Resolutions

I really should update more often.

This isn’t a “My resolutions for 2007 post.”

You know what I say to that, “Fuck that shit”.

I see resolutions as a way for people to instill false hope in them when faced the prospect of a new year, a clean slate. For all our lives we’ve been given false promises. Promises that haven’t been fulfilled like, “If you be quiet mommy will take you out for ice cream,” or “I’ll totally have sex with you if you get me another drink”. So why should we promise ourselves to “go to the gym more than last year,” or “eat healthier,” or “stop doing heroin” when we know we aren’t going to fulfill them, for the most part. Yes if you go to the gym twice this year when the previous year you only went once is going to the gym more, but that's just a loophole around the wording of your words. Resolutions in some ways are kind of a way for a person to be even more mediocre. A conversation may happen like this:


I hate working out, I quit.

But, this is like your second time working out so far.

All I said was to work out more, and I did. I only worked out once last year.

Carrying groceries up stairs doesn't count.

Man, fuck you.


I don't know what just happened there; hold on. Ok, there it goes.

Resolutions shouldn’t be a noun it should be a verb. It should be something done not something you say to yourself. I’m all for self-motivation, but when you say I resolve to do this and go back into old habits after a month, it doesn't really count. I know I use the exercise example a lot, but I mean it's a common resolution. Go to the gym after new years and count up the people. Now go again at least 4 times a week about the same time every day and count how many people go now. By the end of the month you’re lucky to still have half of the amount you had before. Yeah, I guess there are some problems with that model, such as the factor that people change their gym time, but fuck-it, I say it so it must be true.

I don't know where I really went with this post but the moral of the story is, don’t make resolutions, make changes. And eat your vegetables, you look like shit.

Thanks

Its that time where the leaves are all orange and red, in some cases brown, and we all think of spiced apple cider, turkeys, and that one cousin, you know who I’m talking about. But above all, we think about things we are thankful for. May it be the gentle fall breeze or the cop that didn't noticed you were completely shitfaced; its these little things that make life just a wee bit better.

So this turkey day I've decided that I’m thankful for a lot of things that have happened over the past year and its time for me to thank them, in list format.

Thank you digital camera, for documenting memories that I will cherish, regret, and ultimately use as blackmail material. You have documented highs such as my graduation, and lows such as that one night, with all the liquor, and sex toys. Although I ultimately did replace my old one with a newer, sexier one, they all serve the same purpose, and I am thankful.

Thank you RAMZ Hall, not only for spelling your name in all caps and with an EXTREME Z at the end, but also for the fact that you are above my next thanks.

Thank you Qdoba and Five Guys, your fragrant cooking fills up my nostrils everytime I exit my building. May it be the awesome bacon smell in the morning, or the sultry spiced chicken in the evening, you seem to fit all my emotions. I go to you to fill a void, usually a food void, but a void nonetheless. Its as if, you guys complete me.

Thank you 40s on the porch, without you I would have 15 less facebook friends. You introduced my to some people I am glad I met, and some I am glad I know to now avoid. Although you don't always treat me well and have me regretting you the next day, you are always a good reason to have friends on a porch. Also, you are a pefect cap on my Thursday night. Which leads me to …

Thank you Monday and Thursday night television. Prison Break, Heroes, Studio 60, Ugly Betty, Grey’s anatomy, and the now defunct Six Degrees all bring me over 6 hours of quality programming each week. You give me reasons to hang out with friends, and a reason to avoid others. You guys are great conversation starters and always deliver. If its new or old I still watch you guys.

Thank you Halloween. You provided me a solid week of parties and a grand finale that will not be forgotten anytime soon, as soon as I can remember it. You helped me find my way as a bartender, and gave me a reason to dress in a plastic coat and ash. You also showed me the confidence and uber masculinity I have in myself to shotgun a beer using only my canines. Although you sent me to class drunk, just to make a fool of myself, I still like you. You may only come around once a year, but you’re hella’ awesome.

Thank you Facebook. You allow me to stalk people without feeling creepy.

Thank you Nintendo. Thank you for releasing the DS and the Wii, bringing gaming back to its simplistic, “all about fun” roots and for burning a major hole in my wallet.

Thank you alcohol. What can I say, stay classy.

Thank you Utah. It was great visiting you, and I hope to visit you again. You had some great sides like Sundance and Bryce canyon. Also your hoodoos are very sexy.

I know I’m forgetting some things, but its so hard to thank all of you. Some quick things I’d like to thank are: that cozy feeling when you just wake up, hot chocolate, cancelled classes, extensions on deadlines, pulling strings, beach, warmth, sun, snow, music, movies, and of course you, the reader, because all four of you are just so freaking awesome I just want to roll you up and dunk you into my coffee. Then maybe cover up the bodies and frame another man for the deed. Because you know, can’t exactly leave a trail.

100 Reasons I Hate You: Reasons 3 & 4

3. You say whatever

There are points where whatever is a legitimate response. For example, You are walking and you step on an acorn. It cracks and you look back wondering what you stepped on, but then ultimately decide to keep going to your destination so you shrug it off with a polite, whatever. Then there are the moments that piss me off. The moments when I passionately come up with a rebuttal to your argument. The response is so passionate and so articulate I should be standing on the steps of the Lincoln memorial with an American flag waving behind me. You, on the other hand, decide to puss out and not think of something intellectual to say to reinforce your point, so in one poorly combined word you devalue my whole point and brush it off like a crumb on your shirt. Whatever has no intellectual value behind it. Its just an easy way out of a confrontation you’ll just lose.




4. You sip your drink before you finish swallowing your food
How parched are you that you need to do this? Sometimes its fine, like with cookies or even with a PB&J sandwich. However, if you’re eating a burger and your mouth is full then you reach for a sip of your drink, that's nasty. Its like “OK! My mouth is full, but now lets add the liquid in there to fill any air pockets and then, mix it together in a deep and sloppy chewing fashion!” Its like a masticating cow, chewing and gnawing at it’s cud. It’s either sip then eat or eat then sip, not eatsip, or sipeat, and see, those don’t even exist because my word processor just put a squiggly red line underneath both.

100 Reasons I Hate You. Reasons 1 and 2.

You want to get on my bad side? Follow these simple instructions and you will be on the list.
(This is an ongoing project, it’ll end whenever I reach 100 or run out of ideas)



1.You talk excessively during movies:
Have you heard of the phrase, “Shut up bitch, I’m watching a movie.” You haven’t? Well you probably haven’t watched a movie with me then. I like to watch movies and enjoy them, how they were meant to be enjoyed. As with porn they are meant to be enjoyed naked, Movies are meant to be enjoyed as they are, without the extra soundtrack of you asking me what is going on when you haven’t been paying attention during the whole film. Even more so annoying, is you talking during a film I paid to see in the theater. If I paid to see this movie I want to watch the movie, not listen to you talk, If I paid to listen to you talk, you would matter, and guess what, you don't.



2. You overreact
Every piece of news and information has a set level of the intensity of a response. If I heard that the earth was going to explode in 90 minutes I would respond justly by soiling myself. If I heard that you finally learned how to whistle I may give you a snap or two. If I suggest we go bowling and you respond by squealing and clapping your hands together and say, “Oh My God, YES! LETS GO BOWLING!” I will hate you; bowling isn't that exciting. If you give a level 10 response to something that only requires a level 2 response at best its annoying, and it will make me not want to talk to you. Even more annoying is overreacting while on vacation.

scene: On the subway in New York

You: We’re on a Subway train! Oh My God, Its just like the movies. Take My Picture, Take My Picture!

You outstretch your hand to hand me your camera

I take your camera and throw it at your face

Me: Oh My God You’re Bleeding Internally on a subway train in New York, Just like in the movies! Here Take a picture!

I pose over you while you writhe in pain on the floor.

End scene.

The Kids

As we reach the single digit countdowns for when I move back to Richmond, it has got me reminiscing about how I met some of these crazy kids I’ve made over the past year. Now all of these kids, Eddie, Nick, BLT, and Steve, I initially met due to the fact they hung out with other people from my floor. Coincidentally the place they chose was right outside of my door. Now, the fact that my room isn’t exactly soundproof, or that fact that we never closed our door while we were there, I heard a lot of their conversations, and thus got to know them through osmosis if you will. The night where I really met the bulk of them is when I decided to just, “fuck-it”, and hang out with them at the local hookah bar. That and the occasions where I came back buzzed and decided I was too lazy to make the extra effort to open my door, so I stayed outside.



Eddie was one of the first people I’ve met on my floor, sparing my roommate. Eddie was my next door neighbor for the 1st semester. He seemed interesting, in the interesting artist way. He had a Powerbook also which made him pretty good in my book. He also was one of the first people to write on my door. “Flaming hot asses of 906,” if I remember correctly. My first memory of Eddie however was when I came back from one of the earlier parties in the year, and I, slightly inebriated (who am I kidding, I was pretty smashed), hung out with the kids that hung out outside of my door. After a while I talked with Eddie, him quietly typing at his computer, me trashed and ultimately crashing onto his bed. Now I call this the major point, because before this we would have some simple dialogue or shout things to each other while watching adult swim. Crashing onto his bed I noticed, I was out of line I barely know him, and now I noticed he used the same sheets throughout the whole year. The highlight of this memory is the statement Eddie made concerning those who go, “Yeah it's the weekend lets get fucked up drunk!” He called those people stupid and the mere fact of going out with the goal to get drunk absurd. Oh how we change.




BLT, or Brian Tyree, is an interesting subject. Not exactly the type of person who you would think of me hanging out with, but now it would be odd drinking without the BLT around. Now, almost everyone knows the story of the night of the Halloween party and the bottle of Aristocrat. If not, I shall inform. I come back from the Halloween party held at Grove and I am losing my buzz. Walking down the hall way I meet up with BLT, we chit chat, tells me that they’re watching evil dead in the television room asks me if I wanted to join. I say sure, but first he invites me into his room (no, that didn't happen, get your mind out of the gutter). In his room he pulls out a bottle of Aristocrat; now to those who haven’t experienced warm Aristocrat, it is basically drinking nail polish remover. We pass the bottle back and forth each taking an increasingly larger swig than last time. From then on we went to the television room, growing increasingly antsy we decide to take a couple more swigs from the bottle and head out to 7-11, this is where our tradition of hanging out outside of the commons despite the heavy traffic of cops came to be. However, the earliest encounter I can think of with BLT is a particularly hot day in the city. We were in the bathroom, I was washing my face because of the heat and the obvious glisten of sweat and we were discussing how hot it is outside. He stated that its one of those days where you’ve got to take like 3 showers and change your shirt many times. In response, I left for class.




Nick I met through Pat. This was during the first week of school when we just thought Pat was kind of annoying. However, he removed all doubt after the second week. For the longest time Nick was the guy who was on the top bunk. He would be there, on his laptop, inexplicably in a wife beater and a hat, chatting online or surfing the interweb. I can’t really pinpoint when Nick and I started hanging out. One good memory though is me and him yelling out his window. Things were being thrown out (small things don't worry) and I decided to post pornographic pictures onto the side of the building (which reminds me; remind me when I’m walking out the back of Shafer to check if it is still there). This also was when we perfected the Hagrid impersonation of, “Rawr, Rawr, Rawr.”





Steve I met practically naked, well he was. This is when I was formally introduced to Steve. However, judging the record (my iPhoto library) I did meet him at the first party held at Joan’s, the night of a thousand PBR’s it may be called. Back to the nakedness. This memory is vivid, due to the sheer absurdity of it. Myself and BLT, or Eddie, or Nick, or maybe all of us, were walking back to Nick’s room to play a healthy round of Soul Calibur. I’m in the doorway leaning and talking when I hear a shriek followed by a high pitched laughter. Someone protests in the distance, “Don’t!” I peer out the door and here comes Steve, bounding down the hallway in his purple boxer briefs trying to cover up his dignity. Jane soon follows. Nick, obviously bewildered by the sight comes out and asks, “What the hell is going on?!” Jane responds, “He’s had a couple of drinks.” Oh, that explains it. Ah college, desensitizing youth to intoxicated behavior since 969AD (and apparently putting kids to sleep with lectures since 975 AD, Thanks Ask Yahoo!). Soon Steve is wrapped in a bed sheet being escorted by Jane back to his room.

delay

Sorry about the lack of posts, it has been difficult balancing my life, being a superhero, and this blog. Let this picture of a cute puppy tide you over for now.

The Complete Cinco de WASTED

Preface .1

The First Party .2

The Second Party .3

... And No-One Else .4

The Last Party & Epilogue .5

Cinco de WASTED: The Last Party & Epilogue

I’m walking past the garage on Parkwood and I’m running my fingers along the side of the building.

I push open the door to their place and I’m greeted, surprisingly, by most of the people in the room. There was a blur of a group in front of me. To my left a table with a hookah and some kids. I greeted them; Mark, Katrina, Jerilyn, Candice, Edrick, Gary, Malaika, I think, I don't know, maybe more, maybe less. Apparently through pictures, I went around the place, sat down next to Malaika and chatted. I told Malaika to help me back when we go back to the building because I will need the help. She agreed and said something about what she drank tonight.

We’re all laughing out on the patio and I bust into the house and collapse onto the sofa. According to pictures, I’m there for quite a while. Specifics are hard to remember, I remember images of me laughing, me talking to people about the menu of alcohol I had that night. I consumed another beverage, beer, tequila, antifreeze? I had no idea, by then my taste buds have lost all function. I took whatever it was and drank it whole.

In the back yard I’m lying on the gravel. The gravel feels so cool against my cheek. I say “oh these clothes” in my best Peter voice I can while writhing on the ground.

I’m stumbling somewhere, but I’m not moving on my own free will.
“Come on man lets get you inside.” The mystery voice was kind. “How much did you have to drink?” I say something, probably a shape of some sort.

All I see is red, a deep scarlet red. The smell is acrid and sweet at the same time. I look up and see a blur of yellow, black, and white. I notice I’m hanging over a trashcan filled with the drinks of the past hour and a half. Where am I? I look around more, notice that this place was empty, and the exact mirror image of the place I was at. I’m next door, the calm room. Looking out the window I see the familiar people on the porch. “You alright man?” It’s the guy who helped me. “Yeah, I’m,” I pause to collect myself, and let my stomach settle, “I’m good.” I get up and try to make out who this guy was. He’s about my height, maybe a little taller, and wearing a track jacket. Well whoever this guy was, thanks.

I stumble out of the front door, I hit someone with it, it doesn’t faze me. Malaika is there on the porch talking to some guys. She turns to me and says, “Hey I was looking for you! Are you ready to go?”

“I’m ready to go,” I respond, slurring exponentially, “Are you ready to go?” Did she respond? I don't know. I started walking down the steps, hearing goodbyes by the passer bys and destined to get back and sleep.

I rest up against the garage and tell Malaika to hold on. I sit down and feel something bubble in my stomach. I turn over and jam my head into a corner. I’ve found that its not the actual throwing up that makes you throw up, its that nasty taste of stomach acid in your mouth that makes you throw up. I begin my regime of spitting, clutching my stomach. “Oh my god is he ok?!” It’s Micah, definitely Micah. “Yeah he is, just had too much to drink,” Malaika responds like my PR person and I’m some drunk socialite. I see a flash, great, pictures, I might as well be a socialite. I roll back over and sit, It feels cool. Malaika reassures me its ok to rest, but we should get moving, wouldn't want to get caught by the cops.

Malaika and I are outside of Johnson and I’m trying to compose myself. I pull out my ID card and wait while she says goodbye to someone. “You ready?” she asks. Ready as I’ll ever be, I think. We make it up the steps, swipe our cards, and go to the elevator. Once in the elevator I breath a sigh of relief and collapse onto the metal walls.






Epilogue

I wake up, Its afternoon. I’m on top of my sheets, in the clothes I was wearing last night. I reach up for my glasses. They’re not there. Shit, countless weekends of parties and I lose my glasses right before finals. I roll out of bed. My Head feels like its in a vice and my mouth is bone dry. I grab a water bottle out of fridge and drink. I almost gag, It tastes like tequila. I grab one of my propels, I don't gag this time so I drink as much of it as I can. I make my way out of the room and head to the bathroom. I do my business and head back to my room. While unlocking my door I see Ryan coming out of his room. There’s an awkward moment. Do I say hi? He’s thinking it too. Sensing the awkward moment we simultaneously move on to something else. I open the door, shut it behind me, and collapse onto my bed.

Cinco de WASTED: ... and no-one else

I’m leaning on the wall next to the drink table. The lean is facilitated by the fact that the apartment is now packed with people and the alcohol is slowly stripping away my motor functions. A guy comes up to the drink table and asks for a shot, they use double shot glasses here too. He asks the barkeep to do a shot with him, he politely refuses saying that he drank too much already (Side note: What is it with tequila that makes drinking it by yourself bad? It seems as if tequila can’t be consumed unless if it is in groups of 2 or more). The surprisingly already drunk patron kept badgering the barkeep. The Barkeep, male, blonde, black tee, and tall, points over to me and says, “Why don’t you take a shot with him?”

The barkeep offers me a shot and I take it and, after the prerequisite count down, me and the other guy down our shots and laugh. Not just a chuckle or a hearty guffaw, but a laugh that usually accompanies pointing and laughing at your friend who just spilled soda on them in the middle of the dining hall, or who just crashed their bike into the curb and now is bleeding internally, you know that kind of laugh. I introduce myself to the guy and he shakes my hand accordingly. He was in a couple main stage theater productions I saw this year, very pale, very gay.

I fade back into the obscurity of the wall and I watch as these people enjoy themselves. My alcohol impaired view of the room caused it to swell and swirl in a blur of people and laughter and dancing. I feel tired, and alienated from the group around me.

Options fly through my head of what I could do. I could stay here, make friends, or attempt to make friends, until my other friends get back. I could leave, go to the other party, or I could milk as much alcohol out of these parties as possible then leave at the right moment. I chose that option.

More people come in. As I try to compose myself I notice one of them. She comes up to the bar and asks what they have. I’m trying to come up with an introduction, something along the lines of, “aren’t you in my media ethics class?” my use of the classic “are you in my ____ class/lab?” never fails to amaze. However the night has taken its toll on me and I seize up. She glances back and says hi.

“You’re in my Ethics class aren’t you?” she beat me to the punch. I admit defeat and go with the flow, “Yeah, I am.”

“What presentation did you do?”

“I did the ‘Out of control: Portrayal of college students in the media’ presentation”

“Oh! I liked that presentation a lot,” that's probably a lie, “Those slides were awesome,” now that wasn’t a lie, or at least I tell myself that to boost my ego. We continued our discussion about the class, the teacher, and those in it and I feel the need to go back over to Gayler’s. I say goodbye and that I’ll see her in class Monday (that Monday we sat next to each other and exchanged awkward greetings, midway through class she asked to borrow a pencil, at the end of class she returned the pencil, and I never talked to her again).

I walked into Gayler’s kitchen and I see Ryan and Casin passing a bottle of tequila between them. They are both swaying in the drunken breeze. They notice me and yell out a drunken, “HEY!wassupman.” Casin offers me tequila, I protest, “Isn’t that Gayler’s?”

“Nah man, we brought it,” pause to burp, “with us. You want some?” I take the bottle, even though I know it really is Gayler’s. I take a long and hearty swig, and pass it back to Casin. I’m leaning back onto the kitchen counter and we’re discussing how come we never talked to each other this year, despite being only 4 doors away from each other, let alone being in the same corner of the building. We laughed, because it’s hard not to laugh at an awkward situation.

I’m out on the balcony holding a beer from Gayler’s and breathing in the crisp air; a welcome change from the stifling atmosphere inside. I head back inside to use the bathroom.

Zipping up I take a look at myself in the mirror. I look like I just came back from the gym, red in the face, flustered, sweaty, and disoriented. I splash water over my face and It calms my nerves. I grip the sides of the sink and hang my head, trying to catch my breath. I look back up and ask myself, “You ready?”

Back in the party I run into Eddie. “Yo, whoa, when did you get back here?” He describes his situation and tells me that Joanna is back too. I head out onto the porch and see her on the futon and I collapse next to her. Gayler is out on the porch with his guitar.

It switched. Gayler is sitting low on the futon with his arms up above him and Joanna is talking to him, giggling like a horny school girl. She’s hungry, like a fat girl wants a cupcake, except that she’s willing to settle for half a cupcake.

I’m heading to the other party. Going down the stairs I feel nothing. No movement no shock from the steps, I am senseless.

I stagger down the steps in front of his building. The group of people behind me are laughing, with me for a second then quickly at me. I run into a group, a familiar silhouette. Two shaggy haired pretty boys, a stout tank, a shaggy bearded figure, and a tall guy. It’s them. “Hey! Where are you going?! Is the party still good?! Dude you look wrecked!” I respond with a mumble and a shout and keep on walking.

I charge down the sidewalk like a rhino through a crystal store. I look at my feet, moving as if propelled by some odd force taking me to my destination.

I look up and I’m passing by two girls and a kid with a sombrero not wearing a shirt. I see the 7-11 in the distance, it's a blur of orange green and white. I stagger a bit, could be the alcohol, probably a mix of that and the uneven bricks.

Consider the Following ...

Cinco de WASTED: The Second Party

Steve mentions to me that the three parties on this floor has opened up their doors to their balconies to allow people to move from one party to the next, making it almost one huge party. I talk to Joanna about going over to Gayler’s via the balcony connected through the kitchen. She is adamant about staying here, in this party and pleads that I don't go to Gayler’s. I tell her I’m going anyways and she tells me to keep an eye out on what is going on, otherwise known as “Who is Gayler making out with.”

I squeeze through the balcony, doing the standard, drink at chest level in the left hand and the right arm at a 90 degree angle as if I was parting the crowd saying “excuse me.”

Once in Gayler’s apartment the mood changes. Where the prior party was filled with loud conversations and loud, thumping music; this party was chill and laidback. I go into the dining room and see the standard set up, beer pong table in the center, keg in the corner, and everyone watching or drinking. Gayler notices me and approaches with his hand outstretched. “Whats up man! How’re you doing?” I grasp his hand and do the normal pull in single arm hug pat on the back straight guy thing. I tell him I’m doing good when someone says “The question is ‘How are you doing Gayler!” Steve was behind me. We both lean onto the wall and soak in the scenery. A smoky apartment with the scent of beer, tequila, and lime. Gayler is sitting next to us, steadily drinking his beer and managing the play list of music. Gayler is drunk, or at least close to it.

Trying to be cool with the party talk, I ask Gayler, after minutes of deliberating what to say without sounding like I’m in desperate need of alcohol, if he has tequila. So, with my newly rehearsed line I ask Gayler, “So, Hows the Tequila situation over here?” Score! Nailed it!. “You want some tequila man? Lets get you some Tequila.”

Gayler escorts me back to the kitchen and pulls out a bottle of Jose Cuervo Gold out from his freezer. On the cutting board near his sink are two double shot glasses and a couple limes cut up and ready. All of a sudden Joanna is here, I’m not sure how she got here exactly, she may have came with me into Gayler’s, or she may have been passing through as this little exchange was going on. Gayler says that he’s had enough tequila for the night and offers the second shot to Joanna. Joanna, being the person she is, takes it because I mean come on, who could deny Gayler, and because of her scary school girl like crush on him. Gayler counts down holding his Corona in the air and Joanna and I raise the shot glasses to our lips. He Drunkenly yells out, “GO!” and I down the double shot without hesitation. It goes down, pretty smooth thanks to it being cold (I think I can drink more when it’s cold because one, alcohol is always better cold, and two, because all those nights drinking warm tequila and aristoshit in the dorms has trained me for this). I knock my head back, get every last drop out. When I’m back down on earth I look over at Joanna and Gayler. Joanna didn't take her shot. So me and him, being the people we are, egg her on and tell her to take her shot. We’re giving her outlandish reasons, “There are sober children in Africa” or “You not drinking makes babies cry.” So she says she’ll take the shot as long as I take another with her. Myself, being the lush I am, joyously agree and pour another shot. Theres a countdown again, someone shouts Gayler’s name, he turns around.

(the following happens in slow motion): the second Gayler’s gaze is in the other direction, she lowers the shot from her mouth, I look over at her with the shot breaching my lips with the expression of, “Are you fucking serious”. She extends her arm across the kitchen towards the sink, I look at her, mid-shot, with a look that can only be translated as, “NOO!”, the look of shock as an accident is right about to happen. JOANNA POURS HER SHOT DOWN THE DRAIN, and I finish my shot. (Back to regular speed)

Gayler turns back around and Joanna is smiling her pretty face off. I look back at her and just give her a disapproving headshake as she rambles on with some excuse.

Trying to make my way through the crowd was like trying to thread a chair through the eye of a needle. I pushed and excused my way through the crowd using the drink raised overhead in front of me acting as a beacon through the sea of people technique, seeing familiar and unfamiliar faces along the way. It was hot, with the combination of alcohol, people, and the jacket I’m wearing, it feels like a sauna in the apartment.

Finally, I step onto the porch in the front of the building. The crowd was separated, one on the left and one on the right, the center was relatively clear, except for a couple of people. One pairing was Ryan and Casin, the two roommates from my building, lived 4 doors down from me. They were regulars at Gayler’s place and it wasn't uncommon to run into them here. I’ve never really talked to them before, and hey, it's the end of the semester, I’ve got a couple drinks in me, they probably have double in them, why not make friends.

I go up next to Ryan and lean on the handrail. We’re all looking down at grace street and the surrounding area. I’m not exactly sure how we started talking to each other, but it may have happened in any of the following scenarios;

1. I turn to Ryan and say hey, nothing fancy, just a simple hey.

2. Ryan turns to me and says hey, again, nothing fancy.

3. Either one of use ask each other for a light, however neither of us are smoking.

4. This is probably the most likely reason we started talking, and coincidentally, the most unbelievable, unless you were there. We’re both leaning on the handrail when I hear, “Hey, I’m BAM!” I turn around and BAM, is offering a handshake to some girl on the outside futon. “Hi, Bam,” the girl responds in the cute girl way that has the way of subtly hinting, “Hey, I’m trying to get laid,” without going to the length of being a whore. BAM, not satisfied with her dulcet response insists that, “NO, My name is BAM!” She, laughs until she notices that he’s dead serious and grabs his hand again. “Hey BAM!” He smiles and relishes in his triumph (BAM, if you don’t know, is also a regular at Gayler’s and Will’s, next door neighbor, shares the porch, parties. As you can tell, he is pretty loud). BAM makes his way over to Ryan and Casin. “Hey I’m BAM!” Ryan and Casin both shake his hand and respond like most people do “BAM! Wassup man!” He turns to me, “Hey man, how you been?” Holy shit, he remembers me. “Sup BAM.” No exclamation mark, ‘cause we cool like that.

BAM grabs my shoulder and turns me toward Ryan and Casin, “Hey have you met this guy?!” (I added an exclamation mark, because he tends to yell) Ryan and Casin both respond yeah and Ryan goes on to say, “Yeah man that's Iric, he’s cool.”

Ryan and I are talking, about what we had to drink and the whole situation of the world and all. I offer him a sip of my drink which is about halfway down, with a gigantic strawberry floating dead center. He in exchange, gives me his whole beer. While he’s sipping on that I finish up his beer and he offers to get me a beer over at Will’s, since he has a keg. I say that's ok, and then turn to lean my back against the rail. Steve comes over to me and says that he and the rest of the guys plus Joanna are going to do something, I barely make out what he says through the crowd. Before I can respond he’s bounding back into Gayler’s apartment then out of sight. I turn back to Ryan, he shrugs his shoulders, and I make my way back to the first party.

I’m moving through the crowd at Gayler’s, get side tracked when BAM introduces me to more people, then finally make it into the kitchen. From the kitchen I go onto the crowded fire escape that connects the two apartments into the first party.

Remember how I said the sight sucked when I first entered? It sure has changed. The place was full, full of theater students, I could tell because I have seen some of them in the theater productions. I look around trying to find Steve and the rest with no luck. I happen to find the person who I supposedly know and ask him if he knew where they went. He responded with, “Yeah they just left.” I stood there for a second. In the background was top 40 rock music, someone yells out “We’re out of paint can now its just beer.” I move over to the wall and take up my residency next to the drink table.

“We’re out of beer now its just Tequila.”

[more to come]

__________________________________

on a completely different topic, On the "cool new friends" part on my myspace page I saw a picture of someone familiar, and I took a screencap so I would come back to it later and figure out who it reminded me of, lo and behold here it is.

Cinco de WASTED: The First Party

The night started out how any party night started, I think, us getting ready by playing a round of Halo and wondering where we are going to head out to. This night we had an extra member in this rag tag group that formed over the semester. There were the normal faces; Me, Steve, Nick, BLT, and Eddie. Then there was the special guest appearance by Miss Longwood Sorority girl Joanna. Steve told me about a party thrown by friends of his from high school. I’ve met them once, don't remember them well, but I’ll remember if I see them, I think. I do remember that their names are typical “every-names”, something WASPy. For some reason I arrived at the party later than the others in my group, or earlier, all I know is that we didn't show up at the same time. The way over there was easy, they lived in the same building that the awkward Gayler “party” took place, plus it was a frequent party spot to begin with.

I enter into the party, the scene was, let me put this gently, the scene sucked. A few people sitting on the couch. A couple in the drink area, and I was greeted by someone scanning me with their “radar”. I make my way over to Steve and Joanna and make myself look occupied. The party was sparse. 3 year old top 40 music was playing on the radio and there was a table with a paint can and some cups.

Joanna was talking, a lot, she does that often. I was looking past her to the window behind her as she goes on about how something or other is annoying, or that she liked it, I don't know. Out the window I could see a decent crowd of people, attractive people, chatting laughing and having a good time.

I go over to the table where the drinks are being served. The guy I supposedly
knew is serving drinks. “How are ya doin?” He’s wearing a sleeveless black tee. And a bandana, I think.

“Good, could be a bit better.” He hands me a cup filled to the brim with a deep crimson juice and with fruits floating in it. I sip, its sweet, with a bite. Back in the group with Joanna and Steve I keep sipping at my drink. Joanna keeps urging Steve to take the drink from her. I make out “Its too strong,” through the many noises in the room. Steve replies, “Of course, its Everclear.”

Hmm, Everclear? This isn’t as bad as they make it out to be, even though it is 190 proof and all. I pace around the scene, watching two guys fight on rolling chairs, the people in the kitchen passing around “Drunk Watermelon”, and a steady stream of people roll in. Among those people are BLT, Nick, Eddie, and Volpe. They join our group and we stand around and talk the normal talk we do.

They begin talking about something I don’t remember, so I turn away and start assessing the situation again. The party size has doubled and I am now standing uncomfortably close to a guy I barely know. He’s uncomfortable too, I can see in the way he looks over, then down to his shoes, then over again. I introduce myself, or at least say hi, but its drowned out in the commotion and the situation is still awkward. I notice my cup is empty so I go for a refill, but the table is unmanned.

I fill up my cup halfway and drink it down. My face is warm, damn this works fast. Steve comes over to me and asks if I’m ok, a way to gauge the rate of inebriation. I say I’m fine, and he adds in that I have a very obvious “Asian Glow,” great, not only do I barely know anyone in this party, I’m this close to being wasted in front of complete strangers. They crack open another paint can and I fill my cup to the brim.

[more to come]

Cinco de WASTED: Preface

For some reason, some of my favorite memories of my freshman year are those I cant remember. Partying at VCU is hit or miss. If you know the right people and the right places, it’s mainly a hit. If not, well, you’re boned, have fun in the dorm (which can sometimes be better than a party anyways). However, there is such thing as a party low time and a party high time. Right before and right after breaks seem to be the best parties to go to.

Any who, my party experiences varied from the loud dance parties held at Kobe, to that one awkward time at Gayler’s place (if we can even define that as a party), each party was an experience.

Cinco De Mayo was never really a big deal for me, probably be cause I have never done anything for it other than wear a sombrero and maybe go out for some Mexican food, i. e. Taco Bell (I know, its not real Mexican, but who can resist the chalupa?). I did a lil bit o’ research on the subject and according to wikipedia.org, “Cinco de Mayo celebrates the legendary Battle of Puebla, Mexico on May 5, 1862 in which a Mexican force of 4,500 men faced 6,000 men of the ominous and well trained forces of Napoleon III's French Army. The battle lasting all of four hours ended in a moral and physical victory for the Mexican Army under the 33 year old General Ignacio Zaragoza.” Well isn’t that interesting, what a great excuse for us to get shit-faced and decorate our apartments with bright reds greens and whites and streamers and sombreros and kegs and the party staple, the red solo cups.

[more to come]

All over your FACE

I havent been able to finish the "Cinco De WASTED" entry yet, right now its at 3 pages 11pt font single spaced, and i still havent finished talking about the second party ... soo .. that may take a bit since I have a job now (Waiter at the IC GRAND Buffet! not just good but GRAND!) and the fact that I finally bought a DS lite and that will sap up most of my free time.itsa me! Iric-o!

Softcore Porn Set to Reggae

what is this!?

ok, first thing. Should there be a disclaimer before this? I mean, porn usually comes with a disclaimer before it saying,"In compliance with United States Code, Title 18, Section 2257, all models, actors, actresses and other persons appearing in any visual depiction of content whether actual sexually explicit conduct, simulated sexual content or otherwise, displayed on the following websites were at least eighteen (18) years of age at the time such depictions were created."doesn't it?

Mmm, I love it when you BEEP my BEEP.

second, I think Paris Hilton would have enough money to come up with an original idea. I mean this is like an ad for the bahamas, or key west. Plus I'm pretty sure Chris Issack did the same exact video. *reviews the videos* yes this is the same exact video.

Oh Mr. Palm Tree, you're naughty.

third, this song is too damn catchy! it reminds me of no doubt's underneath it all. I know if it wasn't paris hilton with all her slutty McSTD-ness I would gladly put this on my ipod. However, I'm not that enthusiastic about that. I have to go through certain precautions, like making sure i use protection.

Whoops, Nipple Slip.

Fourth, is she drunk? I see tell tale signs of a drunk socialite, trust me i would know. Falling haphazardly onto palm trees in flowin white couture, taking off the pants of your partner in the middle of the beach, Flashing from Black and white to color and blacking out every so often, and she looks very tired, and hungry.

Hi, I'm Paris Hilton, and I'm perpetually tired.

Fifth, I'm still waiting for the perfume she's hawking to appear somewhere.Yay, flowy white dresses are fun!

And the seas will part

I swear I have some mental retardation. I'm currently working on three, count them, one-two-three, entries. One is about cinco de mayo, another about popularity, and ome about random shit I think about. Youre most likely to get the one about Cinco De Mayo First. I made this baby because of something in my Cinco De Mayo entry. Hell yes.

The First Day

Alright, summer already began and I’ve successfully done nothing. Well, unless you count eating oreos and watching the travel channel all day a worthwhile activity, because I do. Its been about six weeks since the end of my freshman year at college, vcu for those who don't know me that well, and I feel that, yes, yes things have changed.

At the beginning of my freshman year at VCU I felt empowered; the feeling of “I take no shit from no one anymore” swelled up inside me. When I walked into my building it was a frenzy, people escorting me from here to here, from there to there, sign here, initial here, pick up your keys here, drop off your car there, it was crazy, and I was dizzy. So we got a couple boxes from my car and started moving into my building. We waited for the elevator, ding, door opens and me my sister and my mom, some guy that I would later learn live on the eleventh floor, and a pile of boxes stuff into the elevator. “Small elevator” I thought, little would I know I would call this the “big” elevator.

When the door opened onto the ninth floor, the smell of dorm floored me. It wasn't a new smell; I have experienced this smell before when visiting my sisters at their schools. The smell was distinctly college, like cleaning products and warm laundry. The building was old, paint chipping away, marks on doors from ages ago. The hallway that led to my door was long, almost hospital-like. I passed the bathroom on my right, blue and for the only time it ever will be this year, clean. I hung a louie and came upon my residence for the next months, 906. I inserted the key, forcefully turned the key and doorknob and entered my room. The first sight was white; white floors, walls, and ceiling. We had 2 desks 2 sets of drawers, 2 beds, and 2 closets, a luxury. I gazed out of my 9th floor window onto the world below. From the busy Brandt/Rhoads patio, to the distant highway, It dawned on me that this, this is what I’ll wake up to see every morning, this is what I’ll see before I go to bed, this is what I will see when I aimlessly sit at my desk gazing out the window when I have half an hour before my paper is due and I still have to type a page. This window would also become an important tool to judge what I shall wear today, and if Jeanine is really “leaving the building” as she says she is.

I made myself look busy while my mom set up my bad and my sister kept punching me in my arm. As we left the building I could tell that this was the “light hour” and that there is just more to come. We drove of to target to get some forgotten goods and got a bite to eat. As we pulled up in front of my building it was a whirl of freshmen, yellow shirts, and parents.

I got out said my goodbyes and anxiously awaited the new life before me. From the second my family pulled away from Johnson Hall, down Franklin St, and out of view, I really felt like I was on my own; as “on my own” I can be with no job, no microwave, and most of my money in my checking account coming from the parents. When I went back up to my room I met my roommate for the first time; Big lumbering guy, complete visual opposite of me, tall, hairy, white, metal rocker. I greeted my fellow passenger in this fine room of 906 and began to unpack the important items. I pulled out my laptop and promptly began to set up the security cable. With 906 being the only double room with closets on the floor, I began to hang up my clothes; button ups that had followed me through high school now reside in a new home.

Feeling awkward in the room while John, my roommate, unpacked and his parents and siblings helped, I grabbed my iPod and headed out on my first trek around campus. Walking down the hall, passing by open doors, I caught scenes of people unpacking, talking to their parents, or soaking in the new surroundings. These people would become the annoying neighbors, the drinking buddies, the bad influences, and the friends that I would make in the coming months. I walked down the packed sidewalk in front of Johnson; this was before they widened the pathway. I decided that I was hungry and went to Shafer. At Shafer, I ate alone. By myself with my iPod, which from then on seemed to become permanently attached to my ears, I watched the other people. I watched them eat with their parents, with each other, and thought that these kids are going through the same things I am, these are the kids that I will see here from now on. Yeah I know I think this a lot, but just glance over that fact. Three-fourths of the way through my soup someone tapped me on my shoulder.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” The mystery guy said. He was white, about my height, with brown hair, and he was wearing a white striped polo.

“What?” I must have sounded rude, but I was wearing my headphones and barely understood what her said. He kindly repeated and I allowed him to sit down. We exchanged niceties; names, ages, majors, and dorms, all of which I don't remember what he said, except that he was in Rhoads, I think. Then there was a silence. I asked him where he was from and all that then I said where I was from too. He seemed really interested in Virginia Beach. When I was done with my soup, I, being as socially awkward as I am excused myself from the table. I think my exact words were, “Sorry to leave you alone here, you know, at the table; but I got to get going now.” We said goodbye, and I never saw him again. I would have facebooked him, but honestly, I don't remember his name. Unless he facebooked me, and he’s one of my random friends on there, that explains a lot.

So anyways lets end this story, I went back to the dorm, John and his family weren’t there, and I unpacked. I made my first call home from college, and then I decided to read with the door open; might as well make these people think I’m smart before they actually get a chance to talk to me. John came back and I was reading, and he came up with this good idea; well I’m not sure if we did this on the first day, or if we did this in the first week, but it's a good story so listen up. This is the first thing John and me did as roommates, this makes it sound like we did more things, but we really didn't. He comes up with this idea for our corkboard on our door.

“Hey, we should put up pictures of like, donkeys and caption it like, ‘John’s ass lives here’. That’ll be awesome.” I agreed, and we went to our respective computers and found pictures of donkeys. We show each other the fruits of our labors and his response is, “Aww, you have like the saddest cutest donkey ever.” I could tell from then on, this was gonna be a good year. We stapled our asses to the board and waited as the people came by to compliment our asses. For the first month, every girl who walked pass our door would compliment our asses. Of course they would say “I think his ass is cute,” to me, wink.

That night, we slept in our respective beds. Well John slept. This was the night I discovered I have a lion as a roommate. In the middle of the night I was awakened by John’s roars many call snoring. It was like a jet taking off every 5 to 10 seconds. I obviously couldn’t do anything, so I covered my head with two pillows and a comforter and tried to sleep. I would soon grow used to this, and learn strategies to a restful night of sleep.

upgrade

Ive decided to make this blog as sort of an upgrade from my xanga
hopefully ill use this more often
although the easy customization and an already established blog are alluring
but ill try this out and see where it goes.