We're Disgusting

Last night was a spectacular night. Oh so spectacular.

Being the modern woman that I am, I decided that it was high time I took the Minimalist out on a date. Being the modern, broke man that he is, the Minimalist accepted. So after he got out of class (because apparently he goes to class, despite my by efforts to convince myself he doesn’t) he came over, drank a beer, and we were off.

After hearing that Mellow Mushroom had vegan cheese I decided that I needed a pizza smothered in it. When I mentioned that to my day, I think he was more than apprehensive, but I won some points by choosing to sit outside and because there was an extensive beer list.

I scored even more points when I suggested peppers, onions, and mushrooms on the pizza. Apparently, his mother doesn’t like any of those so he is constantly surprised when a girl likes them.

At least I know it’s not an entirely Freudian connection.

We even did the couple thing with his side, her side meat—Italian sausage for him, jerk tofu for me. Are we sickeningly adorable, yet?

Just wait.

Dinner continued wonderfully. The pizza was damn delicious. And when he ordered his second beer there was a mix-up and I got one, too. I was wary at first, but it didn’t take much prompting to get me to drink it. I even shared a few sips with him.

Disgusting? It gets worse.

Once we ate our fill, drank our beers, and stayed until they started cleaning up around so, we walked back to my car. I parked a few blocks away so we spent the entire walk back with our arms around each other, laughing and chatting. He even carried my box of leftovers.

We have gotten so disgustingly cute over this past year. Just think, I used to ignore him at parties.

Wait, I still do that.

I guess I haven’t matured that much yet. But I did win this date.

Neighborly Love

Long time no talk. Have you missed me?

Don’t answer that.

Needless to say, my life has been more than a bit of a ride lately. I’m thoroughly back into the swing of life here at Crunchy College. Want a crash course update?

Alright. But before we begin I just want to make sure everyone is seating with their safety belts fastened. Please keep your hands inside at all times.

Here we go, kids.

Things with Misfit have settled down. That’s due in part because I stopped thinking like a little girl at a candy store and in part because he stopped taking off his shirt and trying to climb on top of me. So it appears now that we’re just trying to be friends. It is actually working quite well, especially since I’ve recently become friendly with some of his friends—Taco*, Bearded**, and Uncensored***. Those budding friendships have worked out quite nicely for Misfit and I because we’re no longer stuck in the small, far too cerebral box we had been in.

Westchester is also joining in on a bit of the new friend fun with Taco and Uncensored. Her and Uncensored have taken a bit of an infatuation with each other. I wouldn’t categorize it as “like,” because neither of them are the other’s type. But for the time being they’re enjoying things. And as long as it doesn’t go much further I’m happy to sit back in Taco and my vomit nest and watch movies while they giggle and coo.

Rugby season is in full swing now with at least one game almost every weekend.

And we’re back into all our old traditions—Hello Jello, socialing, checking out the opposing men, and playing with puppies while people knock the shit out of each other.

It wasn’t long into the first rugby weekend that I realized my endurance has gone to hell. What happened to the girl that could eat a bowl of oatmeal, drink all day, pass out for a couple of hours, then wake up and drink all night? I miss her. There won’t be a game this weekend, but I’m not too terribly broken up about it. We’re out of jello mix anyway.

The Minimalist and I are still thick as thieves. Sometimes, when I really think about it, I get far too freaked out. Sometimes, like after I leave his humble abode, I feel all warm and fuzzy inside. But regardless of any fuzziness I may be feeling there will be no FaceSpace titles coming anytime soon. Well, unless they suddenly create a “fucking” or “following around” one. We decided the day those pop up we’ll make it official.

But that seems unlikely anytime soon. So in the mean time we’re just doing what we do best—drinking too much, engaging in PDA, bickering, and being disgustingly cute. And while I’m sure most trained mental health professionals would say this isn’t the healthiest type of relationship for, the Minimalist doesn’t object and he is in the process of becoming a trained mental health professional. That counts, right?

Oh, and I’m also going to classes. Three classes plus the paper makes me a very busy, very caffeinated girl. I’m falling in love with French, getting slightly burnt out with editing, and managing to hold my own in a probably too advanced English class. I’m getting into the thick of midterms, which is the time every semester that I first question the value of a college degree and think it would just be easier to sell weed for the rest of my life. I’ve also recently started watching old episodes of Weeds, so that could have something to do with it, also.

Either way, my days are slightly less fun than they should be right now. But don’t worry, kids, because my nights are still plenty fun. And plenty wine-tastic.

*Taco-my neighbor who has a love of virgins and the ability to nuzzle like a puppy.

**Bearded-another neighbor, this one tall and slightly mysterious. And he has an extensive sweater collection.

***Uncensored-yet another neighbor. This is has a love of hardcore music, skinny jeans, and scary movies.

Crash Course: Grass is Green

Ladies,

I’m going to give you some advice I suggest you heed.

Don’t rock the boat!

If you have yourself a man/boy-friend and it’s good -- not just good to the point where you haven’t found anything better, but good to the point where you’re not even looking -- then don’t think for whatever reason that the grass will be greener on any other side that you might come across.

Take if from a girl who has fallen for fake grass more than a time too many, it is never greener.

And now, just as I had to last year with Connecticut and Arch Enemy, I have to remind myself of just that.

Don’t get your panties in a bunch, though, because the Minimalist and I are still sailing smoothly. We’re peachy keen, over the moon, and disgustingly happy. But there’s also Misfit*.

I met Misfit when he wrote for my section in the newspaper. He asked for my number under the guise of needing my help, and then invited me to his place under the guise of wanting me to go over his draft with him. Things evolved from there, thanks in part to GoodMan telling him that the Minimalist and I were a thing of the past.

While Misfit is undeniably wonderful and attractive and intelligent and a whole host of other favorable adjectives, I’m not convinced that his lawn is any better than the Minimalist’s. Ginger suggested a pro/con list and while normally I’m a not-so-closested list-lover, I can’t begin to compare them because they’re so completely different.

Misfit and I shop at a natural foods co-op. The Minimalist and I screw with freshman boys.

Misfit meditates. The Minimalist drinks.

Both make me laugh.

Once again, don’t take this as any kind of confession of feelings or intentions. Take this as what it is—advice on how to handle a situation that will undoubtedly spring up at some point, and one that I will never know how to handle.

If only Twin was here to tell me what to do this time…

*Misfit-GoodMan’s former roommate.

Manly Man-Boys

Due to a little drunken research with Twin one night, I was able to find out the date of that fateful night when the Minimalist and I first shared spit and a bed. That date (which I am choosing to keep quiet, though you don’t have to try too terribly hard to figure it out) has recently passed.

Yes, kids, that mean our pseudo anniversary just came and went.

And how does that make me feel?

Fan-freaking-tastic!

A day or so before the big day 2 things happened. First, I got far too drunk and, after instructing the Minimalist to finish his drink so I could tell him something creepy (and then having to reassure him that I was not carrying his spawn), told him.

He reacted far better than I expected—he quickly chugged another beer and kissed me on the forehead.

And people wonder why I like this man-boy.

But the next day another, far less blush-inducing thing happened—I found an old note from my ex. Him and I are no longer speaking for several reasons, to say the least, but before he showed his true colors we dated for a year and a half. He is the reason I avoid FaceSpace relationships, or any actual relationship, like the plague.

The note I found was from the very beginning, when things were still good and we were still leaving each other bags of gummy bears.

And it made me sad.

Sad because things had been so good and cute and fun and then quickly changed.

Sad because to this day I’m still sporting those scars.

Sad because there is always the chance that the Minimalist and I could end up that way.

But then sadness changed to nausea.

And I spent the rest of the weekend drinking too much (yeah, again) and being probably disgustingly cute with the Minimalist. Because, oh yeah, we have apparently gotten more disgusting.

We text now. He’s spent a handful of nights in my dorm. He kisses me in public a lot and jokes about doing so whenever he sees guys hitting on me just to see the reaction. His parents like me.

I’m surprised we aren’t constantly serenaded by the sounds of people retching around us. So who gives a fuck about the world’s douche-y-est ex. I’m not going to let him turn my life into a fuck shit stack anymore.

And I’m going to continue to enjoy my minimal time with my man-boy friend. I just won’t let him borrow anything.

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.

Uh Oh

I realize it’s been quite a while since I’ve updated you on my summer shenanigans. That’s not for lack of excitement, though. Believe me, there has been plenty going on.

Papa and co came for a birthday/Father’s day visit.

We laughed. We cried. We went out to dinner and Papa didn’t trust that where I told him to park the car was safe so he moved it half way through the meal.

Only a few short days after Papa flew back up to VAB Brother, his friend Spencer Pratt* (SP) and I hopped in Brother’s sensible Volvo sedan and drove the long 10 hours (it was 11 hours for us because Brother loves to stop a lot) up to join him. The next day the 3 of us and Papa jumped in his equally sensible, but slightly more masculine Rover and drove up to DC to pick up Westchester and take in a Mets v Nats game.

The Mets won. We were happy. We were tired.

The next 2 days (which included the 4^th) were spent getting too much sun on the beach with the neighborhood families.

I think everyone of Sister’s posse got (or pretended to get) stung by a jellyfish. While this was going on the parents were drinking coconut rum.

It was a good day.

Brother and SP drove home the next day while Westchester and I did some shopping and entertained LilBro** and a friend of his in our hotel room. By entertained I mean drank a handle of Sailor, no sexual favors included.

Westchester left a couple of days later and I made my way down to the Boro.

Just like last time I invaded the Minimalist’s castle (which is the same borrowed castle as last time), but without any of the silly fears. And once again we spent (probably) far too much time laying in bed watching Deadliest Warrior. And once again, we were quite happy with that.

Once difference from last time is that this weekend was full of belated birthday celebrations. The Minimalist’s 21^st birthday was the 5^th so in honor of the momentous day I gave him a nice bottle of whiskey. And in honor of my less momentous birthday he swallowed his masculine pride and walked in Victoria’s Secret to buy me a gift card (because he knows I love undies but also knows that if he had bought me any it would have been a tad creepy [and probably the wrong size]). After that he also swallowed some fake chicken at Boba House, my favorite vegetarian restaurant. He swore he would never go there, even refusing when ManLove wanted to go.

I was grinning like a fool, to say the least.

I returned to the Dirty Dirty Monday after 12 days away.

And that night was spent hanging out on Adult’s porch listening to Grill Master teach ChiChi’s Frenchie*** incorrect English. Or just say outrageous things to here. My favorite:

GM: “If you hang out here too much you’ll shoot your friends and bury them in the backyard.”

F: looks confused

GM: “Why am I like this? Maybe because when I was younger my father put dimes in a sock and beat me with them. But don’t worry, I got used to the bruises and learned to hide in the closets.”

Why that’s not exactly something to joke about it was ridiculously funny because all Frenchie understood was “dimes,” “father,” and “hide in the closest,” leading her to believe Grill Master was Looney Toons because his father hid his money in the closet.

I think you just had to be there.

This all seems like fun, but not terribly noteworthy summer fun, right?

If this was the whole story it sure would have been, but there’s more.

About a month ago I went for my yearly physical, which revealed that I had abnormal cells on my cervix. This find lead to another test, which turned into a biopsy, the day before leaving for Vagina Bitch. I was supposed to get my results the 7^th, but that date has come and gone and I’m still waiting. And I’m still nervous.

I probably shouldn’t be (I’m young, healthy with no known family history of cervical cancer), but I am. I can’t help it.

So during all this family, friendly, sunny fun I’ve had this little gnawing thought at the back of my mind. Not fun.

But really more than nervous I’m just ready to know. Once I know I can get out of this horrid limbo situation I’ve been living in. And we all know how I feel about limbo…

*Spencer Pratt-I call him this not because he shares any of SP’s qualities, but because they once both sported flesh-colored beards.

**LilBro-a fellow GuilCo sophomore-to-be who reminds me unbelievably of Brother, especially when drunk

***Frenchie-ChiChi’s mother is the definition of Francophile and somehow managed to find a teenage French girl to stay with them for a month a few years ago. Well, the girl has come back for another month-long visit.

Back to the Boro

As I mentioned before I was planning of hitting up the Boro for a much needed visit.

Well, after a bit of frenzied packing on Wednesday I was out the door. I drove quick like a rabbit and got up to my town in almost no time (relatively speaking).

First stop on the agenda was to see the manly friend. Since he doesn’t actually have a home he’s being living in Country’s abandon (but still paid for) room. He also happens to be rooming with Cesar, so it’s almost like nothing’s changed.

Another thing that hasn’t changed is how the Minimalist and I act around each other. I found him sitting at his desk watching Deadliest Warrior (possibly my new favorite show, by the way). Out of courtesy to me he shifted his computer to face the bed and we lay down to watch it.

And that’s what we did the majority of the time I was there. It may seem boring, but it was anything but.

It was us in our own little world where tribes of Pacific natives fight Japanese monks and Michael Jackson, Lady Gaga, and Princess Leia watched.

Sounds silly, but it was marvelous. It was extra marvelous considering how nervous I was before my trip.

During a handful of conversations with ChiChi I realized that this was kind of big. Or at least, I thought it was big. My biggest fears?

First, that he would get tired of me. I didn’t expect us to be glued at the hip (and we certainly weren’t here), but I knew we would be spending a good amount of time together, which is something we don’t normally do.

Back in school we would see each other while out at night, I would follow him back to his room, spend the night, lounge in bed for a while the following morning, but I was usually gone by noon. That’s not exactly a massive amount of time.

So the time certainly had me worried. But, as ChiChi can attest, I had a bigger (far more absurd) fear.

My shampoo was going to be in his shower. And he was going to see it.

Believe it or not, that had me really freaked. Something as inconsequential as that may not seem worth a second thought, but to me it meant…commitment. It meant I was living with him, albeit temporarily.

And that made me nervous. So nervous that before I took my bag out of the car I asked him at least 3 times if I could invade his castle.

My fear of commitment is not new. Nor is it a secret. It’s big and real and ugly. And it rears its ugly head quite often.

Hence why the shampoo was a big deal at first.

As to be expected, though, it wasn’t a big deal in actuality. Nothing was a big deal. Nothing I was worried about came to fruition.

My little vacation was perfect. I hung out with the Minimalist, Cesar, Roomie, and a few other lovelies. Mr. Jackson even made an appearance the last night. The Minimalist even took me out on a lovely date (which I got to choose). And we all watched lots of Bob Ross.

And as usual whenever saying g’bye to the manly man, I left an hour later than I planned.

So once again my fears and apprehensions proved to be ridiculous (unlike the amount of clothes I packed, for once). And now I can’t wait until he comes to the Dirty Dirty.

Now that might be cause for concern.

Dog Barf

Sorry for my absences recently (I feel like I’m saying that a lot). I’ve been…somewhere doing something I’m sure. At the moment I feel like dog barf.

Why dog barf?

Because you know what’s in shit. You know what caused shit. Dog barf, on the other hand, is a complete mystery.

I’m chalking it up to a good ole fashioned hangover and blaming warm beer, keg beer, unset Hello Jello, vodka and old tequila mixed, and a little bit of Hennessy plus a night of dancing, getting sweated and stepped on (hello possibly re-broken foot. Is this the 3^rd or 4^th time we’ve met?), too many cookies and not enough water, and my constant state of stress and sleeplessness for my current state of dog barf.

I even look a little like dog barf.

Yes, I did just take that this morning. Yes, I am still wearing last night’s dress.

If you can’t tell, yesterday was a rugby day, hence the Hello Jello.

Unfortunately, I made this batch on Friday night after having a drink or two so I think (and by think I mean definitely) I added too much Hello (vodka). That threw off the delicate scientific balance that is Hello Jello and I wound up with it on my hands the next morning when I went to take it out before the game.

It later got drank through a straw (bad idea).

From there I went to an off-campus party with some friends (including Arch Enemy). I danced. I drank. I’m pretty sure I had a nip slip or three. And Arch Enemy proposed…with my own ring. It fit perfectly, though (imagine that), so I took it as a sign and said yes. I think we’re going to Vegas after finals.

Rewind who knows how long.

I lost/blacked out and hid my purse containing my school ID and room key. So I’ve been living off the grid for a week now. The Minimalist’s parents were in town so we spent another Sunday afternoon at his brother’s house with them. The difference this time, though, was that Sunday became Monday and we hadn’t left yet. Him and I ended up sharing a quickly deflating air mattress in the living room after I ate ham

(super duper bad idea, I was sick till Wednesday), drank whiskey and had a heart to heart with his father. Yup, I’m that kind of girl.

We also went to dinner with them on Friday, though that meal was far less exciting. The only story-worthy happening was his father practically dancing on the table to the Indian music videos that were playing.

And his mother, who hates me less, invited me to Vermont in August. I, of course, intend to block out that commitment for the next couple of months.

I’m sure some other things have happened since I last wrote, but the only other noteworthy thing I can think of is…

I got an internship!

An awesome internship!

The greatest internship ever!

I’m going to be writing (yes, actually writing all by myself) a column for a food and culture magazine in my Dirty Dirty town.

What will this column be on?

The vegetarian and vegan food scene, of course!

Talk about made to order perfect.

I’m jazzed beyond belief and can’t wait to get home and start eating. And I don’t really have to wait that long to get home because May 6th is the magic day.

Yup, just 11 short days before my freshman year is over. And now I’m hyperventilating.

Off to find a paper bag to breath/barf into.

Panic-Attacks

Nothing too terribly notable happened this weekend. Well, unless you count the Minimalist and I getting within a hair (or two) of defining what we’re doing as notable.

Before you pull out the tickertape and noisemakers, let me rain on your parade a bit.

No, we are not in any way officially doing anything. We are still (and will be for the foreseeable future) “whatevering.” Unfortunately for some, FaceSpace doesn’t have that as an option, so we can’t even officially do that.

There are no babies or weddings or promise rings in the future.

What is in the future, the very near future, is what prompted this occurrence…

Summer.

Dorms close May 6. My freshman year ends May 6. That means May 6 I pack up my little toy car with all the belongings I’m not putting into storage and drive the 7 hours back to my Dirty Dirty “home” (that is hopefully not as dirty now that the mold problem is supposedly taken care of). May 6 is the day I leave the life and friends I have spent so many months adapting to and enjoying. May 6 is the day it all changes. Or actually, goes back to how it was.

Moral of the story: May 6 is a huge day.

And it’s only 24 days away.

This realization has been giving me multiple mini-panic attacks everyday for the past week. Some of those attacks have been based on the knowledge that without anything official or declared there is nothing to hold the Minimalist and my place as we live out these sweltering months separately.

So Friday night, after an evening full of debauchery, when we were sitting on his bed the Minimalist noticed something wasn’t quite right. Immediately he guessed what was weighing on my mind which tells me A) how well he knows me (scary thought) and B) that he’s been thinking about it, too (possibly even scarier).

The talk went well. It was wonderfully unemotional and completely lacking in awkwardness. The verdict:

We like each other. And we are going to (somehow, someway) see each other over the summer. No concrete plans yet on how that’ll happen, but we decided it will, so it will.

I know this isn’t quite earth shattering, but it’s a big step for him and I. Agreeing to see each other over the break means agreeing to plan in advance. It means expectations.

That scares me. Hell, everything scares me right now:

Finals, the end of ¼ of college, going home and finding what’s left of my old life there, jobs, internships, responsibilities.

Basically, I’m about a step away from curling up in the fetal position with my baby blanket (which I did bring to college).

Welcome to adulthood?

Suitors Abound

This weekend kicked my ass, hurt my liver, scraped my legs and burned my shoulders. If there was ever a time when I needed a weekend to recover from my weekend I think it would be now. Seriously, I’m far worse for the wear right now.

It all started Friday when Roomie and I took Westchester to the airport to pick up her younger sister—Jailbait*. She was coming down for the weekend to soak up some sun and get away from some drama back home.

She soaked up some sun, but she wasn’t able to escape drama. She ended up creating plenty down here.

The night started out nice enough. We went out to an Asian vegetarian/vegan restaurant I’ve been dying to try. Dinner was lovely as was the coffee shop we stopped by after.

A little later we headed out to a party off-campus with a big posse of ladies.

In the little bit of time we were there (it wasn’t my crowd and there was a bonfire blazing) I had an interesting little encounter. I was approached by a guy who I barely knew—Arch Enemy**—who began the conversation: “We hate each other, right?”

Doesn’t that sound like the beginning of a beautiful friendship?

It actually turned out to be.

My group of girls ended up leave the house-party not too long after and heading over to the bonfire. It wasn’t quite roaring yet, but some of my friends—Tucker*** and Blondie****--were starting it. And by the time we got there GoodMan was just tapping the keg, I was still able to grab a seat around the fire so I could drink my first cup with Blondie, and not too long later people broke out the drums. I even ran into Arch Enemy again. Him and I ended up chatting quite a bit and before long he was telling people I was his long-term girlfriend (we’ve been dating since we were fetuses, apparently).

Everything was going great…until…Cesar stood up on a bench and announced that, for whatever reason, PSafe had called the cops and given them permission to come into the woods and restore order. WTF, PSafe? They never, ever, ever do this.

This announcement coincided with Tucker and Blondie deciding to leave and get sandwiches, so I was planning on heading out with them.

But on the trail I ran into Connecticut who, in his usual levelheaded, take-charge Repiblican fashion, calmed all the fleeing partiers and convinced me to return to the pit with him. At which point I refilled my cup and refound my “boyfriend.” Once again everything was going good.

Until…GoodMan and someone else ran up to the keg, grabbed it and ran off into the woods. WTF, guys? I was still drinking on that.

That’s when Country made the announcement that, yes, cops were in fact advancing upon us quickly. This fact was proven when I looked over and saw cops running through the woods yielding flashlights.

My cue to leave. And leave I did, with a group of people (including Arch Enemy, Westchester and Jailbait) through the woods. We were forced to blaze our own trail in order to avoid being stopped, but we eventually made it to freedom and back to an apartment, where we immediately began drinking again. And where Westchester and Jailbait got into a rather heated fight. Jailbait, of course, was to blame.

Saturday “morning” proved to be quite hectic, as I woke up with just enough time to say g’bye to the Minimalist, run to my room, change and head out to the meadows to partake in an Easter Beer hunt with Tucker, Roomie, Westchester and Jailbait hosted by GoodMan. $3 for all the beer you can find. How else are you supposed to celebrate Jesus’ resurrections?

We ended up finding about 40 so I was sent out to get a cooler, blanket and food because we fully intended to camp out until we finished them all. 6 hours later we were burnt, drunk and on the verge of death, but we finished. And with just enough time to take a quick nap, dress, and begin drinking again. This time we went to a soccer party.

(Arch Enemy was supposed to be there (as he is currently trying to woo me), but he wasn’t feeling too hot so he promised to find me next weekend.)

After all day in the sun none of us were feeling our best, but we pushed through. Jailbait, though, did not. She acted her age by refusing to drink or talk to anyone (even though everyone was being perfectly nice and offering her drinks), but instead she opted for literally sitting in a corner texting for an hour. Then she called Westchester and demanded to be taken home. Luckily, Blondie was nice and sober enough to drive.

By the time we got back to the soccer house, though, the cops were sitting in their car across the street waiting to bust the place so Blondie, Connecticut, a random girl, and I headed back to campus where we once again took to the woods with some 40s for a bonfire.

The bonfire ended up being one of the worst decisions ever because I’m 99% sure it was thrown by a bunch of neo-Nazis (or Unibombers), none of which go to school here. And most of which head shaved heads.

Blondie protected me from their advances and we left not too long later. We ended up back at his apartment watching Fox and the Hound (one of my absolute favorites!).

I got home around 4, completely exhausted and vowing never to drink again (this week). Fat chance of that because I woke to a text from the Minimalist inviting me to help him and the guys kill the rest of the keg. Oh dear God!

*Jailbait-Westchester’s 17-year-old sister. She’s a junior in high school and sure acts it.

**Arch Enemy-a guy I’d met at a party a month or so back who, for whatever reason, I decided I very much hated. It was mutual at the time.

***Tucker-one of the leading Republicans and an occasional rugglet, who tucks in every shirt every time.

****Blondie-a cross-country boy with blonde hair, blue eyes and oodles of sweet, easy charm.

*****Connecticut-the epitome of an affluent, Northeastern Republican. He’s got curly blonde hair, which he parts on the side.

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.

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.