Lamenting The Lack Of Spring Break Woes And Conquests

Melanie Iglesias and the “Guy Code” crew return for a Spring Break Survival Guide that’s sure to get people thinking — good or bad — about the wildest time in one’s life.

Get More: Guy Code, Full Episodes


Nothing can make you reach for a bottle of antidepressants faster than regret. One of my biggest regrets in life (and I have many) was never going on spring break.

Before you dismiss this story as one of complete despair, keep in mind the following topics will be discussed later: MTV, Fat Joe, Maroon 5, the NCAA tournament, getting drunk near a golf driving range, shitty music videos and ripping shorts near the nether region.

Although this is spring break time right now, I hadn’t given this adventurous moment much thought during the past few years. Until last night’s “Guy Code” special.

“Guy Code Spring Break Survival Guide” premiered last night and all of a sudden I was in dire need of Zoloft. Once again, MTV has scored with an exciting show that garners good ratings.

Check It Out, Bro

Where to watch: MTV2

When to watch: Check local listings

And why not? “Guy Code” features superhotties Melanie Iglesias, April Rose, Alesha Reneé and other beauties who give their two cents about what’s right and what’s wrong among the boys. Funny dudes and semi-recognizable TV personalities chime in for the guys’ perspective.

The topics are relatable; guys have gone through them and girls have seen them (or been a part of them when it comes to relationships, hooking up or living with a dude).

Sadly, last night’s special was not relatable. At least for me. Like spring breaks in the past, I had to live vicariously through MTV.

In all my years of living there have been no beaches, no sunburn, no throwing up, no skullduggery during the months of March and early April. I don’t even have a passport.

Remember those MTV spring break specials? Those were my beach moments minus the sloshy feeling in my stomach and ears ringing from club-banging music.

Who can forget Fat Joe and Ashanti’s performance of “What’s Luv?” Fat Joe, whose name is completely appropriate, had the balls to walk on stage in a towel and jean shorts, muffin topping that denim in ways that should never be witnessed. The towel cleverly disguised his tits (man-boobs would be too nice, those suckers needed a bra, or better yet, a bro), while his jeans were so low, the muffin top evolved into a split muffin with some asscrack and sadly, some frontal hip, in plain view, fat spilling out like vomit from a drunken freshman.



Fat Joe had some stones coming out dressed like that. Despite the wardrobe malfunction, he looked like he had a great time, as did the audience.

Thanks to MTV, I watched spring break fun.

One year, spring break was so particularly sad, the biggest kick I had was discovering Maroon 5’s “This Love” music video.

Poor Mexicans who attend private colleges don’t leave for spring break, they stay home and watch “This Love” as often as possible, eager to explain to his classmates Maroon 5’s unique sound and MTV’s choice of censoring Adam Levine’s “sex scenes” with strange looking flowers.



Speaking of Levine and his music video co-star, would someone offer them a fucking cheeseburger or something, they look so thin, ribs could seriously break at certain sex angles.

When we all came back from spring break, not only did my classmates look refreshed from their various adventures across the country and in other countries, they mocked me for A) not knowing of Maroon 5 yet and B) actually enjoying their music.

Damn it.

One year, I worked a shitty desk job for an entire week rather than the two or three days per week I usually did. You know how I got those extra shifts? Other people weren’t coming in because they were going on spring break.

Fuck.

Another year I had to keep a close eye on the NCAA tournament since I was a hot shit sports editor. It wasn’t bad, during those off days of the tournament I chilled, watching TV while catching up on sleep.

The highlight of this spring break was a phone call I received at around midnight from this girl I had a big crush on.

Oh, the thrill!

What did she have to talk about at such a time?

Thoughts filled my head, butterflies wanted to spew chunks from my stomach, breathing became rushed.

She had a work emergency. She asked for my advice. That was it.

Fuckin’ a.

Although I never had one of those knock-‘em-out, drag-em-out spring break trips, the benefit of having random days off comes in handy.

Some time ago, a random Friday during spring break turned into an all-day extravaganza. After a late-morning workout, a couple of my friends wanted to go to the driving range and blast some golf balls.

I hadn’t showered yet. “Don’t worry about it,” they said.

They picked me up, we got three big buckets of golf balls and swung away. We brought some beers to quench our thirst. This driving session evolved into shit talking, hitting the golf balls outside of the range into the parking lot and onto the course, and finally, a stop at the club spot for happy hour.

Happy hour was great, no dress code, moderately priced drinks, and endless finger food. I was still in my gym T-shirt and shorts, hadn’t eaten lunch and felt dehydrated from lack of water and too much alcohol.

The entertainment consisted of bumpin’ tunes with their music videos playing on washed-out flat screen TVs. There were also ladies there, emphasis on ladies, older women who might have eventually been good enough to go home with after more than a few drinks.

One of the music videos that stood out to me was Lime’s “Babe, We’re Gonna Love Tonight,” a 1985 dance hit that you’ll hear at weddings, house parties in which a DJ chooses the cuts, and, on occasion, clubs during the throwback portion of the night.

I was honestly shocked as to how shitty this music video was. I knew it was 1985, but fuck, it looked like something I could have made in my backyard with a green screen computer — don’t forget the giant floppy disc of “Oregon Trail.”



For such a good song you’d think there would be more production value. The effects were lowbrow at best, check out the 2:25 mark of the vid. Five stars jutting back and forth from the singing duo, I mean, what does that symbolize? Were they smocking fucking crack, who thought this would be a good idea?

Did an 8-year-old girl direct this thing? “Yeah, mommy, stars, yes, that’s right. Oh, and don’t forget the neon colors throughout the whole thing. I want it to resemble the 64 count of Crayola crayons I use at school.”

We made our way home after the Driving Range-Happy Hour Extravaganza. There were plans to go out that night, but for some reason, one of my friends who went to the extravaganza had the smarts to eat three hamburgers for dinner.

The combination of dead cow, heat stroke and drinking caused him to throw up something fierce that night.

Even my friend had a vomitous spring break fun experience and to this day, I still haven’t.

Shit.

I do remember getting owned one year when I was in junior high because of a desire to play semi-indoor basketball. My friends and I wanted to play ball at this school that was closed for spring break. A roof enclosed its basketball courts, but it was still outdoors. All we had to do was climb a fence.

Fences and I don’t get along. My buddies helped me up, we got some games in, but getting out of the school proved to be a mission. One in which I fumbled. On the way over the top of the fence, my shorts got stuck, ripped almost down the middle, causing me to feel a very obvious draft in a spot I didn’t want to feel.

A gaping hole in my shorts around my inner thigh. Great. Now my tighty whities were exposed. At least those weren’t torn, that would have been really embarrassing.

Not that walking a couple of blocks with underwear peeking through wasn’t enough to make me red faced.

I guess I have experienced some adventures during my spring break “vacations.” I won’t reach for Cymbalta any time soon, but as long as “Guy Code” is around to remind me of what I’ve missed out on, despair is just a memory (or lack of one) away.

I conclude this story with a commercial I’ve always found funny. If you were ever depressed, the comedy of this antidepressant commercial will pep you up anytime. Sorry if you’ve ever been depressed or taken Zoloft, but this is comedy gold right here.



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