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.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Saturday, September 29, 2007
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?”
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?”
Thursday, September 27, 2007
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.
“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.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
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.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
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?
Monday, September 24, 2007
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…
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…
Sunday, September 23, 2007
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.
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)
...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
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
Saturday, September 22, 2007
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:
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.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
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!
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!
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
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.
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.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, September 17, 2007
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.
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.
Locked Out
Situation:
I am in the first week of a semester abroad in France. I speak no French. I am living in a French woman's home with two other students. All three of them are traveling this weekend. All of the other students I know somehow are on an organized trip to the beach and also are out of town. I knew that I would be alone this weekend and was okay with it. I though I'd stroll around the town of Aix-en-Provence (where I'm staying) see a movie and perhaps go out for a drink. Little did I know.
In preparation for this night alone I left my keys strategically perched atop a bookcase directly next to the front door, I didn't want to forget them.
They are still strategically placed on said bookcase, next to said door. I, naturally, am currently located on the other side of said door.
The worst part about this whole thing is that the reason my keys were so strategically placed atop the bookcase was that I had locked myself out just two days prior and had been thinking how much it would suck if I did it again; especially seeing how everyone else would be out.
It does.
I decided to create this blog as a way of sharing the pain I now feel and hopefully future stories of a slightly more humorous (at least to me) nature. Guard your keys well.
Cheers!
I am in the first week of a semester abroad in France. I speak no French. I am living in a French woman's home with two other students. All three of them are traveling this weekend. All of the other students I know somehow are on an organized trip to the beach and also are out of town. I knew that I would be alone this weekend and was okay with it. I though I'd stroll around the town of Aix-en-Provence (where I'm staying) see a movie and perhaps go out for a drink. Little did I know.
In preparation for this night alone I left my keys strategically perched atop a bookcase directly next to the front door, I didn't want to forget them.
They are still strategically placed on said bookcase, next to said door. I, naturally, am currently located on the other side of said door.
The worst part about this whole thing is that the reason my keys were so strategically placed atop the bookcase was that I had locked myself out just two days prior and had been thinking how much it would suck if I did it again; especially seeing how everyone else would be out.
It does.
I decided to create this blog as a way of sharing the pain I now feel and hopefully future stories of a slightly more humorous (at least to me) nature. Guard your keys well.
Cheers!
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)