My brother, RKsoPitted

My twenty-six-year-old brother's Twitter name is "RKsoPitted." I am not sure what that means, but I do know that it says a lot about him.


Rob called me at 6 p.m. last night. I was still at work. It was Friday, so I assumed he was an hour into a happy hour, on his way to a "sick" concert, had just discovered some "crazy" article online, aced a big test ("ballin'"), or was stopping at his D.C. home to get ready for a book party that someone he knew just happened to be throwing.


But he was actually on a train to NYC and would be pulling into Penn Station at 8:30 p.m. Of course he was. One of his best friends (from kindergarten) was celebrating his birthday. I don't know anyone who has more friends than Rob, or more friends in more places. If Rob were to take a map and stick pins into all the cities where he currently has friends living, the world would be littered. But, I digress...the interesting part wasn't that Rob was coming to NYC for his friend's birthday or that he was calling me when he was a couple of hours away to see if I wanted to meet up. The interesting part was that his return ticket to D.C. had him leaving NYC at 5:45 a.m. on Saturday.


"Are you kidding, Rob. Why are you leaving at 5:45 in the morning?"


"Well, we're having a party at my house tomorrow night. And I need to be there."


Of course, his house (think frat guys, but the charming, hilarious kind who cook gourmet lunches to accompany beer pong games, name the raccoon living in their background, and who cannot really relax unless everyone in their sight is having a good time) was having a party tomorrow. And of course he needed to be there in the morning. There were probably ribs to be slow cooked.


I did meet up with Rob at McSorley's, an Irish bar where they serve "light" or "dark" and there is no room to move and no music but it's so loud you can barely hear anyone, anyway. Rob and a crew of his friends—one of whom I had never met, but who told me several times throughout the night that he was Rob's best friend—were posted up/squashed into a small table in the corner. I (barely) made my way over to the corner table, with my tight, puffy jacket pushed up against the back of the bar. (My brother reminded me that I was not Gloria Estefan. Thanks, Rob.) My friend, Steve, sans puffy jacket, also made it into this small space by the bar with me. There was little hope for my 6'4" (his one redeeming quality—just kidding, babe) boyfriend.


But soon Rob and one of the server's—an Irish man with a thick accent and white hair, who I swear can hold more than 20 mugs in his hands at a time—are cursing back and forth at each other like they are old, Irish friends.


Server: "You f*ng said you were going to have 5 friends. Now, look at all of you."
Rob: "Well get us a f*ng bigger table."
Server: "It's not my fault you're so f*ng popular."


And a few minutes later, the server was clearing off a big, round table for us, and holding his arms out against the hungry drunks trying to sit down at it. Rob hugged one of the women, who looked to be in her mid fifties, as she left the table that we were now being given. From the bits of their conversation (yes, they had a conversation) that I overheard, it sounded like they knew each other. But maybe Rob was just thankful she was giving up her table. So thankful that he ordered 20 lights and 20 darks for the eight of us.


Then Rob got to work trying to convince everyone to take the 5:45 a.m. train to D.C. with him. By the way Steve's face lit up, I was a little worried that he was going to be convinced. Steve did buy a plane ticket to Seattle last Friday night while in a bar, via his iPhone. Mostly I was worried, though, because I didn't want Rob convincing anyone to buy a 5:45 a.m. ticket to D.C. because I was worried that Rob wouldn't actually be getting on that train.


Rob: "No, I'm going. If I get on that train, I get $1,500."


Me: "And how does that work?"


Rob: "Three of my friends are betting against it. They each owe me $500 if I make it."


Me: "And they're really going to pay you?"


Rob: "Hell yeah."


I left McSorley's a little after midnight. As curious as I was to see if Rob would make his train and if his friends would give him $1500, I decided that I was a little too tired to spend the next five hours in a bar, and definitely too tired (and sane) to get on that train with him.


Sometimes, with Rob, you just have to wait and see what happens.