Arrrgh

I know I know. We’re the worst bloggers ever. We agree. Let’s just move past it, ok?

We passed a big milestone since the last time we posted. One full year in NYC, as of September 20th. We made it alive.

We decided to celebrate the one-year anniversary by dressing like pirates and cruising around the southern tip of Manhattan on a modified pirate ship. You know, for International Talk like a Pirate Day.

What? You’ve never heard of ITLAPD? The day that pirates gained their independence? The day that the pirate prophet was born? The holiday that all Somali pirates consider amateur night at the pirate bars?

Truth is, ITLAPD is a joke holiday started by two Oregonians in the mid 90’s, and was promoted by humor columnist Dave Barry (thank you Wikipedia). It was also roundly promoted by our friend Danny Thomases, who so enjoyed bar hopping around Greenwich Village in a pirate costume that he turned to his fellow pirates and growled, “Arrggh ye milksops, cock yer hat athwart my hawse and have a care of the lee-latch.”

Which is pirate for, “Let’s rent a pirate boat, invite all our friends, make everyone dress like pirates, and get loaded.” And so it was.

We weren’t totally sold at first, but when our friends with two kids told us they were going, we had no excuse. Plus, as it turns out, trannies and crazy people had it right all along: shopping for costumes when it’s not Halloween is completely awesome. Empty stores, abundant selections, attentive employees. I think I’m gonna start doing all my Halloween costume shopping in mid-September.

We didn’t go too crazy, since pirate costumes aren’t exactly appreciating investments. But I think we did well enough. Let me just add that Crissy’s do-rag is absolutely authentic, and was not purchased in the costume section. The picture of the super pissed off black dude on the packaging is targeting a very specific demographic that, thankfully, my wife does not fall under.

We ended up having a really incredible time. The weather was gorgeous, the number of people on the boat was perfect, and there were just the right amount of sloppy drunks to provide entertainment: 3 by my count, including one girl who fell flat on her face 30 seconds after complaining about the lack of tequila variety.

The party was so fun, in fact, that I have little recollection of how we got home. Crissy’s memory of the end of the night is equally hazy, though she remembers enough detail to know that we didn’t get mugged on the way home, which meant that my pounding skull was completely self-induced.