Boo PoPo

Few weekends have a theme as pronounced as this one. And this one screamed…

“Fuck the Police”

It started Friday when Nickname and a few of my peers decided that it was time they started learning the art of selling booze out of backpacks. Yup, the youngest upper classmen have stepped up to the log bench and started their own bonfire.

Or, maybe I should say that they attempted to step up. But a little scheduling snafu and a stupid freshman rained on it. And then PSafe came. So despite it being barely past 11 the fire was extinguished, though hopefully not along with our not-terribly-shitty reputations.

From there we all piled into cars and headed over to the scheduling snafu—a house party.

We got there right as things were at their peak. The music was good. The pong table was hot. And all my favorite people (including a recent alum that I’ve always had a strange, inexplicable liking towards) were there. I hit my party-groove and was sipping and mingling immediately.

Everything was smooth talking guys and wonderfully biting drinks when all of a sudden I heard the word that every underage kid dreads—COPS!

Normally the cops come, the homeowner goes outside to talk, the cops tell everyone to shut up, and we all disperse calmly. But this was in no way a normal situation.

The homeowner went outside, the cops talked, the homeowner came inside and told us to shut up, and the cops continued sitting outside.

Eventually all the youngins’ were advised to leave or risk a popo encounter, so I filled my car with Westchester and Mr. Jackson and tried to leave. But the cops had most of the roads out blocked. So a few crazy turns later we managed to make it back to campus. I promptly dropped them at the curb and made my way to the Minimalist’s where I learned the reason behind all the hooplah.

Apparently, a couple of girls who had been walking to the party got hit by a drunk driver. The names or condition of any of the girls is unknown.

And despite the fact that cops never showed up to Saturday’s shindig their presence was still felt in the form of a creepy old man.

DeVirgin, who was throwing the party, apparently has some more than slightly odd neighbors living behind him. And from what I can gather the middle-aged father heard to festive noise and decided that him, his Great Dane, and 16-year old son needed to join in. So they hopped the fence—with the dog—and told DeVirgin that if they weren’t allowed to get their party on then the cops would make sure no one could.

Because that’s the mature thing to do, right middle-aged man?

So they stayed. And the dog pooed in the house. And the son was nowhere to be found. And the father got far drunker than me and hit on everything that may have had a vagina between its legs.

The cops never showed, but needless to say, the presence of a man old enough to be my father and creepy enough to be on To Catch a Predator was in no way appreciated.

But I hate to end things on a sour note, so I’ll tell you something I did appreciate about this weekend:

I appreciate that Westchester and I have the same taste in so much and that she decided to go to my favorite veg-head restaurant for her birthday dinner.

And I appreciate all those lovely ladies.

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.

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.

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.

Family Bonding

Despite the fact that my room is in shambles (and Roomie-Dearest seems to have a complete aversion to cleaning it) this has been a truly amazing weekend. The amazingness of this weekend started way back when at the beginning of the semester when the Minimalist lamented that he was yet to meet my family. My little wheels got to turning and within a few days an invitation for a visit was extended to Papa and co and Brother. They agreed, a weekend was picked, and I began scouring the city for restaurants and activities with which to impress my visitors. And I began nervously anticipating the dinner at which the Minimalist and Papa would meet.

When Friday finally rolled around I almost couldn’t contain my excitement. Papa and co arrived from the north around 4 and headed straight to the hotel. Brother arrived from the south around 6 and headed straight to my (horribly and embarrassingly messy) dorm. From there he used his newly acquired Legal Drinker status to load him and up with beer (a 24oz of Fosters and a 6-pack of Dale’s Pale Ale for him, a 6-pack of Rolling Rock and a 6-pack of Natty Green’s Guilford Golden Ale for Westchester and I to split, and a 6-pack of Heineken for Roomie-Dearest) for all the weekend’s festivities.

From there we returned to campus in time to meet Papa and co outside (he would not be seeing my dorm if I had anything to do about it) for dinner. We went to a design-your-own pizza place, where we caught up, ate too much bread, I saw a picture of Papa shooting Das Boot and began planning our summer vacation. (We’re thinking Paris during the Tour de France.)

After dinner I spent some time at a party at the Olds* with the Minimalist, Westchester and Hookar** before retiring to my bed, thoroughly exhausted and eagerly anticipating Saturday.

Why was I so excited about Saturday, you’re probably wondering?

It was going to be the perfect day, of course!

Why is that, you ask?

It was a men’s rugby day, not a men’s and women’s rugby day. This meant 1) I could watch the game with all my friends, 2) I could social with all my friends (and the social would be better since it was the only one) and 3) I wouldn’t have to explain to Papa why I wasn’t playing in the women’s game (I’ve decided to leave him out of the loop for now concerning my little breathing problems).

Before the game the fam and I hit up a little lunch shop that I’d been wanting to try for some nom-ables and Harris Teeter for a 12-pack of Yeungling bottles and Solo cups so we could have a classy family tailgate.

It was so silly to me to be drinking in public with Papa, especially since he knew it was against the rules at school and I was the one that suggested the beer. I guess I’m becoming an adult.

After the game (which we won) Papa and co returned to the hotel while Brother stayed behind for some good rugby-day festivities. First, though, we loaded up on good beer from my room. Why drink Busch when you don’t have to?

The social was great fun! Brother fit in nicely with my friends (and got to meet the Minimalist in a less formal environment, which I think is part of the reason they got along so great). He enjoyed the songs, saw 3 people shoot the boot and was thoroughly amused by the sustainable living-themed house the social was hosted at.

Before we knew it, it was 6 (reservations at 7) so I had to dash back, change into a pre-determined outfit, try to rid myself of the beer stench, grab the Minimalist and drive Brother’s car (he was too tipsy) downtown to meet the rest of our party for dinner.

This was it! All the weeks of planning and dreading; all my worries about big steps and how everyone would get along, it was all for this moment, when Papa opened the hotel door and they got to meet my man.

Luckily, everything went swimmingly. Hell, it was fucking perfect. Brother was feeling loose and thus able to keep the mood light. Papa and co was nice. The Minimalist was pleasant and charming. The food was great. And we even held hands as we walked through the hotel at the end of the night (he’s become surprisingly and wonderfully affectionate lately). Like I said…perfection.

Originally, Brother was supposed to return to campus with me to attend a bonfire spurred on by the perfect weather. But after a full day of drinking he was spent, so he stayed behind, much to the dismay of the Minimalist and his friends (who seemed to quite like Brother at the social).

Despite the weather being (relatively) amazing and no other known parties that night the bonfire wasn’t as much of a screaming success as they usually are. That was probably part of the reason that, come 1:30am when I was tired and my toe were numb and I said that I was going to head back to civilization and suggested to the Minimalist that he follow, he didn’t give me his usual reason for declining—that he, being one of the people throwing the bonfire, was responsible for cleaning up and putting out the fire at the end. This time he simply found another host to man the bar and together we stumbled down the dark, uneven path towards campus.

The perfect end to the perfect day—me curled up with the Minimalist in his warm bed watching Burn Notice as we fell asleep. I promise, we’re not an old married couple (despite the boringness of that statement).

My alarm sounded bright and early at 9:30, which gave me just enough time to dress, run to my room to switch shoes and grab my keys before heading off to meet the family for breakfast. Brother was hung over as shit. Sister displayed her horrible knife skills when trying to cut her pancakes (1-she’s 9, why can’t she use a knife? 2-pancakes covered in syrup are the easiest things to cut, they practically fall apart when you look at them wrong). And Papa expressed his very positive feelings about the Minimalist.

After our hearty breakfasts we exchanged hugs and went our separate ways. My way: meeting up with Westchester, Roomie-Dearest, the Pollock and Boy Scout*** for breakfast (I didn’t eat, but instead stole a bunch of food which later became my dinner), after which I returned to the Minimalist’s bed to share and “celebrate” (wink wink) the news of Papa’s complete lack of dislike towards him.

Like I said, the most amazing weekend ever thanks to:

My family

The Minimalist

60 degree weather

Hopefully, this euphoria will carry over through tomorrow. I can’t really see myself stepping down from cloud 9, 10, 11, 12…anytime soon.

*Olds-the oldest apartment-style dorms on campus, usually reserved for upperclassmen. Due to their style and location, they’re a great on-campus party spot.

**Hookar-a girl I’ve always been friendly with, but now that she no longer wants to transfer (and probably a couple of other reasons) we’ve been hanging out a lot more. She’s a bit of an acquired taste, but always fun.

***Boy Scout-a friend of the Pollock and Mr. Jackson. He’s a tennis player, a super-sweet guy, and a card-carrying member of the 6-pack club.

The "I Love Free Alcohol" Weekend

Thank-you, MLK. Your unending commitment to nonviolence and the persevering spirit of men ended the soul crushing oppression that too many endured for far too long. You, and others like you, have set an example that we will be trying to live up to for generations to come. For that, and this most amazing 3-day weekend, I thank-you.

Oh yes, my weekend has been chock-full-o-craziness and surprisingly warm weather. (It’s 60 degrees and sunny!) That warm weather inspired Country and his crew to come out of hibernation and host the first bonfire of the year. That would have been the perfect way to kick off the weekend—free beer, sex-on-a-stick outfit (black over-the-knee boots, black leggings, short white tank dress, Sgt Pepper jacket), all my friends—if it weren’t for Mr. Jackson ignoring boundaries and hitting on me and a rugglet I’m quite platonically fond of getting alcohol poisoning. He’s alright now; recuperating safely at home.

Saturday brought on a team run and weight lifting session, deciding not to go with Mr. Jackson and Pollock* for an overnight to Pollock’s house (no need to confuse the poor boy even more), banding together with Westchester and Roomie-Dearest to take Newbie** under our wings, and one of the BEST parties of the year. The party: Ladies for Haiti, meaning girls drank free. The location: the Firehouse. Reasons it was awesome: free booze, dancing on a table to Michael Jackson, slapping a random creeper, getting busted by 6 cop cars (overkill much?), another sex-on-a-stick outfit (same boots, black rose-print high waisted skirt from Twin, gray v-neck), Roomie-Dearest going home with Country and me going home with the Minimalist.

While Roomie-Dearest ate up some shrooms on Sunday, I ate up a delicious burrito bowl and some licorice while watching Tough Love 2 online. Completely unproductive, but wonderful nonetheless. Later that night wasn’t so wonderful.

The party: Dance Party for Dr. King. The location: Country’s apartment. Reasons it wasn’t so awesome: the music wasn’t quite right, Mr. Jackson got too fucked up too soon and had to be taken home, a creeper was majorly creeping, and the Minimalist and I had our first fight. He apologized at the eleventh hour as I was putting on my coat to walk home and I returned with him.

Call me a pushover, but he looked genuinely upset about things.

And now I’m finishing an article for the paper and procrastinating clean my very messy room, all the while a delicious piece of chocolate cake soaks in rum for Mr. Jackson’s birthday.

G’afternoon. G’evening. And g’night.

*Pollock-a rugglet and good friend of Mr. Jackson

**Newbie-a transfer that just moved in down the hall. She's nice, but quiet. We'll change that.

Perfect Before a Pause.

This weekend has been perfect. Better than perfect. Amazing. Really just what I needed after a not-quite stressful week, but a week nonetheless.

Instead of having class at our regular time on Friday my professor (who is so obviously amazing) decided we would go on a ghost tour. It’s a class about urban legends, so it was relevant.

During the time that I was to be traipsing around downtown, the men’s rugby team was supposed to be driving up to State for an unbelievably fun night game. At the last minute it got canceled, which re-injected all my favorite men into my night.

Roomie-Dearest, Ginger and I headed to another soccer party (yes, another). Westchester was noticeably absent because she had some quasi-fling drama to attend to. We ran into quite a few of our posse there and I proceeded to drink entirely too much tequila. After the ride back (which I barely remember) the Minimalist and I retired to his humble abode for a good roll in the hay. At some point after we left Ginger and GoodMan (who she’s had quite a crush on for quite a while) made out then passed out. Apparently he snores.

The next morning I joined my lovely teammates for an almost lovely breakfast before our two hours of warm-up for our last game of the season.

Originally, after being out of commission and barely in commission for so long, the idea of three hours of rugby running didn’t thrill me. But the weather was perfect. Not a cloud in the sky. And after days of rain, the ground was soft and perfect for tackling. We were playing a women’s club team, a rag tag group of twentysomething women who talked about their masters degrees and their husbands. They didn’t have enough players so three teammates and I whored ourselves out and switched sides. With so many abnormal circumstances, no one could take the game seriously. So instead of being intense and competitive we played for fun.

My usual team won, the first win of the season, but I couldn’t care less that I wasn’t part of the win. I had too much fun. Afterwards we all gathered at my favorite fire pit in the woods to drink, sing, laugh, and watch four women zulu (run around naked after you score your first tri).

When the other team had to leave, we grabbed our remaining beer and went to watch the men play touch by the lake. Their rescheduled game got canceled, so they struck up another game which, somehow, I got roped into playing. A little tipsy from my social and running in sneakers on muddy grass, my play wasn’t my best, but I loved every minute of it. Especially playing on a team with Brawny Man and two of my other favorite ruggers, DeVirgin* and Big Baby**, and having the Minimalist and my ruggirls cheering me on (the Minimalist not so much cheering as laughing whenever I slipped on the mud).

Due to some unfinished homework I had to depart a few minutes early, much to my dismay. I’m going to miss rugby during the off-season. It has given me quite a few friends, taught me the joys of day drinking and given me an ass that could stop traffic.

Later, in honor of DeVirgin’s early birthday and Sexster’s*** belated birthday, I returned to my favorite fire pit for a keg-fire thrown by my favorite men, sans Country. There Ginger turned her sights to another man with a lip ring, and proceeded to suck Sexster’s face all night. She, being a virgin, didn’t want to go any further then swapping spit, so various people were sent in using various methods in order to cock-block. It eventually worked and Sexster only walked her home. I was, of course, dressed impractically for the weather in boots and a drop-dead-adorable sweater dress which made the Minimalist drool and a couple of guys ask why he didn’t follow me after I left. He promised GoodMan he would help clean up. Luckily he finished early and requested my presence in his bed. I obliged and got my 3^rd work out for the day.

And today, I had a lovely lunch and woods walk with Teach**** before helping Big Baby with his statistics. Now, I’m relaxing and reflecting.

This weekend couldn’t have been more perfect. It’s just what I needed to sustain me for the next two weeks, as I’ll miss this weekend of partying while I’m home for Thanksgiving.

*DeVirgin-one of the cutest and nicest guys I’ve met here and a good friend of the Minimalist and co. He’s a senior, dating a ruggirl and lost his virginity last year.

**Big Baby-looks like a big, adorable 4^th grader, complete with a bowl-cut.

***Sexster-one of the Minimalist’s roommates. He’s got a lip ring, a nipple piercing and a good libido.

****Teach-formally known as My Shadow. Once we eliminated the romantic aspect of our relationship, he became one of my closest friends. We talk about life and philosophy and war and psychology and spend hours walking through the woods.

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.