Luke Grown Up

Late Saturday afternoon, I get an IM from Ross. He invites me into Boston for the night. I had arrived back a couple hours before from the end of my certification for my summer job as a ropes counselor at a local summer camp. I was drenched by the end, but I took a shower and am feeling better. I make an effort to clean up my room so I can snag some cash from the M-Unit (Mom), and my efforts bear the most beautiful fruit: money. After my dad and I sit in his car waiting for the train and he assures me we aren’t going to make out, the train finally comes, and I hop on, eager to start the night in Boston.

On the way I watch part of Bullitt, but I don’t get too far, for the train comes into Ruggles and I hop off. Ross had told me earlier that the station is about a 10-minute walk from his apartment. Of course, I get lost. I call Ross for directions- turns out I had walked the entirely wrong direction. Whoops. 2 cloves and 30 minutes later, I finally have arrived. Ross and I sit on his couch for a little bit, eating pretzels with peanut butter as I call Kurt up. Kurt makes his way over. We flip the channels. Kurt arrives. We depart for dinner: subs at Tremont House Of Pizza.

On the way, I go into the liquor store across the street from the pizza place and get us a 12-pack of Miller Lite and a 40 of Steel Reserve for Kurt. I then head over to the pizza place and order a veal parm sub. I step outside for some air and some girl walks up to me and asks to use my phone. I let it happen, but tense my muscles to chase if she runs away. Luckily, nothing became of this incident. When the subs are ready, we walk back to Ross’ and enjoy our food and beer. Let the boozing begin.

As I’m eating my sub and enjoying a Miller, Ross leaves the room to do something. I look over at Kurt: he is laid out on the loveseat, eating his sub and chugging his 40. As if just to wash down the food. He is more than half-done with the 40 before I am done with my first beer. I tell him to take it easy. I finish both the beer and the sub and grab can number 2. Kurt is now done with his 40, and is ripping off the label and ripping up the sub bag and stuffing them into the bottle, claiming he made Ross a present. When I’m about 3/4 done, Ross wants to shotgun, and I can’t turn him down. The three of us head into the kitchen and I start cutting open the cans. We shotgun, and like an asshole I do a piss-poor job finishing it in one gulp (I don’t). I finish my other beer and we get moving to a party Ross says is going to be awesome.

We have to walk from MassArt to Northeastern to get to this party – it’s a walk, but it’s not too bad, and the weather is nice. Ross and I are feelin’ good and working up a slight buzz. Kurt on the other hand is a garden plant by now. He is falling behind us really far, and he keeps making ridiculous comments. He also keeps seeing people he knows – I feel unloved. When we finally arrive at the party, Ross buys us cups and we get some beers. Then we head downstairs and take turns taking screwdriver shots from the oddly-abandoned ice luge in the kitchen. I go first, and it’s pretty good. Really not too bad at all. Then I feed Ross, then Ross feeds Kurt. We enjoy. I am thrown into a game of flipcup and perform very well the first round, so I am made the anchor. Big mistake. The next two games I fuck up, as I usually do. I fill my cup with the refill pitcher reserved for the game and scram.

Later on, around 12, Kurt leaves and we hit the ice luge again. This time with straight vodka. Some guy wants to do it but refuses to go in the lane next to me. I call him a pussy and he goes next to me. So Ross pours straight vodka down my throat and I nearly gag on the shit. I feel like garbage and go to the bathroom. Luckily, I didn’t get sick. After I drain Senor Lizard I leave and head into the other room and have some champagne (it was someone’s birthday at the house). Then I go to the next room to watch the end of the Sox game. I’m ready to roll – it’s about 1:30. Ross and I bounce and begin the walk home. On the way he calls Em Checkoway and pretends to be me – she believes him. He also won’t stop talking about Chinese food – he is ready to kill to get some.

When we arrive back, I chow down the rest of my sub while Ross trashes the place looking for a menu for a Chinese place that’s open. He orders two General’s Chicken meals – each come with pork fried rice. We watch TV as we wait for it to arrive. When it does, we chow down and down the chow with Millers. We conclude that the food is not that good and retire to our respective chambers (Diaz isn’t around, so I stay in his bed, whose headboard hits the wall with each movement, annoying the shit out of me).

When I awake the next day, I toss on the television and go to the free movies On Demand (what I do there whenever I wake up early). Dick Tracy is there, and since I’ve never seen it, I throw it on. Ross comes in about a minute into the film, and around the 6-minute mark we see Lip Manlis (a character with ridiculous lips) eating oysters and making a mess. We laugh our asses off. After about 20 minutes I decide I don’t want to watch it at all, so I get rid of it. We then watch Spongebob, Wet Hot American Summer, and various other things while eating the rest of our shitty food. We decide to walk around the city since it is beautiful. Hours later, after showering and all, we still haven’t left. It is getting somewhat late (3:30), so we hit the road. We head across town to Newbury Street. On the way we stop for slices at Cappy’s, and then Ross buys me a Great Buy! can of Arizona Iced Tea. Fantastic. We walk through the Christian Scientist area (whatever it’s called) and it is gorgeous. The pool in the middle is awesome, and I am loving it. I take a couple good pics of Ross, and then we pretend to feed a duck. The duck swims over as we both hold our hands out, and it’s not sure which of us to go to. Meanwhile, a guy is lining up behind us to take a picture of the two of us with the duck (we think). Finally, Ross splashes it, and the duck is apathetic. However, the guy is a little annoyed – we think we ruined his picture, so we walk away.

We finally reach Newbury, taking in a man on a motorized skateboard riding in the road. We follow the street to the public gardens and sit on the bank of the water near the bridge for a bit, enjoying a clove. Then we walk up the hill and take off our shoes and lie in the sun. The weather is perfect, and the sky is a deep blue. It is fairly quiet (though there are many people around), and we hear, “ALALALALALA” coming from a foreign tongue. Ross and I start laughing. We calm down and lie around more, observing the great-looking women ambling about.

A little later, we are lying in the sun, half-asleep. Suddenly, I hear a young girl’s voice from close by: “Daddy ruined the day!” Ross and I crack up, as do some other people that are hanging out near us. I sit up and see some little girl storming away from her parents. About a minute later I look up again and see she is back next to them saying “What did I do wrong?” as a young Jewish boy shoots a foam rocket into the air and continues getting dangerously close to some guy’s crotch on landing. Ridiculous!

As we are leaving, Chris D’Errico calls us, telling us to come over. He and De just moved into Allston the week before, and they were having people over. We hop on the T at Park Street and head out to Packard’s Corner. We arrive, and D’Errico, De, De’s brother Ken (who you’ve met in a previous story), and De’s friends are there. We hang out for a bit, and I try some homemade wine – not too shabby. Then the boys head out to watch the rest of the Sox game at a bar. We walk into Great Scott and hear “Shake It Off,” a song off the new Wilco album. I immediately declare the bar to be awesome. D’Errico and I buy Harpoon UFOs and grab a table. After a few sips, D’Errico manages to knock his entire beer over, spilling it all over the floor. Embarrassed, he goes to buy another, but the bartender gives it to him for free. After some good times watching the Sox blow it, we all leave, looking for an open liquor store.

We are having trouble finding one – the two around are closed tight.  It’s about 8:30.  D’Errico also needs cheese so he can make a wheel.  We poke our heads into a couple convenience stores looking for both, but no dice.  Finally, we just concede to getting burgers.  Ross buys us all 1-buck burgers at McDonald’s (D’Errico asks for “cheapest hamburger” – I get a $1 double chee).  On the way back to the apartment, we almost walk by a store when I notice they sell booze. Chris goes in and gets a 12-pack of Bass while I grab mozzarella cheese from the cooler.  Then a problem arises: Chris is 85 cents short.  The cashier tells him to just pay him back the next time he is in there.  Chris and I leave, dumbfounded.  We head back to the apartment and hang for awhile. Then Max comes, who I haven’t seen in months.  Then around 10:30 we leave so I can catch the train.  Max drives us back to Ross’ place and I grab my shit.  Then we head to Ruggles.  I get down to the platform with 25 minutes to spare.  Alone, I take the time to reflect on my visit to Boston, as well as the coming week, as well as the choices I’ve made throughout life. I don’t really reach any conclusions because before I know it, I hear “TRAIN APPROACHING- PLEASE REMAIN BEHIND YELLOW LINE” repeated on the speakers.  My train arrives, and I hop on.  I throw on Bullitt, but I am dozing off. I remain half-asleep until my stop, which I almost miss because I am trying to sleep.  Then I come home and sleep soundly.

Let me tell you, that was quite a good time. Best I’ve had in awhile.

I’m going to start this post with a little story so as to get you readers in the right mood for what is to follow. Also, this may seem muddled or confused because I just got back from a grad party and am running on 10 minutes of sleep and about 15 beers. No matter.

Last week was my last week at UMass for the year. I finished on Tuesday and moved home Wednesday. I planned on going back for the night on Friday because the girls and Benny were graduating the next day, so Friday was their last night ever. I couldn’t go to the graduation because of a stupid work training, so I just decided I’d go for the night and leave the next morning.

So I moved out Wednesday, took it easy that night, then made plans to go out with Heather the next night. D’Errico was back from Nigeria (Spain), so I invited him and De out. Diaz as well. John too (it was weird having him call me back because he vanished for weeks at the semester’s end – that’s another story that really isn’t all that blogworthy). So Heather and I went to Acapulco’s and had a couple drinks. When they were closing (around 9 or 9:30) I was perplexed. I was not used to a bar closing that early on a Thursday night (Amherst bars close at 1) – I guess in its defense it was a restaurant, not just a bar, but whatever. At this time everyone is there, so we decide to mosey on over to the Rome. We have a drink and I realize how much the place sucks and how much I miss my home (Amherst). I no longer feel comfortable calling Franklin “home”, as it just isn’t where my heart is (after all, home is where… well you get the point). Well, we end up leaving around 10:30, and I am sort of drunk and very upset. I don’t want to go to my house at all – I don’t want to drive there and I don’t want to hang out with my parents. I light up a clove and Heather is worried about my getting home. I insist that she goes, because I just don’t want to drive, and I need to be out longer anyway. So she finally leaves and I’m sitting on a ledge smoking a clove and just being depressed. Finally, 15 minutes later I decide I’m sober enough to drive (I hadn’t had a lot to drink, so I just needed a little time). I get home and go to bed, still feeling empty. I miss my friends, and I feel like I’m never going to see them again. In my away message, I say that I miss Amherst like a toddler misses his mother, and it’s exactly how I feel. I don’t cry, but I bet I could have. (Yeah, I don’t care about saying that – if someone has a good reason, crying is acceptable. So fuck you if you think I’m a “pansy” or a “mary” or a “cum dumpster” or a “ladder”.)

The next day I’m up at 7 because I can’t sleep at all. I head out to Amherst around 11, and I am pretty psyched. When I get back, it’s so good to see everyone again. I meet Ashley’s parents, and Lindsey is over too – quite a surprise to have everyone in one room again. I have a lot to do though, cleaning and packing up the rest of my shit, so I get on it after Benny and I get coffee and booze for later. We are well-stocked with beer, champagne, and other alcohols that Alex left behind. Wayne and Thy come over, and we get to the cleaning. I do lots of dishes and clean what I can. I pack up the rest of my crap while having a couple Gold Annies (Golden Anniversaries). Around 6 or 7 I take the girls to the store so they can get booze. Linds and I go to the Dollar Store while we’re waiting and look at the garbage they’re peddling. I make bad jokes, Linds laughs, I feel good about myself.

After this I do a little more cleaning, then I head to the girls’ to drink. I bring a bottle of champagne my parents had given me for the occasion. I make a toast and we drink. I am getting drunk. Then we go to the bar, then Kellogg, then we walk home, then I pass out on the couch, then I’m up at 8 to get the hell outta Dodge. I say my final goodbye to Benny and some seeya laters to the girls and hit the road a little after 10.

But the good thing was, I felt like I had closure after this – it seemed like I was finally able to come to Franklin and accept how things were. It still isn’t “home”, but it doesn’t feel as strange as it did on Thursday. I’m telling you though, it was fuckin’ weird that night. I really experienced such a culture shock and such an empty lonely feeling. I remember Wednesday night I called Ashley at like 1 AM because I missed her so much.

And now, on that note, I’d like to thank all of my good friends individually and then as a group.

To Alex: Thank you for putting up with me in my dumbest moments and for having conversations with me when you could. I know you weren’t around much this last semester, but it was always good to see you around when I got home from wherever. Thank you for teaching me how to cook chicken parm – I finally can cook something tasty. Also, thank you for the booze: it is delicious.

To Benny: Thank you for equaling my weirdness and doing silly walks with me, among many other things. Thank you for the humorous stories and the company at the DC. Thank you for the smokes and the coffee runs.  Thank you for the Indian voice.  Thank you for serenading me in the car.  Thank you for being down with going most anywhere with me (even at 3 in the morning). Thank you for cooking me so many great dishes. I feel like you’re my brother, we’ve grown so close over the year.

To Thy: Thank you for “sparkling wiggles” comments at any given time. I know I will see you again next year, but you’ve given me laughs and more throughout this past year, and I really appreciate it. Thanks for offering to smoke me up at any given time – though it may not seem like a big deal, and though I rarely took you up on it, it made me feel great that you’d ask me.

To Angela: Thank you for being another atheist and for idolizing Darwin. Thank you for the pictures, the texts, and the crossword puzzles. Thank you for grabbing my package that one time, and thank you for being someone I can confide in about anything. Thank you for watching Stella with me that one night. Thank you for giving me the space when I was chatting up Sara (even though she was a total jalopy). Thank you for helping to inspire me to keep writing and for getting me to think about my life a lot more.

To Ashley: Thank you for being there for me when I needed someone to talk to, especially the other night. Thank you for always being down for getting a drink somewhere. Thank you for walking with me to work every Monday morning- that was always the high point of my day. Thank you for wearing your aviators with authority- you pull off the look masterfully. Thank you for your eternal smile and your light heart that was able to pick me up any time I was down on anything.

To Carrie: Thank you for the sarcasm and the wit – you had good comments when they counted. Thank you for being my buddy when I dropped by and had nothing to do, and thank you for listening to me talk about stupid shit. Thank you for the Robitussin when I was sick – because of you, I had one of the oddest days of the semester, and I dig odd. Thank you for having me at your grad party as well. I wish I had seen more of you this year – it would have been way awesome.

To Lauren: Thank you for becoming such a good friend to me this year. I know I’ll be seeing you next year too, but I was so glad we had classes together and all that good stuff. Thank you for curling my eyelashes without question. Thank you for putting up with my nonsense – I bust on you a lot, but you know it’s only because I love ya. I’ll be here for you next year – I ain’t no Ash or nothin’, but I’ll try my hardest to be there when you need someone, I promise.

To Lindsey: Thank you for all the awesome times we shared, for all the laughs we’ve had. I know I’m not THAT funny, but every time I heard you laugh at one of my terrible terrible jokes, I felt validated. Thank you for the evenings we spent together, alone and with everyone else, and thank you for putting up with a dork like me. Thank you for being places (like the bar) that surprise me and make me excited to be hangin’ with ya. Thank you for coming to coffee with me that time – I hope maybe someday I can get you to drink that bottle of vinegar we were discussing. I’m really going to miss you Linds, with your being in England and all (Manchester, right?). I hope I get to see you again at some point when you get back.

To Louis: Thank you for sharing so many of the same interests as me. Thank you for getting me into Of Montreal. Thank you for having DC dates with me. Thank you for coming into town with me and having political discussions with me. I’m gonna miss you too big guy, and I hope you come to Massachusetts when you can so we can hang out again.

And to all: Thank you for making my first year at UMass so special. Coming in as a transfer, I was so nervous that I wouldn’t make a lot of friends. Now I’m really upset that everyone is leaving me. But without you guys, there is no way I would have come out of my shell. I am always shy when I first meet people, but as is clear, I opened up immensely (like some girls I happen to know) – I attribute it to you all. Thank you for making me feel so goddamn comfortable to be me, for boosting my self-esteem when it was at an all-time low, for helping me pick out outfits. Thank you for making me feel good about my decision to transfer. Thank you for all of the nights out on the town and for all of the nights in our apartments. Thank you for the morning-after breakfasts and laugh sessions. Thank you for not getting annoyed when I would show up at your apartment every loving day. Thank you for watching TV with me in our common room. Thank you for the screaming in the hall of our apartment. Thank you for the dirty/clean/pirate jokes. Thank you for appreciating The Turtle (that retarded walk I do).

In short, thank you for making this the best year of my life. You guys have become a new family to me, and I’m really really going to miss each and every one of you. Please promise me, whether now or later, that you will come back to visit me, either at school or after that. Please. You all mean more to me than you even realize. I mean that with all my heart.

If this entry makes you emotional or makes you teary, I have done my job.

…I feel it’s necessary to tell.  First, because I thought it was funny, and though my thoughts were invalidated by every person that heard the story, I’m telling it anyway.  Second, because I haven’t updated in awhile.  I have a couple huge entries coming up, and as such they take a long time to write.  Finals have kept me very busy, but now they’re over, and I move home today.  You can look for at least one new entry later this week.

Now the story.

I had my last exam yesterday (Calculus) and I absolutely didn’t study for it.  I had a couple drinks the night before and just hung out, watching Falling Down coincidentally while prone.  I woke up two hours before the exam, wrote down a couple equations on my formula sheet and hung out some more until the final.  Didn’t even look at the other stuff from earlier in the year.

So I’m taking this exam, and I realize as I read the first question, Shit, this actually kind of hard.  I’m potentially fucked.  I skip a couple questions because I have no idea how to do them, and I’m pretty nervous by this point.   Nevertheless, I carry on.  Around question 6 or 7, something happens that I don’t really notice at first.  It takes me about 4 or 5 questions to realize my foot is tapping a very specific rhythm.  It is then that I realize that I have had Heat Of The Moment stuck in my head for the past 15 minutes.  I smile and continue the exam.

Now, usually, when one gets a song stuck in one’s head, one can’t stand it and wants it gone.  But this was mind-bogglingly different – the more it played, the more excited I got.  By the end of the test, I was grinning.  Not only that, but I had found that I had done everything easily.  I flipped back to the front page and was able to answer the questions I skipped with simplicity. I don’t know how any of this happened.  All I know is Asia aced my ass.

Thank you Asia.

So following a fun night at Heather’s last night and a very specific sequence of dreams, I have drawn the following conclusion: girls are fucking insane. I guess I should re-evaluate that statement. MANY girls are fucking insane. Better?

Now, before I go into specifics, I would like to say that it could just be that I have some fucked up friends and acquaintances. If that’s the case, I pose this question: how did I end up having so many of these people in my life?

Another thing I need to mention: I can’t think of a single guy that I know that is not sane/grounded. I’m sure there is one that I’m forgetting, maybe two. But barring those exceptions, all my guy friends/acquaintances are bordering on normal. My next questions: why does this just affect girls? Is this something inherent in being female? Or is it because something traumatic happened to them early in life? And I’m not talking the regular irrationality that women supposedly host, I’m talking irrationality to the point of insane nonsense.

I have a girl in class that does nothing but talk about herself and her life in discussion. I have a friend that claims that she’s going to get into a guy’s pants every weekend night, but she’s never had sex, let alone given dome. (She also has all these half-baked ideas about her ambitions and the workings of the world, and while relevant, that’s a story for another time.) I have a friend (a girl I like) who will not respond to my phone calls, IMs, or texts – I’ve since just stopped sending them – but in person, sometimes we get a little too close. I have an acquaintance, my friend’s roommate, who is flat-fuck crazy – she cried last night after realizing her roommates are going to be 21, and she’s not 21 until June. She also has this shadowy second life that no one really knows about. I went on a date with a girl that said she liked me, then did the same thing as the girl I like. I dated a girl that was completely off her rocker, who, when we entered college, cut off all contact and started dating some other guy without breaking up with me, and then was shocked when I dumped her ass. I dated another girl that could not orgasm, no matter what I tried – I got her really close, but no dice. (I like to think I’m pretty proficient in bed, and I’ve gotten other girls off multiple times per session, so it wasn’t me. ) I have two friends that get so caught up in drama it makes me sick – they get tired of it, but they keep crawling back to it, even though a rational person would have have no trouble keeping away from it. I had a friend that claimed her name was Juliet, but it was Courtney.

Are these some sort of defense mechanisms to avoid being hurt? I feel like telling some of these girls that though bleak and pessimistic, pain is part of human life. I’m not saying one should seek out painful situations – by no means. Feelin’ good is tops. All I’m saying is that there is the good and the bad in life. They come as a package deal. They balance each other out. And after the bad, the good is that much better. Efforts to cheat the balance will result in some form of insanity, and I mean that. And eventually, it will catch up – I wish cheaters the best of luck on that day. But more importantly, the bad is an experience. It gives one perspective and a more accurate worldview, as opposed to remaining callow and naive, which I suppose some people don’t mind, hence the continuing defensive behavior.

I could keep on going all day. Seriously. These are just the ones that readily come to mind. And it’s not to mention the strumpets. Oh lordy, the strumpets. But let me ask: am I wrong? Is anyone going to call me an asshole and deny all of this? And for the women that agree with my conclusion, can you give me and concrete reasons WHY this is? I’ve gone from tentatively considering this idea to having complete and utter faith in it, but that doesn’t mean I understand it. Furthermore, I can not even picture a guy trying to pull any of this stuff off. It’s ridiculous. And this is also not to say that I don’t have sane female friends. Some of my best female friends are completely solid and down to earth. What the fuck happened with everyone else?

So, until I get this figured out, I’m going to find out as much as I can and ask as many people as I can about this. The truth must be uncovered.

Yesterday was such a beautiful day. Gorgeous. On Friday night John, Heather, Angela, Michael, Ashley, Benny, and I went to McMurphy’s. It was fun, but not really worth an entry, though I did see the Beer Asshole and practically laughed in his face. I’m not sure who did what or everything that happened, but I think the girls and I agreed to go to the Black Sheep, a deli uptown, the next day for lunch. So we wake up and walk downtown. The group is Angela, Ashley, Michael, and me.We’re all getting a little hot in our jeans. As we’re walking, John drives by and beeps. I call him up, he agrees to meet us up there. On the way, we pick up another group member: Ashley’s friend Emily. Angela wins a cookie platter from the front of Subway. A nice surprise.

When we get there, John’s sitting on a ledge next to the police station looking like a total badass with his stubble, aviators, and cigarette hangin’ from his mouth. I take a seat next to him for a second, then we go to the Black Sheep. I start busting John’s chops in a peculiar way that I only do to John. I get Nick’s #1 Pick, which is essentially a Reuben. We take our food across the street to the park and eat it. My sandwich is pretty good. There are half-naked children running around with their parents saying odd things. We sit for an hour or so. I buy an energy drink at the Black Sheep. John leaves to get a keg. Benny drives up and sits with us. We stay for awhile and I contemplate aloud the idea of going to ABC to get a beer and drinking it outside. Ashley likes it. Emily says goodbye after a bit. When a woman that looks like she’s about to call the tow truck on Benny peers into his car windows, we put the plan into action. Benny and I go park his car in the parking garage as the troika walks. I toss change in the meter and Benny and I join them at ABC. They tell us there is a 20 minute wait, I say “Shut it down.” We walk out and head over to the park, where Extravaganja is going on. It’s nothing more than a hippie-fest, so we leave pretty fast. Also due to our speed of egress I didn’t have to stomp any throats.

Benny is hungry, as he hasn’t eaten yet. We cross the street and walk to Antonio’s. When he walks in I inform everyone else that I still want a drink, so I will be stepping into McMurphy’s (next door). Everyone else joins me. We are 5 of the 7 people in there at this point. I order a Guinness and sip, enjoying the weather and the bar. The bartender switches to last night’s Sox game and the Heat game as Benny walks in with his slices. He sits next to me and gets a water. We are having a good time.

By the time I finish my drink, people have started coming in, and I’m ready for number two. I suggest buying a shot and a beer for both Benny and me. He declines. I offer up a pitcher, and he accepts. I order us a pitcher of Michelob Ultra, which is probably the worst beer I’ve ever had. It tastes like a hot engine, and that’s the only way I can describe it. The guys that had come in brought one of their little brothers with them. Since it is pretty dead, the bartender allows him to be there, but he isn’t allowed to drink (obviously – the kid looks like he’s 16). So they’re all having a good time drinking while Little Bro scrolls through the jukebox and looks bored as fuck. One of the guys (Chris Lynch, we learn later) already looks exceptionally drunk. He has his hat on backwards, huge ears, and a generally goofy face. This character will be important later.

As we work on the pitcher, I notice a guy down the bar making googly eyes at me. Well, he isn’t making them AT me, just in my direction – he just happens to have googly eyes and has his head turned towards me. I note this to Angela, who laughs and tells me she was just about to tell me that. Michael looks a little sunburnt, but he is nevertheless having a good time.

After the pitcher, I notice that Ashley had ordered a Corona. I follow suit. Someone puts on some shitty country, so I bounce out of my seat and put on Flaming Lips and Gorillaz. Later I put on Wilco, but I mess it up, and I think the song plays twice. Whoops. Anyway, so I’m sitting at the bar rocking out, drinking my Corona. We settle in as today’s Red Sox game starts. We get another round. More people come in. We all comment that we started the bar. We did start the bar. I predict that we will be there all night, even though none of us sans Benny has yet showered.

The guys that came in right after us are getting hammered. They continue ordering car bombs non-stop. Chris Lynch spills down his shirt a couple times. They play football in the corner, and the bartender tells them to knock it off. More people come. The bartender calls for backup. Chris Lynch starts hitting on Ashley, which amounts to him staring down her shirt. He can’t really talk anymore. Ange gets him to buy us a round. We are happy.

Soon the bartender says he won’t make any more car bombs for that group, as they are too shit-faced. They leave at some point, leaving Chris Lynch behind. He tries to get a drink, but the bartender cuts him off and forces him to leave. Around now, the backup arrives, and the original bartender, who had told us earlier that it was never this busy, leaves. The guy and girl bartenders that just came in are doing a hell of a job keeping up.

After a bit, I realize that I had 3 missed calls from Emily, a friend I had met in a class last semester (a different Emily from the first one in the story – the first Emily doesn’t show up again, so don’t be confused). I go outside, where the weather is still beautiful, and I call her and apologize for missing her calls – she has some stuff at my apartment she has to pick up. I tell her I’ll be out probably for another hour, but I’ll call her when I get back. She’s fine with it. I head back in and watch some more Sox.

Benny gets a tap on his shoulder and turns around. A 40-year-old-looking man explains to Benny that he and his friend are old men, and he would appreciate it if he and I gave up our seats. We’re not budging, but he’s not done yet. He adds that he is willing to buy our next three rounds if we comply. We comply. Benny and I stand at the bar and hang out – no worries. At this point I need to use the bathroom, so I head back and wait in the short line. While I’m standing there, I see Chris Lynch sneak in the back door. I think nothing of this. I pee and when I’m done, I head out to my spot out at the bar. I get there just in time to hear the male bartender yell in Chris Lynch’s face: “NO! YOU HAVE TO LEAVE RIGHT NOW, OR I’M CALLING THE COPS! LEAVE!” The female bartender yells, “Just leave!” but not as loudly. Male Bartender goes to grab the phone off the wall. Chris Lynch leaves. (Note: I find out later that he will sneak in again and get booted again.)

We only scam two rounds off of the old guy, because Benny has to go see Dave Matthews, and I have to go meet Emily. I tell Benny I’ll be waiting outside, and I step out. I forget to say goodbye to everyone else. I apologize. The weather is still great, and it is around 6:30. I sit on a bench in front of McMurphy’s and wait. I nearly fall asleep while sitting there. However, Benny comes out, calls my name, and I get my second wind. We hop in his car (now parked at Cousin’s) and as we’re about to leave, I decide I need smokes. I run in and buy a pack of cloves (Djarum Specials), and I buy Benny his Marlboro Light 100s. We head back home.

When we get there, Benny’s friend Jeff, who is going to the concert too, is waiting in the loop in front of our building. Like the drunken fool I am, I run up and give him a hug. Then I grab some of his stuff and help him bring it in. We get upstairs and I call Emily, telling her I’m back. She heads over. I turn on Gitaroo Man and play a sloppy game. Jeff comes in and asks if I have Rez. I nod and throw it on. He is pumped. He plays the first level and I watch like a bastard, loving it. When he’s done he gives the controller back, and I turn Gitaroo Man on again. As I’m playing, Emily calls. I go down to meet her. I get down there and I am blown away by her haircut – I think it’s incredibly cute, and my drunk mind can’t handle it. I mentally slap myself in the face, then I take her upstairs. She grabs her stuff and goes.

Around now, my stomach starts rumbling. I need food. Fast. I IM Louis and demand that he come to the DC with me. He agrees, and minutes later I grab my old pack of cloves and meet him at his place, and we descend the hill to Worcester. I get a veritable feast: a piece of veal parmesan, a heap of mashed potatoes, some green beans, and a slice of pizza. I am pigging out – I haven’t been this happy to eat in my whole life, I think. Louis gets some mashed potatoes as well, and I eat most of them. He and I leave. On the way back I tell him I have a surprise for him. I whip out the pack of cloves and he loves it. There is only one left (good thing I bought more), so we share it. When we get to my place, he asks if I have any wine. “Uhh, duh,” I reply like a Valley girl. Louis doesn’t understand one thing: like John, I also have a level of safety that I must maintain. My level is at 2 or more bottles of white wine. Even if I drink all of my beer and liquor, so long as I have a couple bottles of wine, I’m safe. A bottle of wine is Instant Drunk for me, so it satisfies.

So we go upstairs and I pull out the bottle of shitty table wine that was chilling in the fridge. I hastily wash a pair of glasses, and we walk down the hall to the girls’. I knock and Lauren answers, the apartment looking a tad dark and eerie for my tastes. I ask if it’s cool if we drink there since my place is a putrid mess (no hyperbole there – rotting food and such lying around), and she’s cool with it. We sit on the couch and I pop the cork. Then I pull the stopper out of the bottle of wine. Lauren alternates between sitting with us and running down the hall to get ready for the evening. Louis alternates between sipping wine and gulping it. I have 2 glasses I think. No worries. Finally, when the bottle is done, Louis and I head out. I say goodbye to Louis and step my hot body into the cool shower. It feels so wonderful to have the water dissipating the heat that I had picked up all day. It calms me down, and I can’t remember the last time I had a shower this enjoyable either. Maybe I should get wasted during the day more often.

Oh, we’re not done yet – the story’s about to get more interesting.

I get out of the shower and towel off. I head to my room and crank some music. For some reason I hypothesize that it’s a brilliant idea to lift weights naked. Once I finish, I conclude that my theory is correct. I get dressed for the evening: some jeans and a button-down shirt that I have yet to wear. I fix my hair and all that boring shit, then I grab two Caribs (cheap Caribbean beer) and head down the hall.

When I arrive, everyone is back. Mike’s friend Ho comes in. We all hang out for awhile, playing a few games of quarters and all that. Lindsey, Joey, and their friend show up. The first two of the group take copious amounts of tequila shots. Around now I start to get a little depressed – Everyone is going to an invite-only party, and I’m not invited (among other reasons that are not blogworthy). So my night is about to come to an end. I text John and tell him to come out. He and I text back and forth, but he never gives me a final answer. However, Ho doesn’t want to go to the party, and Angela’s sister’s fiancee is at Charlie’s, so the four of us decide to go there. I get a weird feeling of dread for a second, but the news cheers me up immediately otherwise.

Around 11:30, we finally head out. We park at Charlie’s and get ready to go inside. Then things change for Luke: I see Sara’s friend. Shit. That means Sara can’t be far behind.

For those of you that didn’t read last post, read it. For the lazy ones, Sara was a girl I went on a date with the previous weekend who turned out to be a lemon. Like a car. A fuckin’ jalopy. You gotta read the post, because the extent of the jalopy-ness can only be told there – I’m not telling it again.

So anyway, we’re standing in line behind her friend, and her friend yells, “SARA!!!” I quickly snap my head to the right to see where she is – I see her standing between two cars, faced away. Good – this means I don’t have to make eye contact. I avert my gaze immediately and get in line with my friends. Somehow I get stuck at the end of the line. And as usual, my ID is scanned. Terrific. I finally get through and follow my friends to the bar. I meet Angela’s sister’s fiancee, who I will now call Clarence because I can’t remember his name. And guess what happens next? Sara and her friend box me in at the bar. So I do the first thing that comes to mind: I jump ship.

I have been a big fan of running away for a long time. Something about it makes it so hilariously childish – probably the fact that literally running away from problems is something a child would do. I remember this one night when I was a freshman, I was at the FSC radio station and some girl was all over me like gravy on mashed potatoes. I needed to get out. So I ripped my arm loose from her grasp, threw open the door to the outside, and dashed home. I didn’t stop running until I got into my building. Thinking about it even then, I thought it was awesome.

Basically, I tell Mike I had to make a phone call, then I go outside and call John, lighting up a clove. I think we speak briefly, but the gist is that he’s not coming. “Fuck it,” I say, and I make my way to Delano’s alone. On the way I notice Kara had called me, so I call her back and I chat with her and Heather for a couple minutes. Then I call Ange to tell her where I am, but she doesn’t answer.
Delano’s is pretty busy. I have to struggle to get to the bar to get a drink. I want a Bud Light draft, but I end up ordering a bottle instead. I have no cash, so I open a tab. When I get my beer, I take it to the bathroom and drink it while I pee. I imagine that it’s going directly through me into the toilet, and I giggle. They both look and taste the same anyway. When I’m done I head out and stand against the wall until I finish. A townie and his woman get up and offer me their seats. I take one of them. I ask what the minimum tab is. “10 bucks,” the bartender replies. I tell him to keep the Bud Lights comin’.

3 more beers and less than 45 minutes later, I am hammered. I gotta go though for some reason – an impulse is driving me. I turn to my right as I’m finishing my beer and see someone from a class last semester. I say hi to her, but she doesn’t seem too thrilled to see me. I shrug and start to get out of my seat, when I see Lauren, a friend of mine from a class this semester. She runs over and gives me a big hug. We talk for a quick minute, then I tell her I have to go. I leave and it breaks my heart – she’s gorgeous.

I mosey on back to Charlie’s, where I don’t even care about those girls anymore. I go up to Mike and he is a little surprised to see me. I tell him about the phone trouble, and we exchange numbers. He jokes around with me a bunch. We bond. After I pull my dick from his ass, we get along great.

The bar’s closing, so we get out and walk uptown to a party that someone knows about. We get there and someone offers me a beer. I drink most of it and put the can in the corner on the floor. All of a sudden there is a loud knock on the door. Someone opens the door, and all of a sudden all of tenants are getting arrested. I think it’s for noise, though that makes no sense. We scurry out. We grab a ride home with Clarence and his friend.

We get inside, and I contemplate playing Final Fantasy VII for awhile. Realizing this is a bad idea, I get ready for bed and pass out nice and hard.

Wish you were here John, wish you were here.

It is now Patriot’s Day. I have spent the past 4 nights drinking excessively and eating nothing but pizza in various locations. I will now attempt to untangle the weekend’s events in my mind and transfer them to this lovely blog.

As far as I know, Thursday and Friday was the less eventful half of the weekend. However, that definitely doesn’t mean nothing happened. Thursday night I celebrate being done with all of the shit that has been stressing me out for weeks. As is my custom, this means going out and getting blotto. Prior to this, Ashley makes me and Lindsey dinner , and I relish the delicious pasta that fills my bowl. I have a couple of drinks while still at the girls’ (Golden Anniversary – the nectar of the gods) and then John comes over. The girls are thrilled to see him. We sit around, drinking some beers, having a good time. I finish my liquid gold and sip a Sam Adams White Ale. At around 10:30, we all decide to depart. John and I leave first by way of his car so that we can go grab a drink before their bus arrives. We decide from there that John will just drive home and I’ll catch the bus. Works for me.

John and I drive uptown and go to ABC. We see Anthony, who buys us each a Guinness. Then we see Brett, another friend of ours. So we’re hanging out, having a drink, then we leave to head to McMurphy’s, where everyone is. We walk in and go down the stairs, and everyone is there – including Lindsey, who is completely not of legal age. I am very surprised to see her there. We drink and have a merry time. Later on I break a clove and have to bum a smoke off Linds.

The night is fairly normal, so there’s nothing else to report. The next day the girls and I skip class and get breakfast sandwiches at the Pita Pit. Walking around with no cares in the world while others are dressed for class is an odd experience. After a lengthy meal, we go to the Mullins Center so the girls can get their Spring Concert tickets. Then over to Southwest so I can pick up my ALA acceptance letter. Then to Hampshire DC so the girls can get free food (Lauren works there, so we just walk in the back door). Then on back to the duck pond, where we watch the ducks for a good hour. We feed them Golden Grahams. One of them bites me, but it doesn’t hurt. Then home.

Ash has to leave at 3 AM that night to go to the airport, so she decides to stay up drinking. I think it’s a fabulous idea. That night we order Antonio’s Pizza. I get a whole pie, so there are plenty of leftovers. Then we go to Delano’s – there is a sweet band playing, and I rock out. I haven’t rocked out this hard since some long unknown time ago. We all yell “Whoopty-woooo” a lot.

Saturday night is where it gets interesting. The girls aren’t sure about what they want to do. Ashley is gone, and Lauren and Angela are sort of tired. I convince them to get their drink on, and we proceed to drink for a bit. I say I want to go out, so we agree to go to Charlie’s. I call some people to see if they want to come out, including John and De. John says he is too drunk to drive, as his housemates have thrown a keg party. De says they are hanging at her place, but she wants us to come. We want to go there and go uptown, but we have no way to get to De’s and then from there uptown, because she lives off the bus line. She offers up her brother to pick us up, and I say it’s a smashing idea. We get ready to roll.

Now, I am only telling this part because it is absolutely crucial to the events that are going to follow, both that night and the next day. So De’s brother Kenny gets here after I give him instructions. They wonder if Kenny has been drinking, but he says he’s sober, as does De. I grab two Caribs (real cheap beer I discovered the day before),and the girls and I head downstairs. Kenny’s friend Dan, shitfaced, sits shotgun (like that alliteration, eh? Eh? Eh?! I suck). We pile into the back seat. Dan had to open the door to let us in (2-door car), but he hasn’t shut it, and Kenny is starting to drive away. They just narrowly miss hitting a parked car with the door. I begin to get The Fear.

For those of you that don’t know what The Fear is, it’s that feeling you get in the pit of your stomach that something is about to go terribly wrong, so you must extricate yourself from the situation as soon as possible. There is not always a reason for The Fear when it first happens- it comes when it wants, but usually has a purpose. Diaz once got The Fear at 3 AM for seemingly no reason when we were driving around. 10 minutes later his tire was flat. Luckily we were near Ross’, but we were freaked out changing a tire on the road at that time, high as kites (this was quite a few years ago). That’s The Fear.

So we leave the North area and Kenny almost runs down 6 or so pedestrians trying to cross the street. I get worried, and Angela and Lauren get out of the car at the stoplight. When the light turns green, he cuts off a driver as he turns left. I get really worried. The girls are walking uptown, it appears. I get Kenny into the middle of town and get out of the car at Bertucci’s to call the girls. They don’t answer. I start to walk back to meet them. I give my beers to Kenny and Dan as they leave. I feel like a huge asshole. I see the girls on the bus, so I run to catch them. Outside Charlie’s, I catch them and feel like absolute shit for what just happened. They are okay, I’m okay, so I guess that’s all that matters. They are glad I got out. I am too. Onward to Charlie’s.

So we get inside and as usual my ID gets scanned, because no one thinks I look old enough to go to a bar. We grab a seat at the bar, and I buy us a round of drinks to make up for what just happened. I get a huge beer. I am sipping it, but I need the bathroom. I go down the hall, pee, and come back, squeezing by this girl I deem cute that is standing next to me. She gets a big drink, and I ask her what it is. Apparently it’s a “Buddha”. Interesting. I ask the girls if she’s cute, and they say she’s cute. Somehow the two of us start talking, and we introduce ourselves. Her name is Sara. We talk about our lives and my stitched thumb. I buy her a drink, and she doesn’t care that I don’t have enough money to pay for it. Maybe she doesn’t notice. I dunno. In conversation it comes up that she’s a 26-year-old grad student. VERY interesting. She goes to the bathroom. I scheme on how to get her number. She comes back: “So do you want my number?” Of course I do. I get it. I ask her what she’s doing the next day, she says she’s going to see The 400 Blows at the new-fangled Amherst Cinema. I invite myself along. I go pee again and laugh my ass off at the situation. I was probably quite a scene, pissing like no one’s business and dying laughing.

So the bar’s closing, and we hop on the bus at the last second. On the way home, the girls demand piggybacks. I oblige. Then when we get back, they’re being absolutely ridiculous. I’ll leave it at that. I call Tha HIZ to tell him what happened. He thinks it’s funny. Lauren talks to him and tells him about how I said it’d be epic if they had sex. He loves it. He’s always loved it.

The next night isn’t really that interesting, as far as I remember, but that day is VERY interesting. So I go on this date. Mind you, it’s cold and pouring. I am wearing my double-breasted wool coat and winter gloves with my umbrella above my head. My legs are getting wet. I meet Sara at her place on Phillips Street. She’s a little less attractive than I remember. We walk up to the Cinema. I buy our tickets, and in we go. We talk a little and I notice something slightly off about the way she speaks. I ignore it. The movie is okay. Then we go to get coffee next door. I buy our drinks. I go to grab my coffee as she sits down. I notice she has a wet spot on her shirt between her boobs. I ignore it, because I figure she spilled or something. So we get to talking, and we talk about books and a few movies, about our lives, and so on. Nothing ground-shattering. I’m being the perfect gentleman – watching my speech, my language, and all that good stuff – I want to impress the grad student. She gets up to get another cup of hot cocoa. All of a sudden, The Fear returns in a different form: a wave of anxiety flows through me, piercing my sober thoughts. I can not describe what it feels like, but I can tell you it doesn’t feel good. I text Angela: “I wanna come home”, and I don’t want to come home any time in history more than this moment. Then I get an idea: I’ll just try to offend her so she won’t want stay. I nod to myself and compose my master plan of ball-bustery. She comes back, and I see the wet spot still resides in the middle of her chest – turns out it must be a grease spot. No good. She tucks her hair behind her ear and I notice the hearing aid. This is not going my way at all. (Note: later, John will ask me why I didn’t think she was half-deaf when I saw her at the bar and she was speaking oddly, and I will reply, “I just thought she was drunk!” John will laugh.) She talks about Mark Twain, and I think about eating a slice of pizza. So I break out my plan. I rampantly start calling various authors and filmmakers “pricks”, and I refer to certain movies and books as “garbage”. I repeat the word several times and offer no other qualifying critique. Nothing works, this girl is still smiling. She talks about her old job working in a bank vault, and I ask if she ever got locked in. When she says she hasn’t I say, “Well that’s just too bad.” I start offering up nonsense – I claim that the clients of her bank put basketballs in their safe deposit boxes. She didn’t really get it – she simply agreed with what I was saying. This is no good. This is no good at all. I had to get out. So at the nearest convenience I say we should go. I walk her home, she tells me to call her sometime, I say I will, though the voice in my head is screaming ABSOLUTELY NOT. As I’m walking away, I say aloud, “Nope!” while shaking my head. My legs get drenched on the trek home. Some asshole drives through a puddle and splashes me a little.

When I get home, I put on some dry PJs and grab a slice and some milk from the fridge. I go to the girls’, where the girls are waiting in anticipation to hear every detail. I shake my head a lot when I tell the story. I realize as I’m telling the story that she never thanked me for buying her stuff, nor did she even offer to pay, which, even if she had no intention of paying, is not good etiquette. I curse her.

When I tell the story to John, he loves the part where she just keeps getting worse and worse with each passing minute. My favorite part is when I punch her.

Though it was tough, it taught me a couple things. First of all, as much as I like to say I value intelligence, that can only go so far. I don’t like literature and film – I like books and movies. I can’t watch or read garbage anymore. Second, it told me that intelligence is third on the list of desirable personality traits in a girl – Humor is first, and coolness is a close second, though I think the two are hand-in-hand. Intelligence falls a bit lower on importance. I mean, common sense is important, but I want someone that laughs and can make me laugh, not someone who waxes philosophical about Proust. If I wanted to go to bed I could shoot some NyQuil and turn out the lights.

Later that night we order more pizza. From Dominos. It is terrible.

This might surprise all of you, given the fact that I am currently a godless cynic whose sole source of salvation is getting a laugh at any expense, even taking cheap shots at 9/11 (it isn’t too soon, shut the fuck up), but at one point (albeit one very brief point) I was very religious. VERY religious. To the point of scaring and pissing off others. But it wasn’t entirely my fault: I was brainwashed. Bona fide, creepy, stuff-you-read-about-in-conspiracy-novels brainwashed.

Let’s jump right in, shall we? Allow me to start by explaining this: my whole life, I was raised in the Catholic church. I got all my sacraments, attended every Sunday, was an altar boy, worked in the rectory (yeah, yeah, I know, insert priest joke here, you’re very original you fucking prick), and I was in the CYO. But I hated church. I didn’t like going there, but they paid me to work for them, so obviously I had to act the part. I went every Sunday when I was younger because I was forced – never any fun to go to church. I joined the CYO so I could chaperone the dances, though I don’t really know why that was appealing in any respect. Then they gave me a scholarship when I graduated high school. Basically, I used the shit out of the church. I don’t feel bad about it at all – all I was doing was indirectly taking money from moronic parishioners who subscribed to the bullshit that I couldn’t get behind.

But all of that changed. About halfway through high school, one of the priests named Father Kim (a Korean man who has done his share of making people feel incredibly uncomfortable in one way or another – that’s a different, less interesting story) essentially dissolved the CYO and turned it into something called “Life Teen”, which tried really hard to make God “cool” and failed miserably. It had its own mass 5 or 5:30 on Sundays, and afterward we’d talk God and get free food. People came for the food, but even then, turnout was sparse. It fuckin’ sucked, is why. I remember this one time they had a retreat for it that I went to, and I left early because I was going to a Sigur Ros concert. I’m so glad I was able to go see them, not only because it was an amazing concert, but also because at the end of this retreat you had to give a confession. That is some major bullshit right there – it was a trap. But nothing was a bigger trap than Catholic Leadership Institute.

I don’t really know much about CLI, as it was called – I think they’re some national group that sets up these retreats. So I guess it was the summer before senior year of high school, and my parents signed me up to go to this thing. I was pretty mad that they’d do that without telling me, and just writing about it now is getting me a little fired up. It must have been the first week in July, because the AIM profiles I’ve saved point to that (I’ll get to this side-story later – it’s funny as shit). This thing was at Merrimack College in Massachusetts, so I pack up my shit and away we go.

I get there and I figure I’ll be open-minded, or at least pleasant – I didn’t want to make any trouble. Basically, the whole week was a lot of leadership activities, like planning a fake event, leading prayer, etc. Also, we did a lot of group talking, like sharing the things we were thankful for (we did this every day). I remember a couple things that stand out.

First, that is where I met Nick Bruce, a cool dude who used to go to UMass, but has since dropped out to pursue his passion: drugs, as the wise John D’Ambrisi has informed me. I just found this out the other day. Crazy. So Nick, I, and a couple other dudes would play poker every night just to have some fun. I remember that well.

I remember this guy Brendan teaching me my party trick: the fish flop. Ask to see it sometime.

I also remember this really cute girl catching my eye the first day at a meal. By the end of the week we were thick as thieves. It breaks my heart that she’s still religious though.

But the thing I remember the most is the feelings that crept up in me as the week progressed. I began to pray and think about God, as well as have deep discussions about everything with this other guy Bill. Everyone was incredibly nice, so it was hard NOT to like them. These feelings were getting bigger and bigger, building to a bursting point. These feelings had something to do with the small amount of sleep we were getting, which was at most 8 hours a night, but usually less. Any experienced brainwasher can tell you that sleep deprivation is an excellent way to break someone’s spirit so you can mold them however you wish. All of these feelings exploded one night at mass when I was kneeling and praying. All of a sudden, this wave of warmth passed through me, and I was euphoric, I thought God had touched me.

For weeks after this I was a douchebag. I hardly remember it – I do remember coming back home and going to MelDiva (RIP), a coffee shop that was in Franklin at the time, and hugging everyone, generally spreading the douchebaggery. I also remember watching a lot of movies because I didn’t want to be around people that were drinking or something stupid. Slowly, the feelings started to wear off, and finally, I was back to normal. Only within the past year or two have I realized that I was brainwashed in the most powerful sense of the word. The experience was very important though – it led me to become who I am: a pissed-off atheist. Yes, atheist. I mulled it over for awhile, but I’ve finally decided that there’s no god but Pizza. And though Pizza is amazing, it is not a deity. Therefore, there is no god. And there’s no problem with that – it’s actually very liberating.

A couple of funny after-effects of this brainwash garbage. A couple weekends ago when Diaz and Fred came here, somehow this subject came up. Diaz was saying I was so shitty. I was curious, and I asked him what I did to be so shitty. He was like, “Well you came back and you were saying, ‘Dude, I gotta be good, I can’t keep doing this. I’m not gonna say “nigger” anymore, and I can’t make fun of retards…’” At this point, I fucking lost it. The fact that I said this was funny because I, of all people, said it. I am an offensive bastard – it’s who I am. Secondly, the fact that I was being so serious about it made me lose my shit when Diaz said this. I’m laughing really hard, and I say, “What was I thinking?!” After realizing that most normal people would actually not say ‘nigger’ or make fun of retards, I realized how terrible of a person I was/am. This just made me laugh even harder. No need to tell me – I know I’m a piece of garbage. But at least I’m going to outlive all those kids with cancer.

Secondly, I mentioned before that I had a log of my profiles for awhile. I think I did it for about a year. They have provided me with an interesting cross-section of my thought processes around that time, Anyway, when I came back from CLI, this was the opening of my info:

CLI…the least I can possibly call it is a life-changing experience. All of the wonderful people I met, all of the things I learned, not only about leadership but about myself, all of the great times. There is still much to learn, but I am well on my way to discovering myself and this world in which we live. I am no longer afraid to take chances, and I am no longer afraid to be who I am. I love everyone.

Fuckin’ a, right? For awhile, I still had stupid shit in my info, like “An embrace is a transfer of spirit”or something equally pathetic. Finally, 11 months later, on 6/4/04, I found this gem:

The best nights are the ones where you spend absolutely no money, yet still manage to get piss drunk and crash into the million man march.

To this day that still makes me laugh, and when I read it right before I started writing this post, I knew that I was back.

Well, I have to run. This weekend has been great so far, let’s see if we can get enough stuff together to post an entry about it.

When I was a junior in high school, my senior friend Bill told me about this class he was taking. It was called Electricity, and it was taught by Mr Hoar (pronounced “whore”), my favorite Physics teacher – a really punny guy that was also incredibly nice, but he was a good teacher as well. All around, great guy. Bill said that it was so easy and fun. When I was a senior, I figured, why not? I don’t want to do any work. So I took it, and it ended up being the best class of my high school career.

Let me set this up for you folks that didn’t go to Franklin High and are unaware of the notoriety of this class. First of all, it was all male. Just by chance, but also, it had to do with the subject material, and probably the fact that it was a known “guy class,” which isn’t really a reasonable explanation. So all guys. Not just any guys though: some of The Crew was in there with me. The Crew is my group of friends from high school. We were pretty big – ten or so core members and some fringe members (people we hung out with on occasion that were also cool, but we didn’t hang with them as much as core Crew). In this class, I had Ross, a ridiculous goofball wop that always made me laugh, Kurt, the original dynamoaf, Adam, a junior that hung out with us because of his membership in Stream, FHS’ favorite band that I was also in (we weren’t that good, but girls loved us for some reason), and James, a guy Kurt hung out with a lot that just added another level of disrespect to the class that I could not even fathom. I mean disrespect in a good way, because he made some hilarious moments happen.

So this class was basically a big joke. We spread the word around, and we would always have guests randomly show up. D’Errico, another of the Crew, would often come and hang out while we did work. Hoar didn’t care at first, but after awhile he’d boot people. The visits made the class even better. But the best part was the stuff that we as a class did in that room. Since Mr. Hoar was so laid-back, he let a lot of stuff slide that really would have pissed off other teachers. Here are a bunch of stories that I can remember that are funny.

One thing that occurred for the first time midway through the year and persisted as a popular event was throwing shit at Mr. Hoar’s dick. It started one day with a wily scheme and a ball of paper. As he was standing at the front of the room, one of us (probably Adam) pitched the ball at Hoar’s crotch. Hoar flinched and it hit his thigh. We thought this was hilarious. The abuse continued as the weeks past. I’ll never forget the day Kurt threw a whiteboard marker at his crotch and it nailed him. The look on his face while he leaned on his desk for support while his groin ached was priceless.

Another recurring event was Adam’s insistence of watching the Super Bowl Shuffle in class. For those of you that don’t know what that is, I’ll explain. In 1985, the Chicago Bears made it to Super Bowl XX. They then recorded a song called The Super Bowl Shuffle, which apparently made it to the tops of the charts. The Bears won the Super Bowl, and the song exploded. There was also a music video that was ridiculous. Adam was a huge Bears fan, so naturally he owned an original tape of it. All the time he asked Mr. Hoar to watch it, and every time Mr. Hoar shot it down, obviously. Adam kept raving about it, and the tape developed a cult following before any of us had even seen it.

Then one morning we were going to watch a video at the beginning of class. We were all there, and the television set was waiting for us. Mr. Hoar popped in the video but didn’t start it, and he left the room for a second. We took this opportunity to take the Super Bowl Shuffle out of a drawer on the side of the room (it had found a home there due to Adam’s constant pleadings) and replaced it in the VCR. So Mr. Hoar comes in, hits play, and there’s a black screen. He thinks it’s the movie. Then the song and video start up. We are enthralled, and Mr. Hoar realizes immediately what is going on. He springs to his feet and shuts it off while we all groan. He was pretty pissed off.

To this day I still haven’t seen it. They managed to watch it two times with Mr. Hoar’s permission, and of course I was there neither day, I think because of college visits. The last time a viewing was attempted (I was present, and I think the same thing I mentioned earlier happened again), Mr. Hoar ripped the tape out of the VCR and threw it in the trash. Adam lost The Super Bowl Shuffle that day. We continue to mourn his loss.

We also pulled other pranks on Mr. Hoar much of the time. The only reason we did them was because we knew we could get away with them.

To understand this prank, you have to understand that our classroom was not anyone’s personal room – therefore, when not in use, it was always locked. So before class, there’d be about 20 rowdy boys hanging out in the hallway, waiting to get in. On some days, Mr. Hoar just wouldn’t be there on time, so one of the assistant principals would let us in. Most of the time, we went in, turned on the lights, and did the usual fuckshittery, but some days we would all hide under desks and in cabinets and turn the lights off. When Mr. Hoar would unlock the door and come in (I think the door relocked automatically), he would turn on the lights, then we would all pop out and yell, “SURPRISE!” Then we would proceed to sing Happy Birthday to him. We did this several times, including once on his actual birthday, I believe. I also believe on one of those days. we actually brought in cake – I don’t believe it was his birthday when we did it. Every time we did it, he just gave us a look, like “So this is what my job has come to” sort of thing.

One prank that was spoiled was when Adam and/or Ross was going to call Mr. Hoar’s phone from another classroom (the theater room across the hall) and keep harassing him. The prank is on the verge of happening, when something happens. Jordan Hill walks into the room. A quick sidenote – Jordan was another class member, but most of the time, he was not really thinking. He was incredibly skinny and in 10th grade math he was at the board pointing out something on the screen for the overhead projector, which was projecting problems. He started writing on the screen. Someone quickly told him was he was doing, and he whipped around and ended up looking directly into the overhead’s light, got blinded, let out a cry, and fell to the ground. Another time Kurt thought he was Chris Diaz from behind. So Jordan’s had his share of mishaps. Anyway, so Jordan comes in and loudly announces, “Hey did Adam call his phone yet?” We all started swearing at him. Mr. Hoar caught on, and the prank was finished.

Another common occurrence was Adam’s using Mr. Hoar’s computer. He would just sit on it for most of class, checking the weather and sports scores. I don’t know why Mr. Hoar didn’t care at all – only once in awhile would he boot Adam. I think because he loved him.

Well, this one time Adam sat down to do his usual routine at the computer. The monitor was off, so he switched it on, but there was no picture. Then all of a sudden, the monitor made this noise: “ssssssssssss-pok” . And then Adam said: “Uh oh…” We all laughed. Mr. Hoar was pissed. The monitor was completely busted. But the thing is, Adam didn’t even do anything – it died on its own. Nevertheless, Mr. Hoar blamed Adam for the whole thing. We all giggled like schoolgirls.

However, nothing ever became of the monitor incident because Mr. Hoar loved Adam. He used to call him nicknames, which stemmed from one time that Ross went on Adam’s screen name when we were sophomores and pretended to be him, stating that his name was “Afam Kumelt” (this set of IM conversations is known simply as “The Derfelt Files,” and may have been lost forever). We called Adam “Afam” in class, and Mr. Hoar caught on to the idea and started making up stuff, like Alam Fanbelt and Aram Deerpelt. The best was one day when Adam left the room for some reason, probably to skip class. Mr. Hoar leaned out into the hallway and yelled, “Hey! Abraham Dirtbag! Get back here!” Since then, that has been a popular nickname for Adam.

Adam and Ross were always teaming up to do something ridiculous. Usually they got in trouble for it too. I’ll never forget the day that Adam and Ross got written up. Since the theater room was right across the hall, there would sometimes be a piano in the hall. One day Ross and Adam decided to leave class and play the piano. But that wasn’t enough – Adam pushed it down the hall while Ross sidestepped next to it, playing some ridiculous stride tune as the piano made its trek to the end of the corridor. Obviously, Mr. Hoar was ripped. He wrote them up for it. Actually, only one of them got written up – I think it was Ross, because Adam never got in trouble for anything anywhere, especially in Electricity.

Ross and Adam would constantly be spitting all over each other too. It was pretty gross, but hilarious too. They would chase each other around the room and spit all over each other. Any time Adam spit on Ross’ leg (which was frequently), Ross would wipe it off in a humorous fashion. The same applied when he spilled liquid on himself.

This leads me to the most disgusting thing we ever did in that class. Before we ever had a bottle of shit, we had a bottle of spit. This was absolutely terrible. Just thinking about it now makes me want to gag. So one day we all decide we’re going to collect our spit in an Aquafina bottle. Terrific idea, right? So we pass the bottle around, spitting into the bottle cap and pouring it into the bottle. I think the bottle went around twice – we barely got any in there, but everyone was trying not to throw up – it was truly disgusting. We abandoned the project soon after its start, and we were all relieved. Ross probably got yelled at while we were doing that.

Speaking of Ross getting in trouble, he would frequently write ridiculous things on the board. He wrote “Boobs” on the board one day, and nothing became of it – I think it stayed up there for the entire class. But another time, he wrote “Mr. Whore” on the board and got detention. Mr. Hoar was weird sometimes.

One time I was standing by the cabinets on the side of the room where everyone (mostly Adam) stashed their stuff. I went into one of the the drawers and took out a book and started looking at it. I put it back, and started to back up and turn around. I backed into Ross, who was standing directly behind me with his chest puffed out. He yelled, “BBBBBBOOKS” in my ear and startled me quite badly. My heart raced as I nearly peed myself laughing.

Then of course, there are the quotes. One day the group at my table was just sitting there, talking about something unimportant. Mr. Hoar is sitting with us, grading something. All of a sudden he looks up and says, “Did somebody just say ‘mung’?” Though we had said it before, we had not said anything of the sort in our conversation. We all cracked up because he was being serious – he thought he heard ‘mung’.

Another time James ordered Mr. Hoar to “drink my daily diarrhea.” He got an ADP, which is a 2-hour detention where you can’t do anything but homework.

The last thing I’ve got is a quote from a Mr. Andrew Carroll. This guy meant well, but we gave him shit for no reason – he didn’t deserve it at all. One day Adam was shooting spitballs at him from across the room. He hit him in the neck a couple times. Mr. Hoar is teaching at the board. Andrew gives Adam a look that says “stop,” but Adam shoots another one. While Mr. Hoar is talking, Andrew yells, “Fuck you Derfelt!!!” We all just stared. The two of them had to go after school to talk to Mr. Hoar for that one.

As you can tell, this was one bullshit class. What really blows me away is that this was an Honors class, as I was just reminded by Bill. Complete garbage! How that class was considered Honors I’ll never understand. I know I’m forgetting some things, including the bad things that I said that I had to stand in front of the class and explain. Anyone from that class, let me know what I’m missing.

I don’t want to type out a whole story, because for the most part nothing ridiculous happened. I want to say two things: first, fuck the guys playing country all night at the bar. That was rude and unnecessary. When my Cake song played, I was overjoyed, and though Cake is awesome, I shouldn’t be so excited when a good song comes on that I ignore everyone else and start singing it.

Second, fuck you John, for buying me a Red Bull and vodka, the one thing I said I didn’t want. You know I can’t take vodka, and my inability to speak and walk pretty much immediately after drinking it should have been a clue.

Actually, one more thing: Fuck you Luke, for actually drinking that shit. Show some fucking restraint, cockface.

I’m supposed to be picked up by my parents at 1 for dinner. It’s 11 AM and I’m still drunk. RUH ROH.

There isn’t much of a story here – it’s real short. Last night I went out with Richards, Ash, and Lauren. We were with Ange, Michael (her boyfriend), and their friend Matt, but we got separated, and it ended up just being the original four of us. So we’re uptown and Lauren is passing out in the corner. She needs to leave. I volunteer to go with her so that she doesn’t get in trouble. We end up going back to her apartment, making Mickeroni and Cheese (Mickey Mouse pasta) and watching That 70′s Show. All is quiet for a little bit.

Then in comes a big group of people sans Richards, who had gone home. Shortly after they all arrive, in my drunken haze I notice that there is a really nice beer mug sitting on the table. I ask where it came from, because it is really nice. I realize that they had gone to the Moan And Dove and had stolen it. I shake my head. Not that upset though, more just as a show.

Then this guy Trevor starts trying to rationalize the theft using marketing as an excuse – he’s trying to tell me that they want people to steal the glasses, because it’s free advertising.

Let me say something about this guy. Last night, immediately after he finished spouting this bullshit, I ran back here and made a note to myself so I wouldn’t forget what to say about him (though who could really forget). My actual note begins “Trevor – Beer asshole”. So that’s what he is, and it’s fitting.

So he’s sitting there bestowing the value of stealing mugs and glasses from bars with his parted hair and his maroon sweater and his slurred speech. He’s being incredibly condescending, so much so that I am getting uncomfortable. That’s when I notice the black fleece vest he is wearing over his sweater with the words “Ducks Unlimited” embroidered on the breast, accompanied by an embroidered pair of ducks. He immediately loses all credibility. I start glaring at him skeptically and not paying attention to what he says, stifling my laughter so I don’t laugh in his face. I simply nod when he makes eye contact.

When I finally leave for good, I settle into my room and crank the volume on my receiver and jam out while playing Gitaroo Man. I’m having a great time. Then I hear a knock at my door. I assume it’s an ALA, because it’s really late and I’m being incredibly loud. I look through the peephole and I can’t tell who it is. I open the door, and there’s Beer Asshole in the flesh. Apparently someone had told him to come to me to get a cigarette. First, I don’t have any cigarettes – only cloves. I assume someone said I had cigarettes. Nonetheless, I’m not ready to surrender one of my cloves to a guy that tries to put himself up on a pedestal with his faux wisdom, much less to a guy wearing a ridiculous vest while doing so. Hell, I wouldn’t even give one to any stranger wearing such an article. I pretend to look for them and after a minute of fake search, I tell him I lost them. He leaves and I go back to my game. I am annoyed.

And my stitches are healing up nicely. I thought I had ripped them out several times last night because I kept using my left hand like an asshole, but it turns out I was fine. They really look sweet though.