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.

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.

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.

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.

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.