Saturday, December 26

Resolutions Schmesolutions

Yesterday was Christmas and a very merry one at that. It has changed a lot since Brother and I were younger. Mother no longer has to tell us not to get up before the sun and we no longer hide alarm clocks under our pillows to keep us from “over sleeping.” It’s less magical, but more full of extended contentedness. And wine. And vodka and club soda (my new drink, thanks to my Godmother). And cussing.

Now that “Jesus’ birthday” (it’s not actually Jesus’ birthday, it is conveniently timed with a Pagan holiday) is over, New Year’s is quickly approaching. With a little bit of luck and planning I’ll be spending the Eve in a beach house with Coco, Green Bean, Twin, Mr.

Milley*, and a few other friends. If those plans pan out I probably

even know what I’m wearing—either the same thing I wore for

The Date or something utilizing my new black, suede, over-the-knee boots (if I can rock them without looking trashy/short/pirate-like). I’ll be drinking champagne, maybe vodka and club soda once that runs out. I may even make some classy hor d’oeuvres for the occasion. The Eve isn’t a problem, like it normally is. That’s in the bag.

What is the problem are my resolutions. I recently read, though I’m not sure where, that New Year’s resolutions are simply ways to put off things you could do tomorrow. I stand behind that stance most months of the year. But this close to the line in the sand I see nothing wrong with waiting a few extra days. To me, that doesn’t mean I should do the exact opposite of my resolutions, but I will get more serious once the magical hour strikes.

I don’t remember the last time that I really made resolutions that I actually fully acknowledged and worked towards achieving. This year is going to be different. I’ve already made so many changes and improved so much, what’s a few more goals? I haven’t really come up with these resolutions yet, but I’m working on them.

Here’s what I’ve got so far:

Approaching eating and exercising from a health, not appearance mindset. A sub goal of that will be to participate in either the Susan G. Koman 3-day 60-mile breast cancer walk or the Avon Foundation 2-day 39-mile walk. Both are worthwhile events, it just depends on who does it with me and how ambitious we are when we start training.

Read more non-required readings.

Learn to cook meat. For some reason, despite my great love for a big slab-o-meat, I never really cook it. I just can’t ever tell when it’s done cooking.

That’s all I’ve got so far. I’m sure I’ll think of better or different ones in the coming days. In the meantime, I’ll just eat more baked goods (chocolate biscotti, thumbprints, stollen, oh my!) and read more of my latest pleasure reading—One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez (ignore the Oprah's Book Club stamp). I highly recommend all of those things.

*Mr. Milley-formerly known as Mark. It appears that due to a good report from Twin after our last encounter he's going to be a recurring figure in my life, so I figured I'd give him a name.

Wednesday, December 23

All Get Out, a review

There was nothing too unusual about this particular night at Café 567. It was a little colder than normal and a Christmas tree filled one of the front windows, but the crowd was the same, all huddled outside to smoke cigarettes and wait for the highlight of their night—All Get Out.

Over the past two years the Charleston, SC based band has become a staple in Macon. Their near-constant touring always seems to bring them through the MacTown, as guitarist Mel Washington learned it is called, where they’ve cultivated a large and dedicated fan base, due entirely to their less than typical rock star attitudes. Nothing demonstrated the close relationship between band and town better than the giant group Christmas photo lead singer Nathan Hussy requested the crowd’s presence for after their set, which was more amazing than usual.

After recently spending time in Atlanta recording their first full length album, Nate’s voice was hoarse. The crowd, including myself, didn’t seem to mind because they only began to sing louder, per Nate’s request. This was more than likely the last time AGO would be exclusively playing their old songs as well as their last show of the year, which gave them full license to play around with the songs everyone had become so familiar with. Nobody minded the variations, which included even more emotion packed screams from Nate despite his nearly inaudible voice.

If you have seen these wonderful men play in the past, or ever get a chance to see them, I suggest watching the drummer, Gordon Kiefer. The first time I saw them play he at one point stepped away from the drums, curled up in a corner and appeared to be sleeping. He later laid face up on his bass drum. Over the months he has toned down his on stage antics, but he seemed to dust them off for this show, where he started off by roaming around his drums and again appeared to be asleep for a brief time. Another thing you would have noticed if you paid careful attention to each member was Mel’s pained expression during “Come My Way,” specifically at the beginning when singing about the companionship of a dog. I attribute that to the recent death of his Yorkie, Princess. He recovered quickly, though, by channeling that emotion into one of the next songs—Lucky Bastard, my personal favorite.

The show, which was full of witty and familiar banter between everyone in the band except Gordon, who never gets a microphone, and the crowd, concluded with the ultimate form of bonding and show of trust—bassist Mike Rogers crowd surfing. While some people jumped at the chance to catch and support Mike, others, like myself, ran at the thought possibly dropping him. I’m sure he understood.

This show was the perfect way to begin my Christmas break. I’m now left eagerly anticipating their next show and the release of their album. I’m sure neither will disappoint.

Tuesday, December 22

Happy Merry

I’ve been home a few days and to say it hasn’t required quite an adjustment would be a lie. It’s not so much that I dislike being home, but that I have to readjust to living with other people who’s needs, desires and actions affect mine. It’s certainly strange.

Luckily I’ve had a few things to occupy my time.

I’ve jumped into the kitchen with both feet and plenty of flour. And thanks to Mother’s favorite new kitchen addition—a TV—I’ve made it my sanctuary. Already I’ve baked sugar cookies, buttery almond cookies and iced Mother’s gingerbread cookies. I was even able to set some dough aside for when Father and co (this time including their new dog, Toby) come into town. Yesterday Coco and I spent a good deal of time melting chocolate and dipping gummy bears, almonds, and cashews into it. It created quite a delicious concoction.

I’ve been spending a bit of time with Adult. From all of our bonding time I’ve come to a glorious conclusion—I completely and totally took him for granted before. When we were dating I was a semi-horrible girlfriend/person because I thought he would always be there and that I was more important to him than he was to me. Talk about conceited bitch. Well, I now realize that while we’re almost definitely not meant to be romantically involved, he’s one of my dearest friends. And it’s not that I adore him, because adoration is a novelty and doesn’t always develop beyond that. I really and truly care about him and enjoy spending time with him.

Another thing that has brightened my spirits is a visit and show by one of my favorite bands and favorite people—All Get Out. They played in town on Sunday night, their last show for the year, and it was amazing! (A review will be coming soon)

^Can you find me?^

Correction: Their set was amazing. Everything else left a lot to be desired. That, I think, was the most pleasant surprise I’ve gotten thus far. That scene—the music scene in my Dirty Dirty town—used to be my scene. I loved it. I knew the people who created the scene; I knew a lot of the bands; I knew a lot of the crowd. I thought that was where I belonged and missed it when I moved up and out. Being back at this show, though, showed me the error of my thinking and clarified just how much I’ve changed. Despite the fact that I knew a large handful of people there, I didn’t want to talk to them. The large crowd and omnipresent cloud of cigarette smoke annoyed me. I had no interest in the opening bands or trying to get to the front for all of them. I was there to see All Get Out and that’s all I really wanted to do. Luckily, it seemed Coco felt the same way and we stuck together while Twin ran around with her jailbait high school posse.

I’m so glad I’ve matured past the point those kids are at.

And I’m so glad that tomorrow at 10am I’ll be sitting at the airport because I am city bound and glory be. (An altered quote from Kevin Devine—educate yourself).

Yes, that’s right. This big apple baby is once again making her annual pilgrimage “home”. Because both Parents’ families still live up in Yankeeville (Long Island, NY) we spend Winter Holiday (political correctness!) up there, where I happily and greedily soak up the accent, pastries, pizza and driving techniques. Mother might not be fond of the “harsh” New York culture, but I love it. I also love seeing my family because most of them seem like overdone parodies as opposed to real people. Example: Father’s father wears unbuttoned silk shirts to expose his chest hair and gold chains, a gold and diamond horse head pinky ring, he invents and uses racial and homophobic slurs, recently moved to Florida and dates multiple women at once. Mother’s youngest sister bought the second youngest sister’s son real, legit for shit numchucks. He’s maybe 8 and they’re illegal in New York. I could go on, but I have far too large of a family for that. Moral of the story—they’re crazy and I love them.

And I love Beastie Boys, who are now coming from my stereo. So, I’m leaving you for them. I apologize, but you understand.

Happy Merry.

Friday, December 18

End of a Semester

Finals ended yesterday. I studied for 5 hours straight, 10 hours total for my thoroughly antiquated art history exam. All of that stress and time in hopes of attaining the unobtainable—a 4.0 first semester of freshman year. This is the semester that’s supposed to destroy a person’s GPA; dig a hole they’re trying to climb out of the rest of their college careers. Will I get it?

At 10 o’clock yesterday when I walked back into my room after the test I sure as hell didn’t give a fuck. All I cared about was my flask and some Animal Collective. (I’ll let you know when I find out.)

From there, Roomie-Dearest and I reminisced over a bottle of pink champagne and pastries from Fresh Market. After a time of that Westchester came over and together we ventured over to Big Baby’s for, what he described as, some “festive day drinking.”

You had me at “festive,” says the girl craving Christmas.

It was a lovely time, which included a lost game of pong, a few pouches of fruit snacks and a date invitation from Dustin*. I, of course, said no, but it was nice to be asked.

From there Crazy** and Country accompanied Roomie and me back to our abode for a game of Kings*** and general noise making. The three of them eventually departed for some greener pastures, while I traipsed over to the Minimalist’s for a “nap”. By nap, I of course mean some lovin’. I would have been thoroughly content to lay in his bed naked until I had to get up this morning, but he had other plans. We spent some time gathered in DeVirgin’s place with a large collection of other people, most of who will be abroad for the spring.

Despite the relatively early hour, I was a zombie thanks to the perfect storm of a 6:45 wake-up call, exam and marathon drinking. So much so that when we “finally” returned to the Minimalist’s apartment I fell fast asleep on his shoulder. He woke me up so I could walk to his room, undress and both of us could cuddle up under the covers. We woke up this morning still cuddling. It was almost nauseatingly cute, especially for us.

The annoying ringing of one of my many, varying alarms interrupted the nausea to remind me that I didn’t do any of the packing I had planned to yesterday. That meant I had to pack, load my car and hug g’bye to the girls in less than 2 hours and you better believe I did it, with enough time to spare to be able to find myself, once again, in my favorite bed.

After a while I was on the road like Kerouac, driving through the first snow of the year and singing loudly to my favorite of all mixes (made by Twin). Besides a little bit of expected traffic and realizing I left my wallet in my room not to be seen till January, the 8 hours of me-time wasn’t half bad.

I got home just in time for some warm food, a cold beer and chocolate ice cream with Twin. And tomorrow, I get to spend a few luxurious hours grocery shopping and taking full advantage of a real kitchen.

Happy Merry!

*Dustin-his name isn’t Dustin, but he looks like it could be. He’s a really nice rugglet.

**Crazy-Cesar’s slightly-unhinged, but super sweet girlfriend.

***Kings-a drinking game involving a circle of cards. Also known as Ring of Fire or Circle of Death.

Friday, December 11

First Date?

Are you ready to be amazed? I mean, really amazed? Yes? Okay, hold on to your seats, pants, genitals, etc…
I went on a date last night. A real, legit for shit date. With the Minimalist.
Is that a look of shocked disbelief on your face? No, this is not a sign of the apocalypse.
A week or so ago I had gotten up the liquid courage to ask him on a non-descript date for sometime in the future. He agreed with no hesitation at all. Then on Sunday, as I was giving him a back massage after I played several games of touch, he asked if I liked Thai food and if I was free this week. I said yes to both and our non-descript date for sometime in the future turned into a descript date in the very near future. After a couple of texts yesterday, it was officially set: he was to pick me up from my room at 7:30.
Of course, Westchester and Roomie-Dearest began acting like it was prom, talking about my hair and threatening to take pictures. I, on the other hand, was cool as a cucumber, mainly because I already knew what I was going to wear.
Over fall break, in a random act of extreme bonding with Sister, I went to one of my absolute favorite stores—H&M. There I found the most amazing dress—black, V-neck, exposed zipper all the way down the front, hugs my curves in all the right places, and only $25. Score one for me! I bought it, vowing not to wear it at school until I went on my first college date. Several months later that day finally arrived and that dress, paired with macramé pink stocking and black flats, was perfect.
The Minimalist arrived, fifteen minutes late and looking amazing in jeans, Converse, a blue button-down and his favorite pinstripe blazer, and we left without a single picture being snapped. From there we ventured to a lovely little Thai place where we ate our fill of super delicious food:
Steamed pork dumplings as an appetizer, spicy chicken and green beans with the perfect amount of spice and a very good chicken to bean ratio for me and spicy mint beef for him. So damn tasty.
After dinner we headed over to his place where a crowd of people were gathered and gathering, all of who made a big deal out of our first date. He kept telling people that I’d been putting out for months so he figured he owed me dinner. While that statement is completely true, I wasn’t the only one who could see through his nonchalant attitude. Needless to say, I got several hi-fives for, as Cesar put it, winning.
You’re damn right I won!
We hung out there for a while, watched the season finale of It’s Always Sunny, Cesar interrogated me on my sex life, and it was lovely. My night ended with a g’night kiss when he went off to play pong and I returned to my room, thoroughly exhausted and satisfied.
Does this mean him and I are actually dating?

Monday, December 7

Craving Christmas

Hello, stranger. Long time no speak. How’s the family?

Oh, mine is doing well. My brother has infected lymph nodes. I think I have an ear infection. Sister is sick, as well. She emailed me about it, which is weird. She just got an email address and emails me random things. I didn’t have an email address when I was 8, but that was a long time ago and I guess times have changed. Have you been keeping busy?

I’ve been pretty busy, too. The fall rugby season ended with a all out bash with my ruggirls, complete with jungle juice, and a frigid co-ed touch tournament, where a few people got a little too intense. The tournament was followed by me drinking on a Sunday afternoon with some friends and getting some good tipsy bonding time with my man. I went to a “formal” Friday night and got skeezed on twice Saturday. Most of my peers are pulling their hair out and memorizing the library’s hours in preparation for finals. I, on the other hand, am having a relatively easy time of it. With only one actual final, a take-home final and two brief and briefer papers to write, I’m on easy street compared to most. Call it luck of (screwing) the Irish or a wonderful dose of karmic payback, but I’m loving things right now.

Well, not all things. Maybe this is part of growing up or being away from home with all of its decorations and abilities to create the delicious baked good I keep reading about, but I’m just not in the Christmas spirit. The only thing that has really been able to put me in the mood was the handful of trips I’ve made to the mall, which is thoroughly decked out in red, green and gold (and has been since at least November 1st). But now my Christmas shopping is done, my friends’ shopping is done, I’ve filled my Salvation Army stocking, bought all the wrapping supplies I need and finished writing my holiday budget advice article for the paper.

I, once again, almost can’t wait to go home in 11 days. The Minimalist may even be with me, which should make for an interesting few days. And in 16 days I’ll once again be in New York, eating Italian pastries, slices, and soaking up the accent.

Until then, what is a girl to do when she’s craving Christmas?

Send your own ElfYourself eCards

Send your own ElfYourself eCards

Sunday, November 29

The Prodigal Daughter Returns

This past week was Thanksgiving, which warranted my first trip home since moving out August 18th. In the two weeks leading up to the return of the prodigal daughter I was filled with a strange sense of excitement. After dreaming for years of leaving and never going back, after planning to not go back until Christmas break, I was perplexed about my excitement. Whatever the cause, though, Tuesday couldn’t come soon enough for me.

The day came and I said a “quick” good-bye to the Minimalist before jumping into my seat between a fat man who snored and the bathroom on the tiny, toy airplane. Through the flight I felt every bit the college student as I worked tirelessly on my MacBook doing homework.

Twin picked me up from the airport and on the way home I tried smoking my first cigarette since before pneumonia (a menthol-complete fail) and Twin made one of her patented illegal U-turns. Once in town we met up with Coco at Starfucks and everything felt exactly the same.

Then I went home, where quite a bit was different. Including, but not limited to: the layout of my room, the color of parts of my bathroom walls (due to massive amounts mold growing behind them), the smell of my portion of the house (again, due to the mold) and the arrangements of cars in the garage (it seems Mother’s “fiancé” has taken over the dominant spot). Brother and his girlfriend, Sorority Sister, arrived a little later and the fun began from there.

Allow me to explain something—Brother and I are ridiculously alike. People say we look alike. We talk alike. We dance alike. We act pretty damn similar when drunk. We really have come a long way from that time a babysitter said seeing us fight was the best form of birth control. So needless to say, it was amazing seeing him.

Wednesday I made Mother a belated birthday lunch (spicy chicken wraps and orange essence rice), complete with champagne. And we revitalized a family tradition by driving through bum-fuck towns for 2 hours to sit in a freezing cold trolley and ride through 3 miles of Christmas lights. It was much better than it sounds.

Thursday was D-day. The D stands for: digestive problems, dinner, diet disaster, etc. I woke up early, mashed far too many sweet potatoes (with orange essence) and trekked over to Papa’s, where I showered because I refused to shower in that mold box again. Eventually, we headed over to Stepmother’s parents’ house where 4 generations of Southerners gathered and ate food full of lard. I stuck with the green beans and turkey.

Friday came and was by far the most stressful of all days. With homework left to finish, belongings spread between two houses, Christmas decorating to refuse to do, a 3:45am wake up call to get Brother, SS and I to the big city early enough to get amazing deals, cookie dough to assemble, and a visit I promised to Adult*, I had no time to spare. Surprisingly, by 1pm I had only 3 things left to do, which was a perfect excuse to take a Starfucks break with Coco. It was lovely. I smoked a whole cigarette, we talked about Christmas plans, and she oh-so-delicately and politely shared her less than favorable views on the Minimalist. When it came time for her to babysit I returned home to…you guessed it…do more homework.

Twin picked me up around 10pm and we sped over to Mother’s to make roll out some cookie dough and get my clothes. That left me with one thing left on my list—a visit to Adult. We arrived at his apartment (which I was yet to see) and quickly got down to playing Jenga, the drinking game (I had never seen him drink) and watching his cat climb up and down a ladder. At some point, a mutual friend came over and I tried to tackle Adult in the backyard. Twin eventually had to leave, which left the two of us alone.

And suddenly, it was 7am and I was being woken up by his cat climbing on me.

What? Gasp! That whore! Once a cheater always a cheater.

I know, right. Stupid biddy.

No, nothing happened. We had a very in-depth conversation, I offered to bare his children, one or both of us cried and I reverted to the logic of a 5 year old at times. It was great fun. Adult drove me home, I snuck in and Papa isn’t the wiser.

A few hours later I was boarding another tiny, toy plane bound for my new home with mixed feelings about a lot of things. Mainly I was thinking about how it felt like nothing had changed, how I hadn’t changed and that my old town would always be my town and part of me. There were a couple of other things rattling around in my head, including a massive headache/hangover, but those things are for another time. Upon returning to my mold-free box, I slept. And I woke up and hung out with some friends. And I ate. And I slept some more.

And now I’m awake, and fed, and headache free, and procrastinating, and avoiding what’s left rattling around in my head, and missing the Minimalist (who doesn’t return until tomorrow).

And now I’m saying g’bye.

*Adult-the only ex that I’m actually friends with.

Sunday, November 22

Perfect Before a Pause.

This weekend has been perfect. Better than perfect. Amazing. Really just what I needed after a not-quite stressful week, but a week nonetheless.

Instead of having class at our regular time on Friday my professor (who is so obviously amazing) decided we would go on a ghost tour. It’s a class about urban legends, so it was relevant.

During the time that I was to be traipsing around downtown, the men’s rugby team was supposed to be driving up to State for an unbelievably fun night game. At the last minute it got canceled, which re-injected all my favorite men into my night.

Roomie-Dearest, Ginger and I headed to another soccer party (yes, another). Westchester was noticeably absent because she had some quasi-fling drama to attend to. We ran into quite a few of our posse there and I proceeded to drink entirely too much tequila. After the ride back (which I barely remember) the Minimalist and I retired to his humble abode for a good roll in the hay. At some point after we left Ginger and GoodMan (who she’s had quite a crush on for quite a while) made out then passed out. Apparently he snores.

The next morning I joined my lovely teammates for an almost lovely breakfast before our two hours of warm-up for our last game of the season.

Originally, after being out of commission and barely in commission for so long, the idea of three hours of rugby running didn’t thrill me. But the weather was perfect. Not a cloud in the sky. And after days of rain, the ground was soft and perfect for tackling. We were playing a women’s club team, a rag tag group of twentysomething women who talked about their masters degrees and their husbands. They didn’t have enough players so three teammates and I whored ourselves out and switched sides. With so many abnormal circumstances, no one could take the game seriously. So instead of being intense and competitive we played for fun.

My usual team won, the first win of the season, but I couldn’t care less that I wasn’t part of the win. I had too much fun. Afterwards we all gathered at my favorite fire pit in the woods to drink, sing, laugh, and watch four women zulu (run around naked after you score your first tri).

When the other team had to leave, we grabbed our remaining beer and went to watch the men play touch by the lake. Their rescheduled game got canceled, so they struck up another game which, somehow, I got roped into playing. A little tipsy from my social and running in sneakers on muddy grass, my play wasn’t my best, but I loved every minute of it. Especially playing on a team with Brawny Man and two of my other favorite ruggers, DeVirgin* and Big Baby**, and having the Minimalist and my ruggirls cheering me on (the Minimalist not so much cheering as laughing whenever I slipped on the mud).

Due to some unfinished homework I had to depart a few minutes early, much to my dismay. I’m going to miss rugby during the off-season. It has given me quite a few friends, taught me the joys of day drinking and given me an ass that could stop traffic.

Later, in honor of DeVirgin’s early birthday and Sexster’s*** belated birthday, I returned to my favorite fire pit for a keg-fire thrown by my favorite men, sans Country. There Ginger turned her sights to another man with a lip ring, and proceeded to suck Sexster’s face all night. She, being a virgin, didn’t want to go any further then swapping spit, so various people were sent in using various methods in order to cock-block. It eventually worked and Sexster only walked her home. I was, of course, dressed impractically for the weather in boots and a drop-dead-adorable sweater dress which made the Minimalist drool and a couple of guys ask why he didn’t follow me after I left. He promised GoodMan he would help clean up. Luckily he finished early and requested my presence in his bed. I obliged and got my 3rd work out for the day.

And today, I had a lovely lunch and woods walk with Teach**** before helping Big Baby with his statistics. Now, I’m relaxing and reflecting.

This weekend couldn’t have been more perfect. It’s just what I needed to sustain me for the next two weeks, as I’ll miss this weekend of partying while I’m home for Thanksgiving.

*DeVirgin-one of the cutest and nicest guys I’ve met here and a good friend of the Minimalist and co. He’s a senior, dating a ruggirl and lost his virginity last year.

**Big Baby-looks like a big, adorable 4th grader, complete with a bowl-cut.

***Sexster-one of the Minimalist’s roommates. He’s got a lip ring, a nipple piercing and a good libido.

****Teach-formally known as My Shadow. Once we eliminated the romantic aspect of our relationship, he became one of my closest friends. We talk about life and philosophy and war and psychology and spend hours walking through the woods.

Sunday, November 15

Girls Just Want to Have Fun

With special circumstances giving me a Friday free of classes, I wanted to have some fun Thursday night. So I did what I normally do on Thursdays—go over to Cesar, the Minimalist and co’s apartment, watch It’s Always Sunny, eat the Minimalist’s homemade bread and listen as Country* gets increasingly louder (this time until P Safe came and told him they’d been getting complaints). I also asked the Minimalist on a non-descript date in the future and he accepted. It was a good night, but both the Minimalist and I were exhausted, so we went to bed a tad early and didn’t leave it until 1 the next afternoon.Friday night was a typical. There was supposed to be a couple of things on campus, but they were busts so Westchester, Ginger, Roomie-Dearest, the Minimalist, a couple other friends, and I hopped into GoodMan’s car and went off campus to a soccer party.

Allow me to explain a thing or two. Normally, whenever a party is titled with a sport that’s not rugby I avoid it like the plague. It’s just something about that testosterone-fueled team mentality that I’m not okay with. That being said, it was the only party happening that night so I swallowed my logic and went. Another thing that I feel the need to explain—the Minimalist wasn’t in the car because he wanted to hang out with me or because we were supposed to be partying together that night. No, we ran into him and GoodMan at one of the lame parties and pretty much ambushed a ride. He continued being distant the rest of the night.

The soccer party wasn’t bad. At one point Westchester and I ventured outside and found Humps**, who was too drunk to talk. We sat her down by and tree and went to find her friends. With no friends of her’s in sight, we returned to the tree with water only to find she’d disappeared. I later returned to my room and passed out. Let me repeat: my room.

The next morning Westchester and I found out that Humps’ purse (phone, camera, wallet, etc) was found by the side of the road last night and no one has heard from her. We retrieved her belongings from the house that looked ridiculously sketchy in the daylight and begin trying to track her and our perfect champagne flutes down. Two Pier 1s and a couple of hours later, we have found both. We returned to campus and headed over to watch the men and Roomie-Dearest play a lovely little touch rugby game. Due to an absolutely gorgeous day made more gorgeous by the week of horrible weather that preceded it, Westchester and I donned some bikini tops and short-shorts for the occasion.

A quick nap followed by a long shower and we were ready to start the night’s festivities—three bottles of cheap champagne to be drank out of sexy champagne glasses by three girls listening to Frank Sinatra and getting ridiculously dolled up for an Old Hollywood themed formal. Three hours later, we were ready. All of us looked gorgeous (my outfit was completed with black thigh-highs and a black garter belt). Ginger, Mini*** and Nugget**** accompanied us to the event, which reminded me a little bit of a high school dance, but I continuously improved the mood by sneaking shots from my flask in the bathroom.

Not long after we arrived, Westchester decided to ditch the dance and head for the parties, much to my dismay. Then there was the tiniest bit of drama. The Minimalist said he was coming to the formal. I in no way went solely for him, but I would have liked him to see me looking amazing. He eventually came, but only for a minute (though in that minute he did manage to kiss me and compliment my outfit, so I was somewhat satisfied).

Once the formal ended we changed shoes and we were off to the parties. We found a good one on our first try (one which Westchester had been to, but left before it got good). I ran into the Minimalist, but once again, he left not long after. He had been getting sick, but I was still a tad disappointed. The girls and I stayed until the party was almost thin, in which time I smoked my first cigarette since pneumonia with Brawny Man, who too complimented my outfit. After my cigarette I rounded up my posse and we walked back. Ginger and I, feeling particularly sexy due to our excessive alcohol and black lacey underthings, decided that the cars on the road needed to see our asses. So every time a car drove by, we lifted the backs of our dresses and bent over. It was quite nice. We finally reached our dorm and I don’t remember much else.

^Not my or Ginger's actual ass.^

I woke up this morning naked in my own bed with no real recollection of getting there. I’m sure Roomie-Dearest can fill me in once she wakes up.

Overall, a fun girls’ weekend. I would be completely satisfied with it if I had gotten to see more of the Minimalist. Yes he was sick, I know, but I still wanted to see him.

And now I want food and coffee and sleep and for my splitting headache to go away.

*Country-a big senior who drinks three bottles of wine a night and loves Michael Jackson.

**Humps-a former rugger who wears too much sparkle eye shadow.

***Mini-Ginger’s roommate and a darling girl.

****Nugget-the cutest, tiniest Peruvian girl I’ve ever met.

Sunday, November 8

Adventures from the Road.

The Myrtle Beach trip, which has been in the works since before I started school, which is one of the main reasons the Minimalist and I began talking, is over. I jokingly told him that now it’s over he doesn’t have to pretend to like me. He kissed me in response.

We left a little after noon. Promptly upon entering my car the Minimalist (who was drunk) cracked open a beer and threw my directions in the back seat. That, of course, lead to a good bit of time spent driving in circles on the highway with me threatening (half-heartedly) to throw him out of the car and him laughing. An hour and a half later, we were finally heading in the right direction. In fear that we would be late for the show, or worse that I wouldn’t be able to shower (because after using communal showers for as long as I have, the prospect of a real shower excites me to no end), I did ninety most of the way. Of course, because of the open container, that made the Minimalist nervous. He eventually got over it.

We found the bright blue, drug dealer and prostitute recommended hotel with a little bit of time to spare. Twin, Coco and I exchanged a loud hug the moment the door was open. Introductions were made between Twin, her significant other, Mark*, Coco, her boyfriend, Green Bean**, the Minimalist and me. I changed quickly (vowing to take my shower after the show), the Minimalist poured himself a glass of whiskey (much to the mild dismay of Twin) and we prepared to leave for a quick bite at Subway and the (supposedly) short trek to the venue. What we thought would be a half-mile walk to House of Blues ended up being about 20 miles. Needless to say, we didn’t walk all of it. We crammed our asses in Twin’s car and zoomed down the tourist trap strip to get there just in time to get a nearly perfect spot-in view of the stage, but not in the too-violent pit.

The first bad was so bad I don’t even remember their name. The second band, Thrice, was not nearly as hard as I thought they were going to be. They were actually good at some points. And they mentioned Invisible Children***, so I can’t hate them.

Then came the main event—Brand New. They were amazing, there’s no doubt about that. Though, I would have preferred if they played more of their old songs and didn’t make everything quite so screamo. Regardless of that, seeing them with my best friends and the Minimalist made all the stress of that day (getting lost, speeding, seeing Mark) totally worth it.

We returned to the hotel after, at which point I paused just long enough to medicate myself (all while everyone laughed) and eat an apple before I took a much needed shower. For the rest of the night we watched National Lampoon’s Vacation and made noise. I think Twin was a little wary about the Minimalist’s drinking (he was the only one drinking and it was straight whiskey) and his knife (which he kept under his pillow, like he always does). She was especially scared when I began playing with the knife a bit.

The next morning came quickly, as people yelling in the hallway woke us up. Twin began being loud. Mark was farting. Coco was trying to put her toes in Green Bean’s ear. The Minimalist was just taking it all in.

Eventually and relatively without trauma (save for Coco finding far too many pubes on her unused towel), everyone was ready for breakfast. After several U-turns and some parking lot driving we made it to Bob Evans.

What? You’ve never heard of Bob Evans?

Keep it that way.

It was weird. A southern version of an IHOP, full of old people and cutesy names for food, like a BobB-Q sandwich.

After breakfast we said good-bye. Coco, Twin and I hugged, and it gets less awkward every time we do. Twin promised to pick me up from the airport for Thanksgiving and I promised them a much needed and long overdo Starfucks date.

The ride back was far less eventful and shorter than the ride there.

Overall, a great trip. I’ve missed Twin and Coco dearly. Mark eventually stopped ignoring me. I finally met Green Bean, the guy who is currently making Coco so happy. The Minimalist met my friends, wasn’t completely scared, and will probably continue talking to me.

I like him.

*Mark-warrants no nickname. We’ve had a rough history and this was the first time we’re seen each other since we had a (supposedly) huge fight that I was black out drunk for.

**Green Bean-her tall, happy, cute, funny, marvelous boyfriend.

***Invisible Children-GO. Educate yourself.

Saturday, November 7

Your Morning Briefing.

Allow me to give you the Spark Notes of my Friday because I’m exhausted, hung-over and in the process of trying to get 5 other people in two states to a third state at the same time.

It appears my school isn’t as liberal and alternative-lifestyle as I thought. I’ve come to this conclusion because they’re selling Portobello mushroom sandwiches as vegan. You may be wondering what the problem is. Allow me to tell you.

Sandwiches have bread, this one is no exception. Bread is made using some form of animal product (usually milk, sometimes eggs or butter). That means it is not vegan.

Rugby practices on the field next to the ultimate Frisbee team, which afforded us a lovely view of two male Frisbee-ers naked. Yes, naked. I assume they were practicing for the points in the game when, by tradition, they have to play naked. Whatever the reason, it was so enjoyable it caused our lesbian captain to yell at us to stop watching their balls so we could catch out own.

Last night was the annual “Coming Out Ball”. What’s that you ask? Pride, the GLTTBIQQA (I don’t know if all those letters are correct, but you get the idea) club, hosts a dance every year in which people dress up in costumes to show what they’re coming out as. I came out as a fat kid, complete with sweatpants, fat camp t-shirt and a Hershey bar coming out of my bra. Roomie-Dearest was a slut. Westchester was a girly-girl. You get the idea. The dance was in a small room with a ton of people and a great DJ (who played techno and house music, not a single rap song). Everyone was dancing, everyone was drunk, everyone was having a blast, at a school-sponsored event, no less. I saw two sets of male gentiles, one guy shave his mustache while a cheering crowd watched, Westchester ate chocolate off my boobs. I can’t wait until Pride’s next dance-Gender Bender. That should be interesting.

Now I’m off to get some much needed coffee before grabbing the Minimalist and zooming off to Myrtle Beach for a Brand New concert and my best friends.

Wednesday, November 4

Back to the Future, pt 2.

After carefully picking out an outfit that was both sexy and casual, rounding up Roomie-Dearest, Westchester and Ginger*, stopping by Starfucks for some much needed caffine, we finally got to the venue around 8:30, just in time to catch Mr. Mayhem in his van “medicating” his back. We exchanged an awkward hug then my posse and I went inside where, it turns out, we knew quite a few people because College’s radio station was sponsoring the event The first two bands, The Catalyst and Litany for the Whale, were good, but not quite my cup of tea.

Then came Antarctic, the band Mr. Mayhem was subbing for. They were, as every instrumental band should be, full of surprises. With instrumentals, the music takes center stage and carries all the weight of telling a story and holding the audience’s attention and I believe they did a pretty good job. So good, in fact, that I was willing to part with $10 just to buy a CD with only 9 songs. Next came the local band—The Bronzed Chorus. Two guys, one with a receding hairline, were able to sound like a full band. And not just like any full band, but a great, amazing band. They make me proud of my adopted city.

After the bands had played, Mr. Mayhem and my posse spent a few minutes chatting before he had to go do the dirty work of being a rockstar—load the van. At that point Westchester once again reminded us of all the work she had left to do, so we left. But not ten minutes after I got back to the “comfort” of my dorm did I get a text from Mr. Mayhem requesting my presence for food-Cookout to be exact.

It’s about 1:30 and I’m heading towards the home of the Bronzed Chorus where Mr. Mayhem is waiting in the garage, beer and cigarette in hand. He quickly finishes both, fumbles with his cracked iPhone GPS and we’re off for an “evening” of new culinary experiences and lots of catching up. He orders the cheddar burger, sweet tea and fries. I get the BBQ sandwich. We park in front of a Blockbuster and eat. Neither of us was disappointed.

Three and a half hours later, we’ve talked about our old town, I’ve caught him up on all that drama, we’ve slowly started invading the armrest, he’s told me all about his new life (his drug use, his drummers, his father, his bikes, etc), I filled him in a bit on my life, he’s peed outside twice, and we’ve planned the next time we’ll be seeing each other, which won’t be in another 2-3 years.

At promptly 5:45am, I dropped him off at his temporary abode, we shared a no-way-awkward hug and I drove off, already missing my wonderfully rediscovered friend. At promptly 6:03am, right as I’m laying my head down to sleep for not nearly long enough, I get a text from him saying that there’s no way he’s falling asleep before he has to get up and leave and that, not surprisingly, the van he has decided to sleep in is freezing. Then I get the text, the one I knew would be coming since the first time he put his head on my knee in the car:

“By the way, you’re looking pretty good these days.”

It appears my outfit worked.

I reply: “You’re not looking too bad yourself,” knowing full well that I had spent half their set commenting to Ginger about how great his hair looks these days and how I love his smile.

I fall asleep before I get his text inviting me back to watch the sunrise. Probably best.

All in all, the night was great. I got back into the music scene, something I’ve missed terribly. I got to spend some quality time with Mr. Mayhem, something I didn’t get nearly enough of when he was being the talk of our shared town. And I ate a great BBQ sandwich, another thing I’ve missed. The chemistry was still there, but neither of us acted on it and I was just fine with that.

Now, for a few days of class before a short little jaunt with the Minimalist to meet up with Twin, Coco and their significant others for a concert we’ve been waiting for since before school. And you better believe I have the perfect outfit for that, too.

*Ginger-a friend I really need to start hanging out with more. Hilarious, from a great town I have a special tie to, and she misses the music scene as much as me.