest Song Sung by a Female Artist:

TLC, Red Light Special



Honorable Mentions:

Bobby Brown, Good Enough



Ghetto Honorable Mention (This song makes me laugh more than anything else, but I LOVE the beat and I love empowered women who can turn the tables on us chauvinistic males.):

Khia, My Neck, My Back (Lick It)



Hahahaha. I LOVE that last song. I wish I could sing it, but I would get absolutely no street cred singing: "My neck, my back, lick my p*ssy and my crack." Plus, I just recently got my man card back, so I'd like to hold onto it for awhile.

Enjoy these songs and go out and knock some boots!

Sincerely,
Kevin L.
The Silicon Valley Bachelor

Where to Go and What to Do in Puerto Rico if You're Hot, Sexy, Single or... None of the Above

I initially went to Puerto Rico to clear my mind, relax, get sh*t-faced drunk, and party. Little did I know that I would be doing some soul-searching and discover a thing or two about myself in life and love.

Before heading to Puerto Rico, I did little to no research on what I would do once I arrived. I had seen that commercial they air on TV and I thought, 'it's an island - whatever it is, I'll find it. I'll just walk along the beach until I get there.' It would be an adventure. Well, let me tell you now that Puerto Rico is much larger than say, Alcatraz Island. "What?!?" you say, "But I've never seen a Puerto Rican in my life, besides in New York and those baseball players and that one guy Manny Pacquiao beat up." It's true. Puerto Rico is huge and there is much to do. Walking along the beach all the way around would've probably taken me a year. In fact, it would take about a day to drive around the main island along the coast.

I did have an AMAZING time on my one week stay, but looking back, there are a few things I would've done differently.

Let me get some important particulars out of the way first:

Population: About 4 million
Language: Spanish, but most people speak English as well
Currency: U.S. Dollar (USD)
Economy: $17K+ Median Household (About half of Mississippi, the poorest in the U.S.)
Average Temperature: 82 Degrees
Passport: Not needed if you're a U.S. citizen
Hotness of Women: 5 Miss Universes in their history - making them one of the most successful participants ever
Gambling: Legal
Closing Time of Bars/Clubs: Varies on day of the week, area, but generally 2am, unless located in a hotel, then 5am+

WHERE TO STAY:

So I began my trip with 5 nights in San Juan, Puerto Rico, and left my last 2 nights open to adventure or "wingin' it". I knew when booking my hotel that I wanted to stay someplace ON the beach. While there were many hotels in Puerto Rico, it was important for me to find one where I could walk straight from my hotel room in board shorts right into the ocean. I booked at La Concha Renaissance, by far the hippest, most modern hotel around San Juan. If you're young, hot, and single, this is the place for you. That's not to say there are no families or couples, because there are, and they far outnumber the single, but this place had a great combination. When you think of this hotel's style, think The W, or The Standard. (See pics below)







Other hotels I would recommend on the water would be the El San Juan Hotel and Casino, which has a great nightclub located inside. It's a Waldorf Astoria hotel, so it's classy and classic in feel. The ambiance is nice, but the lighting and vaulted ceilings would make it intimidating for some to hit on women.

You could also try the Ritz-Carlton, but let's face it. That hotel is for old, rich people who go to bed at 10pm and drink Apple Martinis. If you want to brush your teeth with a bottle of Jack - La Concha is probably a better fit.

These are amongst the nicest hotels in the area and are priced accordingly. Either bunk with a few roommates to reduce cost or go to Hotels.com for some better deals.

WHERE TO PARTY:

Admittedly, most people will tell you that Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday night are relatively dead in Puerto Rico. This is true, because Lord knows I tried going everywhere I could. Typically, by rule-of-thumb (or common sense), ask the hottest people in your hotel where to go each night. Also, this gives you an "in" and the possibility she might want to come with you.

A great place to go for happy hour any day of the week or after-hours (Sun - Tues) is a place called The Brickhaus in Old San Juan. The owner's name is J.P., who hooked me up with a few of his rum drink specialties - and they're darn good. You'll find a mixture of locals just getting off of work and tourists. Afterall, it is right behind a Senor Frog's.

On Wednesday and Thursday, you'll want to go to an area called La Placita, which is essentially a row of bars that fill up a block. Most of the people spill out into the streets and most of the bars are open-air. There's not much dancing that goes on here (think Pacific Beach), but a few places have dancing towards the back. The drinks here were the cheapest that I found around San Juan (about $5), whereas at the hotel I was paying about $10.


On Friday and Saturday, you should get dressed up. Start out with drinks at La Concha, where a mix of beautiful locals congregate, then head over to Club Brava (above), located inside El San Juan Hotel. Afterwards, if you're still not satisfied or want something more dress-casual, check out a place called Taiguey Beach Club. This place was full of locals and mixed in a DJ with karaoke (my fave!). Here's a word to the wise, never try to intermix Bon Jovi when the locals are having fun dancing salsa. Who knew that 'Livin on a Prayer' would kill the party? Not to mention, who knew that Bon Jovi could hit ridiculously high notes? I couldn't. That guy deserves an award. I literally had two fans singing along as everyone else watched the 'gringo' kill the party. (Well, f*ck you! Cause I'm never going back there again anyhow! LIIIIVIN ON A PRAYERRR!!!)

KEYS TO ENGAGING THE WOMEN:

What kind of bachelor blog would this be if I didn't give you some tips to success? Not that I had any, I mostly ended up with my face laying on the toilet seat and yelling out towards the banging door: "uno momento!" But this is what I saw from other people when I was nervously peeking out from behind the speakers:


- Learn just a bit of the language - no matter what country you're in. It's more endearing then someone just assuming they know your language. If you're not going to make an effort, why should she? Hola, Como Estas?, Hablas Ingles?, Como Te Llamas?, De Donde Eres?, Me gusta hacer el sex contigo. See? That's not so hard to learn.

- Take some salsa lessons or just watch some free videos on YouTube. Practice it, because the folks in Puerto Rico like salsa. It's a beautiful, sexy dance. If you're not comfortable with it, stick with the mega clubs and tourist joints.

- Put in the time. I found this country to be one of the least slutty countries I have ever been to. Whereas in the states, or Argentina, or Brazil, you'll routinely see people making out on the dance floor. Not so much in Puerto Rico. You're better off sticking with a tourist if you want to go home with someone that night. If you have time, ask the girl out for dinner the next day, etc. THEN try and shove your tongue down her throat.

- Do not sing 'Livin' on a Prayer'.

In closing, while Puerto Rico has had a disproportionate amount of Miss Universes, particularly in comparison to their population, I found the women to be VERY hit or miss. Like Brazil, there is a great mixture of dark and light skinned women, but unlike Brazil, there was just no consistency in looks. One thing that should make all men happy is that the majority was largely female at almost EVERY place I went. I also felt very unintimidated by the guys, who I didn't find to be that good looking, nor that aggressive - which is very rare for a latin American country (or in this case, Commonwealth).

BEACHES:

Not all beaches are created equal. (Read my Best Single's Beaches in the World.) When I laid eyes on Flamenco Beach (or sometimes called Flamingo Beach) on the island of Culebra, I fell in love.



No where else on the big island of Puerto Rico can you find such clear, calm waters. One of my favorite things to do on beaches is to lay right on the sand where the water can gently lap over your body. The water was too rough around San Juan. Check out the map below. The islands of Culebra and Vieques are to the right.


If I had to do it all over again, I would have spent 3 days on the island of Culebra, 1 day on the island of Vieques (a cool little beach town feel with a lot of gringos), and 3 nights in San Juan.

Go to Sun Bay on Vieques, but as soon as the taxi drops you off, walk all the way to your left side of the beach to set up camp. The water is clearest and most peaceful in that area.

MY FAVORITE MOMENTS:

Like Costa Rica, one of the best parts of my trips was something unplanned. In CR, I had rented a car with a stranger - spur of the moment - and we drove 5 hours through the countryside to the zip line tours in the rain forest and stopped in little towns along the way. This time around in Puerto Rico, I specifically left two nights where I had made no arrangements for accommodations. I figured I would rent a car and see where that took me.

Well, in talking to people, it was apparent that I needed to make my way to Vieques and Culebra in search of the best beaches. So after a night of Saturday partying and 30 minutes of sleep, I packed up a toothbrush, board shorts, and an extra t-shirt, and took off to the Ferry about an hour away. In Vieques, I met some cool guys from Texas who I chilled the afternoon away with on Sun Bay. Later that day, I made my way to an area of the island called Esperanza and walked up the street stopping at each place, inquiring about available rooms.

About 6 stops later, I was hot, sunburnt, and starting to worry. Then... I stopped. I grabbed a Gatorade from the fridge and began talking to the gal at the front desk for about an hour. We just talked about life and the choices you make. I told her I wasn't worried about finding a place tonight, something would happen. She leant me her cell phone and I began calling almost every place in town. No luck. Last place: Casa De Tortuga. It just so happened they were right up the street and they had an opening for one night.

If you go to Vieques, I highly recommend you stay at Casa De Tortuga. It's like staying at your buddy's place, only a lot nicer and cleaner. The guy who owned the place, Matt, from Colorado, was about as accomodating as they come. In the morning, we "winged-it" and he found me a charter flight to Culebra. There was a gas shortage on the island, so Matt ended up driving me to the airport himself.

Once in Culebra, I knew I had to make my way to Flamenco Beach and there was only one place to stay on that beach. If that didn't work out, I had to stay on the other side of the island. Rather than walk and take that chance, I rented the last vehicle they had - a golf cart. My first stop was Flamenco Beach. And it lived up to its hype. I needed there to be an opening at the villas on this rather secluded beach. Please. I drove up the gravel road feeling like there would be no chance. I was livin on a prayer. And. That. Prayer. Was. ANSWERED!!!! One villa left, so I checked in, threw my stuff down and made my way to the beach.

I needed an umbrella to protect my sunburnt body and I scoured the beach for the right spot for the guy to plant the umbrella. He asks me if I'm by myself. I say yes. He says I have the perfect spot for you. And he places me right behind 6 single women from Minneapolis. They literally turn out to be some of the coolest, non-pretentious girls I have ever met. We talked the rest of the afternoon until they had to catch the ferry, but I have a feeling we'll be keeping in touch.


Later, after a nap, I was ready to see if there was any nightlife to be found on this tiny island. It is a Monday night. I get into my golf cart and make my way down the forested gravel road. There are no doors or windows on my golf cart and it goes about 15 mph on the bumpy road. It is pitch black and about half a mile to the main road. All I could think about was Texas Chainsaw Massacre and what I would do if my golf cart broke down. Book it for the road, or head back to the villa? What if it broke down right in the middle? I tell myself not to look behind me. I do. It is pitch black, but I keep thinking that someone is going to be sitting in that back seat staring at me.

Finally, after wetting my pants several times (thanks goodness for board shorts!), I make it into the tiny downtown area. I end up hanging out with a couple from Portland and a couple from Louisiana. They're both camping out on the campgrounds on Flamenco Beach. I offer them a drunken ride home, because there are pretty much no other cars on the road and I'm told it's okay to drink and drive, so I put my drink in the cupholder and we hit the road. Once we get to the campground, one of the guys says he's got a half bottle of the best rum in Puerto Rico. Heck, it could've been the worst bottle and I would've been in.

We all sit around in the darkness, toes in the sand, waves lapping in the background under the brightest, most amazing number of stars you've ever seen. As I ask the married couple how they knew, I couldn't help but think about how great it would be to enjoy this with my own loved one. They went on to tell me that they were relatively well-off, used to the finer things, and roughing it by camping on the beach for a few days. It wasn't easy, but they were doing it together and challenging each other with their love.

You may think I love bachelorhood - and this blog does nothing to refute that - but I love the idea of love more than anything else. It's just that I won't settle.

It breaks my heart not to be able to share these moments with the woman I'll grow old with. As much as I love a night out, drinking, dancing, and partying - there was no better moment for me on this trip than sitting on that beach at 3am, vulnerable, open, honest, and real.

Seeing genuine love is beautiful. It hurts, but lets me know I'm alive.

Thank you, Puerto Rico.

Sincerely,
Kevin L.
The Silicon Valley Bachelor

Quick Thoughts on San Juan, Puerto Rico and a Tribute to Hunter S. Thompson

Editor's Note: I read a Hunter S. Thompson book during my travels, thus the stylistic change in my writing for this post. Now I must read Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas to understand this drug and alcohol-induced man - who I haven't yet decided is keen or merely just f*cked up. Thompson embraces the excesses of life and wears it proudly - maybe him and I aren't so different....

After arriving in San Juan, Puerto Rico, I remain sober for only 20 minutes over the next 83 hours. This is no joke. I would wake up still drunk and go to the pool and drink about 5 cocktails before I ate my first meal at around 7pm. In fact, I only ate two meals a day - one at 7pm and the other at 5am after a night of libations at various watering holes.

You know you're headed for trouble when you walk into the hotel casino the same time next night and everyone knows your name - pit bosses, dealers, players, pimps, prostitutes.... Apparently, winning gobs of money, tipping big, and singing Enrique Iglesias songs makes everyone want to be your best friend. Not all of the people revered me - one guy sitting next to me (I vaguely remember) wanted to kick the sh*t out of me if I didn't shut up. I promptly sang into his ear and did the "Enrique" and he turned red and giggled. Another satisfied customer.

San Juan is trouble. I should've never stayed for 5 nights. Imagine doing Vegas for 5 nights. You can't. 3 nights is max before your body breaks down. Everything you could want that leads a guy like me into trouble can be found in San Juan: gambling, liquor, women, clubs, pool/beach cocktails, sunshine, waves....

It was on the 4th day that my body just shut down. I had ordered two drinks up to that point by the pool and was having great conversation about plate tetonics and the science of noetics with a 4 year old child swimming next to me when I just wanted to upchuck. Thus, I did what any reasonable man would do - I went to the bar and ordered another drink. I was halfway through when, laying in the fetal position in my pool chair, I began thinking about death and how awful it must've been for Nicolas Cage in Leaving Las Vegas. That poor man.

I stumbled past the beautiful people, back into my room and slept for four hours until 10pm and still didn't feel well. So I got up, showered, poured myself a Red Bull Vodka and hit up the clubs. My mind and body didn't have to be in it with me, my heart would lead the way.

There would be repercussions. I got hooked up earlier - like a dog left at home with a new couch - when I was invited to a quaint party being thrown for Miami Heat guard Carlos Arroyo that was to be attended by Miguel Cotto, Felix Trinidad and countless beautiful Puerto Rican women. I'm talking maybe 100 people max and I slept through it. I'll give you the short version. I came back to the hotel from the bars at around 7am, saw the lights of the casino beckoning, and played until 11am. I went to bed until 10:30 pm, missing the event which ended at 11pm.

Truly, a tale of shame and degradation... if anyone had noticed.

Kevin A. Leu
February 16, 2010

R.I.P. Hunter S. Thompson.

The SVB Does Puerto Rico

Before I embark on my flight to Puerto Rico with no firm set date to return, I'd like to give a little shout-out to my Puerto Rican sponsors. While Nike, Coca-Cola, and McDonald's balked at the opportunity to tattoo me with their logos in exchange for a pair of shoes, one 12 pack, and a happy meal, The La Concha Renaissance and Mr. Joaquin Cruz were very generous in their offer to sponsor part of my trip.

In doing research for this blog (and more for my liver), I wanted to find a hotel that was on the beach. Not across from the beach. Not two blocks from the beach. But right on the beach. One of my favorite hotels and best experiences on a hotel beach (by my definition) was at the El Direa in Tamarindo, Costa Rica. I wanted that same experience of being able to stumble back into my hotel room with a red sun-burnt strip on my back without a worry or need to pack up any of my belongings. I also was looking for a vibrant, non-family focused hotel, where the decor was hip, and the morals of women were low. While that last part has yet to be determined, check out the pictures below of the hotel and you will see that it's simply the best hotel I found for all of my requirements.





I don't know about you, but I'm quite certain those ladies at the bar are the norm for that hotel. They wouldn't lie to me, would they? Anyhow, check out their website for better pictures. I couldn't find any better ones to steal off the internet and their site is in flash!

Anyhow, I'm off to test my body's limits. If you feel the need, call up the hotel and buy me a few drinks. I'm sure the bartenders by the pool will know my name within a few hours of my projectile vomiting.

I'll let you know how the hotel and Puerto Rico compare to my list of Top Single's Beaches in the world.

Sincerely,
Kevin
The SVB

How To Score With Women - The Enrique Way

There are few things that a common, average-looking man can do to woo a woman if you don’t have loads of cash to hire them to perform in your next music video. If that is your case, and your name is not Enrique Iglesias – listen up. Your life is about to change.

Enrique Iglesias, son of legendary ‘man-who-brought-latin-sexyback-to-the-states,’ Julio Iglesias, is the king. Filipino and Mexican, Enrique has mastered the art of the male seductive look. Sure, he hired Jennifer Love Hewitt and Anna Kournikova to star in his music videos – both of whom he promptly “dated” - but if it wasn’t for the ‘Enrique’ move, he would be just another hustler.

My friend, Chris, and I perfected the ‘Enrique’ starting in college while we were mere students of the art of seduction. While taking a latin ballroom dance class, (I know what you’re thinking, but just know that the ratio was 3 to 1, female to male, and that it has provided a lifetime of ‘artistic’ creativity), Chris and I would go on to master the moves of seduction – well, Chris somewhat comically. If you have ever watched an Enrique Iglesias video you will notice a move that he employs almost EVERY TIME. I’m not hating - it’s good. D*mn good!

Take notice of the screenshots below of various music videos.

Escape:



Bailamos:


Ring My Bells:



Rhythm Divine:


Hero:


Could I Have This Kiss Forever:



Be With You:



It’s the Enrique hand gesture. Allow me to explain. You use your index and pinky finger to point at the woman of you dreams (each night) on the dance floor and you motion her over into your tractor beam that we like to call the ‘Enrique’. Once she, inevitably, comes over – you look away, somewhat embarrassed, but rather it’s a look of deep, complicated masculinity with a touch of erotic passion, and then you look back at her and use the ‘Enrique’ to lightly grace her face. This is when she melts into the gaze of your mysterious eyes. (Or in my case, the drunken, blacked-out, glossed over eyes.)

Below is a step-by-step guide.

Step 1 - You start with the non-chalant look-away:


Step 2 - Then you follow that up with a dramatic, somewhat pained 'Enrique' towards the woman you yearn for.


Step 3 - These pictures are x-rated and aren't suitable to print. Let's just say there would be a pile of clothes leading to the bed. (And in my case, a look of unfulfilled disappointment from the targeted female.)

Well, now that I have shared with you the secrets of courtship, go out and try the move for yourself. You'll see. No words are ever necessary when employing this move. It goes from 'move' to bedroom. 60% of the time, it works every time.

Sincerely,
Kevin
The SVB

How To Tell When You're Cock-Blocking

Please accept my apologies for the crude language. I prefer using the word "penis" as to "cock", but when something is commonly and universally known under that moniker, the SVB must conform - at least on this one. Well, now that I've managed to stay classy and have safe-guarded myself from judgement - cock blockers commonly come in the form of large and/or unnattractive women and idiotic and/or unnattractive male friends.

Let's start with female cock-blockers. These women typically are not getting any play, thus they don't want anyone else to have any fun. They will make their presence known by crossing their arms and giving unfiltered scornful looks at said friend who is trying to meet new people. Male, (me), will try and win over large friend with offers of late night Jack in the Box and warm smiles that say, "I have taken part in Big Brothers/Big Sisters and have donated to relief efforts across the globe and I will totally still respect your friend in the morning." Sadly, these cock-blockers are probably right in not allowing their friends to go home with an Ed Hardy-wearing douchebag (not me).

Now let's move onto male cock-blockers. I despise the guys who don't know you and do this on purpose, but some guys just don't have any game. I will tell you one of the biggest cock-blocking moments of my life later in this post, thus forcing you to read on, but also so I can identify male cock-blockers for you first. Male cock-blockers try to eliminate you from the mix so that they can move in on said woman. Male cock-blockers can sometimes also just be naive. They linger too long when it's obvious the ratio has suddenly turned to 2 guys/1 girl, or they say something that will totally ruin your game. I once had a coworker who said to a girl I was talking to, "hey, did you tell her you live with your Mom yet?" Granted, he did this on purpose and it was funny, and I had in fact been living back at home for a short time, but you get the point.

So here are some tips on avoiding being that cock-blocker:

1. GET A LIFE!

2. Don't hate the guy - hate your lack of game.

3. If for some reason a girl goes home with your buddy and you are crashing at your buddy's house or in the same hotel room, at some point, leave the room! Say something like: "I gotta take this call. I'll be back in 2 hours." Or, "I gotta go work on my doctoral thesis, and I do this best, drunk and at 3am. I shall now retire to my room for the night and put in my ear plugs. Feel free to talk 'loudly'."

4. If you know you're not going to get any and a buddy has a very good shot - say things that will help him out. "My friend would never tell you this, but he cried during The Notebook." (Actually, that may or may not help.) Or, "My friend is humble, but you should know that he has many leather-bound books, and his place smells of rich mahogany."

5. If someone has trumped you, who cares? Respect the game. There are plenty of women in the sea! Well, not in Man Jose, but that is another story that my psychiatrist hears often.

On that last point, I will now tell you my top cock-blocking story ever. This happened one New Year's Eve and nearly ruined my night. I had met these 3 beautiful gals, who one of them was most definitely going to start a beautiful relationship with me. We met this other couple and the couple had an Australian guy with them who could not compare to my powerful physique and striking features. The guy is interested in the gal I had just met. I am not the least bit threatened. We all party it up and then decide to hop to another bar nearby. I question whether we can get in considering it's 11:15pm and the line is alway ridiculously long there. The women give me this look of, "have you seen the way we look?" And I quickly shut up. As we get to the bar, the line is ridiculous and sure enough, the women do their talking to the bouncer and gets our group in. Like any gentleman, I always let everyone go before me and everyone begins to file inside one at a time. The Australian is the next to last guy to go in and the bouncer asks him: "where does this group end?"

Australian: "It ends with me."

Me: "No, I'm with this group."

Australian: "No he's not."

And then he walks into the club. The bouncer re-locks the velvet rope. I am completely shell-shocked and then immediately furious. The bouncer tells me I have to get in the line that stretches around the block. I begin to try and think out of my fury, and decide to offer the bouncer $40 so that I can go in and sock this Australian in his face. The bouncer does not accept my bribe. I consider upping the offer to $60, but I think how silly that is to pay, just to immediately get dragged back out by the bouncers - on New Year's Eve, nonetheless. Finally, I decide not to let the biggest cock-blocker I have ever met ruin my night. I go to another bar and end up kissing an ugly gal on New Year's. This story still bothers me. I hope to one day see this guy on the streets.

Anyhow, don't cock-block, live your life, be happy drunks, and you'll live a lot longer! Well... at least until you're 31.

Sincerely,
Kevin
The SVB

The SVB is Back and Better Than Ever!

After a short time away from my blog, a few psychiatric counseling sessions, and lots of alcoholic blackouts, I'd like to announce my official return as a full-time blogger and philanderer. As many of you may or may not know, I have been heavily weighed down for quite some time. But. now. I'm. BACK! This last weekend I noticed things I hadn't for quite some time. Like birds chirping, pedestrians walking on the streets, traffic signals, parts of the female anatomy - like eyes (who knew they had them!), and personal hygiene. I am truly at peace and thankful for all the wonderful friends and family I have in my life. Thank you for being there, particularly when finding me in a voluminous mass of my own vomit.

As you get back to fervently reading my blog and constantly salivating for the next post, I will do my best to disappoint you at every turn. You will shake your head and possibly throw up in your mouth a little bit at the regression of an adult male who has neither matured or gained any knowledge from his irresponsible life experiences.


FYI: I am still seeking counseling, but my psychiatrist is not hot like the lady on The Sopranos. He is old, about 80, and he asks me whether I would like to inflict physical violence on every person that I bring up in my life stories. Apparently, I am still a ways to go before I reach the mental aptitude of a 7 year old. But the good news is I was able to fit the 4 shapes into their right spaces on the block in a tad bit under 3 hours.

Next week I will attempt to color inside the lines.

Thank you,
Kevin