Shockers

Oh boy, oh berto! This weekend was a doozy. Not a bad doozy. A jam-packed doozy.

It started on Friday when, after a super scrumptious lunch, Westchester and I had to run to my room, grab a bag-full-o-booze, and run out to meet the Minimalist and Country to head off to a men’s rugby game a few towns away. The ride was an hour and a half of nonstop old rap, including Country dancing so hard the car was accelerating randomly.

Upon arriving at the pitch I chugged 2 beers while Country held me at knifepoint. I shit you not.

I watched a little bit of the game, but the real action for me was in the car. Not my car, mind you. GoodMan had lent us his car for the evening. And by action, I mean hibidy-bibidy. Hanky-panky. Yup, the Minimalist and I did the horizontal tango in the backseat of GoodMan’s car. And the icing on the cake…

We got caught! HA!

I’m not sure how long people were watching, but suddenly the Minimalist jumped up, which caused me to look up and realize that Country, Cesar, Roomie, and a couple of other rugby fans had their faces smooshed to the glass. Upon putting my pants back on and exiting the car, I took a bow.

Because, honestly what else could I have done?

Saturday brought some lovely weather and an afternoon spent lying in the grass. Hippie-dippy says, love.

I’m thoroughly enjoying the hints of spring that have been popping up. Including the lovely trees that are blooming around campus.

My evening was spent drinking a water bottle full of vodka and ginger ale (a delicious combination) at Big Baby’s house. He hasn’t had people over in quite a while so everyone was there, which I thoroughly enjoyed. Most of my time was spent watching the beer pong games, in which a handful of my Republican friends were dominating. They weren’t so absorbed in their play so that all of them couldn’t hit on me, including utilizing an adorable beagle puppy.

Yup, they went there.

The highlight of my night, though, came at the very end. As I was filing out the door with the other people in the car, I passed Asshole*. We’ve hung out a handful of times. We’ve talked. We’ve laughed. He’s insulted me to my face. But nothing terribly noteworthy. Until I said g’bye to him. That’s when the unthinkable happened. Something I had never seen in general, certainly not with me.

He hugged me.

This is huge! Especially since earlier in the night he had a freshman climbing a light post to avoid being shot by him with a BB gun.

It may not sound like a big deal, but it’s really boggled me.

Could this mean that I am actually being completely accepted by the inner circle? Or maybe he was just off his rocker drunk?

I’ll never know.

*Asshole-a “dear” friend of the Minimalist’s who is infamous for his ability to offend, degrade and thoroughly belittle anybody and everybody he comes into contact with. But he’s a great guy, because he treats everyone equally.

Fucking Alarms

Let me fill you in on one unfortunate aspect of dorm life that few people think about—fire alarms.

This isn’t high school where there is one scheduled fire drill a month, everyone files out in an orderly fashion and you waste a few minutes of class. No, this is college where there are no fire drills. There are just fire alarms. That go off at odd times. For odd reasons. Stupid reasons like someone burned a bag of popcorn or didn’t turn the oven off in the communal kitchen. When that incessant noise begins everyone in the building is required to drop what they’re doing and assemble in the parking lot. If you don’t evacuate you face fines. If you do evacuate you face a crowd of pissed of college students who have been made to stand and wait the 5-10 until the fire trucks come (even though the station is half a block away and it shouldn’t take that long), then the 10-15 it takes the firemen to suit up, grab unnecessary equipment and go inside to discover the cause of the alarm, and finally the 5 extra minutes it takes to make the announcement that it is safe to re-enter because there is, in fact, no fire.

This is a highly annoying process that I have been lucky enough to only have endureed a small handful of times. Then yesterday happened.

There I was around 11pm, innocently sitting in my room doing homework and researching what vegetables to plant in the upcoming month, when I hear the screeching of the alarm. Oh fuck. So I grab a jacket, lock my door, and file down the stairs with my few freshmen. As I’m exiting I do see a few people frantically running, as if it were a real fire. This is comical, but not enough to reverse my anger.

Once outside I find my posse, bitch for a few minutes, and begin the waiting game. 10 minutes later 3 fire trucks roll onto campus, sirens blaring. This was completely unnecessary. The firemen get their lifesaving tools and enter the clearing not burning dorm. 10 minutes later we’re told we can enter.

Considering it had been a week or so since the last alarm (for which I wasn’t even present) I don’t stay pissed for too long. I eventually go to bed, expecting a few hours of wonderful sleep before an 8am gym call.

HA! I couldn’t have been more wrong.

At about 4am, while in a deep, peaceful, bear-like sleep, the fucking alarm goes off again. I’m pissed the instant I wake up. Getting out of bed I find my pants and shoes. Roomie is trying to find her clothes by phone-light. I angrily turn on the ceiling light because, honestly, who the hell are we trying not to disturb? I stomp downstairs, gather in the parking lot and wait. While waiting I angrily listen to people complaining about their lost sleep and how we should get out of early classes in the morning.

Seriously? I think to myself. Grow the fuck up. Nobody, including myself, cares.

As you can tell, I’m angry and have no patience.

The fire trucks eventually come (only 2 this time) and the ordeal begins again.

It didn’t take too long, though, before PSafe stuck a head out a 3^rd floor window and announced someone pulled the alarm intentionally (not even a hint of burning bacon) so we could all come inside.

I angrily shuffle up the stairs behind hordes of the slowest walkers possible, and upon entering my room, strip off my pants and throw myself into bed. I quickly fall back asleep and wake without a hint of anger.

Moral of this story:

Fire alarms happen. They’re not drills planned by the school. They’re stupid people doing stupid things. Blame the students. But they’re not that huge of a deal. Keep some shoes and a jacket by the door and you’ll survive.

In The Words of Perez Hilton: Amazeballs.

The date was great. (Great enough that I didn’t even bother to fix the silly little rhyme I just made.)

I ran out the door a few minutes after 7 fearing that I was late and everyone was waiting on me (a perpetual fear of mine) only to find that ManLove and Babs had yet to shower, everybody had to dress and the restaurant we were planning on going to (the Melting Pot) was closed for renovations so we had to pick a new place. No worries. That gave me some time to compose myself before what felt slightly like the most important interview of my life.

We finally left the apartment a little before 9 with a well past hungry Babs and only a vague idea of where we were going. Finally we decided on sushi (which, as I’ve mentioned before, is a HUGE deal) and it only took us 20 minutes of parking lot driving to find the place.

We were served by the funniest little Asian woman (she started off intimidating us, forcing both couples to engage in romantic behavior, and by the end it seemed she had adopted us as her children, even giving us free food).

A lot of the conversation was dominated by the Minimalist and ManLove speaking inside joke-code and reminiscing about past sexcapades, but I didn’t mind. It was funny (and a little endearing) to see him acting the way he was. Babs wasn’t so happy about the ghosts of hook-ups past, though (nor about ManLove buying a pack of cigarettes on the way home).

Once back at the Minimalist’s place we drank some whiskey (ManLove was shocked when he saw me drink from the Minimalist’s glass, saying that he never thought he’d see the day).

ManLove was leaving in the morning so there was a bit of an emotional g’bye. Everyone hugged everyone. Tentative future plans were made. And by the time he walked out the door (despite not spending too terribly much time with him) I was quite sad to see ManLove go.

If you don’t remember, allow me to remind you: in the Minimalist’s circle, going on a sushi date means that you’re officially dating. I didn’t exactly push for a clarification on “officially dating” and I don’t want to. Some may scoff at the situation I have worked out—the presence of affection, but lack of a title.

I don’t care. It works (oh-so-wonderfully) for me. And him. So I don’t know what “officially dating” means. I won’t put it on FaceSpace or start calling him my boyfriend. I don’t suddenly expect him to start calling me every night before I go to bed or carrying my books. I don’t want/need that. To me, titles are often based on insecurities and a desire for status and gloating rights.

I’m confident in what I’ve got going.

And now onto another piece of business:

I got an email tonight. An email that I had been very nervously expecting all day. Or, at least at the back of my mind, all week. This was an email from my editor-in-chief. This email contained my fate for next year: the announcement on whether or not I got the forum section editor position.

When I submitted my application I felt like I was qualified, but still a long shot.

So tonight, after a wonderfully relaxing shower, my blood pressure once again shot through the roof as I saw The Email waiting for me in my inbox.

Oh god. Oh shit. I can’t. I want to so badly. But shit.

With more than a little trepidation I clicked the highlighted message.

“The Editorial Board is pleased…”

Pleased to crush my dreams? Please to announce they found someone better?

“…to accept your application for Forum Editor.”

Holy fucking shit goddamn balls!

I got it! I got it! I screamed/squealed/made a sound like a dying pig, and probably scared the shit out of Roomie and whoever she was on the phone with at the time.

You have no idea (or maybe you do; I don’t know your life) how happy/intimidated/shocked I am. It probably won’t fully hit me for a while. I’ll let you know when it does.

Until then…I don’t even know.

Serendipity

Serendipity was ah-maze-ing!

We were serendipitous enough to have perfect weather—75-80 and sunny. And I was serendipitous enough to have plenty of beer.

^A suitcase was the only way to sneak two cases into my building.^

Unfortunately, Twin wasn’t able to come. She now has adult responsibilities (rent) to think about.

Friday afternoon I woke from a nap in the grass to the smells of a lovely cookout hosted by dining services. Westchester, Newbie, Peru* and I nommed on grilled goodies (including veggie burgers) on the lawn before grabbing a bag full of beer and Roomie-Dearest and heading off to watch the male ruggers beat the shit out of each other. A guy from the other team got K.O.ed. The sound of his head hitting something could be heard at the other end of the pitch.

After that beating they definitely deserved the night of drinking that followed. Unfortunately, PSafe were out in full force and Roomie got written up for drinking. Once people had had enough of the 5-0 we migrated to the woods to finish the keg the Minimalist and co had started earlier in the day. Both Westchester and Roomie found someone new to swap spit with. And apparently so did GoodMan’s girl, because when I saw him at the end of the night he had a broken hand and an empty bottle of Juager. From what I hear, breaking bones is a Serendipity tradition of his.

Saturday was by far more glorious than Friday. The ruggirls played a great game. I drank a High Life while acting as touch judge.

Then I drank another High Life while watching ruggirls and guys Jello wrestle.

Roomie got in on it, but I abstained.

Once I saw the Jello (and the used Band Aid that was floating in it) I decided that I would let others have the fun. And expose their bits and pieces.

I instead, opted for the rock wall. It turns out that I can climb like a monkey.

The highlight of scheduled events came later in the night when Man Man played a rossome show. I’m not a Man Man listener and after the show I probably won’t start. Don’t get me wrong, they were great live, but I feel like they’re probably a band best live. I just don’t see how they could transfer that energy to a recording.

Speaking of energy, by this point I had been running on 3 or 4 hours of sleep for about 12 hours. I was on the verge of being exhausted. So I drank a 5 Hour Energy shot thinking it would keep me going till the sun came up. Nope. It didn’t do shit.

I ran back to my room to grab my drinky drink (and devour 2/3 a package of Hello Jello) and headed to the Olds thinking that my night was still young. I was having a great time (which included chatting it up with some PSafe officers and RAs) with all intents of hitting up at least 2 or 3 more parties.

Nope. Once the Olds got busted we headed back to the Minimalist and Cesar’s apartment to re-group, restock and figure out a game plan. This is about the time I blacked out. The darkest black. But Roomie tells me we hung out there for a little and then went home to bed while everyone else kept going.

That disappoints me.

Fuck 5 Hour Energy.

And now it’s a rainy Sunday afternoon. I’m currently doing laundry and reading myself for a double date with the Minimalist, his best friend, ManLove**, and ManLove’s lady friend, Babs***.

Overall, I think this weekend has been a success. Sure, I didn’t trip like a lot of people do. I didn’t wake up somewhere in someone else’s clothes with no recognition of how I got there or even where I was. I didn’t accomplish some impressive feat of alcohol consumption (unless you count me eating almost an entire Hello Jello in under 10 minutes). But I don’t do that. Instead I drank a lot, met a bunch of people (most of whom I don’t quite remember), had some great sex, and got hit on by a girl.

I’ve often worried that my freshman year won’t be as wild and crazy as other people’s. That I won’t have the stories, scars or police records that seem to qualify how great your year was. But that’s not me. I may go a little crazy sometimes, but for the most part I’m a level-headed girl. And for the most part I’m okay with that.

*Pure- a nice little straight-edge Peruvian boy.

**ManLove-the Minimalist’s best friend and freshman roommate. He no longer goes here (and isn’t supposed to leave his state) so a visit from him is a treat.

***Babs-a ruggirl from the Dirty Dirty who has been dating ManLove long distance for quite a while.

Fucking the Irish

Want to see my natural habitat for these past few days?

Starfucks, so that I could get all my work for Monday finished early. (I remember when an hour of Starfucks homework time seemed like a lot. Oh how things have changed.)

Why did I need to work ahead so much, you ask?

So that I could have all my many many pages of reading and annotating for Thursday done by Wednesday, thus leaving Wednesday open for…St Patty’s Day, of course! I’ve been shacking up with a proud, card-carrying dirty Irish Mick for months now. There’s no way I wasn’t taking part in the only thing people like about the Irish. And believe you me, I went all out.

Proof:

And this was the classier getup, too. Complete with a shot glass “arm band” (as Party City called it),

green bra bought for the occasion, and ruffled undies that say “Get Lucky.”

What could be better?

The Hello Jello, of course.

So that explains why I didn’t to have my Thursday work done, but why did I have to work all the way ahead to Monday?

Because this weekend is Serendipity, the huge campus-wide, school-sponsored party, concert, festival weekend. AKA-The time that people have a more legit than normal excuse to dress up in costumes, get really drunk/trip balls, and run around campus. Sounds like fun, right?

It gets better. Twin is coming! As are a bunch of the Minimalist’s friends (including his very best friend, who I sort of met last night). I tried to get ChiChi up here, but she’s busy. Boo.

Don’t worry, I’ll give you the full play-by-play of the weekend once I recover. Until then, time for more homework (because some professors are bitches and give you papers and tests on Monday).

I Survived!

I’m now safely back in my dorm. I survived my first college spring break with minimal damage and no fights (though there was definitely some secret venting).

I know you’re all curious to find out just how wild this girl went so allow me to give you the highlights.

We drank a lot, though not as much as I thought we would. All the beer was gone, a good amount of the Sailor, the champagne went quickly, we put a dent in the vodka, polished off a bottle of wine from Papa, but we barely touched the tequila and I don’t think we really used any Triple Sec.

I’m not complaining, though. We did our best. Gave it the old college try. And now we have a ton to bring home so we can keep this semester going strong.

I cooked a lot, though not as much as I would have liked. I definitely wish I had a few more days with a kitchen. But this week was just what I needed to rekindle my love affair with culinary creations, so you’ll probably see me in the kitchen a lot more.

It appears that I have a new habit of passing out drunk in my bed, waking up blacked out, taking off my pants, and passing out somewhere else.

Mr. Jackson did a wonderful job as our sole source of testosterone. How he did it, I’ll never know. I wouldn’t want to be the only guy in a house full of girls for a week. But he was a trooper.

I developed quite a taste for dirty vodka martinis. And I developed a habit of making giant ones and finishing them quickly.

We made it down to the oceanfront one day. It wasn’t quite warm, but it was warm enough to lay in the sun for a while.

On Thursday, I drove the crew minus Mr. Jackson to Richmond to spend a few hours exploring (and pay a quick visit to Roomie-Dearest’s family). While there I finally bought one of those Cruella Deville-style cigarette holders.

I must say, it makes smoking so much more of a special experience. I may just have to smoke more often.

On our last night we headed over to the Big House (Papa’s house) for a little party. What did this party entail, you ask?

Papa and co, my posse, plus a handful of families from the neighborhood drinking a plethora of beers (Mr. Jackson fell in love with Michalob Ultra Lime Cactus) and a fully stocked bar all while playing beer pong and flip cup. Papa and I played two games (we won the first, lost the second). Then after a brief tutorial it was college vs parent when we played and won two games of flip cup. I drank too much. We introduced the adults to “Jesus Can’t Play Rugby” and taught them a few new beer pong rules. It was a great night.

But now I’m back in the real world, a little worse for the wear. And that real world means homework. I’ll start tomorrow.

Spring Broken

Thursday:

2:30- With a lot of money in hand, I head off to the ABC Store (liquor store) with a 21 year old ruggirl to buy an obscene amount of booze for spring break.

2:45- The manager at the ABC Store decides that her state ID isn’t a valid form of proof so she can’t buy me obscene amounts of booze.

4:00- The ruggirl and I, now with another 21 year old, finally succeed at buying my liquor at the same ABC Store. But not before the new 21 year old has to get a special permit to transport the alcohol because apparently it’s illegal to transport this much alcohol without a permit.

4:45- We make our second stop at Total Wine and More, a giant store with almost every kind of wine, beer and champagne imaginable all at rock bottom prices.

5:20- In the process of leaving so the 21 year old can buy all the beer and champagne, the ruggirl and I get questioned about why we were in the store. The 21 year old is almost not allowed to buy all of the goodies.

6:00- I’m in a car with Westchester, Ginger, Crazy and another girl heading to watch the men ruggers play a much anticipated night game.

10:00- We return, thoroughly drunk, from watching the men lose a hard-fought and controversial game.

Friday:

10:00- In attempting to pack my car I realize that the alcohol takes up over half my trunk space. Luckily, Mr. Jackson is also driving so he can carry the lesser-important clothes while I bring the booze and foodstuffs.

1:45- I’m happily cuddling with the Minimalist until his friend barges in and announces that Campus Life is doing health and safety inspections early. That means the Minimalist and his apartment has about 15 minutes to get rid of their almost-impressive, definitely-disgusting collection of empty cans, bottles, handles and cases.

2:10- Less than 5 minutes after we clear the last (of about 15) trash bags full of contraband trash out of the apartment Campus Life knocks on the door. Luckily, our herculain cleaning efforts were successful and they escape any trouble.

3:00- Westchester, Frenchie and I are finally on our way to Vagina Bitch for a week of drinking, cooking and relaxation.

3:37- Spring break almost turned into Spring Broken when by the grace of deities and sheer good karma I very very very very very very narrowly avoid 1) crashing into a car in front of me, 2) getting rear-ended, and 3) being hit on the side by a very large Uhaul van all because a stupid car a few cars ahead decided to slam on their breaks. In the fast lane.

7:00- We arrive at Papa’s humble homestead where we nom on some dinner and wait for Roomie-Dearest and Mr. Jackson to arrive.

9:00- Finally, all of the booze is laid out in front of us and we stand in awe of all the awesomeness.

3 handles of Smirnoff

2 handles of Sailor Jerry’s

1 fifth Aristocrap tequila

1 fifth Jose Cuervo platinum tequila

2 fifths Triple Sec

12 Blue Moon

12 Yuengling

6 Natty Green’s Buckshot

6 Natty Green’s Old Town

2 handles Cook’s champagne

1 bottle raspberry champagne

and a few random drops that were left over in our fridges and this fridge.

I’ll let you know what I remember.

Counting the Days

Praise Jesus and Allah and all their cousins!

At approximately 11:07AM I walked out of my last midterm into relative freedom. Spring break is still a few days away, but those few days will be filled with readings and short write-ups, not hours spent clicking through art history slides until I can’t close my eyes without seeing pictures of Transitional, Early and Late Classical Roman statues. No longer will I drive the Minimalist out of his own bed by listing off Egyptian tombs and artifacts.

^Imhotep, the stepped tomb of King Djoser from the Old Kingdom in Egpyt^

You know what I’m doing instead?

Reading interview transcripts of Quaker Conscientious Objectors during WW1 who volunteered to be semi-starved so the government could study starvation and rehabilitation. Creepy, right?

^Here’s one of the participants.^

Only slightly better than comparing cave paintings, but at least it’s something different.

Speaking of something different, there have been a few changes around the ole dormstead:

My rugby season has ended early. Very early.

It started when I would get short of breath at practice. I’ve always gotten short of breath (especially during sprints), but this was more than normal. I chocked it up to getting out of shape over Christmas break. Well, practice continued and my ability to breath continued to get worse. Very counterintuitive. So after spending the last part of far too many practices standing on the sidelines trying to get rid of the spots that were clouding my vision a equally-asthmatic ruggirl suggested that the cold must be aggravating my asthma.

Hell, the cold was aggravating all of me, but no other parts of my body were refusing to work. Damn asthma.

A week or so later a doctor confirmed the diagnosis and prescribed A) lots and lots of medicine (mainly steroids) that make it nearly impossible to eat soup, climb into bed and other things that require stability OR B) no more outdoor activity until the weather warmed. As much as I lovelovelove rugby I wasn’t willing to put myself through more meds just for the slim chance that they wouldn’t sap all my energy and I would be able to play.

So I’ve gone from bruise-sporting ruggirl to support staff. I carry water bottles, pump up balls, and keep time. Far less fun, but at least I’m not ditching the team like other girls.

I’m also trying veganism.

Why, you (and Mother) ask?

Why the hell not!

(To which Mother responded that I looked thinner than normal in some recent pictures. Mother has thought I have an aversion to food practically since I started making my own food choices. Me? An aversion to food? Really? Exhibit A: FoodBaby)

But frankly, I’m always up for a challenge. And anything involving food always peaks my interest. So with a little help from Fresh Market, a large handful of vegan blogs (especially Peas and Thank You), and the vegan station in the dining hall I’ll be saying “veganize me, Cap’n” for the rest of the week.

For the last few days of this little foodventure I’ll be on…Spring Break! Woohoo!

Roomie-Dearest, Frenchie, Mr. Jackson and Westchester are all accompanying me to Vagina Bitch for a week of drinking, me cooking amazingly wonderful and healthy food, and relaxation. Maybe 1 or 2 other things thrown in there, but you’ll just have to wait and be surprised about those.

The Minimalist and his crew are going to the mountains for their break. I was invited to go (and I know it would be ah-maze-ingly fun), but I kind of want to do my own thing (don’t take that as a sign of problems. Everything is better than ever. I promise.) And I don’t know if we could handle each other for a week straight. No need to put undo stress on our lovely little arrangement. (Though their house rental ends early, so he may come up with a friend anyway.)

So until Friday, when my posse and I get to escape the little brick boxes we live in, I’ll continue reading about starvation (while snacking on trail mix, of course) and dreaming of the free laundry and bathtub that awaits me.