Score So Many

Sorry for leaving you hanging there for a while, kiddos. But this little co-ed had some business to attend to.

And what do I mean by business?

Setting up (what is in the process of becoming) my awesome swinging bachelorette pad. And I call it that for many reasons: we have a giant beanbag chair, there is literally a Carmen Electra “exercise” pole in the center, we will soon be getting a purple shag rug, and the obvious, all 8 of us are unmarried ladies.

Which brings me to business number 2—bonding with my ‘mates. There are some of the old cast of characters—Westchester, Ginger, Hookar, and Nickname (formally Roomie-Dearest)—but there are also some new faces—Spacey*, Homegirl**, and CC***.

After spending a very long day moving in Saturday we needed to kick up our heels. What better way to do that, and bond in the process, than by popping some champagne, inviting over a few friends and playing a rousing game of Never Have I Ever.

But this wasn’t your grandmother’s NHIE. In this instance you drank if you hadn’t done it (because we hate to exclude people). Needless to say, everyone enjoyed themselves.

And we enjoyed ourselves at the bonfire, all the while drinking, finding friends, and checking out this year’s crop of first-years freshmen. There were 2 that stuck out to me: a boy that “made moves” and a girl with little more than marriage on the brain.

Should make for an interesting class.

Sunday dawned bright and early, with my usual inability to sleep past 9. It was a day full of little consequence (unless you count figuring out that I could never support myself as a stripper) until I started getting ready for bed.

Let me preface this recount by saying that I had known all day that the Minimalist would be coming back Sunday. I had known for a week. But not wanting to be That Girl, I didn’t contact him, nor did I have any intention to until Monday.

But there came a point, as I was “exercising”, that my phone buzzed. Much to my surprise, it was the Minimalist wanting to see me. I’ll skip the details, but when I finally laid myself down to sleep he was right next to me in my bed.

This is the first time in far too long that I’ve had a man-boy in my bed. And it is the straight up first time there has been one in my college bed. Needless to say, I was mildly freaking out (and not just because my comforter was askew in the duvet cover and my baby blanket was floating around somewhere).

The man-boy that I liked was in my bed! In my room! This was uncharted territory. But I certainly didn’t mind. I slept like a baby…until my 7:45 alarm.

Yup, 8:30 class twice a week. M’favorite.

The Minimalist left on his walk of shame back to his new house and I rushed out to a full day of classes and meetings and whatnot.

And now I’m dead tired, but beyond happy. With everything.

And I just heard this weekend is a rugby weekend.

Score so many for sophomore year.

*Spacey-a girl with a love of drunk dancing and a slight inability to follow most trains of thought.

**Homegirl-she can only be described as nice, because she is (though I sense a bit of a wild streak waiting to come out).

***CC-short for Community College, where she went last year. And while she is wonderfully chill, she also appears to be testing her new, out of state waters.

A Wee Bit of Reflection

It’s been a year since I started this little labor of love, my real-time coming of age tale. And oh boy, what a year it has been.

If you had told me last year that this is how I would end up, that this would have been my life, I would have laughed.

Going into my freshman year I was going to be the life of every party. I was going to be single. I was going to be an honor student, a super achiever. I was going to be neat.

Well, one of those things held true—I made dean’s list both semesters and landed the most rossome editor position ever (and I’ve already got my eyes and heart set on my next position). But neat? Single? Life of the party?

Not even.

I’m just as disorganized. I still fall asleep the moment I open a textbook. And while I’m fun to be around I’m never going to be the girl to get the party started. Instead, there have been plenty of times that I opted to stay in with a glass bottle of wine and some Hulu. And I’m okay with that. I’ve accepted that I’m a messy, semi-wallflower with narcoleptic tendencies.

And I’ve finally accepted my less-than-single status, too, which may have been harder than accepting that this co-ed isn’t the hardest of partiers.

Because while it seems almost nothing has turned out the way that I anticipated, I wouldn’t change a thing. And it took a night in Milly to make me realize that.

Saturday night ChiChi invited her nearest and dearest friends (and some randoms) to her new, gorgeous, big, old house (which is decorated exactly like her parents’ house) to properly warm it. Of course, Twin and I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

Twin brought Chihuahua. Green Bean and the Fertilizer were there with three of his friends from Boston.

We all went out to dinner at a place called the Pickle Barrel.

Then the ladies returned to ChiChi’s to pretty ourselves over a bottle of organic champagne I brought back from Paris.

The boys returned shortly after, along with ChiChi’s 2 roommates, so we mixed a tub of hunch punch and got the party started.

More people showed up later. We danced. We mingled. We drank.

I started my evening talking to an ex-Marine. We talked about men missing chunks of skull and the dangers of life after deployment (at which point I mentioned something Papa, always the insurance man, told me about military motorcycle deaths). Then I spent the rest of the evening talking to one of the Boston boys about their upcoming trip to Disney world, road tripping, cooking and being a crazy vegan. The more I talked with him the more pronounced my Yankee accent became. And when it came time to go to bed I threw myself on the most uncomfortable Ikea pull-out couch. The Boston boy happened to fall there, too.

Now before you begin chanting adulterer and demanding crimson “A”s, let me make fully clear that we did nothing, all of our clothes stayed on, and that I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

The next morning I woke feeling better than anticipated, downed my trademark hangover cure (warm lemon water and oatmeal), helped ChiChi clean a bit while listening to her gripe about her first 8am class the next day, then returned to the homestead.

So what did I learn from my 24 hours in Milly?

That my family and my roots are important to me. That I don’t dislike the Dirty Dirty as much as I always thought I used to. That I actually really like the Minimalist. That I really, truly and completely love food and that my current food-related ambitions are not ill-advised. And when I heard ChiChi talk about starting back to school I got a wee bit jealous. Jealous of 8am classes and papers and mounds of reading?

Yes. Because College is where I belong. College is where most of my life is now. Twin and ChiChi, and the rest of the gang, are always going to be massively important parts of my life, but College is now. And, as strange as this sounds, all the work that comes with it is just icing on the cake.

So, cheers, friends. To a good year past, and another good year to come.

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.

Happy New Decade!

Regardless of whether or not you remember when the clock struck midnight, ushering in a brand new decade, it is the New Year. I do remember the dropping of the ball and my toasting of it, like the last few days of the Old Year, was a complete whirlwind.

Papa and Co left early New Year’s Eve Eve. I woke not too long after and headed up to the “Big” City to meet up with Dustin so he could take me on my first outing to the aquarium, where we spent a lovely afternoon stepping over children and debating which fish would taste best.

From there I zoomed over to meet up with ChiChi* and Twin for an ah-maze-ing performance by the Dynamites featuring Charles Walker, the master of funk and soul himself, and Band of Horses. Going into the show I had no clue who was opening for Band of Horses, but it didn’t take long for the funk and soul to win me over and get ChiChi and I boogying happily. Twin was a tad impatient. After an hour of “doing it with soul” Band of Horses came out of their little house and assumed their positions on the Spanish moss covered stage. While they were quite the dramatic shift from the suit wearing Dynamites, it was a shift I was more than willing to make. Three hours after we entered the venue, we emerged into the cold, rainy city still feeling the funk.

New Year’s Eve found me in a car with ChiChi and Adult heading to the beach, where we would be met by Green Bean, the Fertilizer**, Twin, Mr. Milley and Chihuahua***, for two nights of drinking, cooking, and good ole fashioned fun. After a quick jaunt to Piggly Wiggly I assumed my rightful position slaving over pots and pans and a big wood cutting board to prepare classy little hor d’eouvres. Chicken curry wraps were my favorite from the evening:

2 chicken breasts plain, low-fat yogurt

raisins dry roasted cashews

celery curry powder

5 tortillas

Slice chicken into small bites and cook in a lightly oiled pan over medium-high heat. Add salt and pepper to taste. Remove from heat once fully cooked. Chop as much celery as you’d like into small pieces and combine that with chicken and as many raisins and cashews. Add yogurt to the mixture, creating as much sauce as you’d like. Begin adding curry powder until the sauce is a mustard yellow color. Steam tortillas by wrapping them in damp dish towels and warming in the oven. Wrap the curry in the tortillas.

Once the food was on the table I mixed myself a strong vodka and seltzer and the festivities began. Adult got really drunk. We smoked the Fertilizer’s hookah. Twin, ChiChi and I kissed at midnight. I introduced Green Bean and the Fertilizer to champagne. Adult passed out first and ChiChi drew on his face.

I woke up this morning with a headache and the spins, then a bought of nausea compliments of Twin talking about her morning with the porcelain god. A cup of tea and a bowl of Captain Crunch with Berries cured everything. And a little bit of DJ Hero and pizza helped, too. Our two night stay got shortened to one when most of the people in my ride home felt like nursing their hangovers in their own beds.

And now it’s the New Year, a new decade, and while I feel no different I’m optimistic about the future. Resolutions will be coming shortly.

*ChiChi-formerly known as Coco.

**The Fertilizer-Green Bean’s friend who, due to his baggy pants and boxers, we assume to have a high sperm count

***Chihuahua-Twin’s friend from school. She’s a super cool darling and if she were a dog I imagine she would be a laid back long haired Chihuahua.

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.

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.

Humpty Dumpty Hearts and Thigh-Highs

The night started out like any 18^th birthday party should-girls in black lacey underthings, thigh-highs, high heels and the birthday girl in a crown. We were on our way to mingle with some man friends and sip (sip being a relative term) champagne.

We quickly polished off our champagne and half a pack of cigarettes then we started in on the vodka. Surprisingly, vodka and ginger ale is delicious. During the time that I was nursing my second cup of gingery goodness and smooching with the Minimalist, most of the men and a few of the women decided to get a little herbal. By herbal, I obviously mean they flirted with Mary Jane; smoked some grass; toked. Whatever you want to call it, they did it. Inside their dorm, thus making the whole building pregnant with the pungent, yet delightful, smell.

Smoking inside is not an unusual occurrence for them. They’ve got systems and sprays to lessen the glaring obviousness of it. They open windows, utilize towels and have plastic bags permanently duct taped over smoke detectors. Moral of the story-they’re old pros. Having grown up around these particular men (by grown up I mean adjusted to college life) I wasn’t surprised when people started filing into Cesar’s room. Even though the little bit of green in my eyes was enough green for me that night, I still followed. Marijuana is a social drug, afterall.

After some time, when all the bowls and jars were empty, we filed back into the living room, where I proceeded to freshen up my drink. No sooner had I taken that first experimental sip than there was a knock on the door. Cesar was dispatched to look through the peephole and the moment he did a visible change occurred in his face. Always calm, always shirtless Cesar was worried. From my vantage point, when he stepped outside, I could clearly see the khaki pants and maroon shirt that brought fear into the hearts of many a students-P Safe.

Upon returning Cesar was waxing triumphant. He assured everybody that because of his smooth talking ways and thicket of chest hair he was able to avoid any trouble. Sure they would be back, he said, but just to make sure Mary Jane was gone.

Feeling reassured I continued sipping my concoction, but this time from the safety of Cesar’s room where Roomie-Dearest, two friends and I were instructed to wait until after P Safe had come and gone again.

Have no fear, I assured myself. They’ll enter the apartment, sniff for weed, smell none and leave. No harm, no foul. And I wouldn’t even have to put my clothes back on. I maintained that mentality until the Minimalist opened the door and told us to come into the kitchen because P Safe needed our information. At the time I was amazed at how calmly he delivered that statement. In hindsight, though, I could see the defeat on his face.

The four of us walked out of Cesar’s room and into four P Safe officers, all wearing khaki pants and maroon shirts, and all hurried taking information from everyone-student I.D. number, full name, dorm number, age. When they took everything they wanted from us, they dismissed those of us who didn’t live there, but not before asking me if I had any clothes I could put on. All I had was a yellow trench coat.

Later, Roomie-Dearest and I returned to the scene of the crime. What we found scared me. Their apartment was quiet, an occurrence saved for anytime between the hours of 7am and noon. Their collection of fallen soldiers was sitting unprotected on the stove. All the trashcans were emptied, their contents taken for evidence.

We found our men stooped outside throwing around words like “expulsion” and “parents.” I asked my particular man the one question that says it all-“Are you okay?”

When he said no my heart broke and it continued to break the more he talked about that night. The only thing that keeps me from becoming humpty dumpty is knowing that Saturday is a rugby day and there’s no way those guys, especially my guy, would ever be sober on a rugby day.