Fuck You Ennui!

so what's new with me you ask?
Well, hell, since you asked so nicely.

I took a super time-release adderall yesterday at 2pm (We rise with the sun around these parts) and read the last book [Madame Boverary] by 5
then went went to a bar for the internet drank a cup 'o joe, then sipped some beer.
Started writing, went til eight, ran home for le diner and then started the final push.
I had to hand in 6 pages, I had two, but had been seriously focused (REALLY focused) for the entire afternoon.
I started typing away and then realized it was 1 am. I had about 7 pages but thought i'd just see my idea through.
1:44 almost done
2:25 is it really 2:25?! 3:01 alright i've hit my stride now
4:30 fuckit 5:16 Shit...did i have a bibleography? FUCK
6:22 fuck you shutters! learn to block a fucking window.
7:00 my hands have started shaking. yeah.
8:30 I decided to give up trying to sleep and just go to school.
8:45 I'm smoking hash, surrounded by people, in public, on the way.
8:46 I don my Ray-Charles wrap arounds (oh and I put on a shirt and tie. i don't know why)
8:47 I run into a parked car because the spliff has made me izzy.
9:08 library ho!
9:07 I done called a bitch a ho and bitch got all pissed off.
9:10 I start my itunes playlist--it may be familiar to some of y'all from back in the day. it be known as 'Trippin''
10:o0 Now. I have to go print my paper, all 14 and one half pages of it.
10:04 burning down the house is officially a motherfuckin awesome song. you go david byrne, you go.
10:o9 Will be a problem when i try to use a european keyboard.
10:30 My first class of the day, something makes me think it's gonna be a good one.

First Snow

so we had our first real snow here 2 nights ago. tradition dictates that on the day of the first substantial snow, the ultimate frisbee team plays a game of ultimate in the academic quad's biggest lawn... in only shoes and underwear. we did. it was nuts. there is nothing colder than laying out for a disk into 6 inches of snow when you're naked. it was funny tho. 25 people playing ultimate in the snow in their undies is a hilarious sight, and we attracted a crowd. what creeps me out, however, is that among the crowd was my poly sci professor. she had 3 students in the game, myself, and 2 other boys. she whipped out a camera and took pictures. no joke. good thing we're of age... So anyway, after the game i grabbed a quick dinner and then went to take a shower. what freaks me out is that you can see what temperature the water is as it comes out of the faucet, and 85 degree water felt hot. that means that my core body temperature was VERY low. anyway, if i can get the pictures from my professor they'll be up on facebook, so you should definately check them out.

Five Colleges, Five Nights

Okay, maybe six colleges, but let me explain:
In a few hours I'm going to embark on my "Intercollegiate Roadtrip 2007" One way or another, I have to get out of DC...turns out it gets kind of boring here when all my college amigos are at that whole college thing and the seniors have school during the week. (I did, however, hit up a senior party this past weekend...different story though.) Anyway, 22 or some odd hours on the road and six colleges (if I can pull off the double whammy in Maine) in five nights...I hope I'll have some good stories once I'm back.

The Birthday: Good as Ball

So I turn twenty yesterday. Total head-trip. But that’s another story. This is the story of the Eve of my Birthday.

Ever year in the town of Aix-en-Provence (or as we call it: Aix-en-Vacance) there is a ball. It’s called le Bal du Bapts. I was told about this event be a couple of the girls who are in my program. Naturally I thought their description of the ball to be gross exaggeration told to them so some French guy trying to ensure that they show up. But I decided to check it out anyway.

My evening started out by going to Finac (a Virgin-like store) to buy a ticket. Yeah, the tickets to the ball could only be purchased at a huge record store. I was a bit nervous about having to employ the little French I have to explain what I wanted. I was sure that nobody really knew about this ball and that it was just a glorified school dance.

I was wrong. Every single person in the store was buying tickets to the ball. Literally everyone, well except for one old woman who was clearly on her way to Paris and wanted to get her museum tickets in advance.

After getting spiffed up I pre-gamed on my own (my roommate was out of town with his girlfriend), an act witch I actually enjoyed because I was already thoroughly fucked up when I met up with the girls to drink more. We walked around to find a good Petiet Casino (like a small market) which would sell some booze. We could tell that everyone on the street was going to end up at the ball, they were all sufficiently drunk and dressed to the nines. Two guys walked past us and over their shoulders shouted, “À tout à l’heure,” at the young ladies.

We bought a bottle of Absolute (it was a special occasion and we are all missing America at this point—usually we stick to two euro wine) and went to another girl’s apartment to get proper drunk. I smoked some cigarettes and was feeling pretty buzzed. The pre-gaming session was quite strange. I was the only dude there and just listened to about ten girls talk about getting on somebody’s yacht in San Tropez—researching later and discovering that they were on the ten richest men list and married—and being sniffed by Weenie the host’s pug.

After the alcohol was finished we walked over to the ball—following the spotlights in the sky, it turned my birthday on the way causing much hoopla and we entered the ball.

I can’t capture how ridiculous this place was with a few ill-chosen words, but I will try. There were about 20 different venues all clustered around a huge L-shaped courtyard. Each room was completely different. There was a Rap room, Salsa, Swing, what can only be described as Wedding music, Techno (basically a rave) and several live bands performing Rock, French music, and my personal favorite Latin music. There were hundreds of lights and lasers all over the place (which I loved) and a Drum-line performing outside (which I really loved).

All of the town was there—at least all of the good-looking people (anybody under 35). The women were beautiful and the gentlemen were at least classy—you can’t expect too much from the French dudes. I found endless mirth at the attire of all of the military school kids who looked like Tom Cruse wannabes from A Few Good Men—but French.

OfCourse in my American fashion, I was plastered by 3:30 when I started to be too drunk, you know the getting mad for no reason kinda drunk. Luckily, that was the point that everyone became overwhelmed by the thundering base oozing from the rave and decided to leave—before I could embarrass myself.

So thankfully my birthday was a good one. Perhaps, even—Taylor—good as balls.

my weekend was a shit show: Saturday night edition

So, at my school, rush for fraternities is not allowed to begin until 2nd semester. because of this, a new type of thing came about: "dirty rushing." it's rush but first semester, and it's how a frat gets an early start at trying to get frosh they want to be interested. the DKE fraternity is dirty rushing the shit out of myself and my 4 best friends here. Last night they held one of the most awesome events i think i've ever been to...

We met in the DKE wing at 8 pm. they were there just hanging out, drinking beers, watching football. it was cool. then we all got in cars and headed out. we were heading to "Trio Lanes," the most rundown, hicked out bowling alley i've ever seen. the dude behind the counter was rockin an OSU hat and a Tshirt that said "orgasm donor." The DKEs had rented the place out. We got there, got our shoes and started dividing ourselves up amongst the lanes.

Then, through the door, walk a bunch of DKEs carrying with them 2 kegs and probably 15 30 racks. it was the most astonishing thing i've ever seen. They stuck them all in the bathroom, where a large circle of people was already ripping through bowl after bowl. it was such a good time. my frist game i bowled a 69 (haha) which sucked, but then i got drunk and stepped up my game and bowled a PR of 162. awesome. i dunno what was more impressive: the fact that we finished both kegs, the fact that i bowled a 162 while smashed, or the fact that there was a sober person to drive every car home.

for clarification

If my previous post was unclear it's because I'm high right now and its 5:50 in the morning. If you need clarification just ask whatever you want in the comments and ill answer when im sober.

Oh My God

So....I'm kicking myself now.

Let me tell you why...So after dinner i finished up a paper and got ready to go to see this slam poet/rapper who was performing tonight. So I shower, chill, wait for my friends to get ready, and head out with my friends to the UC where Black Ice (the slam poet/rapper) was performing. So me and me friends get there early and we were hanging out. So after awhile Black Ice's friend, Jus Grey dropped a couple of poems before Black Ice gets on. His show was AMAZING. Absolutely incredible. I was so impressed. Not only does he have mad profound rhymes, his delivery is impeccable. Check him out on YouTube, and you'll be impressed. So in addition to being a profoundly intelligent and adept rapper, he's hilarious. I was cracking up half the time, he was so fucking funny. The performance was just amazing.

so after the show we go over to where he's standing next to the stage and my friends Alex and Dingler want to get his album, so were hanging out there and debating whether we should ask Black Ice to smoke. When the show ended the first thing we said to each other was that we should smoke with him. So we were talking about it, how amazing it would be if we just brought Black Ice back to Dupont and hit bowls out of Optimus or something like that. So we were toying with the idea of smoking with him, knowing in the back of our heads that we wouldn't really muster up the courage to ask Black Ice if he was tryna. So, we kept debating it, but we never asked him if he wanted to smoke weed.

So we head back to Dupont and we see a couple friends of ours on the way back. they were already drunk as shit, stumbling all over the trails and it was only 10:40. apparently they had been drinking since 6. I asked them what they were doing now, and they said changing clothes and then going to this frat party at Phi Tau. In the distance we see another drunk couple stumbling off.

so we get back to dupont. a couple of my friend Chris and my roommate Kamal are high and playing video games, but after awhile we all start drinking in my room. We're having a really good time. Some of us wanted to go to this frat party at Phi Tau while the others wanted to smoke out of a waterfall bong they were making. so me and these three other guys go to the party and its absolute insanity. there were soo many people and it was utterly chaotic. My friend Dingler (who's practically McLovin) hooks up with two random chicks. So were there for awhile, when a fight breaks out in a different room than the one I was in. SoI'm hanging out with Dingler and he points, but i disregarded it. Then cops come in. I just see a few guys come in with the word "Police" on their backs. So me and Dingler split. we head out back, jump the wall of the porch, and walked back to Dupont. As were walking back there are cops pulling up everywhere. so we finally get back to Dupont and met up with our friends who were smoking out of the waterfall.

Next thing I know the whole world is on our hall and one of my friends is throwing a party in his room. There were so many people in the hall some standing, some sitting, some passed out, but more people than i'd ever seen on the hall at once before. So I play some video games and I see that one of my friends who's stumbling in the hall is really really drunk and should be taken care of. So I take her to the lounge and give her water there and she throws up a couple times in our kitchen trash can, and I finally get her to sleep on the couch. But she was in really bad shape. Like seriously bad shape. So I hang out on the hall. I see a couple of my friends who went to an off campus party had come back and they were talking to some drunks girls who were sprawled across the hall floor. Then I see a couple of my friends with girls on their backs racing down the hallway, and one of them falls hard. It was nuts. My hall was falling apart. People were literally passing out in the hallway. My RA's roommate comes back with his girlfriend, they're both stinking drunk, he tells me to get everyone out of the hall cuz I was the most sober person there. apparently there was an ambulance at a dorm nearby. Everyone was going nuts. the world went apeshit.

So after an hour and a half order is restored for the most part. I was feeling kinda tense after being at a party that got busted and with my friend getting sick and all, so me and my friends smoked a couple bowls. That was a fucking good time. That was amazing. So I got blazed. And we went back inside and I checked on my sick friend and she had woken up, but she fell back asleep. So then Iwent to my friend Dingler's room and we were watching entourage. It was there that one of my friends told me that another friend of ours who went to this frat's formal party got so drunk that she was not responsive at all and had to be taken to the hospital. Fuckin BadNews. The world fell apart tonight.

So after some more entourage watching, Dingler's (the kid who's room I'm in) suitemate Matt and his friend who I hadn't met before James comes in. So were talking about our night and how crazy it's been, when James starts discussing his night. He did what I was not audacious enough to do: James had smoked with Black Ice. Apparently he saw Black Ice and his friends in the parking lot after the show and they get talking. So Black Ice mentions that they're gonna get food and maybe smoke. So James comes out and asks them if they needed weed cuz he just re-upped. So he goes with them back to their hotel room where they bust out like...15 huge motherfuckin jars of the dankest weed. and they smoke like 3 blunts, invite more people over, and take shots together and shit.

my night was nuts. all i could say was "oh my god"

in the bushes

so i left my belt in my friends room. it's not as interesting as it sounds. I went to get it, and on the way back i saw my boy Charlie in his first floor room. I went over to the window to say hi to him. so i'm standing in the bushes by the window, we're chatting, but it's cold and it's also like 2 in the morning, so i decided to go to bed. I'm on my way out of the bushes when someone walked by, giving me the wierdest look ever, and it hits me. I'm standing in the bushes looking in a first floor window holding my belt in my hands. a perfect "it's not what it looks like."

Danksgiving

So my Thanksgiving was not a typical one this year. It began at about five o’clock at O’Shannon (No, I don’t think they know it should be O’Shannon’s) with this girl Kate. We were working on a presentation in the library but couldn’t concentrate because it was really, really loud, so we went to a bar. (Seriously, you guys should try studying abroad; they have very different ideas about education.)

We finished our project after a couple of rounds just in time for me to sprint home and change before the big school dinner. And get blazed with my roommate. We were supposed to meet up with another girl, Anna, real quick so we smoked on the way, …on the street, …in the middle of public.

We thought about robbing somebody, then, decided not to.

It was raining pretty hard by the time we got to the Hotel de Ville, (it hasn’t rained here in over three months so we were totally unprepared) and we jogged the rest of the way to dinner. Dinner was in a room dubbed “the other cave.” Our student lounge (of sorts) is in the basement of the main building which used to be a catacomb—seriously, the main building used to be a church—and everything is always dusty because the walls are literally crumbling, hence cave (it would be cooler if we called it the ‘batcave’ but nobody here listens to me anymore.)

This room, also cave-like in appearance (thus ‘other cave’), was decorated in the cheesiest of brown and orange decorations but more seriously there was only one bottle of wine for the entire table of six—cheap fuckers.

We tell everyone that the three other seats are taken.

Dinner only improved with the arrival of the first course: Coleslaw, and boy! nothing says Thanksgiving like coleslaw. Just a big plait of coleslaw. yummmm. I took a heaping forkful into my mouth and realized, that I really don’t like coleslaw. My stomach churning I whipped out my hand to grab my glass of wine right in time to witness a piece of the ceiling sploosh into my glass.

I couldn’t believe it either.

After finishing off the glass, I start in on the cat food they tried to pass of as stuffing. That was about when I realized that I had stepped in dog poop earlier that evening and no, that was not the smell of the main course. The realization neither bolstered the consumption confidence of my colleagues nor the recognition that I had actually started taking showers again.

After tearing into a remarkably tasty turkey we were served a piece of piping hot pumpkin pie, with whipped cweam. A few minutes later, after my plait had been emptied, I walked over to the catering table and demanded to know why our table hadn’t been served yet. We all got more pie.

I miss America.

Adventures on the Aqueous Acension

So last night at about 9 i went to this house that had a bar. It was ok. I didn't spend too much time there. I didn't drink there either. When I heard that a couple of my friends who had gone out to dinner were back at the dorm I went back to meet up with them. I was invited by Pilchen to a party at his frat and we were all going to go, so once I got back to the dorm I threw on some warmer clothes and went back out to the jew frat (i got a bid from there). It was a 60s themed party. Jefferson Airplane and Hendrix were playing, the smell of hookah and alcohol permeated the air, and a few too many blacklights illuminated everyones eyes and teeth. In one room there was a cooler with what was called "Electric Kool-Aid," described as being "four times stronger than beer." I took that description with a grain of salt and poured myself a cup and was promptly proven wrong. That shit was strong. Didn't taste strong, but evidently it was. Halfway through my cup, simply turning my head gave me a funny sensation. I got excited at the thought of getting drunk off of delicious electric kool aid.

Earlier that night four of my friends tried something. I don't know how to describe it, but I'll do my best. They locked themselves in a room, turned off all the lights and listened to sound, not music, but sound. The waves of these sounds stimulated certain parts of your brain to simulate the effects of certain drugs. The different sounds had names like "alpha," "beta," "alcohol," "opium," and "cocaine." After a 35 minutes dose they definitely said that they felt a little off, as if something was intoxicating their heads a little bit. We toyed with the idea of smoke a couple bowls later that night and trying it again.

After the alcohol ran out, my friends chris and steve left. We went back to DuPont, it was about 12:30. I had a stomach ache, so I told them that we should chill a little bit before we smoked. They were fine with that. I went to my room and lied down on my bed a little. Next thing I knew the whole world was on my hall. People I wanted to see and people I didn't want to see were everywhere coming in and out of my room saying hello, being friendly, or being ostentatious and obnoxious with their state of intoxication. I needed to be alone. I needed to clear my head and get over this stomach ache. I went outside. I went out the back door and lied down on the cool concrete steps. It felt good. The cold surface on my back soothed my body, and the fresh cool fall air drawn in through deep slow breaths relaxed my stomach and aided digestion. I soon went from feeling crappy to feeling like a million dollars.

I love the fall. It's my favorite season. Every fall Sunday evening I used to go out for a walk to my elementary school to watch the sunset. I loved fall sunday evening sunsets. I think they're the best kind. Something about the brisk air on your face is therapeutic. It clears your head for the upcoming week. Unfortunately, I hadn't been on a sunday evening walk in a couple years now, but being outside nursing my stomach reminded me of how much I enjoyed those cool brisk nights.

So I went inside to Steve's room. They were waiting for me, packing a bowl in Steve's bubbler. "I feel like a million dollars" I said. "Let's go out and smoke this, but let's not come back inside, lets stay outside." Sure it was cold, but I wanted the fresh air so badly. Steve and Chris were down. Steve loves being outside. So we went down to the dock nearby and smoked a bowl. Afterwards, we lied down on the dock and looked up at the sky and the stars and the trees. This brought back other memories. The first time I got high, I was with my friend on his bed and we were looking out the window at this tree and describing all the things we saw in it. He swore he saw Shrek in that tree. Well now we were seeing dragons and horses and FROGS. Frogs were everywhere. Everywhere we looked, its like out brain made it out to be a frog somehow.

I think I remember Steve saying something like "dude, we could be on the lake now, I should've brought my oars." One thing led to another and we were trekking back up the hill to DuPont to get oars and snacks. We were going on the lake. I was so excited.

We returned ready for an adventure. We put the raft on the water, got in it and rowed to the middle of the lake. It was then that I was convinced that I needed to get high and have more adventures. Being on the lake surrounded by water and trees below a sky peppered with stars was out of this world. It was so crazy playing with your vision. Like...steam was rising from the lake. It created a pretty thick mist just over the surface of it, so it looked like we were flying across the clouds. Then we thought we were on some like...futuristic theatrical stage. It was nuts. We had so much fun. We sparked a J and just chilled, talking about how much we've changed since orientation and shit. We were out there for at least an hour or so, but it felt like so much longer. It was amazing. I highly recommend it.

When we got back we watched planet earth and fell asleep one by one.

“Hey mime, you suck!”

So there are a few street performers here in Aix-en-Provence, most of them are just gypsies but some are real people.

There is one in particular, whom I should tell y’all about before getting to the story. This guy is a bit of a local celebrity. He is the laziest street ‘performer’ ever. EVER.

In my first week here I saw this guy preparing for a day of performing and was pretty excited. He had donned the traditional street performer garb, everything about him was white—he had on a white sheet outfit, painted his face white, etc. I assumed he was one of those robot guys who get you to shake their hands, capture you and only let go when you give them more money, but I never saw him actually do anything.

I have STILL never seen him actually do anything. I have seen him sitting on his box, dressed all in white for the entire day and not do a thing, except maybe have a cigarette or sometimes yell at people as they past, berating them for not giving him their money. What. The. Fuck? I’m fine with people doing what they want, but just because some hobo puts on a pillowcase does not mean I should have to give him some change. Wearing white is not a skill.

In fact, I feel like I’m more likely to give money to a regular looking beggar. Usually when you pass a poor person you feel sympathy or even pity, but with this guy I’m just really confused.

Well now that I’ve set the stage of Aix being the strangest street performer city in the world I can tell you my story.

The other day I was procrastinating by strolling around the city. I was enjoying a pleasant walk when I got a call from my buddy Zach.
“Hey man where are you?”
“Over by the Cathedral, why?”
“Good, get down to the Hotel de Ville right now.”
“What?”
“Now.”
“Okay,” I began to jog, “What’s up?”
“A Clown and a Mime are fighting.”

I began to sprint.

On my way Zach filled me in on what had been happening. Apparently a clown and mime had set up on opposite sides of one of the main squares and were competing for attention of the passersby. As the day progressed the competition had begun to become more and more heated. That was when Zach stumbled upon the scene.

He was just in time to see the mime trap the clown in a box and boy was the clown pissed. For the next several minutes the clown and mime continued their theatrical skirmish much to the amusement of the huge crowd that had gathered but then things took a turn for the worse.

Luckily that was the exact moment I ran into the square. The clown and mime were in the middle of what can only be described as a sarcastic dance-off when the clown suddenly squirted the mime in the face with his flower.

The mime jerked backward rubbing his eyes, his face makeup running down his chin. After a moment of indignation the mime yelled some French obscenity, strode forward and ripped the clown’s red nose off his face. That is when the clown kicked the mime with his outrageously large shoe. The mime went down hard. As he was falling his hand shot forward and grabbed the clown’s collar tearing it off the rest of his clown suit.

I have never seen a clown so angry; a very French, pissed of clown, complete with ridiculously thin moustache. The angry clown then signaled over to the other end of the square and the whole crowd turned in time to see about eight other clowns pile out of this really tiny European car. They bolted across the square and begin beating the shit out of the fallen mime.

Much to my dismay, the goofy European police siren began in the distance. As soon as they heard that, the clowns all dropped their improvised weapons and bolted back into the car skidding down the street.

The entire crowd was completely silent.

Don’t you guys wish you were in France?

reflections: words of wisdom from your favorite, the cush

in german, all vouls have capital letters... that's so unnecessary.

how you know a girl likes you: she gets hives after hooking up with you... twice... and still wants to hang (and make) out

60% of students at my school marry other students at my school. thats ABSURD. and if 10% of people really are gay (i duno if that stat is actually true) that means i only have a 30% chance of marrying someone who went to a different school. plus, my friend told me 10% of people marry their highschool sweetheart. that means i have a 20% chance or marrying someone i havn't gone to school with.... WHAT THE SHIT?

the ending of the departed blows my mind every time i see it. fuck yes, scorsese, fuck yes.

my highschool alma mater is offering a chili lunch the day after thanksgiving. so i could either a) go to my old highschool for an awkward lunch with other alums that i may or may not know, where i eat pretty decent chili, OR, b) eat what is universally aknowledged by americans as the BEST lunch ever. the post thanksgiving, turkey stuffing and gravy sandwhich. good job GDS.

Fuck You Economy!

Okay, the dollar to euro exchange rate is now 1 to 0,6814.

FUCK. THAT. SHIT.

Get it together America, all us studying abroad are getting seriously shafted. Put out the fire, stop giving out mortgages willy-nilly, maybe spend less on the army or something. But for the love of God, I need to eat something besides fruit.

So Amsterdam…

I really don’t know what to say other than it was awesome, and the five days was four days too many. Seriously, I’m at a loss for words and totally burned out.

But I will tell you this: If you ever make it to Amsterdam do not, under any circumstances stay at the Whiite Tulip (Yes that’s how it’s spelled) hostel in the Red Light District. It was dirty, it was dingy, it was creepy, it was loud (it was over an Irish bar) and I think that Oscar the Grouch was staying in the room next door. It was bad, but then I got stoned so everything was okay; until one of the girls caught the owner going through our bags. Seriously just avoid.

I am also waiting to hear some of y'all’s (I go to school with a ton of southerners) Halloween stories. I feel like I totally missed the holiday this year. My Halloween consisted over getting really stoned wandering about Amsterdam “looking for Halloween” finding the Dungeon Ride (like a haunted house type of thing), having the shit creeped out of us by some dude in a costume outside and being told that a private party was going on which we could pay 40 euros to get into—not the 6 I was planning to spend on a ‘haunted tour.’ I suggested the next best thing—going to the torture museum—and got quickly shot down. That was the extent of—what in America is—a great holiday.

The Red Light District was a freak-show all of its own. I remember walking into it during my first twenty minutes in the city on the first night trying to find the hostel and being greeting by a sketchy guy who came up to me and said, “Hello, welcome to Amsterdam,” and then as I nodded and kept walking and he hisses at me, “The best coke. The best ecstasy.” That same drug dealer accosted me several times during the trip, it was REALLY creepy. The place is pretty crazy.

I’ll try to write more as I remember it latter on, but seriously guys, what’s new?

add these to your list of stupid ideas

first i'd like to apologize to the readers because we've kept you waiting for a while. i've been busy recently, and i lost track of my priorities, but i'm back, and i've got some stories for you. here's the beginning...

if you're looking for some stupid ideas, i've got some for you. i may also come up with some not stupid ideas... you know, thinks you should avoid doing if you wanna be a total moron. they're based on a party i was at last night.

1) having your beer pong table be a door. i mean seriously, what could be dummer. first off, a standard pong table is 8 feet, whereas a standard door is generally 80 or 84 inches (unless you're in australia, where it is 8 feet). but that's not even the biggest problem. a door has fucking panels. its uneven! don't do that! then, when more people show up, and you go to play flip cup, everyone gets the shaft. just don't fucking do it.

2) putting a keg at the end of a long skinny kitchen. it's really a wonderful thing when the entire party wants beer, but only 4 people can fit in the room where the beer is. i love traffic jams.

3) playing the song "shout" (you know, that one from animal house?) when theres 200 people in the living room of your old, termite infested, frat house. every single one of those people is going to be jumping up and down in unison. they had to end the party because the floor started caving in. sweet.

4) kicking everyone out of your house while the ONLY sheriff in town is driving by. good job.

to make up for it, here's a good idea inspired by last night... a keg of honey brown. i'm having trouble coming up with something i'd rather see at a party here.

Worlds Collide: Parents Weekend (part 2)

last night was kind of low key for me. i got real sick on wednesday so i wanted to chill out last night, so i was just chillin on beer, and not going all out. it's good that i did that because beatrice, the crazy girl from a couple of posts ago, ended up passing out about a half mile from her dorm so i carried her back so she wouldn't get fucked with at milk cartons (to give you an idea these are off campus houses that are even sketchier/crazier than frat houses). I'm such a good guy.

Anyway, so I'm tipsy, loose, enjoying myself, but not drunk at this party. I'm hanging out with the boys, and we're having a good time. The dancer girls arrive. it's this group of 3 or 4 girls who are all friends from dance class together. we're friends with them so we went over and said hi. for the sake of my story i'll call them DG (for dance girl) 1, 2, and 3. DG3 is very short and looks sort of young. this is important. she had her little sister too. it was cute. it was obviously this girl's frist party. i assumed she was like a freshman in highschool or something. so we're talking to these girls for a while and eventually they go to refill their drinks or something. I run into DG3 later, and, to make conversation, say "I saw your sister here, how old is she, like 14?" DG3 responded with "actually she's 12." i laughed because it was a funny joke. then i stopped laughing because it was not. she was not joking. she told me not to tell anyone and gave me that look that says "i know it's wrong, just dont fucking tell anyone." SHE BROUGHT A FUCKING 12 YEAR OLD TO A COLLEGE PARTY!!! WHAT THE FUCK??? my sister is 12. she's in 7th grade. she's NOT ready for a college party.

I'm not a conservative person, but seriously. a 12 yearold does NOT belong at this party. (although to the party hosts' credits, they did play the edited version of crank dat soulja boy.)

The British Have Douches Too!

Let me preface this by saying that generally while I didn’t think that all Brits were cool, I didn’t think any were Douche Bags—assholes perhaps—but not douches. I was wrong. I will also say that one of the things that pisses me off the most is when people assume that I am uneducated and dismissible.

It’s Tuesday night and my buddy Zach and I decide to take one of our friends, Liz, out to get drunk because she just broke up with her bf over the weekend. Nothing is going on because it is Tuesday so we decide to go to one our spots this “café” in Aix called Sunset.

Now this “café” It is an absolute hole-in-the-wall (you have to knock on the huge black iron door to get in), but it plays really good music and serves10 € Giraffes every night of the week before 20:30 (Fuck military time by the way). A Giraffe is the European pitcher of sorts. It is a vertical cylinder with a tap on the bottom filled with beer, 2.5 liters of beer to be precise. 10 € is an unbelievable price for 2.5 liters of beer.

We sit down and order one. Halfway through we decide to get two more—it is after all almost 10:30 and the deal is ending soon, so we might as well stock up for the rest of the night. We proceeded to get sloshed.

As we are finishing up our third Giraffe a group of British guys and American girls sit down at the table next to us. Now we are feeling pretty friendly at this point so we start talking to them. That is when shit started to hit the fan. (I’m going to add some of the subtext of the conversation)

“Hey do you guys want to make a bet?” Douche McDouchferson asks. This guy is a Brit wearing a polo with the collar up—warning sign number one.

“Well what were you thinking?” the Americans reply.

“How many states does the United States have?” English prick asks.

“50 (you fucking English prick).”

“Actually there are only 46. The other four consider themselves to be commonwealths. (You fucking uneducated American scum, how do you not even know this basic fact I learned in my American Studies class at (insert pretentious English school name))?” fuckhead responds.

“Well we don’t really care if West Virginia has its head so far up it’s own ass that it considers itself to be a ‘commonwealth,’ the rest of the (fucking) country considers it to be a state.”

“I believe you are mistaken (I’m an English douche bag, didn’t you know?).”

“Well the fact is that if they didn’t—at least to some extent—acknowledge their statehood they would not have senators. (duh)”

“Whatever. Fool yourselves all you want there are only 46 states.”

“First of all I’ve never needed to memorize a single fucking fact about England—probably because all you do is eat fish and chips and secondly who the fuck cares about some bullshit trivia you happened to pick up the one day you weren’t drunk during class?” (well yes, obviously I cared, but let me say that I was very, very drunk and getting pretty sick of the smug filling the room)

“Wait where do you go to school?” asks ugly American girl number one.

“USC” I answer.

“Oh, the University of Second Choices and Spoiled Children?” –Now I’ve heard this before and yes, it is funny. There are a few rich kids at SC (but aren’t there some at every school?) and the school probably is several students’ second choice—especially considering what a nightmare college admission has turned into. But, motherfucker, when an American sides with a Douche of a Brit and proceeds to basically call someone spoiled and stupid in the same breath shit ain’t cool.

“Oh… yeah. I’ve heard that. That’s what all the ugly girls say.”

That is when, luckily, I was escorted out of the bar and home to bed.

Cheers.

Worlds Collide: Parents Weekend (part 1)

I got a call at 8:40 this morning. my parents were already here. "did we wake you up?" they ask. MY FIRST CLASS IS AT 10:10 OF COURSE YOU FUCKING WOKE ME UP! this weekend is going to be fun. of the things they brought me from home, the tennis racket is my grandma's not mine, and the desk lamp doesn't work. to their credit they did bring me my guitar and my grill. and my mom made me cake from scratch. none of that pillsbury bullshit. i'll let you know how it is. but basically, the paretns are at college. worlds are colliding. we can only pray for the best.

reflections: words of wisdom from your favorite, the cush

if satan peed, it would be gin.

imagine a fight of pirates vs. vikings. that would be fucking cool to watch. except the pirates aren't allowed to use their cannons.

music by oasis is generally very good.

last year 40% of the graduating class at my school had genital warts. that's disgusting. it is my goal to leave college without any STDs or STIs. thats probably just as important as getting my diploma, so if i don't graduate, but when i drop out i don't have any STDs, it won't be a complete failure.

A good test of true friendship: get REALLY drunk. throw up a lot. if someone asks if you're ok, they are nice. if they check on you, they actually care. if they help you out while you're puking, they're a friend. if they sleep on the floor to make sure you live out the night, they're a true friend.

BYAH!!!!

tomorrow begins parent's visiting weekend. get pumped for some funny fucking stories.

the return of the computer girl

i have the first draft of a gigantic essay due on friday. my professor is grading our first drafts. however, in order to get a good grade on our first drafts, we have to submit a rough draft of them for him to look at. so last night i wrote my rough draft for my first draft for an essay. this morning i went to print it out, and my roommates computer is out of ink. so off i go to the computer lab. so i'm sitting in a room, literally SURROUNDED by computers, printing out my draft to hand in, and i look behind me and who do i see, looking at me, but the girl whose computer i carelessly smashed on the floor. AWWWKWAAARRDDDD!!!!!!! apperently she's still not impressed with me.

you can't make this shit up: my past 2 weekends (part 4)

the last night of a 4 day weekend. half the student body is gone, and the campus is empty. the big question of the night: where do we party? justin had the answer. we were to play beerpong at the house of his friend from home. they were having the birthday party for a brand new 21 year old. i get there and i see a shit show. theres drunk field hockey girls, and drunk improv actors. one field hockey girl is so drunk she can hardly stand, and they're trying to get her to stop drinking. i saved the day by playing a game called throw bread into my mouth. the rules were simple. she'd throw bread at me, and i'd catch it in my mouth. then she laugh histerically and tell her friend how hot she thought i was. finally she decided to go home... so she gets on a bike. that was a bad idea. then, like 6 of us had to wrestle her off this bike before she killed herself or one of us. she went upstairs, passed out, and peed the bed. gross.

so anyway, she was out of commission, and i wanted to get drunk, so i went over to be table. "WANA BE MY BEERPONG PARTNER?" another girl, we'll call her jane, yelled drunkenly into my face. did i ever. we got up and started winning. then i got a call from beatrice from the previous post. where are you? at the ackland houses. cool, if i walk buy will you invite me in? yeah sure, whatever. we kept playing. so beatrice and my 2 hallmates come over. and i get those girls in. it's starting to get late, but we're invited into another house to smoke hookah. it sounds like a good time. jane and i have been barely holding on to the table, and it's come down to one cup three times now, so we're drunk. she's sloppy. we start smoking hookah and this girl becomes obsessed with passing the smoke from mouth to mouth. the trouble was, that she kept slipping me toung while we were doig this. it was real gross.

all of a sudden, theres a knock at the door. uh oh. security's here because it's 5:30 am and we're loud as fuck. this is where the comedy starts. he says "I'm here for a noise complaint, but i can see the pipe, and i'm gonna need to check it out" yes sir, says juan, the owner of the house. (his name wasn't actually juan, but it was a hispanic name. he was hispanic. remember this.) anyway, "yes sir," says juan, "let me take it out to you." good call juan, there's a shit ton of drunk under-agers in this house. the security guard takes one look at the hookah and is immediately sketched out. juan takes off the coal so that the security man can take a look at the tobacco and make sure that's all it is. "what's that do?" he asks. ignorant ohio fuck. "well it's very hot so it ignites the tobacco and turns it into smoke and pulls it down throught the water so it's smooth and enjoyable" juan says. the security man sees the tobacco, acknowledges it at such, and not weed, but is still confused as to why we are using a hookah. "you know you're not allowed to use bubblers, does housing know about this?" he asks. "....yeeeaaahh?" is the responce juan offers. the security guard believes him. that's amazing. then a lightbulb goes off in security man's head. he's figured out why we'd be smoking hookah and not just cigarettes. he then, with a straight face, asks juan (remember, he's hispanic) "Wait! are you guys jewish?" everyone in the house bursts out laughing. "yes sir, thats right." he responds, as he shoots us a confused look. "so it's a cultural thing!" the security man declares. he tells us to go home, and we do. I more than "go home." i fucking bust ass out of there, because by now jane, or whatever it is i'm calling her, has her hand on my balls. so i grab my boy justin, and beatrice and my hallmate, and we go home. i have a prospy in my bed, so i crash in my hallmates room and spend the next 40 minutes making out to the sound of justin snoring at probably a 4000 decibel level. what a night.

you can't make this shit up: my past 2 weekends (part 3)

a story about the first time i hooked up with beatrice, the girl from part 1 of this (at least) trilogy. here comes the preface...
Preface: in the beginning of the year i hooked up with a girl (we'll call her betsy). she's an ok looking girl who is AMAZING at dancing and TERRIBLE at kissing. it was a mistake and she gave me a cold sore. i got a lot of shit about it from my boys. it was disgusting and i regret it. i could have dealt with either the cold sore or the bad kissing but not both... not both...

so the other night, i was in the AD bullseye (a room with a big bullseye shaped window) enjoying a dance party. then betsy entered the room. she has these eyes that look at you and just suck you right in. it's especially bad when you're drunk. she she got me with her tractor beam eyes and amazing dance moves and i was sucked right in. i'd dance with her until my boy justin would pry me off her. he'd be like "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING!?!?!?! YOU DON'T WANT THAT!!!" then i'd go right back to it. anyway, we were dancing and getting closer and closer, and justin was getting more and more pissed, and finally beatrice saw what she had to do. it was like in any action movie when someone takes the bullet for the president. it was all happening in slow motion. betsy was going in for the make out. i was dancing, unsuspectingly. beatrice, still in slow mo, yelled NOOOOOOOOOO in a silly deep voice and saved me. i was free from the eyes, and therefore, snapped out of the spell. HOLY SHIT! i thought to myself. i was making out with beatrice instead of betsy. thank god.

you can't make this shit up: my past 2 weekends (part 2)

i'm really into prefacing things, so listen: I AM A NICE PERSON! i know, my writing on this forum makes me come off as a dick, but i'm not. i'm a genuinely nice person. this is a story about the one time i was a mean person... enjoy.

It all begins on friday. I had a prospective student with me, so i brought her to a 21st birthday i was obligated to attend, and she got real drunk. then i put her to bed, and went out again. my neighbor from 2 doors down had a friend from mount holyoke (sweeeeeet!!!) staying with her, and this girl was real hot. for the sake of the story we'll call my neighbor mary and this girl "moho girl." so me and my friend, we'll call him bigbird, decided one of us should be hooking up with moho girl. it was true, one of us should have been.

now i have to make clear the fact that these girls grew up together on an island. they've been "besties" for a long-ass time. "moho girl" was also good friends with mary's cousin. when i say good friends, i mean good friends, not "good friends." (the latter implies her touching his penis, which she was not.) because of this, the three of them did a lot of talking to eachother. however, moho girl came from mount holyoke, which is an all girls college. because of this, she flirts with EVERY GUY she meets, including myself and bigbird. so imagine the situation: me and bigbird are drunk and want to hook up with this girl. she's flirting with us, but she also spends time talking to mary and mary's cousin. so me and bigbird interpereted this to mean that she wanted us, but mary was cockblocking and trying to set her up with her cousin. lame sauce, extra spicy. eventually we gave up, and went to the AD fraternity house, and drank the punch. i went home quite unsatisfied, and passed out in the hall. next thing i know, i'm being woken up by moho girl, and she's telling me to go to bed. "but there's a prospy in my bed!" i reply. she tells me to get in her bed. SHWING!!! i go into her room, and proceed to climb into her bed. she asks me what i'm doing in all those clothes. AWESOME!!! i tell her i'm going to sleep. lame answer. she asks how i normally sleep. in my boxers, i reply. she then takes off my pants and shirt. get in bed, i'll be right back. i get in bed and immediately pass out. the next mornign around 8 she climbs into bed, waking me up. she went to check on bigbird who was just as wasted as i was, and passed out on his floor. great night for everyone.

***THE NEXT NIGHT***

we're up at the DKE frat area drinking. i'm double fisting all night. it's great, a night of dancing and hoorays. the last i remember of it, i'm walking down the hall in search of more beer. the next day, i hear mary and moho girl and nicely say hi to them. "oh, so today you like me!" mary angrilly replies. i was confused so i asked what she meant. she then told me what i had done the night before. here's a brief run down. I went into the other room to get more beer, and apperently i found it. then, she said, i saw them on my way back to the party. I accused mary of cockblocking, and screamed at her to allow poor moho girl to make her own decisions (she was standing right there). we all left the party together, and i continued to yell at mary the entire way home. i had my arm over moho girl's sholders and was still yelling things like "I DON'T GET WHY MARY HATES ME!!!" and "HEY MARY, EVERYONE THNKS IT'S FUCKED UP HOW YOU'RE COCKBLOCKING ME AND BIGBIRD!" etc. i then, in my drunkenness, accidentally ran moho girl into a lamp post, and she used the opertunity, as anyone else would, to run back to her friend, who then rubbed it in my face. then i peed on a church. after that, I passed out on bigbird's floor watching his roommates grey's anatomy. (I FUCKING HATE THAT SHOW)!!! i was put to bed by a girl on my hall. apperently i was mumbling about zach braff. good job O'Neill, good fucking job.

you can't make this shit up: my past 2 weekends (part 1)

let me preface this by saying that i've had an crazy pair of weekends. there will be more posts to come, but right now i'm swamped with a paper and tech week for a show i'm running tech for, so i'm fucking busy.

Friday, 10:00 pm: I'm in upper Lewis residence hall driking nattie light. we're playing some card game i've never heard of. it's me, my man Charlie, and like 6 girls. sweet.

Friday, 11:30 pm: we decide to go out, but where? there's a party at the AD frat house, but the live band is done by now and it's supposed to have gotten kind of lame. We're headed to the off campus townhouses lovingly known as "milks."

Saturday, 12:45 am: New venue, same cheap beer. nattie light is nice because it's total crap. same with milks, they're nice because they're total crap and you can have huge parties in them. i see friends and enimies. one of my boys has been on the beer pong table for the past 11 games. i'm not even joking, he's an unbelievable drinking game player. he has just declared that he will play until he passes out. i'm not sure how that ended.

Saturday, 2:30 am: we've moved down 3 houses, and about 4 cents a beer. it's keystone light now, and we're having a dance party. There's a girl there i hooked up with a couple times last weekend (we'll call her "Beatrice" for the sake of the story because i don't want to use her real name and nobody is fucking named Beatrice anymore), and it was fun so i think to myself ok O'Neill, let's fucking do this. unfortunately, she is dancing with a soccer guy who believes they're dating. darn.

Saturday, 3:15 am: Beatrice and asshole soccer guy have left the building. i'm not really having a lot of fun, because at this point it's basically a bunch of people who have coupled up and are now making out on the dance floor, and me, awkwardly drinking keystone light.

Saturday, 3:30 am: O'Neill has left the building, and is making his way back to his dorm. (3rd person just sounded cooler this time, i'll be back to the 1st person in a second.)

Saturday, 3:40 am: I return to my room to find my roommate and 3 basketball players surrounded by boxes of pizza, debating which would be cooler to have, a giant beanstalk or a giant peach. stoners...

Saturday, 4:00 am: I'm finally asleep. In my own bed, all alone. (my roommate can bear witness to the fact that i'm alone at this point)

Saturday, 12:45 pm: having just come out of a wonderful dream, i wake up. the first thought that runs through my head is the following: "WHAT THE FUCK, BEATRICE IS IN MY BED!!!!" and it was true. Beatrice has, in the night, and without waking me up, come to my room (we live in different buildings), removed her shoes and coat, and gotten into bed with me. I had literally no idea how she had gotten there. she precedes to complain about how much of an asshole the soccer asshole is, and then try to make small talk. I was confused. in addition to trying to figure out why she decided it was appropriate to climb into bed with me, i was trying to figure out the following (and i want you to respond in comments to my blog): the morning after sex, when you've spent the night, it is a good idea to cuddle. however, nothing happened between the two of us... do we cuddle? tell me what you think.

I Just Realized Something Very Embarassing

This is going to be hard to explain, but I'm going to do my best. So picture a State Radio concert, Chad's just beginning Omar Bay, JVest on the kit. So...in the song(and in most SR songs), the verses are of identical melodies (naturally), so it's understandable that Chad messes up the words. He's done it before for Riddle, First One Shot, as well as a couple others that escape my mind. Anyways, so he starts out the song "Dear Mr Omar Bay, Heard the news that..." and here he blanks out. He stops singing. So my dumb ass shouts "YOU WENT TO SEE GOD IN A CHURCH." Well my dumb ass didn't realize is that thats the line for the 2nd verse, not the 1st one. No wonder he stared me down like that. Anyways, I apologized to him afterwards and he said it was cool he was fine with it, but now I feel like a complete idiot. And I'm sure on the recording my dumbass outburst will be audible, so in a couple of weeks I can expect people on RLT being like "who's the idiot that shouted out the wrong words to Chad?"

Well hopefully that'll make me memorable.

My Ears Are Still Ringing...

...from STATE RADIO (duh). This weekend I came home for my 8th State Radio concert. Overall, it wasn't the best one I've been to, but it was up there. (The best one I've been to I think was the one this past November 15. That was a VERY good show.) A minor technicality was that Chad's mic wasn't as loud as it should've been, and that his guitar overpowered and dominated the sound, which is unusual. Besides that though, I feel like a lot has changed about SR shows now. The first most obvious difference was that I wasn't rolling up to the 9:30 club with a force to be reckoned with. There weren't 12 of us, just 2: me and my friend Eli (Pollack, senior at Sidwell). That was troubling at first. It was sad not having all my friends to geek out with when we saw Sybil come out of the tourbus. It was sad not going to dinner beforehand with everyone and going insane trying to psychoanalyze Chad's previous setlist decisions in an attempt to predict tonights. Also, with 2 albums and more releases than I can count on one hand, SR is getting bigger. The stage was moved back tonight and there was a barrier set up between the stage and the audience. The club seemed pretty full. I remember the days when I'd be in the front and I could look behind me and see the linoleum floor, none of that anymore. As their popularity grows, so does my elitism. This is my 8th show (Shannon's 103rd, she exists at a level of fandom that I can only dream of. Chad gave her a shoutout in the middle of the show. She had a State Radio Fall Tour 2007 All Access Pass. I would probably lose all my friends if I began to describe what lengths I would go to in order to obtain one.) I feel like I've grown up with the band, seeing them go from opening act to headliner. It bothers me that my breathing space is taken up by unnappreciative scum who go there to only hear "Camilo" and "Right Me Up." Well after routinely waiting outside the club for 40 minutes, peeing, seeking out our front row spots, and standing...waiting patiently, the opening act came out. The female powered Afro-beat/reggae sound of Zili Misik hailing from Boston exceeded my expectations. I was skeptical at first, but they were very good. They remind me of a more reggae Angelique Kidjo. Their guitarist was astouding, finger picking impressive solos. Their drummer was their secret weapon. Unsuspecting at first, but busting out a solo at the end with an intensity rivaling that of Mad Dog's. Her solo put a very large smile on my face. After their set, it seems like no time was wasted in getting State Radio onstage. The doors opened early for this one. 7:30. Apparently, there was a DJ (whose doors were at 11:30) who was playing later that night. There was barely a wait between sets and time between the end of SR's set and the encore was shockingly short. During this time between sets I picked Shannon's wealth of SR knowledge. She told me about a time when Mad Dog came onstage for an encore and started the drumbeat for Larkin, but he got frustrated because Chad and Chuck took forever to get onstage (he wrecked his drumkit Nirvana style at the end of the show). And then I started asking about songs from the new album and which ones would get played. We talked of Gang of Thieves, and Wicker Plane, and CIA...the expected ones. And I asked about Rash of Robberies, and she said that they had been sound checking with that a lot and that she gave Chad shit about it last night and that it was kind of the reason why they (she had a friend named, Neil) were in DC. SR comes on, Chad clad in a Red Sox shirt (he actually does wear clothes besides that goofy military shirt of his). Here's their set: Waitress (Mad Dog experiences some microphone trouble), Wicker Plane, Black Cab Motorcade, Gang of Thieves, Right Me Up, Omar Bay (With Jeremy Vest on drums. Not surprisingly, Chad forgot the words to the one of the beginning lines of the song. I filled him in shouting "GOD IN A CHURCH." He jokingly stared me down. I was blessed by his gaze. After the show I talked to him and he said he appreciated it.), Time Served (They totally broke this song down during the solo section of it. Chad didn't go so much for the flight of fancy this time. He deferred to Mad Dog who went apeshit on his kit), CIA, Camilo, Sudan (With Zili Misik. This was expected, I knew that they did this the previous night. I felt like they could've done without them for this one. Not nearly as memorable as November 15th's version.), Rash of Robberies (live debut, with Zili Misik. This was absolutely epic. Probably the best song of the night. If you haven't heard the song (you've got problems), it's very fast in the beginning, almost harsh. But during the build-up, Zili Misik came back onstage gradually helping SR increase the size of their sound to an astronomical behemoth by the time it all breaks loose. Chad visibly enjoyed this song a lot.), Gunship Politico, Demok, Olli Olli, Man in the Hall --encore-- Good Graces, Rushian (After this song they progressed into a very hardcore jam after which Mad Dog literally demolished his kit). No Larkin, no Diner Song. My ears are still ringing. My train leaves at 7:30am. Goodnight.

brewing equipment saves the earth

I recently ordered a beer brewing kit on the internet, and have begun brewing my own brand of ale out of my dorm room. However, having all of that equipment is helpful for other purposes as well. Now I can take all of the empty Natural Light, Keystone, and PBR (seriously, THAT was America's best beer in 1893?), and empty them carefully into empty beer bottles using my funnel, cap them using my capper, and refrigerate. These stale, skunked brews can then be given out to unsuspecting persons the next night who generally are too drunk to be able to tell the difference, and who are also impressed that you are classy enough to be drinking beer out of bottles. It's recycling.

Fuck Greenpeace

Nick I feel you, but it is never a good idea to fight while inebriated. Let me rephrase that; it’s never a good idea to attempt to fight when inebriated.

We were walking back from a club on Saturday night when of course we run into a group of French guys.

Let me interject something here: I have come to the conclusion that all groups of French guys suck. They suck because they are sexually frustrated living in a culture that is all about dating. By day the streets are filled with couples walking to and fro and by night all those boys left out—because they fucking suck—are free to cat call and start shit. They have nothing else to do. Of course the American girls have not realized this and so still respond to these desperate attempts by prides of losers.

So the French guys yell something profane at one of our party, who I will call Valentine, and her friend, by the name of Dana, started screaming in French at the fucktards. I had no idea what was going on, not speaking the language.

Both the Americans and the French tried their best to use the other’s language to insult them so the encounter went a lot like this:

“Vous est un Connard!”
“Fuck to you Batch!”

But then the boys came across the street and started to get physical with the girls. Not. Fucking. Cool.

After that I don’t remember exactly what happened. There was some shoving, but nothing too bad. My roommate and I were fucking pissed off though.

And I decided to take it out on the next asshole that looked at me sideways. We continued walking and some motherfucker decided to test me. We’ll I let him have it.

I woke up the next morning and my hand hurt. A lot.

I had fought a tree.

Cross that off the list of things to do before I die.

On A More Serious Note...

Last night at about 10:50 me and my went to an off campus party. It was slow in the beginning but after my first couple beers it conveniently picked up in pace. After about two hours, eight beers, half a pizza, and an appearance by Zach Pilchen, me and the guys I went with walked back to our dorm. So when I get back to DuPont I see a friend of mine (we'll call her "Hannah") heading back to her side of the building accompanied by this tall sketchy dude. When I saw him I recognized him as the guy that Hannah pointed out to be "her creepyass stalker" the previous night. Apparently he got her number off of facebook and has been harassing her since. A red flag went up in my head, but I disregarded it and went to my room. Well its a little after 1am now I see that Hannah is online so I hit her up, but she doesn't respond. After a couple of minutes she writes back saying "NICK, come to my room ASAP." Drunkenly putting two and two together, I know exactly what must be going on so I run to her side of the building and knock on her door. She comes out trying to play it off as if nothing happened but she gives me a glance that informs me completely of how wasted, but furthermore how frightened she was. When I peek in the room, I see the sketchy ass motherfucker (hereafter known as "Giant Douchebag") laying on her bed. Apparently he followed her back to her room, locked her in it, got in her bed saying "aren't you going to come to bed?", and tried to get with her. Luckily, he gained no ground in this respect, but she was still fucking terrified for her life. So I tell her to run to my room. Run she does. After telling the Giant Douchebag that she's going to look for her roommate, we sprint to my room. By now she's totally freaking out. She's cussing up a storm. She's terrified. She's keep saying things like "Nick, you saw what happened right?", "Nick, you know I'm not a slut, you saw him in my bed." She was losing it. So when we get to my room, I just sit her on my bed and give her some water. She's totally freaking out now. She's absolutely horrified about what just happened. Her face is buried in her hands. He voice is uneasy and shaky. She's practically trembling. I'm doing my best to comfort her, calm her down, and let her know that nothing bad can happen now that she's in my room. Frantically, she keeps stumbling through sentences about how she doesn't wanna go back to her room, how she doesn't wanna sleep in her bed, how she doesn't wanna see the Giant Douchebag anymore. So I'm just like, giving her more water, telling her that she can stay in my room if she wants. I offered her Kamal's bed (he's gone for the weekend) and my air mattress to sleep on if she was too frightened to go back to her room. After a few minutes of calming her down and letting her know that she's safe, she mentions her roommate. Hannah wants to see her. I knew that she was in my hall, so I my head out and tell her to get in my room. Her roommate (who we'll call "Nicole") comes in and I explain what happened. Hannah asks Nicole to go back to their room and tell him that her boyfriend is spending the night or something like that so that he'll leave. She goes back to their room and comes back a few minutes later. Apparently he left after I left with Hannah for my room. Well after some time spent comforting her and making her drink more water, with the help of her roommate she feels confident, albeit still a little shaken up enough to go back to her room. After she leaves I'm in a terrible mood. I'm fucking pissed. She didnt deserve anything like this. Shit like this irks me beyond most other things. Granted, I was 8 beers deep, and maybe a tad bit belligerent, but I just turned on some Rage Against the Machine as loud as I could (it was maybe 3:30ish), sought out some guys on my hall, and punished a couple more beers. I wanted to break something. I was pissed that some acne-ridden cuntface could do something like this and think it was alright. I went up and down the halls banging as hard as I could on everyones doors. I didn't care if i woke people up. Last time I heard that a guy tried to get with a girl I cared about I kicked my closet door in. I was fucking angry. I could've murdered him. I just wanted to go to town on his face. The beer calmed me down. After letting out some steam, I brushed my teeth and went to bed.

Giant Douchebag - I hope your ass gets curb-stomped. Victimize another girl and I'll victimize your balls with a vice.

Listen to Radiodread, respect women. Have a nice day.

The Curious Incident of the Hotdog in the Nighttime

So there is one 24 hour diner in Aix. It serves amazing drunk food, so naturally everyone goes there before heading home each night. Unfortunately the service is kinda slow.

The story begins two days ago when a girl, who I will call Anna, was very drunk. We were sitting in a booth in the back and our food was taking forever. Now the fact that the French couple—who had entered the establishment a good 10 minutes after us—had just been served hamburgers (bunless hamburgers might I add) only served to make us a bit, shall we say, restless.

Hungry Hungry Anna was the most restless of all and decided that she could not wait another instant for the pizza to arrive and would just as soon leave and raid her host’s minifridge. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she spied a hotdog sitting on a plate on the bar waiting to be taken to a table.

Now I’m not sure whether Anna was a military brat or had grown up in a combat zone but the army crawl she employed was hands down the sneakiest I have ever seen. She made it right up to the bar (crossing the entire restaurant on the floor) and eased her hand up over the edge. Grasping the hotdog she squealed with glee and sprinted back to the table.

Nobody saw a thing.

The entire staff gathered around the empty plate and marveled at the curious disappearance. The searched every inch of the immediate surroundings but to no avail—the hotdog could not be found.

That was when Anna decided the hotdog—which she had been hiding under the table—needed eating. Of course she was immediately spotted. When the waiter came over to demand and explanation, she insisted that she had ordered both a pizza AND a hotdog and that it was hers. When that didn’t convince him she went with plan b: get rid of the evidence.

She did this by hurling the half eaten hotdog across the room. It landed on the couple’s table. The entire place fell silent.

Luckily we sorted the whole situation out, paid for the hotdog and left, hoping never to return.

But this restaurant IS the only place open late.

It took much convincing last night to get the group to attempt to get un plate de frits, (“what if we were banned?” ) but hunger overcame caution (with the help of some alcohol) and we returned. When we sat down, sure enough, the same handlebar mustache greeted us. We were all startled and began to panic but tried to play it off casually. Strangely, the waiter calmly took our orders. Anna went last and sheepishly ordered a pizza. The waiter paused and looked taken aback.

“Wait. No hotdog?”

just to clear things up

I was chatting with a group of girls in my hall recently and the concept of "old lady flirting" came up. the girls had no idea that this existed, and proceded to call me various things like disgusting, pervert, wierdo, etc. because of this barrage of criticism i recieved for flirting with a nice old lady, i decided to make a post for any female readers we might have here at Tales Told by Idiots, just to clear things up. before i begin my explanation, i need to boost up my ethos. i'm a flirt. a huge flirt. i flirt with pretty much everyone i encounter. as far as i'm concerned, if you've got a nice set of big voluptuous x chromosomes, you're fair game for flirtation. there are, however, different levels of flirtation. it's kind of like Dante's Inferno, but instead of a situation where murderers get one level of hell, theifs get another, jews another, it's more like different types of females get different types of flirtation. the most serious flirtation, obviously, occurs when the flirt wants to get with the girl. this would be defined as the "i-am-attempting-to-fuck-you-pretty-soon flirt." if you're hot and of a similar age group as the dude, this is probably what he's doing. you can't, however, assume this to be the case. there are two other posibilities if you fit this description. the next most serious flirt is the "i-like-you-for-who-you-are flirt." this means that the dude is actually interested in you, and wants to get to know you. this type of flirting centers a lot less around compliments, jokes, and attempts to break the touch barrier, and more around questions about interests, etc. the last possibility if you fit the first description is that the guy is just a flirt with his female friends. my friends, for example, get a lot of this last kind. What about people outside the age group? ah yes. if you're within 10 years of the flirting guy, and he knows your name, and you're attractive, there's the "i-wish-i-were-your-age-so-i-could-try-fucking-you flirt." this is what hot teachers get a lot of. it centers a lot around the guy joking (but not really) about how mature and cool he is, so that he seems more on par with the girl in question. the preceding types of flirts all share one thing in common. a degree of sexual tension. even with the friends flirt, it centers around creating a slight degree of sexual tension to get your friend to laugh (as opposed to the first kind of flirting, in which the sexual tension is meant to actually create sex). the next type of flirtation lacks this. it is called "the old lady flirt." although it is not exclusive to old ladies, this is where the bulk of it takes place. every guy wants every girl to like him more than he likes her. this is a fact. the happiest man is the man who is loved by all of woman kind more than he loves them... yes, literally ALL of woman kind... including old ladies. this is the point of the old lady flirt. let me offer you an example. There is a woman on campus who, if i were not a flirt, i would never speak to ever. every tuesday at the dining hall, we have what's called "tortellini tuesdays." this is where you put into a bowl all the things you want in your tortellini, and an old lady cooks it up for you. it's really great. my friend Justin and I, both increadable flirts, spend a long time in line for this. what do we do in line? we flirt with the old lady who makes the tortellini. we do this so that she likes us, because we really like her, so we need her to like us more. it's just how it is. the old lady flirt isn't unique to old ladies, tho. it's the same thing with cashiers, friend's moms, and little girls. all the females that are far enough out of the age group of the dude that it would be inapropriate for him to wanna bang her. this is why guys and sassy ten-year-old girls hit it off so well. we flirt with them, they give us sas, so we think they don't like us, so we have to flirt with them more. it's not creepy i wanna see you naked flirting, it's old lady flirting. So ladies, remember this when you're in your mid to upper 50s and some 18 and 19 year old guys start cracking jokes to make you smile and laugh... they dont want to get in your pants, they just want your love. i hope i've left you all a bit more enlightened (and not creeped out). thanks for listening.

Tipper loses her cool

So today I witnessed an incredible moment. After our morning painting session we were all out maxing all cool shootin’ some bball outside of the studio when a girl burst out of door.

“I’ve lost my painting,” she cried.

Somehow, during the cleanup her painting had mysteriously vanished. Now everyone—the girl, who I will call Tipper, included—saw the hilarity in the situation and began a jovial hunt for the missing art. We came up with many crazy possible scenarios explaining where it went including possible theft; an impromptu art auction and underpants gnomes. We scoured the studio and surrounding grounds searching high and low. Then we realized where the painting actually was.

It was in the garbage can. One of our teachers had thrown it away, thinking that it was scrap board (we paint on finished cardboard the first few weeks). Tipper looked as if mischievous gnomes had just nicked her underpants. Everyone’s faces became stone. And yet, the actual fate of the painting was ten times funnier than anything we could have imagined. We were all laughing inside.

a sign from god

today i was going to join my team in the making of the trophies. not anymore. this morning i woke up feeling like somewhere between shit and roadkill. i was not hungover, i had strep throat. that's so lame (actually it's kinda sweet, i watched 4 movies today, and will watch more tomorrow seeing as i'm milking this shit for all it's worth). anyway, so now i'm on antibiotics... a shit load of them... which means i can't drink. so, by devine intervention, my week of sobriety continues uninterrupted. sweet. and i'm glad cause it means i am actually able to do it. so for now, so long. i'll see you again in a week with more of my usual hillariously awkward situations. i'll probably post before then, i've got one stewing up in the old noggen. until then goodnight.

what to do?

so i keep blacking out, and thats not a good thing, because, as much as i love being crazy and shit, i also have to look out for number one. my solution to this, and some questions running around in my head, was to take a sober week. the problem with this, however, is that tonight is my friends birthday, tomorrow is the construction of the frisbee home tournament trophies (we make them out of empty nattie light cans), and this weekend promises to be real fun. so what i don't know is what to do. the way i see it i have 3 options: 1- fuck it, who wants to be sober anyway? 2- drink on wednesday, but no vodka, only beers, and pace myself, and then don't drink this weekend to stay straight for the tourney. 3- personal shit before the team, i wanted to be sober so i'll be sober. I'm thinking i'll go with number 2 because that way i can still have a sober week, it's just the week between wednesdays. what do you think?

I'm not diggin these stories about

weed.

Hash fucking sucks a really large (floppy) donkey penis.

It comes in these little black bars (I thought it was heroin at first) and is the shitty. Yes "the shitty." when somebody says something like, "Fuck my morning was pretty shitty,"-even though they don't know it-they are talking about the feeling of smoking hash after growing up with on best weed around (California not included). You really can't even smoke it straight (we have no bowl). You have to sprinkle it on tobacco and then roll.

In short I have not been high since the morning (technically) of my departure and Nick's ramblings make me homesick. It has gotten so bad I have started smoking cigs to beat the cravings. Yes that's right I'm going through withdrawal. Which means, OfCourse, that I recently was an addict.

That's right I admit it, I was addicted, and frankly I don't care. I was addicted to sweet sweet Mary Jane. And—Oh God—I miss her.

If she’d only come back to me I know I could change. I’ll be a better person—I swear it. I’ll spend more time at home with her and the kids. I’ll be more sensitive to her needs. I’ll try to get along with her friends, and wont call them derogatory names in front of her.

I’ll even wash the goddamn dishes.

I’m sorry about seeing my ex, Stacy, but Mary—you know I love you. (Beginning to cry) We had a life together, and—Jesus Crist—I need you so badly.

I…. I did my best… god… I did my best….

I did my…

How Did I Get Here?

so at 9:20 i smoked a bowl as a reward to myself after finishing my reading. just a nice, chill, lazy Sunday night thing to do. I don't have class til 12:30 tomorrow. so im just hangin out, doing my thing. Then Kamal comes home. He's been at George Mason all weekend. he brings back a couple of grams and him, my RA's roommate and i smoke 5 bowls. this is nuts. now we've just hit a waterfall with a bunch of friends and my RA. it was disappointing. now were hitting this bubbler. this is crazy, this is madness, this is (Sparta)!

a discovery after 19 years of life

the first thing i have to do is apologize to denison because 1) i spelled it wrong (but i'm allowed to... i get extra time, asshole) and 2) it turns out i was ill informed and it was not denison kids who threw a couch out my building's window.

the next thing i have to do is say that for the purposes of this, my sister doesn't count. when i say i've never met a girl who has _________, my sister is not included in that statement. she doesn't count. now buckle up and get pumpd, its fuckin story time!

so the other day i was with this girl in her bed. get your mind out of the gutter, we were doing homework. we were chatting it up, talking about fun things such as different types of sandwiches, why barak obama is sexier than god, the man who fucking invented sex, and why rutherford b hayes is the best of the forgetable presidents. it was nice because i was doing homework (albeit slowly) and being social at the same time. its a great way to take the edge off a boring reading or something. i was really enjoying myself. the, all of a sudden, something happened. imagine the first time you reached climax. imagine how awesome that was, and now take the oposite of that. another analogy to keep the suspense going: remember 9/11/01? yeah thats right, i use the whole date. if you dont like it, fuck off. well remember the feeling when you learned what had happened? yeah it was like that. i'm sitting with this girl on her bed, and i experience a coupling of senses. my butt felt a slight rumble, like the aftershock of a scale 3 earthquake (thats not very big for those of you who dont have the richter magnitude scale memorized. like you can feel it, but it causes no damage... no physical damage. emothional damage? yes. read on.) my ears got the brunt of the attack, however, hearing what sounded like a cross between a duck and an african barking frog. i looked around to see who had produced this medly of senses, but there were no other guys in the room. my next though: was it me? no it wasn't. then it hit me... the GIRL had farted. I've lived for 19 years and even a few months and days, and in all my life (i can say this because my sister doesn't count, she's 11) i have NEVER heard a girl fart. i didn't know it was anatomically possible. i had heard tales of it happening, but i just figured it was like yetties and the lochness monster. she actually farted. it actually happens. i laughed nervously, but inside i was burning up with a clusterfuck of emotions. i was scared, helpless, embarassed, and worried about the fate of man kind. what if it smells bad? girls dont smell bad, they smell lovely. should i be a gentleman and say it was me? the astonishing thing is that she made the oh man i'm embarassed face, then laughed and had moved on. this happened days ago and i still havn't moved on. it's not that i'm sexist and don't think girls have the right to fart, its that i didn't know it was possible, and i'm scared of the implications. if girls can fart, it means they can poop. thats a guy thing. some things in this world are meant for men. cooking ribs, enjoying amature porn, and having smelly things come out of your butt. I dont really know how to end this but to say that i've been there. i have seen the yetty that is a she-fart. it's real. it doesn't smell like roses or spring time. it smells like fart. so men, brace yourselves. some day you'll be confronted with this situation. you'll be sitting there, unsuspecting. you'll be in line, or in the car. maybe in class or maybe at your favorite deli. there will be a lady there. she'll fart. its gonna be real wierd. if it happens to you, and you need to talk about it, i'm there for you. good luck.

PS. i know i'm a shithead for comparing a girl farting to the death of thousands of people, but seriously, it was earth shattering.

Ray

Taylor's comment on Nick's previous post:

"so i havent commented on any of these but i feel the need to on this one...WTF??!?!?! first of al lyou speaking in the 3rd person and secodly what are you saying, its absolutley ridiculous! "

Remember O'Neill (jibberish part 2)

wow! that was crazy! he did it again! there! look!

Remember O'Neill (jibberish)

...The Story of Benjamin Darling Part 1... so. i wonder what this must be like for you guys. at all different states, time zones, even countries. reading this. just your friend who goes to school in Virginia (back in the States) was just hanging out this evening. after getting take out for dinner. he laid on his bed while reading Langston Hughes, and an article on Picasso's Les Demoiselles D' Avignon...CIA... after a few hours of reading. he finds his present. he made himself a present ...Gang of Thieves... a bowl. yes so now he's here and talking to you. he's laughing at the thought that you're gonna have to read this. he feels bad for you. he was going nuts ealier. There! he did it again. yes...turpentine for tea...no gunship to big for your way emporium...he was going nuts and then he thought of this very method of public documentation. he doubts himself. so what is it like for you? what do you think of this? do you tell your roommate?...Fight No More...whats he creating? why is he doing this? what do you say to yourself? what?...here the sun will set...

fucking dennison

last night some kids from dennison threw a couch out a second story window of my dorm. why? thats so not cool. whatever, they're probly just jealous that our ultimate team's rookie team beat their regular team yesterday... twice.

what the fuck?

last night i was dancing with a girl. she said to me, with no prompting by me, mind you, the following sentence: "I dont want to have sex tonight, but i can give you a blow job." WHAT THE FUCK? the amazing part is that she said it with a straight face. she was serious. it was wierd.

Possibly one of the worst discoveries made in France

So Zach and I headed over to this girls apartment the other night because her host family was out of town. These girls had told us that they had gotten a lot of liquor for the event so we thought could be quite a nice evening. Little did we know.

We showed up thinking we would be greeted with a handle of Smirnoff or some other girly spirits but when we entered the dwelling we came face to face with none other than a bottle of Old Nick’s Coco Punch.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m all about trying new things, but the milky-white, watery liquid that the bottle contained looked as it had come out of a disgrunteled camel or prehaps a drunken sorority sister. In short: absolutly nasty.

It was.

For the rest of the night the punishment for any party foul type behavior was a swig of the Old Nick. The first foul was of course the very purchase of the “Coco Punch.” The girls were not happy with this ruling.

Moral of the story:javascript:void(0)
Coco Punch does not equal cheep Malibu, it equals mildly alcoholic breast milk. Exercise caution when dealing with the purchases of women in foreign countries. (For info on the purchasing of women see the upcoming post about travels in the Netherlands)

Cheers

Timebombs and Regrets

So DuPont (my dorm) has three wings: East, Central, and West. West is the guys wing and I'm on the first floor of it (D1West for short). We've gained quite a reputation on campus already. Our hall holds the record for incidents out of all freshman dorms. We sent two people to the hospital during the first week for alcohol/drug overintoxication related incidents. Last weekend 5 kids on our hall had alcohol poisoning. Generally were just viewed as mischievous by the whole campus.
At the end of last year the Student Assembly just passed something called "Medical Amnesty." The bulletin board describing it on our hall reads:

MEDICAL AMNESTY SAVES LIVES

The college's primary concern is the safety of its residents. As such, the College encourages residents to seek medical assistance for themselves or other in cases of extreme intoxication and/or alcohol poisoning.

In such an event, administration will NOT PURSUE JUDICIAL SANCTIONS against the students for ciolations of the Alcohol Beverage POlicy of the Code of Conduct. Instead the student may be required to attend alcohol education sessions and/or counseling.

Don't abuse it!

The two kids (one of them is my suitemate) who went to the hospital were protected by Medical Amnesty. However, because of this we've gotten a lot of crap from the other halls. One time this kid from D3West (the third floor of my wing) came into our lounge walked up to one of the guys who went to the hospital (not the one who's my suitemate) and called him "a fucking retard" to his face. We proceeded to follow him after that and confront him and the girl he was with and promptly called his ass out.

Another time early one Monday morning (4am), me, my roommate, and my RA were hanging out in the hall when we saw about 5 kids at the end of the hall trying to move a couch into our lounge. It's against the rules to shuffle furniture and we would've gotten in trouble if it was found out that we had a couch in our lounge that did not belong to us. Furthermore, the couch had puke on it. Well our RA started talking to them. "This isn't our couch, why are you bringing it to our lounge?" The kids didn't know what to say, but they didn't know that he was the RA either. They just tried playing dumb. Well once my RA pulled out his cell phone and threatened to call the Area Director, the kids were convinced that they would have to take the couch back to where they got it from. It turns out they were from D3West.

Long story short, we're developing a sort of hateful relationship with our neighbors two floors above us. Our RA suggets various passive aggressive methods of fucking with them. Leaving pizza boxes and carry out containers in their lounge (something they can get fined for), and removing the batteries from the remote control for their TV. Shit like that.

Well last night, we and some guys from the hall were wasted and we wanted to cause some mischief. Naturally we targeted D3West. Our RA busts out a half gallon carton of old milk and a couple of us decide it'd be a good idea to urinate in it. Then we take these old carry out containers with uneaten pizza crusts and slices of roast beef in them and pour the milk/piss mixture into them. We take them up to the third floor and hide three boxes in the ceiling tiles along their hall. Luckily we accomplish the mission without being caught or seen.

The timebombs are set. In a couple of weeks they will detonate and the stench of rotten food, milk, and urine will permeate their hall. They are fucked.

Well while we were doing it, it was exciting and it seemed like a good idea. But this afternoon I have a sense of regret in my gut. I feel bad. Their shit is fucked and it'll take them forever to figure out what it is, that its hidden in the ceilings and that there are three of them. That could be over a month from now and who knows who'll they'll suspect. One of their own? or us? I'm worried about retaliation. They'll have to one up us. Tsunami the doors? Kidnappings? I'm not sure, but in the mean time the general consensus up and down the hall is that were gonna lay low for a long time.

coming of age

Mike's post about the beer pong tourny segways perfectly into today's post about yesterday. before yesterday I had never played a full round of beer pong. i know, right? it's crazy. i've taken celebrity shots and i've watched more than my fair share of pong being played, and i know all the rules and shit, but i'd just never made the commitment and gotten on the table. i did yesterday. needless to say my team lost, however i did carry it. i had 4 cups to my team mates 2. he's experienced too, it was embarassing for him. but i had fun, and i'm definately gonna play again, so if anyone out there is looking for a partner at the table...

Why America is Better than France

So I was walking back from class the yesterday of yesterday when all of a sudden my roommate and I happened upon a promising looking sign. We have been enjoying France quite a bit but still feel the pangs of longing for the good ‘ol USA that are bound to happen to any blue-blooded football fan (real football not ‘futbol’), so we had to do a double take when we saw that sweet sweet triangle of red cups. We were amazed to discover that Wednesday night is beer pong night at the local disco, IPN. It lasts from 21:00 to 24:00, all the beer is free if you’re playing and it is only 10 Euro to get on rotation. “Sweet!” exclaimed Zach and Mike.

So we show up ready to play and what do we find? Fucking French dudes, and girls. Now I do indeed enjoy chillin with the ladies, and the French aren’t all bad (they have great healthcare) but the combination of the two attempting to play pong was just ridiculous. RIDICULOUS.

Girls who were just standing around spectator-ing would move cups which were in play (IN FUCKING PLAY), Frenchies constantly had elbows—if not entire arms and torsos—over the tables (which were too short) and games took fucking forever because dudes would walk away to go talk to people or make a phone call. Frankly I never realized how serious Americans take their pong until I saw how everyone else is.

Naturally Zach and I were bound by honor to wipe the fucking floor (which was fucking filthy) with these fools and we did (my bounces are getting pretty nasty).

The worst insult of the night definitely came around 1 am when my cherished red cup was demanded by one of the bartenders. “What the fuck are you talking about Pier?” I calmly asked. “We import the cups and need to use them again next week.” He violently explained.

I guess I will have to wait until next Wednesday for my beloved taste of America in the form of a red plastic cup.

America, Fuck Yeah!

why lofted beds are stupid

a brand new story to give you my history with the girl (i'm not gonna give her name, so for the sake of the story we'll call her "the girl") from saturday night whose room i was hanging out in. it all starts a few mondays ago. I'm in my room watching Stanly Kubrik's Full Metal Jacket, when out in the hall there arose such a clatter that i sprang from my bed to see what was the matter! it was a fucking parade of people. "join us," they cried. so i did. long story short i ended up at some random ass party on a monday night and there was this girl there, who was, in the words of vince vaughn, eye fucking the shit out of me. so i go over and we talk, and we make facebook friends, and we talk on AIM on occaision. it's all very cute. anyway, we're partying together on friday, the day before the saturday i posted about, and we're both quite drunk. she invites me back to her room to watch a movie. we get there and she's got a pretty good room, except for the fact that her bed is lofted so she can but shit under it. BAD CALL, "THE GIRL"!!! so she sets her computer down on the bed, and puts the movie in. i hop on up, and the computer falls onto the floor and breaks. oops. everything works except the DVD drive. fuck. needless to say we havn't hooked up.

I'll preface this, however, by pointing out that hope is not lost because she still talks to me, we still chill, and she's not (yet) asked me to pay for her computer breaking. awesome.

reasons not to be late

So wednesday nights are a chill party night here on the hill. it's usually your 20-30 person get together rather than a frat party. it's really great vibes on wednesdays. anyway, it's wednesday morning and this afternoon i have ultimate frisbee practice. This is no regular ultimate practice. the first person that gets to practice will have a disk, then pass it to the next person to arrive. if you have the disk, it is on you to find someone who showed up after you and pass it to them. if you're the last person to practice you're fucked. it means that this evening, while the frisbee team is doing some groop bonding over things like flip cup, kings, and ruit, you'll be chugging a disk full of beer. "thats not so bad" you might be thinking right now. you're wrong. believe it or not, an upside-down frisbee holds 4 and a half cans of beer in it. thats 3 pints of grain alcohol. delicious? no. because it'll be something gross like keystone. in addition to that, the thin flat shape of the frisbee makes it go flat pretty much right away. it's the most miserable chugg ever. i hope i'm not late to practice.

my most recent saturday night

let me set the scene. it's saturday night, kind of chilly, and i'm ready to start partying. I'm hanging out with my boy justin and some of the kids from his hall. we get the pregame started with everyone's favorite plastic-bottled $15 vodka, Popov. it's gross, but thats how we like it. we're all where we want to be mentally, and we're enjoying youtube videos. then we get the call. pregame number two. "would you like to join me in my room for some vodka?" yeah we would. we head to another room in a different building. their vodka is nicer. i've still never heard of it before, but at least they had the self respect to get something that comes in a glass bottle. awesome. then finally we head out to the Psi U frat lodge. it's not a great party. Psi U is the "Laxers" frat, and they're an odd bunch. they were (and i'm not kidding, this is serious what i'm about to say) drinking live goldfish. I dont understand the thrill. so i get a cup and get in line for the keg. i dont "lax it up" and i dont have tits so i didnt get served for a while, and then when i did get my cup, it was only half full. what shit. so i get back in line. this time the dude takes my cup, fills it up all the way, and walks off drinking it himself. that was fucked. I'm ready to leave after i use the bathroom. I'm ditching the kids i came with to go back to the room of this girl i know (i'll be posting another story involving her later, it's good. get pumped.) with her and her friend. the plan was to just hang out, as neither of them were really feeling the vibes that night. we get back and one goes to bed, so i chill with the other for a while. she's ready for sleep after a while but i'm sooooo not. I'm starting to sober up. (by this i mean i'm not shitfaced wasted anymore, just pretty drunk) I give my man justin a call. he's been on the move too, and is now at his friends house playing beer pong. I roll over there. he's there with this girl he's been hooking up with, who i met at beachweek (although i dont really remember that) and is from my home town. she doesnt really know anyone there, and proposes she and i go inside and drink more. hells yeah. it is at this time that i decide i'm on a mission. I'm gonna black out. so we hit the tequilla, malibu (for her) and amaretto. at this time i'm craving some mac and cheese, so i go back to my room. the last events i remember are the following: i'm walking down my hall, i see a pile of empty pizza boxes by the trash cans. in a display of complete lack of judgement i decide to rummage through them and eat the leftover crusts. gross. my hall-mate opens the door, looks down on this disgrace of a person, and says "what the fuck are you doing?" i reply "looking for pizza" or something like that. she says "we have literally an entire pizza in here!" thats the last i remember of it. I cannot attest to this but apperently the night ended with me, in my underwear, having a staring contest with a picture of a tiki mask in the hall, getting pissed off that it's winning, and karate chopping it off the wall. holy fucking shit, what a night.

does this happen to anyone else?

random girl: "O'Neill!!! HI!!!"
me: "um... hey!"
random girl: "how was the rest of your night?"
me: "what?"
random girl: "you know, like after i met you!"
me: "oh, yeah it was great."
random girl: "thats cool, well i'll see you in class!"
me: "yeah, i'm about to go do the homework."
(girl leaves)
my friend: "who was that?"
me: "i have no fucking idea."

being beautiful is a blessing and a curse.

Things get worse

The next day:

I decided that even though I wouldn’t have any of the right gear I would go hiking with some of my friends. I thought that it would be worth it to suffer through 6 hours in Vans in order to get to the top of a mountain and hopefully see some cool shit. Not to mention I had nothing to do during the day and I couldn’t get back into my house until 6pm or rather 18:00pm.

We set out and things actually went pretty well. I developed no blisters, we did indeed see some cool shit and it was pretty fun just hiking around. We quickly passed the tree line and got to ridge walk for the next several hours. The vistas were breathtaking. We finally made it to the top after quite an effort. We rested and ate lunch by an old monastery and were surprised by the number of under-10-year-olds were running around. Their laughter and energy certainly took the wind out of our sails.

The hike back down was pretty leisurely and uneventful until one of my group members commented on how pink I was growing. Now I didn’t think I was embarrassed so naturally I ignored her comment; that is until the rest of the group chimed in. Then I started to feel that familiar tingling sensation.

I had not been able to apply that generous layer of sunscreen my Irish skin requires. Why you ask? Because: I was locked out.

By the time we reached the bottom of the trail I was a tomato. The walk home was quite uncomfortable to say the least. Of course I had not thought of packing any Alo Vera and Sunday is a day of rest for the French so not a single drugstore or supermarket was open- I had no hope of purchasing reprieve.

I ended up getting some “skin cream” from my host mother later that night which I put on right before dinner. The white paste went on like cream cheese and complemented the deep tomato quite nicely. To add insult to injury I was the subject of a cascade of jokes during dinner and the young French girl, Adaline, could not stop laughing every time she glanced over at me.

I now look slightly less like a tomato, but no matter how much water I drink or how many cold showers I take, my skin feels like it is sitting in the Kalahari.

I need a drink.