I Drink.

I apologize for my absence this past week. As I warned you, I had no time for anything that wasn’t completely necessary. That is evident by the clothes, dirty dishes, half-finished papers and open books cover every surface in my room. My side is starting to rival Roomie-Dearest’s for messiest. That will be rectified soon, as the walls feel like they’re closing in on me every time I step on a pair of shoes or can’t find a clean spoon.

In the meantime, as I procrastinate everything, allow me to recap my week:

I studied a lot, most of which was done in the library. I trudged through on minimal sleep and too much coffee, skipping practice Wednesday, much to my dismay. I took my last midterm Thursday and then poured myself a MUCH needed, deserved, enjoyed, etc. etc. drink.

Is it bad I started my Thirstday just after 5?

Therapist says: maybe.

I say: no. It’s clearly happy hour.

After dinner Roomie-Dearest and I, drinks in water bottles in hand, made our way over to the Minimalist, Cesar and co’s apartment for It’s Always Sunny and cookie baking. We drank. We socialized. I, once again, forgot that silicone bakeware gets just as hot as metal and burned myself. A quick stop over at our to be defined abode to refill, then we headed to a bridge in the woods where we continued to drink and be merry.

The next morning, upon waking up in the Minimalist’s bed, I went to class and then…did something I’m sure, though at the moment I don’t remember. That night Roomie-Dearest and I once again took to the woods, this time to a bonfire hosted by several friends. There were two fire pits, African drums, $3 bottomless cups that accompanied three kegs, and $1 shots. Unfortunately, the next morning was an early rugby morning so I had to restrain myself (which I have gotten better at, despite what this long weekend may lead you to believe). The bonfires ended when someone stupidly mentioned cops (that never came) so we walked back, all the while I was rapping “Fuck the Police”.

I woke the next morning (in my bed) and readied myself for rugby. After 80 minutes of near-constant play, I had earned the beer and pizza I happily consumed.

Highlights of the women’s rugby social-two large-breasted teammates ran around topless because they scored their first tris. I accidentally burned my captain’s lip with a cigarette. There was almost a fight when one girl threw boot-beer on her teammate (the other team, of course).

Then came a quick trip to the second half of the men’s game where the highlights included my friends completely covered in red body paint, more Hello-Jello, and Cesar getting another clump of his dreads ripped out. Next came the men’s social with more beer, me motor-boating a fat man’s boobies, and a little bit of a meltdown on my part.

What had happened was: on my way to the bathroom, a friend and teammate (who I trust to not purposely try to fuck me over) came and told me she heard the Minimalist was having sex with other people. I may or may not have shed a tear (I will never admit if I did), so I was taken to the bathroom. Roomie-Dearest, because she is such a dear, got Cesar and another one the roommates who immediately came into the bathroom and talked to me until I was calm.

It just warmed my little heart.

After the social and a barely-remembered dinner, I invited Brawny Man*, who had been flirting with me all social, and a few other friend’s back to my place for some ghetto margaritas. He continued flirting with me, I continued resisting, and he told me about his long-term, long-distance, open relationship with a girl in New York. He eventually left for a party and I made the walk over to the Minimalist’s apartment to chat (not talk, because that sounds scary).

Our chat included lots of use of the phrase “technically…, but in reality…” and a few girlish grins on my part. And after some Wikipedia researching (I shit you not), we decided to be sexually, not genetically, monogamous.

Cesar’s response: So nothing’s changed, right?

Pretty much, but it’s a step nonetheless. A step that lead into a lovely night of continued drinking and continued persistence by Brawny Man. (The Minimalist finds his persistence hilarious.)

I spent all of my slightly-hungover, slightly-exhausted Sunday with the Minimalist, his brother and girlfriend, and his parents.

What? Where did that come from?

His brother and girlfriend live half an hour away and his parents were in for the weekend. He mentioned their visit weeks ago, at which point he began trying to scare me. It surely worked, because driving down there I was my usual pre-parents nervous wreck (which he found hilarious). Everything turned out well. We drank some, played a stupid lawn games, ate some ribs, and heard embarrassing stories about the Minimalist.

And now it’s Monday, the last week before fall break and I’m running towards the light at the end of the tunnel and my former weight (but that’s a story for another day). I wonder wish I’ll reach first.

*Brawny Man-a male rugger with rugged good looks and a journalism major. He flirted with me at one social and the Minimalist got quite jealous.