I'm going to admit it, and you aren't going to judge.
This Christmas break in Dickinson, I was at a bar or around alcohol every night except December 26 and January 3. That is December 21 to January 2. Ridic. I didn't drink every night. In fact, I dd'd quite often. Which is probably for the best. Dickinson has an entire 2 smoke-free bars, which obviously are my favorite. One of these bars is brand new: The Evil Olive.
I had yet to go there, but was very excited about it. Reading about it in Dickinson's award-winning newspaper, it sounded like a new, mod place to hang out. I was very excited about this. What I failed to remember was that The Evil Olive was just the new name for The Queen City Club. Now, the Queen City Club was the trashiest bar in town. The regular clientele was...interesting at best. What makes for a fun bar is that the regulars of the Queen didn't stop coming to their haunt just because it got a new name and became smoke free. Oh no. And they also gained a whole new crowd of people because of the bar's smoke-free status. What we now have, as Troy so eloquently described the patrons of this bar, is trail mix.
Yes. You read that correctly. Trail mix. Just think about it.
Nuts. This should be obvious, seeing that it used to be the Queen City Club. These people are some of the more quirky frequenters. These people dress their best for their favorite bar. Some of the fashion seen at the Olive over the weekend included a man wearing a cutoff button up shirt and sweatpants. He was handsome. Never mind that it was -30. Never mind that cutoff button ups never really were in style. There is also these two women we'll call The Fab Forties. They brought their significant others (both who have have long curly mullets) and just want to dance. So they continue to shimmy around til both guys decide they better get up or get out.
Raisins. Nobody really likes the raisins but they have been around for so long, it would just wouldn't be the same without them. These include the gypsy woman. She is tall, really wrinkly, and the most racist woman you will ever meet. I usually don't make judgments about heritage, but this women told me how delicate her gypsy skin was as she bought all of the bras at a rummage sale. She then proceeded to make horribly racist remarks about both black and hispanic people. Lovely. Another raisin was an old man. He wore suspenders and was in attendance both nights that we were there. In fact, he was invited for a guest appearance with the band. I still haven't decided if it was a cruel joke or not.
M&Ms.There is never enough M&M's in the mix and there weren't enough of these people either. A cute little Asian woman wearing a little pink beanie goes around and plays black jack at all the bars with tables. She usually gets lucky and is really fun to give thumbs up signs to when she seems to be doing well (obviously you have no idea...you just like the pink beanie). There is also Iggy Weigel. Local celebrity. Can I tell you what he does? Not a clue. But do I know him when I see him? You bet. Let me tell you, he does a mean dance when he throws darts.
Pretzels. You know the part of the trail mix that you look at and wonder, "Why are you here?!" Yup. That was guy who works blackjack that I met on New Year's. He was grumpy to many people and then insulted my best friend. To his credit, he was probably just pissed about working New Year's. He sure made up for it the next day, however. He did a lot of shouting in a very uncrowded bar. Completely unnecessary. Much like the pretzels.
But the best stuff happens when all these people collide. The little suspendered old man got not one but TWO lap dances each night he was at the bar. The text sent out to people not fortunate enough to be at the bar read "There is an old man with no teeth getting a lap dance from a lady half his age and twice his size." (See? When nuts and raisins collide!) If that doesn't get on texts from last night, nothing ever will.
I think I need to just stick to popcorn.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
The roof...the roof...the roof is on fire! My 21st Birthday (6.30.09)
June 28
5:02 PM--After a long day of grilling, swimming, and drinking, we go back to my apartment to sleep, shower, and get ready for the evening. I don't get to sleep because I have a lot to do still.
6:07 PM--I realize how helpless I am. I text Christa and tell her how much I wish she was here to help me with my hair and makeup. She tells me to suck it up, that's why Tom is there. Tom is passed out on the couch.
6:45 PM--Tom finally wakes up from his stupor and decides he wants to shower. I'm getting impatient. We are supposed to pick up allison by 7:10.
7:03 PM--Tom is still in the shower.
7:06 PM--We pick up allison. Tom decides to call Christa to get upset about the makeup and jewelry story. Upon hearing her voice, he forgets entirely what he is supposed say and ends up asking her random, assinine questions.
7:25 PM--We arrive at BWW's. I am bouncing off walls at this point. Amanda calls me to see if we are there yet and I tell her where we are sitting.
7:28 PM--The waitress gives me a number and tells us that way we can shift around as we please. I wonder how often people just decide to move around.
7:33 PM--Amanda arrives with her crew in tow. This includes Chrissy, Jon, Adam, and...omg it can't be. I cover my mouth and hear someone say, "Whoa, Lindsey, what's wrong?"
7:34 PM--I am on my feet, hugging my best friend. Maybe it's the excitement or maybe it's the alcohol, but I am nearly crying inside a very crowded restaurant. Apparently my entire bus crowd has been in on the surprise for the last month. I was the only one who didn't know Christa was coming.
7:40 PM--I break the number rule and am already sitting across the restaurant by my friends from Theta. I annouce to them I will not be taking shots tonight. I think mixed drinks will be plenty for me. I wave around my Caribbean martini for emphasis.
8:03 PM--Back at my real seat, Christa asks how many drinks I am going to be having so she can make sure I don't drink too much. We agree on 5. I also tell her the no shot rule.
8:06 PM--A shot is delivered in front of me. My friend Leah, who happened to be out with her boyfriend, sent me a shot of Patron. Christa likes tequila but says it would be rude of me to give this away. I take the shot.
8:07 PM--No more alcohol. I pass my martini to Christa, who downs it.
9:15 PM--The bus arrives and the driver has a few ground rules for me. Namely, if someone pukes in my bus, I pay an extra $100. He would like us all to sit down, but if we are dancing or standing while the bus is in motion, we are at our own risk. Naively, I assure him we will be pretty tame.
9:28 PM--Why is the bus moving so fast? He is driving like a mad man...isn't he? Oh good, Amanda thinks he is too. My bacardi peach is tasting good. I spill some on myself, get mad, and pass it to Christa.
9:34 PM--At the Turf. Christa buys me a shot. I tell her I don't want the whole thing. So I take half. She takes one and a half. Hey, this could work. But no more shots.
9:47 PM--Nick from work arrives. He tells me he will buy me a shot. I say no. He says how about half of one?
9:49 PM--Nick is a liar. That was a whole shot. Lindsey is an idiot. She's drunk, not blind.
10:04 PM--Too much alcohol in too little time. I cut myself off from Dempsey's. Kristy sits by me because the girl who is supposed to be watching me is buying me more and more alcohol. Kristy brings me a bowl of popcorn. And quickly becomes my new best friend.
10:42 PM--We decide to walk to the Bismarck. Kristy cautions me that I probably shouldn't have any booze here because it's really strong.
10:44 PM--Christa finds out it's a 2 for 1 deal. She buys me a screwdriver. I drink about half, and pass it to Christa. She and Allison finish it.
10:46 PM--My second drink, an amaretto sour, comes. I just pass it to Christa. We are leaving soon.
10:48 PM--Time to go? Oh good, Christa's done with that amaretto sour. Kristy looks concerned. Why is Kristy concerned? I lead Christa out of the bar. She is sad. She says she should be dragging me around, not the other way around.
Somewhere in the AM--Okay...no more booze. My watchwoman is now drunker than I am. Kristy makes me practice what I am going to tell people when they try to buy me more shots. "Meagen Essen is sober." That's not going to work? Try something else? "Meagen Essen is sober...give it to her."
Ten minutes later--Allison asks me on a scale of 1-10 how drunk I am. I think carefully and then announce 8. Christa scoffs at me. "She's a 5. Which would make me about a 12." Oh boy. Allison buys her and Christa another shot.
Thirty seconds later--Christa has had too much. This time I take the other half of her drop shot. I hear Kristy say, "Oh well" behind me.
Two minutes later--Water. Someone has to have water for me.
One minute later--St. Kristy comes in with a large glass of water and two straws. I down it and pass it to Christa who laughs at me and says I'm weak.
Ten minutes later--We are back at the Empire. It looks scary. Christa, Meagen, Allison and I retreat into the bathroom for a photo shoot (Editor's note: To see photos from said shoot, please visit facebook). Christa and I make a pact to go vandalize Ben's, this guy who was an ass to her, car with saran wrap. Allison says this happened to her before and that it was mildly inconvenient. Perfect. We get mildly emotional when I tell her I almost cried at BWW's. She looks like she's about to cry, and starts to hug me. Then someone walks in. That's enough of that.
Two minutes later--oooo....that's a safari video game. I tell Christa this one's on me. We load our plastic guns and go hunt the great wild...um...wildebeast? Christa chose a wildebeast?
After the video game--Someone hands Christa a bottle of water. She splashes it on everybody. "I made it rain on them ho's." Back on the bus. Lime vodka? Why not. Someone wants me to dance? Of course. I'll be careful.
Two songs into it--Hey...I know Spanish...Meagen knows Spanish...We decide not to talk English anymore. Then we teach Christa how to say bad phrases to some boy she is texting. La pecha del mono. When she asks how to spell the words, I answer in Spanish. That doesn't help her much.
Noticing--Wait a minute. Tom Merkel is passed out cold. That's not gonna work. For the rest of the night, I shout "TOM MERKEL!" as loud as I can whenever I see him passed out. Then I giggle.
Halo--I like this song. I start dancing. Christa starts dancing. We sing to each other a little bit. Then she runs laps around the seats while the bus is in motion. This seems like it might violate those rules from so long ago.
Ben's house--Christa and I want to get out. But we settle for shaking our fists at him and promise we are going to come back with supplies in tow as soon as someone takes us home.
Winding down--Who would appreciate a text from me...umm...HAYLEE! so i text "i love you" to her. Yup. That should do it.
2:30 AM--The bus takes us home. We wake up Tom. I'm still feeling quite amazing. As is Christa. Who starts tearing up as we walk into the apartment. Welcome home.
2:48 AM--Christa and I are sprawled on the kitchen floor and decide it might be fun to have a photo shoot. We do so. Then Troy goes to bed. I want to sleep by Christa.
After peeing--So where's Christa? Not in her bed, my bed or the living room. I just came from the bathroom. But maybe...?
Finding Christa--There she is, laying in her closet. I grab my things and lay beside her. I give her a blanket, which she calls a "comfy-fluffy." We giggle and talk about the night. We are sorry we didn't get to saran wrap the car, but all in all, it was successful. She says she can't believe I ever thought she would miss my birthday.
4:55 AM--I don't feel well. My stomach is a little gross. I'm a little scared that I'm going to be sick. Christa is asleep next to me. I am about 5 seconds away from waking her up...I am convinced that I need her. But I decide to relax and end up falling asleep.
10:04 AM--Good morning. I sit up. I have a headache like it's nobody's business. Time to start the hydration. Eventually I text Haylee for her expert advice. Greasy food definitely was the right decision.
What a night. Whew.
5:02 PM--After a long day of grilling, swimming, and drinking, we go back to my apartment to sleep, shower, and get ready for the evening. I don't get to sleep because I have a lot to do still.
6:07 PM--I realize how helpless I am. I text Christa and tell her how much I wish she was here to help me with my hair and makeup. She tells me to suck it up, that's why Tom is there. Tom is passed out on the couch.
6:45 PM--Tom finally wakes up from his stupor and decides he wants to shower. I'm getting impatient. We are supposed to pick up allison by 7:10.
7:03 PM--Tom is still in the shower.
7:06 PM--We pick up allison. Tom decides to call Christa to get upset about the makeup and jewelry story. Upon hearing her voice, he forgets entirely what he is supposed say and ends up asking her random, assinine questions.
7:25 PM--We arrive at BWW's. I am bouncing off walls at this point. Amanda calls me to see if we are there yet and I tell her where we are sitting.
7:28 PM--The waitress gives me a number and tells us that way we can shift around as we please. I wonder how often people just decide to move around.
7:33 PM--Amanda arrives with her crew in tow. This includes Chrissy, Jon, Adam, and...omg it can't be. I cover my mouth and hear someone say, "Whoa, Lindsey, what's wrong?"
7:34 PM--I am on my feet, hugging my best friend. Maybe it's the excitement or maybe it's the alcohol, but I am nearly crying inside a very crowded restaurant. Apparently my entire bus crowd has been in on the surprise for the last month. I was the only one who didn't know Christa was coming.
7:40 PM--I break the number rule and am already sitting across the restaurant by my friends from Theta. I annouce to them I will not be taking shots tonight. I think mixed drinks will be plenty for me. I wave around my Caribbean martini for emphasis.
8:03 PM--Back at my real seat, Christa asks how many drinks I am going to be having so she can make sure I don't drink too much. We agree on 5. I also tell her the no shot rule.
8:06 PM--A shot is delivered in front of me. My friend Leah, who happened to be out with her boyfriend, sent me a shot of Patron. Christa likes tequila but says it would be rude of me to give this away. I take the shot.
8:07 PM--No more alcohol. I pass my martini to Christa, who downs it.
9:15 PM--The bus arrives and the driver has a few ground rules for me. Namely, if someone pukes in my bus, I pay an extra $100. He would like us all to sit down, but if we are dancing or standing while the bus is in motion, we are at our own risk. Naively, I assure him we will be pretty tame.
9:28 PM--Why is the bus moving so fast? He is driving like a mad man...isn't he? Oh good, Amanda thinks he is too. My bacardi peach is tasting good. I spill some on myself, get mad, and pass it to Christa.
9:34 PM--At the Turf. Christa buys me a shot. I tell her I don't want the whole thing. So I take half. She takes one and a half. Hey, this could work. But no more shots.
9:47 PM--Nick from work arrives. He tells me he will buy me a shot. I say no. He says how about half of one?
9:49 PM--Nick is a liar. That was a whole shot. Lindsey is an idiot. She's drunk, not blind.
10:04 PM--Too much alcohol in too little time. I cut myself off from Dempsey's. Kristy sits by me because the girl who is supposed to be watching me is buying me more and more alcohol. Kristy brings me a bowl of popcorn. And quickly becomes my new best friend.
10:42 PM--We decide to walk to the Bismarck. Kristy cautions me that I probably shouldn't have any booze here because it's really strong.
10:44 PM--Christa finds out it's a 2 for 1 deal. She buys me a screwdriver. I drink about half, and pass it to Christa. She and Allison finish it.
10:46 PM--My second drink, an amaretto sour, comes. I just pass it to Christa. We are leaving soon.
10:48 PM--Time to go? Oh good, Christa's done with that amaretto sour. Kristy looks concerned. Why is Kristy concerned? I lead Christa out of the bar. She is sad. She says she should be dragging me around, not the other way around.
Somewhere in the AM--Okay...no more booze. My watchwoman is now drunker than I am. Kristy makes me practice what I am going to tell people when they try to buy me more shots. "Meagen Essen is sober." That's not going to work? Try something else? "Meagen Essen is sober...give it to her."
Ten minutes later--Allison asks me on a scale of 1-10 how drunk I am. I think carefully and then announce 8. Christa scoffs at me. "She's a 5. Which would make me about a 12." Oh boy. Allison buys her and Christa another shot.
Thirty seconds later--Christa has had too much. This time I take the other half of her drop shot. I hear Kristy say, "Oh well" behind me.
Two minutes later--Water. Someone has to have water for me.
One minute later--St. Kristy comes in with a large glass of water and two straws. I down it and pass it to Christa who laughs at me and says I'm weak.
Ten minutes later--We are back at the Empire. It looks scary. Christa, Meagen, Allison and I retreat into the bathroom for a photo shoot (Editor's note: To see photos from said shoot, please visit facebook). Christa and I make a pact to go vandalize Ben's, this guy who was an ass to her, car with saran wrap. Allison says this happened to her before and that it was mildly inconvenient. Perfect. We get mildly emotional when I tell her I almost cried at BWW's. She looks like she's about to cry, and starts to hug me. Then someone walks in. That's enough of that.
Two minutes later--oooo....that's a safari video game. I tell Christa this one's on me. We load our plastic guns and go hunt the great wild...um...wildebeast? Christa chose a wildebeast?
After the video game--Someone hands Christa a bottle of water. She splashes it on everybody. "I made it rain on them ho's." Back on the bus. Lime vodka? Why not. Someone wants me to dance? Of course. I'll be careful.
Two songs into it--Hey...I know Spanish...Meagen knows Spanish...We decide not to talk English anymore. Then we teach Christa how to say bad phrases to some boy she is texting. La pecha del mono. When she asks how to spell the words, I answer in Spanish. That doesn't help her much.
Noticing--Wait a minute. Tom Merkel is passed out cold. That's not gonna work. For the rest of the night, I shout "TOM MERKEL!" as loud as I can whenever I see him passed out. Then I giggle.
Halo--I like this song. I start dancing. Christa starts dancing. We sing to each other a little bit. Then she runs laps around the seats while the bus is in motion. This seems like it might violate those rules from so long ago.
Ben's house--Christa and I want to get out. But we settle for shaking our fists at him and promise we are going to come back with supplies in tow as soon as someone takes us home.
Winding down--Who would appreciate a text from me...umm...HAYLEE! so i text "i love you" to her. Yup. That should do it.
2:30 AM--The bus takes us home. We wake up Tom. I'm still feeling quite amazing. As is Christa. Who starts tearing up as we walk into the apartment. Welcome home.
2:48 AM--Christa and I are sprawled on the kitchen floor and decide it might be fun to have a photo shoot. We do so. Then Troy goes to bed. I want to sleep by Christa.
After peeing--So where's Christa? Not in her bed, my bed or the living room. I just came from the bathroom. But maybe...?
Finding Christa--There she is, laying in her closet. I grab my things and lay beside her. I give her a blanket, which she calls a "comfy-fluffy." We giggle and talk about the night. We are sorry we didn't get to saran wrap the car, but all in all, it was successful. She says she can't believe I ever thought she would miss my birthday.
4:55 AM--I don't feel well. My stomach is a little gross. I'm a little scared that I'm going to be sick. Christa is asleep next to me. I am about 5 seconds away from waking her up...I am convinced that I need her. But I decide to relax and end up falling asleep.
10:04 AM--Good morning. I sit up. I have a headache like it's nobody's business. Time to start the hydration. Eventually I text Haylee for her expert advice. Greasy food definitely was the right decision.
What a night. Whew.
The Big Countdown: My 21st Birthday (6.30.09)
Well ladies and gentlemen, Amanda and I have finally turned 21. And you are about to get a treat. I have never written a blog from events that occured while I was drunk. Usually I leave those to others. But since it was my birthday, and since it was a blast, I think it would be okay. It also is getting two written blogs. So sit back and enjoy. And get excited, because I can now go out with you.
June 27
1:00PM--Chrissy and I go shopping. I have decided my birthday jeans are not going to work, and she needs a swimsuit. We then had some lunch. I found out that the two Sarahs are coming to surprise Amanda. I tell her how I love birthday surprises but that I have never been surprised. I am just that good.
5:30PM--Troy and Tom arrive. Tom buys bullets at Scheel's and makes a large point to tell me that you have to be 21 to own these bullets and so I should sit back and take notes. Tom does not get carded. Tom finds out you only have to be 18.
6:30PM--We get to the Olive Garden. Troy and Tom make a big deal out of trying the wine and getting alcoholic drinks. When the waiter is gone, I'm drinking out of them anyways. Oh well.
6:45PM--I start choking on a pepper in the salad. It was stuck just right and I couldn't breathe. I look at Troy for help and he giggles and goes, "I never took CPR." I think this is the last thing I am about to hear.
6:46PM--I can breathe again. No thanks to Troy. Or Tom, who is apparently a lifeguard.
8:12PM--We arrive at Happy Harry's Bottle Shop. Troy and Tom pick up drinks for everyone. Including me. What the hell. It's my birthday.
10:20 PM--After two Bacardi Peach drinks, I stand up. It feels funny. Oh fabulous.
11:10 PM--I want to learn Thriller for my party bus. Because, you know, everyone is going to be way impressed. However, I settle for waving my arms around to Michael Jackson's Free Willy song.
11:59 PM--What the hell. Let's do a shot of blackberry brandy.
June 28
12:05 AM--I'm shouting. Why am I shouting? Isn't Amanda's roommate sleeping?
12:16 AM--I don't understand why everyone is laughing at everything I'm saying. I am not usually this funny. I beg Troy, who probably has had more than me at this point, to drive me home.
12:17 AM--Troy walks me back inside and tells me we haven't even eaten breakfast yet. Whatever I said was met with giggles again.
12:29 AM--We notice the cops drive by. Amanda and I are afraid of getting minors. We go hide in the back bedroom. The boys laugh at us again.
1:06 AM--Jon calls Christa. He rubs it in a little that she isn't here. She calls me my mother. I grab Jon's cell phone and try to hang it up.
1:07 AM--I can't figure out what button it is. I hand the phone back. Christa makes fun of me for not being able to figure out the phone. I take it away again and want to throw it.
1:08 AM--Troy calls me Christa. I hand the phone back and pout.
2:30 AM--We go to IHOP for breakfast. There are two cops giving sobriety tests outside. Great.
2:35 AM--Our waitress tells us how much she hates cops since she got 6 DUIs, two within one month. I'm not entirely certain she is sober right now.
2:47AM--Jon orders a pork steak. None of us know what that is, including our waitress. He does not get to live this down.
3:30AM--We head back to my house. Tom crashes on the couch and Troy decides to take a shower. I go to bed, because it's going to be a long day.
3:36AM--Troy gets outta the shower and so I go sit on his bed. We decide to talk for a few minutes.
5:01 AM--The sun is coming up. Tom is snoring. It's really time for bed.
June 27
1:00PM--Chrissy and I go shopping. I have decided my birthday jeans are not going to work, and she needs a swimsuit. We then had some lunch. I found out that the two Sarahs are coming to surprise Amanda. I tell her how I love birthday surprises but that I have never been surprised. I am just that good.
5:30PM--Troy and Tom arrive. Tom buys bullets at Scheel's and makes a large point to tell me that you have to be 21 to own these bullets and so I should sit back and take notes. Tom does not get carded. Tom finds out you only have to be 18.
6:30PM--We get to the Olive Garden. Troy and Tom make a big deal out of trying the wine and getting alcoholic drinks. When the waiter is gone, I'm drinking out of them anyways. Oh well.
6:45PM--I start choking on a pepper in the salad. It was stuck just right and I couldn't breathe. I look at Troy for help and he giggles and goes, "I never took CPR." I think this is the last thing I am about to hear.
6:46PM--I can breathe again. No thanks to Troy. Or Tom, who is apparently a lifeguard.
8:12PM--We arrive at Happy Harry's Bottle Shop. Troy and Tom pick up drinks for everyone. Including me. What the hell. It's my birthday.
10:20 PM--After two Bacardi Peach drinks, I stand up. It feels funny. Oh fabulous.
11:10 PM--I want to learn Thriller for my party bus. Because, you know, everyone is going to be way impressed. However, I settle for waving my arms around to Michael Jackson's Free Willy song.
11:59 PM--What the hell. Let's do a shot of blackberry brandy.
June 28
12:05 AM--I'm shouting. Why am I shouting? Isn't Amanda's roommate sleeping?
12:16 AM--I don't understand why everyone is laughing at everything I'm saying. I am not usually this funny. I beg Troy, who probably has had more than me at this point, to drive me home.
12:17 AM--Troy walks me back inside and tells me we haven't even eaten breakfast yet. Whatever I said was met with giggles again.
12:29 AM--We notice the cops drive by. Amanda and I are afraid of getting minors. We go hide in the back bedroom. The boys laugh at us again.
1:06 AM--Jon calls Christa. He rubs it in a little that she isn't here. She calls me my mother. I grab Jon's cell phone and try to hang it up.
1:07 AM--I can't figure out what button it is. I hand the phone back. Christa makes fun of me for not being able to figure out the phone. I take it away again and want to throw it.
1:08 AM--Troy calls me Christa. I hand the phone back and pout.
2:30 AM--We go to IHOP for breakfast. There are two cops giving sobriety tests outside. Great.
2:35 AM--Our waitress tells us how much she hates cops since she got 6 DUIs, two within one month. I'm not entirely certain she is sober right now.
2:47AM--Jon orders a pork steak. None of us know what that is, including our waitress. He does not get to live this down.
3:30AM--We head back to my house. Tom crashes on the couch and Troy decides to take a shower. I go to bed, because it's going to be a long day.
3:36AM--Troy gets outta the shower and so I go sit on his bed. We decide to talk for a few minutes.
5:01 AM--The sun is coming up. Tom is snoring. It's really time for bed.
Kovash-Steiner Wedding Part II: The After Party (6.20.09)
Thank goodness we arrive at the party, because warning signs are starting to flash in my head. Ha, you'd have to be an idiot to miss them. ("Do you put out?" "Will you come home with me tonight?" "I quite like you...I have a large bed") And it wasn't just me. He was saying all these things in front of all my friends. I figured I could sneak away from him at the party. Some of the party-goers start hot tubbing, and since most of them didn't have swim suits, a few of 'em stripped down and sat in their undies. Including Euan. Who then made some creepy comment about seeing a Scot in his shorts on the first date. I just want to know what I possibly could have done to convince Euan that we were on any kind of date.
So okay. I'm inside, hiding from Euan, and things slowly start to spiral out of control. I sneak out to the garage where Christa and Brad are playing some kind of tag game. This turns into a 5 person photo session, and the next thing I know, there is a large, frozen 10 pound fish on my shoulder. The guy holding it giggles and says, "Don't you like fish?" Who keeps fish in their freezer with scales on? Obviously the garage isn't a safe zone. I keep looking.
I'm now sitting on the living room floor. Troy is telling anyone who will listen about Euan. Nobody still really knows who he is or why he was so intent on coming to the party. He didn't know anyone at the wedding. As if he heard his name, Euan comes over and asks for a ride home. Noticing that a friend of mine was crashing in her bra and undies with a towel over her in the living room, I decide it's best to get him outta there. But not alone. And now the living room isn't safe. So I go out to the deck.
Christa is trying to put the hot tub back together and ends up falling in, still dressed in her satin dress from the wedding. She informs me she just needs to pout for a minute. Okay...I go back into the kitchen. Someone has burned a bag of popcorn. There is thick dark smoke in the entire kitchen. Something similar happened to Christa, Troy and I when we were seniors in high school. Troy remembers this and shouts, "Christa!" Christa thinks she is getting blamed for the bag, which is actually still smoldering, and starts yelling, "Oh sure...blame it on me because my mom's the home ec teacher! I didn't do it!" It gets set next to a mess of all the food in the fridge that someone had mixed together on a plate. And I mean everything. There is even uncooked rice in this plate.
Back to the living room. I'm sitting at Steph's feet, begging someone to come with me when I take Euan home. I don't do that alone. Two guys come by, wrestling each other. I'm a little bored, and so I half-heartedly move the lamp out of the way. I start getting kicked and so I try to move. Boys. We keep talking and it takes about a minute for us to realize that one of the guys is turning blue. It's a real fight, in the middle of the living room. And we weren't at just a college house. Someone's parents lived there, so there was quite a lot of nice things around. They start pulling the guys off each other, and one promises to take his buddy, who had attacked the host, home.
So whatever. Still not taking Euan home. I wish he would have been in the fight so we just could have kicked him out. He starts making comments to my friends about "what a good couple we would make." Troy, bless his heart, tells Euan if he attends the next wedding, he will find him an easy girl who likes foreign guys. Euan says no, he'd like me, thanks. What the f. I convince Troy to ride to Euan's hotel with me. We are about to leave when the host comes in with an f'in knife and is muttering, "Sorry I got outta control. I just gotta kill him." So the other guy apparently didn't leave, and is about to get murdered in his parents' bed.
Shit's about to get real. I start gathering my friends to ALL come with me. I'm trying to convince Christa that we gotta leave. In the background, I hear, "LET'S START HIS CAR ON FIRE!" Christa is disagreeing. She would rather stay and clean the house, which is now one giant mess. I hear Jon say, "That's not his car...that's Luke's car..." So at this point, they don't even know WHICH car to start on fire. I gotta get mine outta there before they build a bomb and put it in the trunk. Euan motions at Christa like she can't hear him, and says, "Right then, should I just pick her up and carry her out with us?" I forget about the problem at hand for a minute, and tell him, "Try it." I wish he would have. I have no doubt what Christa would have done.
Throughout all of this, two of our friends missed it. Landon was snoring in the corner chair. Eventually, Steph stole his blanket. She was cold, and he didn't know the difference. Always the classy man, Landon was passed out in his tux from the wedding. And Tom? Well, Tom never made it to the party. He passed out on the drive over in Jon's car. So we left him, windows rolled down. Euan was worried he was dead. Euan's an idiot. He was still breathing, and could be woken up.
In the end, all my friends decided to stay at the party, except for Amanda. Somehow everyone forgot that the host was threatening arson and homicide, and that Euan was riding home with me. Til I left, of course. Then I got text messages saying how worried people were that I was gonna be attacked. Luckily, Amanda rode the whole way with me while I kept repeating, "I'm not sleeping with you" over and over til he got outta my car. Even when he tried to get tricky and say, "Just come in and we'll drink a bottle of wine." Even more luckily, the boys decided it was a misunderstanding, and that arson doesn't really solve anything.
It's a wonder that one of us wasn't killed or jailed.
So okay. I'm inside, hiding from Euan, and things slowly start to spiral out of control. I sneak out to the garage where Christa and Brad are playing some kind of tag game. This turns into a 5 person photo session, and the next thing I know, there is a large, frozen 10 pound fish on my shoulder. The guy holding it giggles and says, "Don't you like fish?" Who keeps fish in their freezer with scales on? Obviously the garage isn't a safe zone. I keep looking.
I'm now sitting on the living room floor. Troy is telling anyone who will listen about Euan. Nobody still really knows who he is or why he was so intent on coming to the party. He didn't know anyone at the wedding. As if he heard his name, Euan comes over and asks for a ride home. Noticing that a friend of mine was crashing in her bra and undies with a towel over her in the living room, I decide it's best to get him outta there. But not alone. And now the living room isn't safe. So I go out to the deck.
Christa is trying to put the hot tub back together and ends up falling in, still dressed in her satin dress from the wedding. She informs me she just needs to pout for a minute. Okay...I go back into the kitchen. Someone has burned a bag of popcorn. There is thick dark smoke in the entire kitchen. Something similar happened to Christa, Troy and I when we were seniors in high school. Troy remembers this and shouts, "Christa!" Christa thinks she is getting blamed for the bag, which is actually still smoldering, and starts yelling, "Oh sure...blame it on me because my mom's the home ec teacher! I didn't do it!" It gets set next to a mess of all the food in the fridge that someone had mixed together on a plate. And I mean everything. There is even uncooked rice in this plate.
Back to the living room. I'm sitting at Steph's feet, begging someone to come with me when I take Euan home. I don't do that alone. Two guys come by, wrestling each other. I'm a little bored, and so I half-heartedly move the lamp out of the way. I start getting kicked and so I try to move. Boys. We keep talking and it takes about a minute for us to realize that one of the guys is turning blue. It's a real fight, in the middle of the living room. And we weren't at just a college house. Someone's parents lived there, so there was quite a lot of nice things around. They start pulling the guys off each other, and one promises to take his buddy, who had attacked the host, home.
So whatever. Still not taking Euan home. I wish he would have been in the fight so we just could have kicked him out. He starts making comments to my friends about "what a good couple we would make." Troy, bless his heart, tells Euan if he attends the next wedding, he will find him an easy girl who likes foreign guys. Euan says no, he'd like me, thanks. What the f. I convince Troy to ride to Euan's hotel with me. We are about to leave when the host comes in with an f'in knife and is muttering, "Sorry I got outta control. I just gotta kill him." So the other guy apparently didn't leave, and is about to get murdered in his parents' bed.
Shit's about to get real. I start gathering my friends to ALL come with me. I'm trying to convince Christa that we gotta leave. In the background, I hear, "LET'S START HIS CAR ON FIRE!" Christa is disagreeing. She would rather stay and clean the house, which is now one giant mess. I hear Jon say, "That's not his car...that's Luke's car..." So at this point, they don't even know WHICH car to start on fire. I gotta get mine outta there before they build a bomb and put it in the trunk. Euan motions at Christa like she can't hear him, and says, "Right then, should I just pick her up and carry her out with us?" I forget about the problem at hand for a minute, and tell him, "Try it." I wish he would have. I have no doubt what Christa would have done.
Throughout all of this, two of our friends missed it. Landon was snoring in the corner chair. Eventually, Steph stole his blanket. She was cold, and he didn't know the difference. Always the classy man, Landon was passed out in his tux from the wedding. And Tom? Well, Tom never made it to the party. He passed out on the drive over in Jon's car. So we left him, windows rolled down. Euan was worried he was dead. Euan's an idiot. He was still breathing, and could be woken up.
In the end, all my friends decided to stay at the party, except for Amanda. Somehow everyone forgot that the host was threatening arson and homicide, and that Euan was riding home with me. Til I left, of course. Then I got text messages saying how worried people were that I was gonna be attacked. Luckily, Amanda rode the whole way with me while I kept repeating, "I'm not sleeping with you" over and over til he got outta my car. Even when he tried to get tricky and say, "Just come in and we'll drink a bottle of wine." Even more luckily, the boys decided it was a misunderstanding, and that arson doesn't really solve anything.
It's a wonder that one of us wasn't killed or jailed.
Kovash-Steiner Wedding Part I: The Dance
In my daily life, I try to find the stuff that would be easy to blog about. Sometimes it's difficult, but if you use your imagination, things just seem to pop out at you. Or, as in the case of these next two blogs, so much stuff is thrown at you that you don't know what to make of it, and all you can do is sit back and say, WTF. So sit back, and prepare to be amazed. And for those who do finish both, this blog is private only to my preferred list. There's about ten people. So no worries, everyone is still protected.
Last night was Luke Steiner's wedding. We were high school classmmates and so the whole crew was going. I picked up Troy, Christa, Jon, and Tom from the bar. I'm getting more and more bitter the closer it gets to my birthday. But whatever. At this wedding, I would have had a LOT of people to bootleg for me. But since I was the sober cab, I kept things to a minimum. This minimum did include taking a pull from a friend's flask...right in front of the guy filming the wedding. That's gonna be precious in 20 years. This minimum also included a very dear friend of mine, who shall remain nameless, randomly buying me a shot of tequila and demanding I take it. She's going to remain nameless, mainly because she said if my mother ever finds out, she will not hesitate to kill me. Frightening, yet effective. Although really, she would have to beat my mother to it, because my mom would kill me too. Ha.
It was sort of like a class reunion. Nearly everybody I went to high school with was there. Which was nice, because while my friends went to the bar, I could always find someone I knew. And, you know, people I didn't know. Like this guy I ended up dancing with. He was nice, a football player from DSU. He must have thought I had sweet moves. Or maybe he just got the "this will be a hilarious story later" feeling that I am really good at giving people.
Christa was friendly too. She was talking to all kinds of parents. And you know, making sure they could hear her by shouting at them. She had one set of parents engrossed for so long that Jon took matters into his own hands. Recruiting some guy I didn't know by sheer force, and Tom and Ryan by claiming there was a "mission to be fulfilled", they picked up Christa IN her chair, Jewish chair dance style, and carried her off to the dance floor...while I shouted Mazeltov! for good measure. For those of you who doubt, I actually have a video of this little escapade.
After sufficiently embarrassing my best friend at the expense of Judaism, we concluded that clearly all that was left to do was call Allison from the less crowded pool room. And of course, some members of our crew got a little antsy. In literally 10 seconds, the pool room was destroyed. Tables and chairs were overturned, a Christmas tree was on its side, and a pair of blue underwear lay on the floor. I can say with about 75% confidence that the underwear was not my friends'. While Christa chatted to Allison, I tried putting the room back together. It was precisely then that she had her brilliant idea. Without saying goodbye, she heaved her phone over the side of the balcony. "I wanted to see if it would break." Oh. "Lindsey, you go pick up Allison and make sure she survived that fall."
The night continued similarly. Soon the dance came to an end and we needed to make post-dance plans. Christa had again thrown her cell phone, and now nobody knew where it was. Out of nowhere appeared this Scottish guy complete with thick accent. He had tried to help us look for the phone. Eventually I found it, and Scot-Boy decided to thank me "the proper Scottish way" -- by kissing me. Now imagine the expression on my face. I got kissed by a guy whose name I didn't know. That usually only happens in movies or when you're too drunk to care. I was neither of these.
So I recover (because, you know, maybe they really do that in Scotland. I wouldn't know) and Christa and I head to the cars. I find out three things about Scot-Boy: 1) His name is Euan 2) he works on the oil rigs 3) he has decided to come to the after-party even though he knows no one. Finding it is also an ordeal. No one has a concrete address and I'm cranky because I kind of just wanted to go to bed. In this search, I learn 3 more things about Euan: 1) His mom is a midwife and his dad is a paramedic, 2) he likes the way swear words sound in my accent, and 3) it is his goal for the night to sleep with me.
Last night was Luke Steiner's wedding. We were high school classmmates and so the whole crew was going. I picked up Troy, Christa, Jon, and Tom from the bar. I'm getting more and more bitter the closer it gets to my birthday. But whatever. At this wedding, I would have had a LOT of people to bootleg for me. But since I was the sober cab, I kept things to a minimum. This minimum did include taking a pull from a friend's flask...right in front of the guy filming the wedding. That's gonna be precious in 20 years. This minimum also included a very dear friend of mine, who shall remain nameless, randomly buying me a shot of tequila and demanding I take it. She's going to remain nameless, mainly because she said if my mother ever finds out, she will not hesitate to kill me. Frightening, yet effective. Although really, she would have to beat my mother to it, because my mom would kill me too. Ha.
It was sort of like a class reunion. Nearly everybody I went to high school with was there. Which was nice, because while my friends went to the bar, I could always find someone I knew. And, you know, people I didn't know. Like this guy I ended up dancing with. He was nice, a football player from DSU. He must have thought I had sweet moves. Or maybe he just got the "this will be a hilarious story later" feeling that I am really good at giving people.
Christa was friendly too. She was talking to all kinds of parents. And you know, making sure they could hear her by shouting at them. She had one set of parents engrossed for so long that Jon took matters into his own hands. Recruiting some guy I didn't know by sheer force, and Tom and Ryan by claiming there was a "mission to be fulfilled", they picked up Christa IN her chair, Jewish chair dance style, and carried her off to the dance floor...while I shouted Mazeltov! for good measure. For those of you who doubt, I actually have a video of this little escapade.
After sufficiently embarrassing my best friend at the expense of Judaism, we concluded that clearly all that was left to do was call Allison from the less crowded pool room. And of course, some members of our crew got a little antsy. In literally 10 seconds, the pool room was destroyed. Tables and chairs were overturned, a Christmas tree was on its side, and a pair of blue underwear lay on the floor. I can say with about 75% confidence that the underwear was not my friends'. While Christa chatted to Allison, I tried putting the room back together. It was precisely then that she had her brilliant idea. Without saying goodbye, she heaved her phone over the side of the balcony. "I wanted to see if it would break." Oh. "Lindsey, you go pick up Allison and make sure she survived that fall."
The night continued similarly. Soon the dance came to an end and we needed to make post-dance plans. Christa had again thrown her cell phone, and now nobody knew where it was. Out of nowhere appeared this Scottish guy complete with thick accent. He had tried to help us look for the phone. Eventually I found it, and Scot-Boy decided to thank me "the proper Scottish way" -- by kissing me. Now imagine the expression on my face. I got kissed by a guy whose name I didn't know. That usually only happens in movies or when you're too drunk to care. I was neither of these.
So I recover (because, you know, maybe they really do that in Scotland. I wouldn't know) and Christa and I head to the cars. I find out three things about Scot-Boy: 1) His name is Euan 2) he works on the oil rigs 3) he has decided to come to the after-party even though he knows no one. Finding it is also an ordeal. No one has a concrete address and I'm cranky because I kind of just wanted to go to bed. In this search, I learn 3 more things about Euan: 1) His mom is a midwife and his dad is a paramedic, 2) he likes the way swear words sound in my accent, and 3) it is his goal for the night to sleep with me.
When You're Here, You're Family (4.12.09)
First of all, Happy Easter everyone! To celebrate in style, we went to a party at Mikey Schaeper's house. I haven't been to a house party in a long time, mainly because all of my friends, save for literally three, are 21 and can go to the bars. I personally have 78 days left. And my birthday buddy and I have chosen to have a Toga party bus. Way excited. But that's off topic. So we're at Mikey's...I haven't seen this guy in literally 2.5 years...since we celebrated Christa's 19th birthday there. But whatev.
After hanging out for a few hours, and everyone getting annihilated, I drove them to the Paragon (Well, almost all of 'em. One decided he was "sober enough" and after arguing with him for ten minutes, he just got into his car and drove off). There really is nothing like eating an overabundance of fried foods that have been coughed on, spit on, and probably nibbled on in the kitchen back there. You can see the food being made, and one time I watched the cook sneeze and then touch my fries. So you either have to be so drunk that you don't care how your food was made or just be confident you have an immune system o' steel and try not to watch it get made.
Another thing I should probably mention about the Paragon is that anything goes. If you aren't endangering any other patrons or causing too much ruckus, you can do more or less whatever you want. And by too much ruckus, I mean standing on the tables and shouting "FUCK YOU!" Otherwise, they are pretty lax about things. Like last night, some guys were serenading everyone's favorite overnight waitress, Carolyne, with the song "Sweet Caroline" (because, you know, obviously they are the first ones to think of that). I've met some crazy psychos at the 'Gon too...like the couple who started whispering to each other...but if you'll remember, the drunker you get, the louder you get. So their conversation went a little like this:
Cletus: You know what I did.
Barbara: Cletus, not here.
Cletus: I had sex with you...my penis was inside you. It was insiiiidddeee you.
Barbara: Cletus, stop.
Cletus (starts rubbing her under the table): My penis was inside you and we are gonna have a baby.
Barbara: Cletus, I don't want this baby.
It was here that I chose to stop listening. These two are bringing a baby in the world and are still groping at the Paragon. God save that child. But anyways. So we sat down near the door, prime spot for meeting the newbies that came in. My crew is a little bit drunk. At the party, Troy and Christa were watching the movie Hook and Troy had been shouting "JUUULLLIIAAA!" at the tv every time Julia Roberts came on. He continued this trend at the Paragon. We would be having a normal conversation when all of a sudden he would shout out, "JUUUULLLIIIAA!" Obviously no one there was named Julia. No big. No one questioned it.
Our waitress came and dropped a few forks and napkins off at our table and says, "Here's some forks and shit. Use 'em if you want." My table breaks out into claps and cheers. Later, Tom tipped her like 150% and told her he was so happy she said "Here's some forks and shit. If you don't use 'em, get the fuck out of my face and never come back." The waitress looked confused and said that wasn't what she said. Tom replies, "In my head, that's what's happened, so you're getting tipped well." Tom was the brave one of the night. He ordered the "Four-bagger." This is a compilation of 10 each of all the fried foods that the paragon serves...mozzarella sticks, fried mushrooms, breaded shrimp, and chicken drummies. Good for those drunken late night grease cravings, I guess. I personally think it would be healthier to just eat a spoonful of lard. But Tom's brave.
There was a jelly on the floor. Laura steps on it and it makes this little pop noise. Of course, my entire table picks up on this and starts shouting that she is ruining the restaurant. Laura is cowering in the corner, begging the rest of the table not to tell on her. Tom is raising his hand. I decide to humor him and so I call on him. He tells me Laura is making a mess of the restaurant and he is going to tell the waitress on her. I can't help but laugh at this point, and the story gets turned from what actually happened to "Laura purposely stomped on the jelly container, it went everywhere, and made a sound like a gun." And, of course, since boys are assholes (ha), they start teasing Laura about some guy she met two weeks ago. I don't know him and so I can't judge. One was trying to be diplomatic about it, because he didn't want to see her hurt, one was giggling because someone had just said penis, and the other was shouting, "JJJUUUUULLLIIIAAAA!" whenever Laura would get mad.
Luckily for me, I didn't have to make everyone go to their own corner of the table. It was at this moment that a lady came in literally almost CARRYING this guy with her. This is terrible but when I first saw him, I thought he was literally mentally handicapped (I suppose it's extremely fair to argue that he was). He was trying to talk, but it certainly wasn't comprehensible English, and if left to his own devices, he would just fall. That lady was the only thing keeping him from licking the dust off the floor. She pushed him into a booth (not hard...but he just fell, so she had to pull him into a sitting position) and ordered him some food. I looked over a few minutes later, and he was all cuddled into her like a little kid with a big smile on his face. He is going to be a hurting unit this morning I feel.
After an hour, I convince my crew that it's enough for one night. I get them all up and ready to leave, but not before Troy decides he has to shout at the cooks, Burt and the Pilgrim. The Pilgrim (aptly named because he has a hat that Pilgrims wear) looked grumpily at Troy and Burt wouldn't even look up. Burt does like Troy, I just think he's finally tuned out drunken shouting after all these years. At this point the entire "restaurant" is staring at us. So I give them a Miss America wave. Quite a few of the drunk patrons actually waved back.
Carolyne is a saint.
After hanging out for a few hours, and everyone getting annihilated, I drove them to the Paragon (Well, almost all of 'em. One decided he was "sober enough" and after arguing with him for ten minutes, he just got into his car and drove off). There really is nothing like eating an overabundance of fried foods that have been coughed on, spit on, and probably nibbled on in the kitchen back there. You can see the food being made, and one time I watched the cook sneeze and then touch my fries. So you either have to be so drunk that you don't care how your food was made or just be confident you have an immune system o' steel and try not to watch it get made.
Another thing I should probably mention about the Paragon is that anything goes. If you aren't endangering any other patrons or causing too much ruckus, you can do more or less whatever you want. And by too much ruckus, I mean standing on the tables and shouting "FUCK YOU!" Otherwise, they are pretty lax about things. Like last night, some guys were serenading everyone's favorite overnight waitress, Carolyne, with the song "Sweet Caroline" (because, you know, obviously they are the first ones to think of that). I've met some crazy psychos at the 'Gon too...like the couple who started whispering to each other...but if you'll remember, the drunker you get, the louder you get. So their conversation went a little like this:
Cletus: You know what I did.
Barbara: Cletus, not here.
Cletus: I had sex with you...my penis was inside you. It was insiiiidddeee you.
Barbara: Cletus, stop.
Cletus (starts rubbing her under the table): My penis was inside you and we are gonna have a baby.
Barbara: Cletus, I don't want this baby.
It was here that I chose to stop listening. These two are bringing a baby in the world and are still groping at the Paragon. God save that child. But anyways. So we sat down near the door, prime spot for meeting the newbies that came in. My crew is a little bit drunk. At the party, Troy and Christa were watching the movie Hook and Troy had been shouting "JUUULLLIIAAA!" at the tv every time Julia Roberts came on. He continued this trend at the Paragon. We would be having a normal conversation when all of a sudden he would shout out, "JUUUULLLIIIAA!" Obviously no one there was named Julia. No big. No one questioned it.
Our waitress came and dropped a few forks and napkins off at our table and says, "Here's some forks and shit. Use 'em if you want." My table breaks out into claps and cheers. Later, Tom tipped her like 150% and told her he was so happy she said "Here's some forks and shit. If you don't use 'em, get the fuck out of my face and never come back." The waitress looked confused and said that wasn't what she said. Tom replies, "In my head, that's what's happened, so you're getting tipped well." Tom was the brave one of the night. He ordered the "Four-bagger." This is a compilation of 10 each of all the fried foods that the paragon serves...mozzarella sticks, fried mushrooms, breaded shrimp, and chicken drummies. Good for those drunken late night grease cravings, I guess. I personally think it would be healthier to just eat a spoonful of lard. But Tom's brave.
There was a jelly on the floor. Laura steps on it and it makes this little pop noise. Of course, my entire table picks up on this and starts shouting that she is ruining the restaurant. Laura is cowering in the corner, begging the rest of the table not to tell on her. Tom is raising his hand. I decide to humor him and so I call on him. He tells me Laura is making a mess of the restaurant and he is going to tell the waitress on her. I can't help but laugh at this point, and the story gets turned from what actually happened to "Laura purposely stomped on the jelly container, it went everywhere, and made a sound like a gun." And, of course, since boys are assholes (ha), they start teasing Laura about some guy she met two weeks ago. I don't know him and so I can't judge. One was trying to be diplomatic about it, because he didn't want to see her hurt, one was giggling because someone had just said penis, and the other was shouting, "JJJUUUUULLLIIIAAAA!" whenever Laura would get mad.
Luckily for me, I didn't have to make everyone go to their own corner of the table. It was at this moment that a lady came in literally almost CARRYING this guy with her. This is terrible but when I first saw him, I thought he was literally mentally handicapped (I suppose it's extremely fair to argue that he was). He was trying to talk, but it certainly wasn't comprehensible English, and if left to his own devices, he would just fall. That lady was the only thing keeping him from licking the dust off the floor. She pushed him into a booth (not hard...but he just fell, so she had to pull him into a sitting position) and ordered him some food. I looked over a few minutes later, and he was all cuddled into her like a little kid with a big smile on his face. He is going to be a hurting unit this morning I feel.
After an hour, I convince my crew that it's enough for one night. I get them all up and ready to leave, but not before Troy decides he has to shout at the cooks, Burt and the Pilgrim. The Pilgrim (aptly named because he has a hat that Pilgrims wear) looked grumpily at Troy and Burt wouldn't even look up. Burt does like Troy, I just think he's finally tuned out drunken shouting after all these years. At this point the entire "restaurant" is staring at us. So I give them a Miss America wave. Quite a few of the drunk patrons actually waved back.
Carolyne is a saint.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
My Big Fat Italian Wedding (04.02.09)
My cousin Heather had her wedding in Mexico in February and because there were a lot of family who was unable to make it, she and TJ had a reception in Dickinson a couple weeks ago. You picture my grandma in an airplane. They would have to strap her down because she'd be freaking out on everyone. Plus my family can be a little racist sometimes, and I don't think they would handle Mexican culture with the...shall we say, grace and poise, that would be required. I wanted to go but my nursing instructor was upset with a girl when she got pregnant...I don't think she would have taken too kindly to me wanting to go to Mexico for a wedding that wasn't even my own.
If you have ever seen the movie "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" then you have a little bit of an idea what life with the Italians is like. They get into everyone else's business, tell you how to do things, criticize you when you do it your own way, and then change the story later to favor themselves a little more. Honestly, Heather, I don't know how you did it. I'm going to either have to secretly get married and keep my husband a secret from my entire extended family, or just forgo the marriage completely.
I was in charge of gift table/guestbook. I made it my personal mission to make sure no drunk wedding guest ran off with somebody else's gift to the happy couple. While I was doing this, my grandmother positioned herself near me, making comments on every gift that came by. "Oh that one's nice." "I wonder how much they spent." "This is a lot of packages on the table." "That one's not very big." You know. Italian-type stuff. Don't get me wrong. I absolutely love my grandma, but I'm just not...as Italian as she is, I guess.
Soon, supper came, and my grandma was gone. We Italians like to eat, and she had a spot in a pretty important place. I was at the table with my parents who were a host couple, my aunt and some friend she decided was essential to the wedding (not like a boyfriend...just a friend from work...she was about 5 inches shorter than me, and that's saying something), and another family who were very nice to talk to...definitely a welcome break. Well, my uncle Doug announces that we will start eating and makes the mistake of saying, "Let's go eat!"
This was taken by a select few members of my table to mean "Last one in line is a rotten egg." They actually broke out into a near-jog to get there. I hung back with my parents, feeling absolutely stupid to be eating before the bride and groom's parents and grandparents. After waiting what I felt was sufficient, I grabbed some food and sat down...while my aunt asks me "Where did you go?" I had thought about making up some elaborate story about getting trampled by wedding guests, but just said, "Oh, just waiting." Which earned me a funny look. Oh well.
Toasts came after supper, and after eating with current company, I was ready for a drink. My dad poured me champagne. My mother is absolutely horrified at this point, and says, "Lindsey, I see plenty of people here I could turn you in that would get you in trouble." She points at the rent-a-cop in the corner. My dad responds with a "Like who, Suz?" and gives him a little wave. Apparently they made friends. That's nice. During the slideshow, I was sipping my champagne, and my aunt, seeing a picture, loudly announces, "that was ME who bought her that cabbage patch doll" to anyone who cared to listen in a 2 mile radius. I downed the rest of my champagne and handed a glass to my dad. I needed a refill.
So by this time, I've had more alcohol than I ever have on my pill for the PCOS. I decide it was more than plenty when I got the urge to hug my friends Layne and Rachel, who happened to be waiters there, while they were clearing off tables because they were just doing it so well. Luckily they soon started the dance. I had no friends in town during this (who weren't working, obviously...or busy turning 21 for that matter), so I resorted to my family. Yup. I made my mom go out there with me. We have two very different styles of dancing, mind you. Hers involved stepping from side to side and kind of flapping her arms like a chicken. Mine probably looked like I was about to break something or possibly myself. But you know, whatever. Don't judge.
Soon I got my aunt Deb to come dance with us too. She's too funny. She sits there and says no for about 10 seconds, but when I moved on to someone else, she had this kinda sad look on her face. So, even though I think it's absolutely stupid, I begged her again. We Italians kind of like being the center of attention. I had to beg less and less each time, to her credit. And none at all the last time. I got my grandpa out there with no begging. He actually kept up with me. He is one hell of a crazy dancer. For 77, that man can move. We opted for a crazy rave style dance in which you move your arms and legs as fast as possible at each other and to the music. We actually got a standing ovation when we sat down from two people I didn't know.
My uncle Doug showed me how to jitterbug and two-step. I didn't catch on like you would expect. Like, we jitterbugged okay, but I ran into him every time I tried to two step. Then we were thirsty. I had decided I had probably had enough alcohol for the night, but my aunt would have actually bought me more. And then she charged it to my uncle's account. That was nice of her. Another finer point of Italians. They like their free things.
A lady there confused me with my younger sister...I think she was a bridemaid's stepmom? And the mom of my sister's hockey teammate. She came over and proceeded to tell me how beautiful I was, how beautiful my sister was, and how not beautiful my dad was. I didn't know the woman, so I kept nodding and laughing a lot. My mom and her started talking about hockey, and my mom said she wanted to burn em's jersey. To which this woman punches me in the shoulder and shouts, "LET'S BURN OUR BRAS!" so I shout "YEAH!" back at her, thinking that's how we now communicate. Later on the dancefloor, she was grinding with some guy. And then tried to grind with my mother. You can imagine how that ended up.
By the end of the night, my feet hurt, I had a headache, and I think I had eaten my weight in Boston Baked Beans at Heather and TJ's candy bar. But I had had such a blast. And definitely got tips and pointers for how to handle our grandparents at my own wedding. If I have one. At least not for 10 more years. My family is nuts.
If you have ever seen the movie "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" then you have a little bit of an idea what life with the Italians is like. They get into everyone else's business, tell you how to do things, criticize you when you do it your own way, and then change the story later to favor themselves a little more. Honestly, Heather, I don't know how you did it. I'm going to either have to secretly get married and keep my husband a secret from my entire extended family, or just forgo the marriage completely.
I was in charge of gift table/guestbook. I made it my personal mission to make sure no drunk wedding guest ran off with somebody else's gift to the happy couple. While I was doing this, my grandmother positioned herself near me, making comments on every gift that came by. "Oh that one's nice." "I wonder how much they spent." "This is a lot of packages on the table." "That one's not very big." You know. Italian-type stuff. Don't get me wrong. I absolutely love my grandma, but I'm just not...as Italian as she is, I guess.
Soon, supper came, and my grandma was gone. We Italians like to eat, and she had a spot in a pretty important place. I was at the table with my parents who were a host couple, my aunt and some friend she decided was essential to the wedding (not like a boyfriend...just a friend from work...she was about 5 inches shorter than me, and that's saying something), and another family who were very nice to talk to...definitely a welcome break. Well, my uncle Doug announces that we will start eating and makes the mistake of saying, "Let's go eat!"
This was taken by a select few members of my table to mean "Last one in line is a rotten egg." They actually broke out into a near-jog to get there. I hung back with my parents, feeling absolutely stupid to be eating before the bride and groom's parents and grandparents. After waiting what I felt was sufficient, I grabbed some food and sat down...while my aunt asks me "Where did you go?" I had thought about making up some elaborate story about getting trampled by wedding guests, but just said, "Oh, just waiting." Which earned me a funny look. Oh well.
Toasts came after supper, and after eating with current company, I was ready for a drink. My dad poured me champagne. My mother is absolutely horrified at this point, and says, "Lindsey, I see plenty of people here I could turn you in that would get you in trouble." She points at the rent-a-cop in the corner. My dad responds with a "Like who, Suz?" and gives him a little wave. Apparently they made friends. That's nice. During the slideshow, I was sipping my champagne, and my aunt, seeing a picture, loudly announces, "that was ME who bought her that cabbage patch doll" to anyone who cared to listen in a 2 mile radius. I downed the rest of my champagne and handed a glass to my dad. I needed a refill.
So by this time, I've had more alcohol than I ever have on my pill for the PCOS. I decide it was more than plenty when I got the urge to hug my friends Layne and Rachel, who happened to be waiters there, while they were clearing off tables because they were just doing it so well. Luckily they soon started the dance. I had no friends in town during this (who weren't working, obviously...or busy turning 21 for that matter), so I resorted to my family. Yup. I made my mom go out there with me. We have two very different styles of dancing, mind you. Hers involved stepping from side to side and kind of flapping her arms like a chicken. Mine probably looked like I was about to break something or possibly myself. But you know, whatever. Don't judge.
Soon I got my aunt Deb to come dance with us too. She's too funny. She sits there and says no for about 10 seconds, but when I moved on to someone else, she had this kinda sad look on her face. So, even though I think it's absolutely stupid, I begged her again. We Italians kind of like being the center of attention. I had to beg less and less each time, to her credit. And none at all the last time. I got my grandpa out there with no begging. He actually kept up with me. He is one hell of a crazy dancer. For 77, that man can move. We opted for a crazy rave style dance in which you move your arms and legs as fast as possible at each other and to the music. We actually got a standing ovation when we sat down from two people I didn't know.
My uncle Doug showed me how to jitterbug and two-step. I didn't catch on like you would expect. Like, we jitterbugged okay, but I ran into him every time I tried to two step. Then we were thirsty. I had decided I had probably had enough alcohol for the night, but my aunt would have actually bought me more. And then she charged it to my uncle's account. That was nice of her. Another finer point of Italians. They like their free things.
A lady there confused me with my younger sister...I think she was a bridemaid's stepmom? And the mom of my sister's hockey teammate. She came over and proceeded to tell me how beautiful I was, how beautiful my sister was, and how not beautiful my dad was. I didn't know the woman, so I kept nodding and laughing a lot. My mom and her started talking about hockey, and my mom said she wanted to burn em's jersey. To which this woman punches me in the shoulder and shouts, "LET'S BURN OUR BRAS!" so I shout "YEAH!" back at her, thinking that's how we now communicate. Later on the dancefloor, she was grinding with some guy. And then tried to grind with my mother. You can imagine how that ended up.
By the end of the night, my feet hurt, I had a headache, and I think I had eaten my weight in Boston Baked Beans at Heather and TJ's candy bar. But I had had such a blast. And definitely got tips and pointers for how to handle our grandparents at my own wedding. If I have one. At least not for 10 more years. My family is nuts.
For those about to hork, we salute you (1.18.09)
My parents came to Fargo last night for the AC/DC concert. When people find this out, they usually think it's cool that my parents are into this music. But they always have been, because they were big when my parents grew up, and my parents are still young'ns (My mom is 44 and my dad is 43). My dad loves to see concerts. And my mom? Well, she'll do whatever my dad asks (I know, most of you can't picture Suz at an AC/DC concert).
Fargo was a mess of people last night. It took me nearly an hour to drive my parents from my on-campus apartment to the FargoDome for the concert. I knew we were in trouble when my mom says in the car, "You know, you can take my ticket, Lindsey." While I feel that would have been a blast, I decided against it. This was my parents' thing. Traffic was slow; there were volumes of cars, and even more people, obviously intoxicated, who were more worried about actually walking than whether or not cars were coming. Suz was not too happy when a group of them walked by our car, stumbling over every little bump in the road (both real and imagined).
I drop them off with a particularly loud group and tell them as long as they follow the drunks, nobody will hit them. I then went home for a relaxing evening of homework and facebook. My mom texted me the whole time. Unfortunately, she was not a happy camper. Our parents' friends had trouble getting through the traffic, and ended up being an hour later than they thought...bad news bears, since my dad had their tickets. So while my dad waited outside in the cold, my mom sat inside and people watched. Never a good thing for her at a rock concert.
I kept getting texts from her that read something to the effect of "There are way too many drunk people here." Convincing her to make friends with them was a feutile attempt on my part. But I tried. Apparently she didn't wanna be friends with the lady whose husband had to carry her to a garbage can, just in the nick of time before she started puking everywhere. But hey, don't judge. You know, it could have been a sudden attack of the flu. Suz didn't buy that. Oh well. I would also like to point out that while my mom is inside panicking, my dad is outside, starting rumors that AC/DC couldn't make it...but 32 Below is here! Note to self for next time: Drunk people don't like that.
So she texts me that their friends finally got in, and they were going to sit down. I thought that would be the end of their crazy escapades for the evening--at least that I was going to hear about as it happened. I was wrong. My mom was sitting on the end. It is never a good idea to put her next to a random, especially when the chance of them being sober is actually less than the chance of my mom being hammered.
Things went without a hitch for a while. 'Til the dude next to her asks her for (and I'm quoting here...I don't know the right word, especially when my mom couldn't retell the story correctly) wannie. It's loud in there so she shouts "WHAT DID YOU SAY?" at him. He repeats his request. Suz doesn't know what that is, and so she tells him. To which he looks at her like she is absolutely insane and says, "Marijuana...you know, like a joint?" Let's take a time out. We all know how my mom feels about alcohol. So you can imagine how she feels about illicit drugs. Not good.
Whatev. Okay. My dad convinces her she's fine. Yes, the guy next to her has been smoking pot. But a lot of people there were. She has been around pot before (this also was news to me...but I did forget that my parents also went to the KISS concert). My dad's friend snuck in 100 proof peppermint schnapps. I don't know how, since Dome security during a little football game is absolutely ridiculous (then again, I wouldn't know how to sneak pot in either). So my dad and his buddies are drinking this, passing it around, (passing it by my mom) and having fun. My dad's friend passes it to the blonde girl on his left. They don't know her, but she obviously looks like she needs some. She says thank you, takes a pull, gives it back.
Ten minutes later, she is sitting in her seat with her hands over her face. The guys she is with don't pay much attention to her. So she barfs all over the floor. And potentially the guy in front of her. That is much too much for my mother. She wanted to leave. But Blondie-Barfs-a-Lot left first, carried by the 3 dudes she was with down 3 flights of stairs. I pity those people who do custodial work in the dome. Gross. I also suppose you could say it was my dad's friend's fault. Oops.
By the time the concert is over, my mom is practically sprinting towards the car. She was really upset that I hadn't accepted her ticket. But hey, I think this was good for her. What's a little vomit between friends?
Fargo was a mess of people last night. It took me nearly an hour to drive my parents from my on-campus apartment to the FargoDome for the concert. I knew we were in trouble when my mom says in the car, "You know, you can take my ticket, Lindsey." While I feel that would have been a blast, I decided against it. This was my parents' thing. Traffic was slow; there were volumes of cars, and even more people, obviously intoxicated, who were more worried about actually walking than whether or not cars were coming. Suz was not too happy when a group of them walked by our car, stumbling over every little bump in the road (both real and imagined).
I drop them off with a particularly loud group and tell them as long as they follow the drunks, nobody will hit them. I then went home for a relaxing evening of homework and facebook. My mom texted me the whole time. Unfortunately, she was not a happy camper. Our parents' friends had trouble getting through the traffic, and ended up being an hour later than they thought...bad news bears, since my dad had their tickets. So while my dad waited outside in the cold, my mom sat inside and people watched. Never a good thing for her at a rock concert.
I kept getting texts from her that read something to the effect of "There are way too many drunk people here." Convincing her to make friends with them was a feutile attempt on my part. But I tried. Apparently she didn't wanna be friends with the lady whose husband had to carry her to a garbage can, just in the nick of time before she started puking everywhere. But hey, don't judge. You know, it could have been a sudden attack of the flu. Suz didn't buy that. Oh well. I would also like to point out that while my mom is inside panicking, my dad is outside, starting rumors that AC/DC couldn't make it...but 32 Below is here! Note to self for next time: Drunk people don't like that.
So she texts me that their friends finally got in, and they were going to sit down. I thought that would be the end of their crazy escapades for the evening--at least that I was going to hear about as it happened. I was wrong. My mom was sitting on the end. It is never a good idea to put her next to a random, especially when the chance of them being sober is actually less than the chance of my mom being hammered.
Things went without a hitch for a while. 'Til the dude next to her asks her for (and I'm quoting here...I don't know the right word, especially when my mom couldn't retell the story correctly) wannie. It's loud in there so she shouts "WHAT DID YOU SAY?" at him. He repeats his request. Suz doesn't know what that is, and so she tells him. To which he looks at her like she is absolutely insane and says, "Marijuana...you know, like a joint?" Let's take a time out. We all know how my mom feels about alcohol. So you can imagine how she feels about illicit drugs. Not good.
Whatev. Okay. My dad convinces her she's fine. Yes, the guy next to her has been smoking pot. But a lot of people there were. She has been around pot before (this also was news to me...but I did forget that my parents also went to the KISS concert). My dad's friend snuck in 100 proof peppermint schnapps. I don't know how, since Dome security during a little football game is absolutely ridiculous (then again, I wouldn't know how to sneak pot in either). So my dad and his buddies are drinking this, passing it around, (passing it by my mom) and having fun. My dad's friend passes it to the blonde girl on his left. They don't know her, but she obviously looks like she needs some. She says thank you, takes a pull, gives it back.
Ten minutes later, she is sitting in her seat with her hands over her face. The guys she is with don't pay much attention to her. So she barfs all over the floor. And potentially the guy in front of her. That is much too much for my mother. She wanted to leave. But Blondie-Barfs-a-Lot left first, carried by the 3 dudes she was with down 3 flights of stairs. I pity those people who do custodial work in the dome. Gross. I also suppose you could say it was my dad's friend's fault. Oops.
By the time the concert is over, my mom is practically sprinting towards the car. She was really upset that I hadn't accepted her ticket. But hey, I think this was good for her. What's a little vomit between friends?
Once Upon a Party Bus (12.22.08)
Well ladies and gents, my roommate is officially 21. After stopping at numerous drinking establishments, a chain smoking bus driver that could rival Myrna (Rachelle assures me Myrna will never be beaten), and far too many randoms that hopped the bus (who BG would have fought, had we given her the chance), the night was complete.
For those of you who couldn't come due to inclement weather, previous engagements, or merely didn't understand the gravity of the situation, I got a little recap of some of the more interesting happenstances of the night. Just to make you a little jealous.
"There's another party bus! Who's better? We are! Let's go show them we are the better bus!" None other than birthday girl herself. I have the feeling they showed them exactly who was the better bus that night at Chub's. So much that nobody dared mess with us. She could probably coach high school sports. I would like to add a side note that of all the bars I sat outside of, Chubs was definitely the one where I felt the least safe.
"What did I win?" Here's a fun game. Birthday Girl needs the gallon of water because she is more than a little dehydrated. So shout out, "First one to find the water wins!" Watch in amusement as all the drunk members of the bus frantically start searching for the water jug. Julianne comes up victorious, yelling, "Here it is, here it is!" But then be ready for the question. What does she win? Because I wasn't, and Julianne was more than a little disappointed that there wasn't actually a big prize.
"So I get to babysit the entire NDSU football team. Good." Rachelle Hadland. Imagine trying to keep your group together so that none of them get stolen or leave due to their own free will. Then imagine nine football playing (what did they get called? Oh yes) five dollar footlongs enter the bus and try to shake that cohesiveness you worked so hard for. So you pick up someone's bottle of UV lemonade and take a pull (doesn't really matter whose...the closest available). But how would you act out? Obviously.
"Christa Kiedrowski is 21 tonight! And she is trying alcohol for the first time!" Hoo boy. So somehow the DJ at the Holiday Inn lounge discovered it was Christa's birthday, and announced this for the entire dance floor. Which proceeded to cheer for her. Christa was amused to see how many fans she had. I was amused to see how naive the DJ was.
"It smells like cigarette smoke in here!" Shouted again, by Julianne. Who had somehow missed Jack, our bus driver, who hadn't given the index and middle fingers on his left hand a break since the night began. So you can imagine why we were a little concerned when he up and left the bus for 15 minutes at Rooters. Obviously not a cigarette break. I think he needed a double shot of JD to make the night a little more bearable for him. But it was precisely then that everyone tried to leave the bus. A bunch of trapped intoxicates isn't a good situation.
"I swear to God, if they do that, I will personally drive down before bar close and beat a bitch down." All right, Haylee, I know you weren't actually at Christa's birthday but that text message served for a bit of intimidation factor. And you were right. It was definitely funsies. haha.
"Can I go dance for the bus driver? Please please please please please please!" The night is coming to a close, and Rachelle and Christa are coming out of the OB. One of them (I will leave the guess up to you) is swinging their cardigan above their head and tried to make a breakaway for another party bus. The other one is holding her around the waist and dragging her back to our bus. Allison got the pleasure of holding her by the back beltloop. Whenever she tried to make another break for it, Allison just pulled her back to her bus seat. It was ingenious.
"Where the fuck is Whitney?!" All right. So the night is over. I'm driving home and Rachelle and Christa are in the backseat. Chelle is gonna stay with us. Christa realizes something wasn't right with the night. Cue quote. Cue explanation that we will find her in the morning. Chelle and I are sitting in the living room, when from the depths of the bathroom we hear this shouted again. Explanation doesn't work so well this time. Obviously Whitney has disappeared. Whitney gets a voicemail that says Christa is alone. Of course, she forgets that happened, and asks this question a few more times throughout the early morning.
I have the distinct feeling that Fargo is in for a semester of trouble. But what the heck. Happy Birthday Christa!
For those of you who couldn't come due to inclement weather, previous engagements, or merely didn't understand the gravity of the situation, I got a little recap of some of the more interesting happenstances of the night. Just to make you a little jealous.
"There's another party bus! Who's better? We are! Let's go show them we are the better bus!" None other than birthday girl herself. I have the feeling they showed them exactly who was the better bus that night at Chub's. So much that nobody dared mess with us. She could probably coach high school sports. I would like to add a side note that of all the bars I sat outside of, Chubs was definitely the one where I felt the least safe.
"What did I win?" Here's a fun game. Birthday Girl needs the gallon of water because she is more than a little dehydrated. So shout out, "First one to find the water wins!" Watch in amusement as all the drunk members of the bus frantically start searching for the water jug. Julianne comes up victorious, yelling, "Here it is, here it is!" But then be ready for the question. What does she win? Because I wasn't, and Julianne was more than a little disappointed that there wasn't actually a big prize.
"So I get to babysit the entire NDSU football team. Good." Rachelle Hadland. Imagine trying to keep your group together so that none of them get stolen or leave due to their own free will. Then imagine nine football playing (what did they get called? Oh yes) five dollar footlongs enter the bus and try to shake that cohesiveness you worked so hard for. So you pick up someone's bottle of UV lemonade and take a pull (doesn't really matter whose...the closest available). But how would you act out? Obviously.
"Christa Kiedrowski is 21 tonight! And she is trying alcohol for the first time!" Hoo boy. So somehow the DJ at the Holiday Inn lounge discovered it was Christa's birthday, and announced this for the entire dance floor. Which proceeded to cheer for her. Christa was amused to see how many fans she had. I was amused to see how naive the DJ was.
"It smells like cigarette smoke in here!" Shouted again, by Julianne. Who had somehow missed Jack, our bus driver, who hadn't given the index and middle fingers on his left hand a break since the night began. So you can imagine why we were a little concerned when he up and left the bus for 15 minutes at Rooters. Obviously not a cigarette break. I think he needed a double shot of JD to make the night a little more bearable for him. But it was precisely then that everyone tried to leave the bus. A bunch of trapped intoxicates isn't a good situation.
"I swear to God, if they do that, I will personally drive down before bar close and beat a bitch down." All right, Haylee, I know you weren't actually at Christa's birthday but that text message served for a bit of intimidation factor. And you were right. It was definitely funsies. haha.
"Can I go dance for the bus driver? Please please please please please please!" The night is coming to a close, and Rachelle and Christa are coming out of the OB. One of them (I will leave the guess up to you) is swinging their cardigan above their head and tried to make a breakaway for another party bus. The other one is holding her around the waist and dragging her back to our bus. Allison got the pleasure of holding her by the back beltloop. Whenever she tried to make another break for it, Allison just pulled her back to her bus seat. It was ingenious.
"Where the fuck is Whitney?!" All right. So the night is over. I'm driving home and Rachelle and Christa are in the backseat. Chelle is gonna stay with us. Christa realizes something wasn't right with the night. Cue quote. Cue explanation that we will find her in the morning. Chelle and I are sitting in the living room, when from the depths of the bathroom we hear this shouted again. Explanation doesn't work so well this time. Obviously Whitney has disappeared. Whitney gets a voicemail that says Christa is alone. Of course, she forgets that happened, and asks this question a few more times throughout the early morning.
I have the distinct feeling that Fargo is in for a semester of trouble. But what the heck. Happy Birthday Christa!
Lindsey and Christa's Walk of No Shame (11.20.08)
Okay...so if you are lucky enough to have seen the AMP energy walk of no shame commercial, you will understand this perfectly. If you haven't, stop. Go to YouTube. Look up "Walk of No Shame". Watch it, then come back and see us. Christa and I wrote our own words to this work of musical genius. Below, you will find a glossary of unfamiliar words and people. Anything in bold is glossarized. Don't worry about it if you don't find it as funny as we did. You can't all be as awesome as we are. So without further ado:
Lindsey and Christa's Walk of No Shame.
When you wake up in the morning, in an unfamiliar place
And you can't remember where or when, let alone a face.
So call up the DPD and claim the idea wasn't yours…
But they might call bullshit when they find out you're a whore.
Oh I will not be ashamed! To make up cases of assault and rape!
Your best friend has it all on tape!
Oh how I'll push through the day! To sleep with a guy in the furnace room
Then push him away with a broom.
Oh I will not be ashamed!
I stayed out pretty late, binge drinking with my friend.
Now I know that guy was on "Most Wanted" and CNN.
Every noise is too loud, and I cannot find my car.
But me and that groomsman, we got pretty far.
Oh we will not be ashamed! To vomit in the kitchen sink
And give that guy the point and wink!
Oh how we'll push through the day! My mother found me on the floor
I don't want vodka anymore!
Oh we will not be ashamed!
So I'll drag myself to bed, just waiting for the dawn,
Luke Powers' under the covers, and I have to say "Get gone!"
But he doesn't understand that, and my stomach turns.
Because he starts to cry, like his roommate Cody Burns.
Oh we will not be ashamed! Waking up in a different shirt…
My eyes and my vagina hurt.
Oh how we'll push through the day! I thought I had sex with James Bond
But this morning discovered it was Tall Blonde
Oh we will not be ashamed!
We have learned our lesson
Time and Time again,
But if you're buying alcohol,
We'll do it all again….
Do it all again.
DPD (n). 1. Slang for "Dickinson Police Department." 2. The most inefficient law enforcement department in the country. They are far more concerned with giving out minors and headlight warnings than catching any vandals the city might have.
Furnace Room (n). 1. Freddy Krueger's lair. 2. Current residence of DSU Bluehawk football player.
Groomsman (n). 1. Gentleman very important to a man getting married. 2. Male specimen often times twice the age of girl he is interested in, with no direction in life. Follows bridesmaid home and makes out with her in her parents' hot tub.
Kitchen Sink (n). 1. A place where dishes are most often washed. 2. A shoulder-level toilet. Also known as a fountain.
Point and Wink (v). 1. An action irresistable to all men and most women. Requires more than fair share of alcohol to complete successfully. see http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2042522&id=29417057/photo.php?pid=31100407&id=29417057 If this doesn't work, go to Jonathan Taylor's Album NDSU Homecoming 51
Floor (n). 1. a surface found in every room in the house, most specifically the bathroom. Often more comfortable than bed.
Luke Powers (n). 1. kidnaps unsuspecting freshmen 2. See "Gremlin"
Cody Burns (n). 1. See "toxic"
vagina (n). 1. Gateway to Hell. 2. See also "mound" (That's for you, Layne)
James Bond (n). 1. Smooth, debonair, man who always gets the ladies. Looks incredible clothed or otherwise.
Tall Blonde (n). 1. Not James Bond. 2.Freakishly tall football player who lives three doors down. Scared to death of most women, and quickly runs away if one gets too close. Goes by the name of "Matty."
Do it (v). 1. Not necessarily the act of having sex. But maybe.
Lindsey and Christa's Walk of No Shame.
When you wake up in the morning, in an unfamiliar place
And you can't remember where or when, let alone a face.
So call up the DPD and claim the idea wasn't yours…
But they might call bullshit when they find out you're a whore.
Oh I will not be ashamed! To make up cases of assault and rape!
Your best friend has it all on tape!
Oh how I'll push through the day! To sleep with a guy in the furnace room
Then push him away with a broom.
Oh I will not be ashamed!
I stayed out pretty late, binge drinking with my friend.
Now I know that guy was on "Most Wanted" and CNN.
Every noise is too loud, and I cannot find my car.
But me and that groomsman, we got pretty far.
Oh we will not be ashamed! To vomit in the kitchen sink
And give that guy the point and wink!
Oh how we'll push through the day! My mother found me on the floor
I don't want vodka anymore!
Oh we will not be ashamed!
So I'll drag myself to bed, just waiting for the dawn,
Luke Powers' under the covers, and I have to say "Get gone!"
But he doesn't understand that, and my stomach turns.
Because he starts to cry, like his roommate Cody Burns.
Oh we will not be ashamed! Waking up in a different shirt…
My eyes and my vagina hurt.
Oh how we'll push through the day! I thought I had sex with James Bond
But this morning discovered it was Tall Blonde
Oh we will not be ashamed!
We have learned our lesson
Time and Time again,
But if you're buying alcohol,
We'll do it all again….
Do it all again.
DPD (n). 1. Slang for "Dickinson Police Department." 2. The most inefficient law enforcement department in the country. They are far more concerned with giving out minors and headlight warnings than catching any vandals the city might have.
Furnace Room (n). 1. Freddy Krueger's lair. 2. Current residence of DSU Bluehawk football player.
Groomsman (n). 1. Gentleman very important to a man getting married. 2. Male specimen often times twice the age of girl he is interested in, with no direction in life. Follows bridesmaid home and makes out with her in her parents' hot tub.
Kitchen Sink (n). 1. A place where dishes are most often washed. 2. A shoulder-level toilet. Also known as a fountain.
Point and Wink (v). 1. An action irresistable to all men and most women. Requires more than fair share of alcohol to complete successfully. see http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2042522&id=29417057/photo.php?pid=31100407&id=29417057 If this doesn't work, go to Jonathan Taylor's Album NDSU Homecoming 51
Floor (n). 1. a surface found in every room in the house, most specifically the bathroom. Often more comfortable than bed.
Luke Powers (n). 1. kidnaps unsuspecting freshmen 2. See "Gremlin"
Cody Burns (n). 1. See "toxic"
vagina (n). 1. Gateway to Hell. 2. See also "mound" (That's for you, Layne)
James Bond (n). 1. Smooth, debonair, man who always gets the ladies. Looks incredible clothed or otherwise.
Tall Blonde (n). 1. Not James Bond. 2.Freakishly tall football player who lives three doors down. Scared to death of most women, and quickly runs away if one gets too close. Goes by the name of "Matty."
Do it (v). 1. Not necessarily the act of having sex. But maybe.
Life as a NDSU Nursing Student (10.30.08)
Well, my friends, it's been a long time, and so I decided it was again time to dole out my infinite wisdom...mainly because I started receiving menacing myspace comments due to my lack thereof, thank you very much, Troy. I wish I could tell you about the fabulous life I have been leading, but that would be either exaggerated or a downright lie. My life consists of studying and more studying with the occasional break for meals. But so is the life of a nursing student. There are certainly special people in this program, and I figured why not let THEM speak with you. So, without further ado, the words of my friends in the nursing program.
"I work at a nursing home, where one lady gets 1000 mg of tylenol a day. So when I came home, I wanted tylenol because I had a headache. The back said I can take two. But what if I want to take 5?" Yup. You just keep popping tylenol. maybe it will work faster than just the two for a minor headache. who knows. This question was immediately followed by "One time I took four valium and it had no effect on me. What do you think that means?" I don't know, because I'm not a pharmacist, but if I got a vote, I'd say she should move away from valium towards horse tranquilizers.
"Abortion is wrong unless you have a very good reason." "Yeah, like if my baby was going to die anyways, I'd want to just abort them so I didn't have to be sad" "Yeah, but I don't think that down syndrome counts, because my best friend has that."You can have whatever views you choose ..ion, and I'm not here to debate that. But last I checked, down syndrome generally wasn't fatal. It's a good thing that she decided not to kill her down syndromed best friend. How nice of her.
"Who knows how to test for prostate cancer?" "A colonoscopy!" This is one of my personal favorites. Colonoscopy even has the organ it is used for in its name. But we NDSU nursing students, we aren't too chicken to hazard a guess. Even if it is blatently wrong. Don't judge.
This next one doesn't come from my school, but it's also special. A nosocomial infection is one that gets contracted while you are in the hospital. "So does that mean if you go to have your gall bladder out, and you have diabetes, that diabetes is a nosocomial infection?" Yup. You think you're going just for a routine procedure when badaboom! you get diabetes. What the hell.
Here's a little tip for anybody, regardless of your major. When giving oral presentations, try to know how to pronounce every word you're going to say. If it's something you've never heard of, try your best. But when the word is microbial, pronounced mi-CRO-bi-al, something that many know, try and NOT say "mi-cro-BYE-ale." Just a thought.
We just passed our first skill of our nursing careers: handwashing. While you are thinking, 'holy shit, I too could be a nurse' hold on just a minute. There is much more to it than that. We have to not only wash our hands, but dry them too! So we nurses, we studied hard and asked all the right questions. "Will you dock me if I do not get enough soap and need to take more?" My teacher actually laughed at her. It was magical. Especially when she had the gall to ask "Will you dock me if I use too many paper towels?"
So that's why I've been so busy. We nursing students have been solving the world's problems one day at a time. Don't worry about it. We gotcha covered. Unless you have prostate cancer.
"I work at a nursing home, where one lady gets 1000 mg of tylenol a day. So when I came home, I wanted tylenol because I had a headache. The back said I can take two. But what if I want to take 5?" Yup. You just keep popping tylenol. maybe it will work faster than just the two for a minor headache. who knows. This question was immediately followed by "One time I took four valium and it had no effect on me. What do you think that means?" I don't know, because I'm not a pharmacist, but if I got a vote, I'd say she should move away from valium towards horse tranquilizers.
"Abortion is wrong unless you have a very good reason." "Yeah, like if my baby was going to die anyways, I'd want to just abort them so I didn't have to be sad" "Yeah, but I don't think that down syndrome counts, because my best friend has that."You can have whatever views you choose ..ion, and I'm not here to debate that. But last I checked, down syndrome generally wasn't fatal. It's a good thing that she decided not to kill her down syndromed best friend. How nice of her.
"Who knows how to test for prostate cancer?" "A colonoscopy!" This is one of my personal favorites. Colonoscopy even has the organ it is used for in its name. But we NDSU nursing students, we aren't too chicken to hazard a guess. Even if it is blatently wrong. Don't judge.
This next one doesn't come from my school, but it's also special. A nosocomial infection is one that gets contracted while you are in the hospital. "So does that mean if you go to have your gall bladder out, and you have diabetes, that diabetes is a nosocomial infection?" Yup. You think you're going just for a routine procedure when badaboom! you get diabetes. What the hell.
Here's a little tip for anybody, regardless of your major. When giving oral presentations, try to know how to pronounce every word you're going to say. If it's something you've never heard of, try your best. But when the word is microbial, pronounced mi-CRO-bi-al, something that many know, try and NOT say "mi-cro-BYE-ale." Just a thought.
We just passed our first skill of our nursing careers: handwashing. While you are thinking, 'holy shit, I too could be a nurse' hold on just a minute. There is much more to it than that. We have to not only wash our hands, but dry them too! So we nurses, we studied hard and asked all the right questions. "Will you dock me if I do not get enough soap and need to take more?" My teacher actually laughed at her. It was magical. Especially when she had the gall to ask "Will you dock me if I use too many paper towels?"
So that's why I've been so busy. We nursing students have been solving the world's problems one day at a time. Don't worry about it. We gotcha covered. Unless you have prostate cancer.
Take Cover (07.30.08)
At this point, it's no secret I am stuck with PCOS. Eh. It's really not so bad. Sugar isn't really that good for you anyways, and all the dark skin on my neck? Well I desperately wanted to be black when I was younger so in the grand scheme of things, this really is an improvement. Considering I believed if I laid in the sun I would turn black. Imagine my horror when all I could do was turn red. It was awful.
It really is easy to control. Follow a normal diet and regulate your hormones via birth control. That usually works. Until your body becomes immune to one type of pill. Then you are forced to try new things. This is when your doctor gets a "great idea" called Provera.
Provera is going to knock your hormones where they should be--at the expense of your emotions. No big deal, you think. But then of course you remember what the last pill did to your emotions. That "off-week" was hell. You cried because your floor was dirty and because Christa was leaving to play volleyball. She invited you to go, you said no. You're in tears in five minutes, even though she'll be back in an hour.
But whatever. You decide to deal with it. The first three days of Provera go off without a hitch. You're considering taking the stuff forever, because you feel pretty amazing. But then day 4 hits. It's odd because you don't feel like you're going to cry. Instead, you're pretty sure you are going to turn green and bust out of your shirt at any minute.
You feel like your employer should probably start offering a "mental recooperation" day once or twice a year for times like these, but instead you shrug off the Inredible Hulk feeling, and go to work, only to discover you are short staffed and everyone's busy. Long story short, you now can't get through 8 hours without narrowly avoiding a shouting match with one of your patients because he called you and your co-workers "a bunch of stupid young women who don't know anything."
By the time you're walking out to your car, your blood pressure is through the roof. You are now extremely crabby with anything even remotely related to MeritCare: being short staffed, management not believing you are short staffed, doctors, patients who yell at you, and the little old lady who delivers patient meals (What right does she have to be so cheery all the time?!). Your mother is insistent you call her when you get off, because she is always worried someone will steal you. (At this point, you halfways hope someone tries to steal you just so you have an excuse to smoke someone in the face)
This means that she gets the word vomit of how your day has been doing. The poor woman was in labor with you for a grueling 21 hours and she gets the joy of your screaming when the day sucks. She does, however, tell you that your emotions are in your head and not a result of Provera. Which makes you even more upset. By now, you realize you're not going to respectfully disagree, and so you continue to yell. This almost makes you miss the tween that pretends like he's going to jump in front of your car while you're driving. Almost.
It takes you almost 30 seconds to decide to continue driving and not turn around and show that little asshole what it's like to almost get hit by a car. Manslaughter, you repeat. Jail time. You finish the drive home, apologize to your mother, and get into your apartment. You say good night to your best friend who is texting you, because you're sure she's not going to do something that you will be very upset about, and she doesn't deserve that. You crawl into bed, with your cell phone on silent, almost afraid to be alone with yourself.
The next day, it's AMAZING how much better you feel. You are partially sure that a mental institute would have considered a short term stay for you.
No worries. I never have to take Provera again. If for any reason I should, I will send a red alert out. You can find a safe place to hide. But seriously, I would much rather cry because my roommate is leaving for an hour than turn into the werewolf I have been for the last couple days.
It really is easy to control. Follow a normal diet and regulate your hormones via birth control. That usually works. Until your body becomes immune to one type of pill. Then you are forced to try new things. This is when your doctor gets a "great idea" called Provera.
Provera is going to knock your hormones where they should be--at the expense of your emotions. No big deal, you think. But then of course you remember what the last pill did to your emotions. That "off-week" was hell. You cried because your floor was dirty and because Christa was leaving to play volleyball. She invited you to go, you said no. You're in tears in five minutes, even though she'll be back in an hour.
But whatever. You decide to deal with it. The first three days of Provera go off without a hitch. You're considering taking the stuff forever, because you feel pretty amazing. But then day 4 hits. It's odd because you don't feel like you're going to cry. Instead, you're pretty sure you are going to turn green and bust out of your shirt at any minute.
You feel like your employer should probably start offering a "mental recooperation" day once or twice a year for times like these, but instead you shrug off the Inredible Hulk feeling, and go to work, only to discover you are short staffed and everyone's busy. Long story short, you now can't get through 8 hours without narrowly avoiding a shouting match with one of your patients because he called you and your co-workers "a bunch of stupid young women who don't know anything."
By the time you're walking out to your car, your blood pressure is through the roof. You are now extremely crabby with anything even remotely related to MeritCare: being short staffed, management not believing you are short staffed, doctors, patients who yell at you, and the little old lady who delivers patient meals (What right does she have to be so cheery all the time?!). Your mother is insistent you call her when you get off, because she is always worried someone will steal you. (At this point, you halfways hope someone tries to steal you just so you have an excuse to smoke someone in the face)
This means that she gets the word vomit of how your day has been doing. The poor woman was in labor with you for a grueling 21 hours and she gets the joy of your screaming when the day sucks. She does, however, tell you that your emotions are in your head and not a result of Provera. Which makes you even more upset. By now, you realize you're not going to respectfully disagree, and so you continue to yell. This almost makes you miss the tween that pretends like he's going to jump in front of your car while you're driving. Almost.
It takes you almost 30 seconds to decide to continue driving and not turn around and show that little asshole what it's like to almost get hit by a car. Manslaughter, you repeat. Jail time. You finish the drive home, apologize to your mother, and get into your apartment. You say good night to your best friend who is texting you, because you're sure she's not going to do something that you will be very upset about, and she doesn't deserve that. You crawl into bed, with your cell phone on silent, almost afraid to be alone with yourself.
The next day, it's AMAZING how much better you feel. You are partially sure that a mental institute would have considered a short term stay for you.
No worries. I never have to take Provera again. If for any reason I should, I will send a red alert out. You can find a safe place to hide. But seriously, I would much rather cry because my roommate is leaving for an hour than turn into the werewolf I have been for the last couple days.
A Night In Rural North Dakota (07.14.08)
Happy 125th Belfield! 125 years, and still rockin' with your relatives...
Belfield had their 125th Birthday Celebration. For those of you not familiar with southwest ND, Belfield is 20 miles west of Dickinson, and known as the inbred capital of the county. At least, that's what we like to tease Chris, Courtney's boyfriend who grew up there, about. So Troy and I decided to stop.
Belfield decided to celebrate said milestone with a beer garden/street dance/ laser show. Yes. They went all out and got lasers. Bravo, Belfield. It was quite the event, but really, it was typical to any sort of small-town, western ND gathering. There was loud music, the ground was littered with beer cans, and there was an old couple threatening to just bust out wild sex right near us.
Of course, everyone was plastered. It's not every day your town has a birthday party, I guess. It was only supposed to last until midnight, until the band leader shouts, "Who wants to hear one more? Or four more?" Perfect tactic. Get all the drunk locals fired up so if someone tries to shut the band down, they have a small militia. However, they weren't exactly prepared, because when the crowd got excited for more, it took them a minute to decide what to play. As Guitar Hero once told me, ALWAYS have the encore planned. I would like to add that planning is especially important when you are gonna ask the crowd if they want an encore.
They tell us they have a newer one for us. And then bust out, "Paralyzer" by Finger Eleven. I don't know if Fargo is just that far ahead of the times or if Belfield finally realized that there is more to life than "Save a Horse Ride a Cowboy" but I have definitely heard that song for over a year.
So here I am in a beer garden, where there is one cop acting as a security guard(probably drunk, too. Why should he be deprived of his town's birthday?), a bunch of drunks with dance moves to make Joey Fatone cry, and a couple of children under the age of 8. At this point, I'm feeling a little left out. My parents never took me to beer gardens and got drunk in front of me. I never had that feeling of 'Why is mom dancing on that speaker?'
The band strikes up "Crazy Bitch"-Buckcherry. Good song for those toddlers at the picnic table. Which is when the laser show REALLY gets going. All it is, is a tarp in back, and the laser moves around and never really shows a picture. Till this song. It spells out the words "Sex, Drugs, and Lasers: All Legal!" and then "well drugs, aren't but how about sex?" Which it flashes for a good minute. Now, I don't have a whole lot of expertise in this area, but when you're drunk, you release a couple inhibitions...and you probably are likely to listen to the lasers. Something, if from Belfield, you've probably never seen before
And then the laser show turns into a strip tease.
Yeah, you read that correctly. There was a laser woman on the screen who was posing seductively and taking off all her clothes. Two points for Belfield. Nobody has ever done a porn laser show before. Very classy.
Back in Dickinson, it's now after 3AM. I have a couple of people in my car who would definitely blow if breathalyzed. I generally try and be cautious...my DD days would be over the minute I got my friend a minor. I turn onto Main. It's a four lane road. Since nobody is coming, or even on the street, I turn into the far lane. Troy immediately starts lecturing me that I am just like the rest of the Dickinson drivers, thinking I can skip a lane. He and Jon tell me about a friend that got pulled over for that.
Cue red and blue flashing lights and a siren. I am in disbelief. I don't know where this guy came from. I must have been speeding without realizing it. Nope. When I roll down my window, the cop begins to tell me that they have two lanes, but I need to get into the close lane before making a lane switch. Then he proceeds to tell me he was getting sleepy so he figured he would pull me over. Thanks, DPD. So glad I could help keep your finest awake.
As he's running my license, Troy whispers, "Do you want me to do the I-Told-You-So Dance?" Which really is ironic, actually. I do feel a little better about our cops though, knowing my friends were able to get out of a minor the other night...how, you ask? Easy. Just tell the cop you're 21. Simple as that. Poor DPD. I hate to be there the day they realize there are liars in this world. And maybe that cop wouldn't have been so bored if he would have been to Belfield that night. It was the place to be.
Belfield had their 125th Birthday Celebration. For those of you not familiar with southwest ND, Belfield is 20 miles west of Dickinson, and known as the inbred capital of the county. At least, that's what we like to tease Chris, Courtney's boyfriend who grew up there, about. So Troy and I decided to stop.
Belfield decided to celebrate said milestone with a beer garden/street dance/ laser show. Yes. They went all out and got lasers. Bravo, Belfield. It was quite the event, but really, it was typical to any sort of small-town, western ND gathering. There was loud music, the ground was littered with beer cans, and there was an old couple threatening to just bust out wild sex right near us.
Of course, everyone was plastered. It's not every day your town has a birthday party, I guess. It was only supposed to last until midnight, until the band leader shouts, "Who wants to hear one more? Or four more?" Perfect tactic. Get all the drunk locals fired up so if someone tries to shut the band down, they have a small militia. However, they weren't exactly prepared, because when the crowd got excited for more, it took them a minute to decide what to play. As Guitar Hero once told me, ALWAYS have the encore planned. I would like to add that planning is especially important when you are gonna ask the crowd if they want an encore.
They tell us they have a newer one for us. And then bust out, "Paralyzer" by Finger Eleven. I don't know if Fargo is just that far ahead of the times or if Belfield finally realized that there is more to life than "Save a Horse Ride a Cowboy" but I have definitely heard that song for over a year.
So here I am in a beer garden, where there is one cop acting as a security guard(probably drunk, too. Why should he be deprived of his town's birthday?), a bunch of drunks with dance moves to make Joey Fatone cry, and a couple of children under the age of 8. At this point, I'm feeling a little left out. My parents never took me to beer gardens and got drunk in front of me. I never had that feeling of 'Why is mom dancing on that speaker?'
The band strikes up "Crazy Bitch"-Buckcherry. Good song for those toddlers at the picnic table. Which is when the laser show REALLY gets going. All it is, is a tarp in back, and the laser moves around and never really shows a picture. Till this song. It spells out the words "Sex, Drugs, and Lasers: All Legal!" and then "well drugs, aren't but how about sex?" Which it flashes for a good minute. Now, I don't have a whole lot of expertise in this area, but when you're drunk, you release a couple inhibitions...and you probably are likely to listen to the lasers. Something, if from Belfield, you've probably never seen before
And then the laser show turns into a strip tease.
Yeah, you read that correctly. There was a laser woman on the screen who was posing seductively and taking off all her clothes. Two points for Belfield. Nobody has ever done a porn laser show before. Very classy.
Back in Dickinson, it's now after 3AM. I have a couple of people in my car who would definitely blow if breathalyzed. I generally try and be cautious...my DD days would be over the minute I got my friend a minor. I turn onto Main. It's a four lane road. Since nobody is coming, or even on the street, I turn into the far lane. Troy immediately starts lecturing me that I am just like the rest of the Dickinson drivers, thinking I can skip a lane. He and Jon tell me about a friend that got pulled over for that.
Cue red and blue flashing lights and a siren. I am in disbelief. I don't know where this guy came from. I must have been speeding without realizing it. Nope. When I roll down my window, the cop begins to tell me that they have two lanes, but I need to get into the close lane before making a lane switch. Then he proceeds to tell me he was getting sleepy so he figured he would pull me over. Thanks, DPD. So glad I could help keep your finest awake.
As he's running my license, Troy whispers, "Do you want me to do the I-Told-You-So Dance?" Which really is ironic, actually. I do feel a little better about our cops though, knowing my friends were able to get out of a minor the other night...how, you ask? Easy. Just tell the cop you're 21. Simple as that. Poor DPD. I hate to be there the day they realize there are liars in this world. And maybe that cop wouldn't have been so bored if he would have been to Belfield that night. It was the place to be.
All I ever needed to know I learned from the intoxicated (06.20.08)
I love people who are mildly to moderately intoxicated. Even some who are severely…hey, what can you do, they are having a good time, and chances are you are going to get a big hug or something of that nature from them, so you might as well grin and bear it. Some of the best lessons you learn are from people who are at least 1 ½ sheets to the wind. So sit back, relax, and enjoy the infinite wisdom of the inebriated.
(All of these are true stories…names are left out to protect the drunk…chances are, some of them didn't even know they said this)
Contrition. "I'm sorry I've been so mean to you." "You haven't been mean to me." "Oops. Never mind." The only other part of this lesson yet to be learned? If the other, sober girl doesn't know you've been talking about her behind her back, probably don't mention it. Needless to say, I laughed at both of them.
Generosity. "Lindsey, do you want a lawn penguin?" While it took me a few seconds to process this, I quickly figured out that this lawn penguin had probably already been purchased by someone else, and was about to be stolen off of a lawn. "[Name], you put that penguin down!" "Oh it's great! You're going to love it!" I now own a lawn penguin. He rides in my trunk and goes by the name of "Perry."
Consideration for others. "I'm going to help you finish that drink, because you are drinking it slow, and the others are going to laugh at you, but I won't." Also known as my first experience with a screwdriver. It became a game when I could walk by her, and say, "They're coming! Drink some!" I had way more fun giving to her then drinking it myself.
Thankfulness. "I owe you...what can I give you for driving me home?" "$10?" "How about a SPANKING!!" When did that ever become a good idea? I would like to point out that I managed to talk her out of it and got a hug and kiss blown at me instead.
Chastity. "If you value her virginity at ALL, Lindsey, you will take her out of that party!" If I value it. Not only am I supposed to squelch any drunken romance, but take her out of the party too? Well, suffice it to say, this one ended with her holding on to the railing, yelling, "NO!" and my (also drunk) guy friend holding her on the waist yelling "YES!"
Lovingness. "[Name], can I have my camera back?" She misinterprets me completely, and takes my hand. "I like you." "I like you, too." "I feel like we should hug." We do, and nearly miss knocking the camera onto the floor.
Fitness. "I don't think I'm feeling anything...let's have a race around the block." They come back ten minutes later. "The block got long. So we walked to the end and back instead of going around."
Attention. "I'm just going to close one eye...I can see you so much better when only one of them is open." Good logic, I suppose. I don't know if it actually improved her vision from 4 of me to 1, but she kept doing it, so it must have made a little difference.
Morality. "If I steal these shirts, am I going to hell?" "No, just take them, we'll ditch 'em later." Okay, I admit it. I led her astray and I was sober and should have been responsible, but we ended up putting them in front of two other girls' doors, and it made for a great story later. Plus the idea in and of itself was kinda funny.
Attachment. "Lindsey, are you leaving?" "Yes, it's after 3...I'll call you tomorrow." "Lindsey, no! I don't want you to leave!" "I will call you tomorrow, we can hang out." "Lindsey! please no! I have to work! I won't see you again!" Do you have any idea how hard it is to leave one of your best friends crying on her bed? I don't see her often the way it is, and she was way upset. I have this difficulty of separating drunk truth from sober truth.
Trustworthiness. Okay, I'm not going to give a story for this one, it would really infringe on the drunken admissions of friends, but it's funny how a little bit of liquor suddenly makes everyone close confidants. But I say, keep 'em coming. I absolutely love drunk texts. They are kind of like a word scrambler. If you feel the need to wake me up at 3AM because you're intoxicated, please do.
Moderation. Hahaha! Who am I kidding?
(All of these are true stories…names are left out to protect the drunk…chances are, some of them didn't even know they said this)
Contrition. "I'm sorry I've been so mean to you." "You haven't been mean to me." "Oops. Never mind." The only other part of this lesson yet to be learned? If the other, sober girl doesn't know you've been talking about her behind her back, probably don't mention it. Needless to say, I laughed at both of them.
Generosity. "Lindsey, do you want a lawn penguin?" While it took me a few seconds to process this, I quickly figured out that this lawn penguin had probably already been purchased by someone else, and was about to be stolen off of a lawn. "[Name], you put that penguin down!" "Oh it's great! You're going to love it!" I now own a lawn penguin. He rides in my trunk and goes by the name of "Perry."
Consideration for others. "I'm going to help you finish that drink, because you are drinking it slow, and the others are going to laugh at you, but I won't." Also known as my first experience with a screwdriver. It became a game when I could walk by her, and say, "They're coming! Drink some!" I had way more fun giving to her then drinking it myself.
Thankfulness. "I owe you...what can I give you for driving me home?" "$10?" "How about a SPANKING!!" When did that ever become a good idea? I would like to point out that I managed to talk her out of it and got a hug and kiss blown at me instead.
Chastity. "If you value her virginity at ALL, Lindsey, you will take her out of that party!" If I value it. Not only am I supposed to squelch any drunken romance, but take her out of the party too? Well, suffice it to say, this one ended with her holding on to the railing, yelling, "NO!" and my (also drunk) guy friend holding her on the waist yelling "YES!"
Lovingness. "[Name], can I have my camera back?" She misinterprets me completely, and takes my hand. "I like you." "I like you, too." "I feel like we should hug." We do, and nearly miss knocking the camera onto the floor.
Fitness. "I don't think I'm feeling anything...let's have a race around the block." They come back ten minutes later. "The block got long. So we walked to the end and back instead of going around."
Attention. "I'm just going to close one eye...I can see you so much better when only one of them is open." Good logic, I suppose. I don't know if it actually improved her vision from 4 of me to 1, but she kept doing it, so it must have made a little difference.
Morality. "If I steal these shirts, am I going to hell?" "No, just take them, we'll ditch 'em later." Okay, I admit it. I led her astray and I was sober and should have been responsible, but we ended up putting them in front of two other girls' doors, and it made for a great story later. Plus the idea in and of itself was kinda funny.
Attachment. "Lindsey, are you leaving?" "Yes, it's after 3...I'll call you tomorrow." "Lindsey, no! I don't want you to leave!" "I will call you tomorrow, we can hang out." "Lindsey! please no! I have to work! I won't see you again!" Do you have any idea how hard it is to leave one of your best friends crying on her bed? I don't see her often the way it is, and she was way upset. I have this difficulty of separating drunk truth from sober truth.
Trustworthiness. Okay, I'm not going to give a story for this one, it would really infringe on the drunken admissions of friends, but it's funny how a little bit of liquor suddenly makes everyone close confidants. But I say, keep 'em coming. I absolutely love drunk texts. They are kind of like a word scrambler. If you feel the need to wake me up at 3AM because you're intoxicated, please do.
Moderation. Hahaha! Who am I kidding?
Kickin' Back (06.14.08)
I have never been to a fair.
Weird, I know. But for my entire life, I've never gone to the state fair in Minot, I've never heard of a county fair until tonight, and as far I was concerned, the Red River Valley Fair was nonexsistent. I had heard of it in passing in a blog two years ago, but that had been it. 32 Below plays at the RRVF, and I'm a big fan. (I have my roommate Allison to thank for that) So I called a couple friends and got tickets. I didn't really know what to expect. This is evident in pictures of me, soon to be circulating on Facebook. I was in open toed shoes (white, yet) and the only reason I thought to maybe bring a jacket was because it had actually begun to rain on me when I got into my car.
the grand finale of my night: 32 Below. (It's what I paid $20 for, apparently). I get in there, and they're ID'ing. I didn't even bring it with me, because I figured they are a little better at this than the Knickerbocker Liquor Locker and I wasn't going to get any sort of 21+-drink-like-a-fish-on-us wristband. However, just because I am not as drunk (or at all) does not mean that I am not going to be in the middle of the drunk ones. It's kind of my element. I have license to do pretty much whatever I want and they probably won't remember me in the morning. They had no idea I was sober, I had no idea if they had chlamydia. It's fine.
I taught Christa (Pojo...not my roomie...this could get confusing) how to slowly move from back to front. She was a bit apprehensive at first, and didn't even wanna dance. This, as any of you who have been to a drunken concert know, is frowned upon. Soon guys were trying to actually make her dance. Their idea of dancing involved a lot of humping, and that just made things worse. Finally, we got "Deano" (I think this is what they were calling him...it's what I was calling him) to leave her alone and hump a girl near us. Deano's friend Tyler (who either had a lazy eye or one Bud Light too many) encouraged this and tried to get a chant of "Ride her" going...which failed, luckily. But to Tyler's credit, I always had a good view. Whenever anyone got in front of me, he would yell, "Don't piss off the short girl. She wants to see too."
So by mid evening, I was serenading the guy next to me (he started it, but couldn't actually formulate a sentence. I was just helping), when a guy behind me actually spilled a mug of beer on my head. Party foul. While I'm assuring him that yes i'm fine, no I won't hit him, a guy we'll call "Mad Dog" steps in front of me. Mad Dog is an 8 foot motorcycle dude with leather and gigantic biceps. Tyler, that chicken, doesn't say anything this time. Christa and I were taking photos, when Mad Dog turns around and takes my camera. I'm about to beg for mercy when he snaps a picture of us and then steps out of the way so I can see. Funny how these things happen.
Deano is back. I thought we had lost him, but dammit, that kid could find a needle in a haystack. He starts humping me. I didn't know what to do. I can't honestly remember a time in my life when a guy I had met a half hour prior started humping me profusely. I turn around and shake my head at him, and he laughs and moves on. Although as soon as he did, three couples behind me start making out.
Fair enough. Thunderstruck puts people in the mood, I suppose. One actually starts leaning on me. I was even all right with this until the girl tried to grab the guy's ass--and grabbed mine instead. I was gonna let it go, honest mistake. She does it again. I slap her hand. I think we understood each other. The leaning is getting old, though. I don't especially wanna be involved in this makeout fest. It feels like I'm holding them up. So I decide to test it. I sidestep. The couple goes crashing into Mad Dog. Yup.
I meet an older guy, severely intoxicated. I would give him...45 years old. He has a ladyfriend, but he keeps talking to me and nudging me. I'm not especially okay with this. I saw my window of opportunity when he says, "Hey, back in 1989 me and my buddies stormed the stage and met the band." To which I responded, "Hey, back in 1989, I was a year old." We had no more issues the rest of the night.
By the end of the night, I smell like a bar, I feel like I smoked a pack of cigarettes, there's a good chance I'm drunk off the fumes of my comrades, and I'm not even entirely sure that I'm not pregnant. But hey, it's a free souvenir, right?
I can't wait to turn 21, and not even because I can legally be trashed and take over Dean's job and hump the crowd in turn. I can go in beer gardens (picturesque name, PS) and mingle. The best birthday I can imagine is one where everyone's drunk, and I can just hang out. Granted, we can do this in two weeks. A fitting going away gift for my landlady.
Weird, I know. But for my entire life, I've never gone to the state fair in Minot, I've never heard of a county fair until tonight, and as far I was concerned, the Red River Valley Fair was nonexsistent. I had heard of it in passing in a blog two years ago, but that had been it. 32 Below plays at the RRVF, and I'm a big fan. (I have my roommate Allison to thank for that) So I called a couple friends and got tickets. I didn't really know what to expect. This is evident in pictures of me, soon to be circulating on Facebook. I was in open toed shoes (white, yet) and the only reason I thought to maybe bring a jacket was because it had actually begun to rain on me when I got into my car.
the grand finale of my night: 32 Below. (It's what I paid $20 for, apparently). I get in there, and they're ID'ing. I didn't even bring it with me, because I figured they are a little better at this than the Knickerbocker Liquor Locker and I wasn't going to get any sort of 21+-drink-like-a-fish-on-us wristband. However, just because I am not as drunk (or at all) does not mean that I am not going to be in the middle of the drunk ones. It's kind of my element. I have license to do pretty much whatever I want and they probably won't remember me in the morning. They had no idea I was sober, I had no idea if they had chlamydia. It's fine.
I taught Christa (Pojo...not my roomie...this could get confusing) how to slowly move from back to front. She was a bit apprehensive at first, and didn't even wanna dance. This, as any of you who have been to a drunken concert know, is frowned upon. Soon guys were trying to actually make her dance. Their idea of dancing involved a lot of humping, and that just made things worse. Finally, we got "Deano" (I think this is what they were calling him...it's what I was calling him) to leave her alone and hump a girl near us. Deano's friend Tyler (who either had a lazy eye or one Bud Light too many) encouraged this and tried to get a chant of "Ride her" going...which failed, luckily. But to Tyler's credit, I always had a good view. Whenever anyone got in front of me, he would yell, "Don't piss off the short girl. She wants to see too."
So by mid evening, I was serenading the guy next to me (he started it, but couldn't actually formulate a sentence. I was just helping), when a guy behind me actually spilled a mug of beer on my head. Party foul. While I'm assuring him that yes i'm fine, no I won't hit him, a guy we'll call "Mad Dog" steps in front of me. Mad Dog is an 8 foot motorcycle dude with leather and gigantic biceps. Tyler, that chicken, doesn't say anything this time. Christa and I were taking photos, when Mad Dog turns around and takes my camera. I'm about to beg for mercy when he snaps a picture of us and then steps out of the way so I can see. Funny how these things happen.
Deano is back. I thought we had lost him, but dammit, that kid could find a needle in a haystack. He starts humping me. I didn't know what to do. I can't honestly remember a time in my life when a guy I had met a half hour prior started humping me profusely. I turn around and shake my head at him, and he laughs and moves on. Although as soon as he did, three couples behind me start making out.
Fair enough. Thunderstruck puts people in the mood, I suppose. One actually starts leaning on me. I was even all right with this until the girl tried to grab the guy's ass--and grabbed mine instead. I was gonna let it go, honest mistake. She does it again. I slap her hand. I think we understood each other. The leaning is getting old, though. I don't especially wanna be involved in this makeout fest. It feels like I'm holding them up. So I decide to test it. I sidestep. The couple goes crashing into Mad Dog. Yup.
I meet an older guy, severely intoxicated. I would give him...45 years old. He has a ladyfriend, but he keeps talking to me and nudging me. I'm not especially okay with this. I saw my window of opportunity when he says, "Hey, back in 1989 me and my buddies stormed the stage and met the band." To which I responded, "Hey, back in 1989, I was a year old." We had no more issues the rest of the night.
By the end of the night, I smell like a bar, I feel like I smoked a pack of cigarettes, there's a good chance I'm drunk off the fumes of my comrades, and I'm not even entirely sure that I'm not pregnant. But hey, it's a free souvenir, right?
I can't wait to turn 21, and not even because I can legally be trashed and take over Dean's job and hump the crowd in turn. I can go in beer gardens (picturesque name, PS) and mingle. The best birthday I can imagine is one where everyone's drunk, and I can just hang out. Granted, we can do this in two weeks. A fitting going away gift for my landlady.
Introducing...My Top 8! (05.16.08)
You know all those crazy-lame surveys that ask you weird questions about your top 8? Well I can just tell you about them, and tell you WAYYY more interesting things than "How would you feel if 2 and 7 dated?" (Which, for the record, would be harder on their boyfriends than it would be on me)
Christa. I met Christa when I was 5. She hated me, I was oblivious to it. Somehow this got reversed and here we are today. She is single, so take note. She enjoys long 'wuns' in fargo (where you half walk, half run), living with me, and rich men she meets in Mexico. We get along pretty well. She puts up with my emotional overloads, and I attempt to help her with math occasionally. All in all, I'd say it worked out all right. We also enjoy SNL more than you, sooo...
Courtney. She's just plain fun. She, Christa and I watched scary movies at her house, and she was always the bravest one. (Sorry for all those who thought it was me) She is also the only one trusting enough to let me dye her hair. Even if it turns orange. Which was an accident. And not my fault, she told me. She is a homeowner, and her neighbors are pretty awesome. They come over for parties every once in awhile.
Troy. Every play I was in in high school, Troy and I had an amazing time. Making fun of people generally. Now he's an elementary ed/theatre major/party extraordinaire. Troy generally knows what's going on, and being his friend, when I'm home I go with. He presented me with a lawn penguin once, that he...found. It's in my trunk, if anyone wants to see it. He also takes good photography, look him up on facebook.
Whitney. I was downright terrified of Whitney when I first met her. She was two years older than me, and way cooler. But then she showed me around Fargo when I first got here, and now she's not scary. Seven-layer bars were something she introduced me to. I had pop at her house once, my legs went jello, and my mom thought she drugged me. Christa and I made her a patriotic beer bong for her birthday. We live in Fargo and rarely see each other. Dumb.
Emily. She was my County SC when I was a stater at Girls' State. She was a sweetheart, and now I see her regularly once a year, and whenever I decide to facebook creep on her. One time, I convinced her and Katie Behm to have a long island tea race. Emily did in fact come out victorious. I also like sending Emily random things, not limited to 10 photos of me, my friends, and some guys I though she would find attractive.
Heather. She's my cousin. She's engaged to a guy named TJ, who is also fun. She's good at keeping my mom in check when Mom thinks I'm out getting drunk and then driving cars around the Fargo-Moorhead area. She has a dog, Spencer, who is pretty darn adorable. She just graduated from college and is now in the real working world. And another fun fact, we both have friends named Emily Frenzel.
Katie. Katie was my senior counselor when I was a JC. I was mildly intimidated at first, but we got really close really fast. She's one of those people I can talk about anything with. I wanted her to get a tattoo with me this June, and I got her to nearly say yes last year. I wonder if she remembers. She is currently getting ready for the MCAT. She is going to make an awesome doctor. I will go to her. Unless she specializes in Urology. Ask her about the horse necklace.
Em. I have known her for roughly 17 years and ten days. I am not counting womb time since I was promised a brother. The doctor was actually positive it was a boy. She plays hockey and enjoys checking girls when the refs aren't looking. She's going to be a traitor and go to UND. I say there's still time, seeing as how she'll only be a senior. She's the president of FBLA and they took first at state to go to nationals. But had to cancel cuz of lack of funds.
All right. Well there you go. Way more interesting than those surveys. I enjoy these people. They are lucky enough to know me. But seriously though, I can't imagine what I'd do without any of them. Even though I don't see many of them too often, it makes up it when I do. And then the ones I see more than that, I am glad I do
Christa. I met Christa when I was 5. She hated me, I was oblivious to it. Somehow this got reversed and here we are today. She is single, so take note. She enjoys long 'wuns' in fargo (where you half walk, half run), living with me, and rich men she meets in Mexico. We get along pretty well. She puts up with my emotional overloads, and I attempt to help her with math occasionally. All in all, I'd say it worked out all right. We also enjoy SNL more than you, sooo...
Courtney. She's just plain fun. She, Christa and I watched scary movies at her house, and she was always the bravest one. (Sorry for all those who thought it was me) She is also the only one trusting enough to let me dye her hair. Even if it turns orange. Which was an accident. And not my fault, she told me. She is a homeowner, and her neighbors are pretty awesome. They come over for parties every once in awhile.
Troy. Every play I was in in high school, Troy and I had an amazing time. Making fun of people generally. Now he's an elementary ed/theatre major/party extraordinaire. Troy generally knows what's going on, and being his friend, when I'm home I go with. He presented me with a lawn penguin once, that he...found. It's in my trunk, if anyone wants to see it. He also takes good photography, look him up on facebook.
Whitney. I was downright terrified of Whitney when I first met her. She was two years older than me, and way cooler. But then she showed me around Fargo when I first got here, and now she's not scary. Seven-layer bars were something she introduced me to. I had pop at her house once, my legs went jello, and my mom thought she drugged me. Christa and I made her a patriotic beer bong for her birthday. We live in Fargo and rarely see each other. Dumb.
Emily. She was my County SC when I was a stater at Girls' State. She was a sweetheart, and now I see her regularly once a year, and whenever I decide to facebook creep on her. One time, I convinced her and Katie Behm to have a long island tea race. Emily did in fact come out victorious. I also like sending Emily random things, not limited to 10 photos of me, my friends, and some guys I though she would find attractive.
Heather. She's my cousin. She's engaged to a guy named TJ, who is also fun. She's good at keeping my mom in check when Mom thinks I'm out getting drunk and then driving cars around the Fargo-Moorhead area. She has a dog, Spencer, who is pretty darn adorable. She just graduated from college and is now in the real working world. And another fun fact, we both have friends named Emily Frenzel.
Katie. Katie was my senior counselor when I was a JC. I was mildly intimidated at first, but we got really close really fast. She's one of those people I can talk about anything with. I wanted her to get a tattoo with me this June, and I got her to nearly say yes last year. I wonder if she remembers. She is currently getting ready for the MCAT. She is going to make an awesome doctor. I will go to her. Unless she specializes in Urology. Ask her about the horse necklace.
Em. I have known her for roughly 17 years and ten days. I am not counting womb time since I was promised a brother. The doctor was actually positive it was a boy. She plays hockey and enjoys checking girls when the refs aren't looking. She's going to be a traitor and go to UND. I say there's still time, seeing as how she'll only be a senior. She's the president of FBLA and they took first at state to go to nationals. But had to cancel cuz of lack of funds.
All right. Well there you go. Way more interesting than those surveys. I enjoy these people. They are lucky enough to know me. But seriously though, I can't imagine what I'd do without any of them. Even though I don't see many of them too often, it makes up it when I do. And then the ones I see more than that, I am glad I do
House Party: A Behind the Scenes Look (5.14.08)
Disclaimer: Any or all of the words in quotations are the words of the inebriated. The author does not necessarily share these viewpoints. In fact, some of them are down right retarded.
Last night, I went to a house party here in the fair city of Dickinson. It was my last night in town for a few weeks. This, of course, isn't out of the ordinary. It would probably be a little more rare to say that there were parties, we skipped them, and were home in bed by nine. But it's not the party itself that's so special. It's the intoxicated individuals and their bright ideas.
All right. So when everyone had arrived, we started a wild game of Zoomie Zoomie. There were two of us not drinking, and so the ones that were graciously offered each of us 1/4 a can of coke left over from mixing their own. ("Miss Hydrated!" one of them kept yelling at me.)
Of course, you quickly tire of Zoomie, and move to Categories. This is kind of where all hell broke loose. Everyone was yelling (at each other) and the hostess was standing all wobbly on a chair telling everyone to "just shut up and listen to me!" while another girl grabbed her around the waist. I don't know if she was scared she was gonna fall, or trying to hold herself up. I got to make a rule, and so I chose my favorite, the Moose rule. I like to tell the drunkest kids when I am going to do it so they don't have to be last. Usually, their reaction time is slowest anyways, but I feel a little more right with God.
To protect the innocent, or rather the guilty, I have decided to leave out the stories from Never Ever Have I Ever. Just know that if my first sex story ends even remotely close to "And then I woke up naked and confused" I will be extremely upset.
The rest of the game is a blur. Not because I am drunk (remember the coke) but because nobody else can focus long enough. People start shouting. Next thing I knew, this guy has a boner, a girl is screaming about it and covering her eyes, and his girlfriend is looking at him going "Well yes you do!"
Another girl finishes her drink and is thoroughly intoxicated. She goes to the bathroom and they mix her another, shouting, "Let's roofie her!" (Knowing these guys as well as I do, I can say with 50% confidence that they wouldn't have.) They mix her drink with Bacardi 151. The girl comes back, says, "I don't wanna be roofied." and takes a big drink. (Not a smart move) She starts coughing and passes it to someone else who gags too. Not to worry, as it didn't take someone long to spill the drink. "Ohmigod its burning my legs! What did you put in there?!" Who knew that Bacardi 151 could double as paint thinner?
Soon, five people go and lock themselves into the stairwell. They got considerably quiet, except for a minor thump against the door every once in awhile. We all knew what was happening but didn't know what was happening all at the same time. Soon a girl comes running out of the stairwell, sort of frantic, yelling "I couldn't do it! I just couldn't do it!" She flops onto her boyfriend's lap. He even seems mildly concerned when he asks her what the problem is. "They are making out with each other in there and I just couldn't do it!" Her boyfriend now looks completely confused as he answers, "Well that's good."
It was a fun night, however. I am way sad to see them all go, even though I don't know most of them more than a couple of parties. I have a real job in Fargo. But it's nice to know they will be here when I come home.
Last night, I went to a house party here in the fair city of Dickinson. It was my last night in town for a few weeks. This, of course, isn't out of the ordinary. It would probably be a little more rare to say that there were parties, we skipped them, and were home in bed by nine. But it's not the party itself that's so special. It's the intoxicated individuals and their bright ideas.
All right. So when everyone had arrived, we started a wild game of Zoomie Zoomie. There were two of us not drinking, and so the ones that were graciously offered each of us 1/4 a can of coke left over from mixing their own. ("Miss Hydrated!" one of them kept yelling at me.)
Of course, you quickly tire of Zoomie, and move to Categories. This is kind of where all hell broke loose. Everyone was yelling (at each other) and the hostess was standing all wobbly on a chair telling everyone to "just shut up and listen to me!" while another girl grabbed her around the waist. I don't know if she was scared she was gonna fall, or trying to hold herself up. I got to make a rule, and so I chose my favorite, the Moose rule. I like to tell the drunkest kids when I am going to do it so they don't have to be last. Usually, their reaction time is slowest anyways, but I feel a little more right with God.
To protect the innocent, or rather the guilty, I have decided to leave out the stories from Never Ever Have I Ever. Just know that if my first sex story ends even remotely close to "And then I woke up naked and confused" I will be extremely upset.
The rest of the game is a blur. Not because I am drunk (remember the coke) but because nobody else can focus long enough. People start shouting. Next thing I knew, this guy has a boner, a girl is screaming about it and covering her eyes, and his girlfriend is looking at him going "Well yes you do!"
Another girl finishes her drink and is thoroughly intoxicated. She goes to the bathroom and they mix her another, shouting, "Let's roofie her!" (Knowing these guys as well as I do, I can say with 50% confidence that they wouldn't have.) They mix her drink with Bacardi 151. The girl comes back, says, "I don't wanna be roofied." and takes a big drink. (Not a smart move) She starts coughing and passes it to someone else who gags too. Not to worry, as it didn't take someone long to spill the drink. "Ohmigod its burning my legs! What did you put in there?!" Who knew that Bacardi 151 could double as paint thinner?
Soon, five people go and lock themselves into the stairwell. They got considerably quiet, except for a minor thump against the door every once in awhile. We all knew what was happening but didn't know what was happening all at the same time. Soon a girl comes running out of the stairwell, sort of frantic, yelling "I couldn't do it! I just couldn't do it!" She flops onto her boyfriend's lap. He even seems mildly concerned when he asks her what the problem is. "They are making out with each other in there and I just couldn't do it!" Her boyfriend now looks completely confused as he answers, "Well that's good."
It was a fun night, however. I am way sad to see them all go, even though I don't know most of them more than a couple of parties. I have a real job in Fargo. But it's nice to know they will be here when I come home.
Excitement, or a lack thereof (7.24.07)
So, as summer comes to a close, I'm a mess of mixed emotions about how I feel in leaving Dickinson, possibly for good. On one hand, I'm excited for a host of things to come, but on the other, life in Dickinson isn't ALWAYS so bad. So without further ado....
I am excited for...
...watching the "hazing" of the new freshmen as they are forced to walk through the gates of NDSU while the Gold Star Band stands on either side of them playing the school song, while the rest of us clap because it isn't us this year.
...living in an apartment with the same name as my favorite summer program that takes place each June.
...not having to drive behind a car who is really taking the speed limit as more of a guideline as to how fast you COULD get up to if there were some sort of emergency.
...attempting to put to use all these things that I've been accumulating the entire summer just in case I might need them in my own apartment.
...actually attend Playmakers' this year without having something more important to do. (to be fair however, the reason we decided not to go only one weekend was actually pushing us to take her anyways, so it was my fault for deciding it was a bad idea)
...not be living with an entire dorm of girls who like to leave various things around the bathrooms including tampons, thongs, and my personal favorite, vomit.
...not having my mom take away my curfew only to say "Well, wouldnt you say you got home too late?" when I come home a half hour after my old curfew.
...having Tuesday mornings off until 3:30 PM...that means I have nothing to go to bed for on Monday nights. In fact, I could go to bed at 10AM and be good to go by 3:30.
I am not excited for...
...rent payments, car payments, utility payments and anything else that will suck my checking account dry each month.
...potentially having another lab partner who does each and every step even after the TA tells us to skip it, talks about her glory days in the Science Olympics, and loudly asks us if we have seen the movie "When a Sperm Meets an Egg" because it's probably better than Harry Potter.
...getting a parking permit in a parking lot that is nowhere near where I need to be in the middle of winter's subzero temperatures.
...leaving home and everyone I know here again. Goodbyes are certainly not my strong suit, and even with my family, I've had an amazing summer.
...cooking my own meals when it is clearly going to be a fire hazard for my three roommates.
...leaving Country House for possibly the last time. I love each and every resident very much, including the ones who pet my hair each time I am near them and exclaim what 'beautiful coloring' I have, the ones who go on midnight cookie raids, and the ones who walk up behind me, bark like a dog while grabbing my neck, and then laugh and walk away as I shriek very loudly.
...having to go to a different mass other than 7:30PM at Queen of Peace. Those homilies about baby birds dying on sidewalks were starting to grow on me. Also, if I go with Christa, we are going to end up getting kicked out at one time or another. (Monastery...it's still funny)
I am excited for...
...watching the "hazing" of the new freshmen as they are forced to walk through the gates of NDSU while the Gold Star Band stands on either side of them playing the school song, while the rest of us clap because it isn't us this year.
...living in an apartment with the same name as my favorite summer program that takes place each June.
...not having to drive behind a car who is really taking the speed limit as more of a guideline as to how fast you COULD get up to if there were some sort of emergency.
...attempting to put to use all these things that I've been accumulating the entire summer just in case I might need them in my own apartment.
...actually attend Playmakers' this year without having something more important to do. (to be fair however, the reason we decided not to go only one weekend was actually pushing us to take her anyways, so it was my fault for deciding it was a bad idea)
...not be living with an entire dorm of girls who like to leave various things around the bathrooms including tampons, thongs, and my personal favorite, vomit.
...not having my mom take away my curfew only to say "Well, wouldnt you say you got home too late?" when I come home a half hour after my old curfew.
...having Tuesday mornings off until 3:30 PM...that means I have nothing to go to bed for on Monday nights. In fact, I could go to bed at 10AM and be good to go by 3:30.
I am not excited for...
...rent payments, car payments, utility payments and anything else that will suck my checking account dry each month.
...potentially having another lab partner who does each and every step even after the TA tells us to skip it, talks about her glory days in the Science Olympics, and loudly asks us if we have seen the movie "When a Sperm Meets an Egg" because it's probably better than Harry Potter.
...getting a parking permit in a parking lot that is nowhere near where I need to be in the middle of winter's subzero temperatures.
...leaving home and everyone I know here again. Goodbyes are certainly not my strong suit, and even with my family, I've had an amazing summer.
...cooking my own meals when it is clearly going to be a fire hazard for my three roommates.
...leaving Country House for possibly the last time. I love each and every resident very much, including the ones who pet my hair each time I am near them and exclaim what 'beautiful coloring' I have, the ones who go on midnight cookie raids, and the ones who walk up behind me, bark like a dog while grabbing my neck, and then laugh and walk away as I shriek very loudly.
...having to go to a different mass other than 7:30PM at Queen of Peace. Those homilies about baby birds dying on sidewalks were starting to grow on me. Also, if I go with Christa, we are going to end up getting kicked out at one time or another. (Monastery...it's still funny)
The Creeper Rides Again (6.27.08)
Now, after last summer's incident with the Creeper, the countless nights spent on Creeper Patrol, and the realization of just how unsafe Dickinson can be, you would think we learned our lessons not to walk after dark.
Think again.
We've begun it again this summer, only instead of wandering my neighborhood, we alternate it with whoever happens to go on the walk. Last night was Troy's turn to host it on the South Side. Now, as some of my readers don't know where Troy lives or what the South Side holds in store, let me just give you a little visual. There are lights on only one side of the street and they are fairly spread apart. There are two trailor courts within about 4 blocks of each other and a couple types of low income housing. Troy's street is nice. His neighbors are friendly, and everyone looks out for each other. This is because in the corner house is a man that goes by "Psycho." His wife just left him. And when I say left him, I mean tried to move all the furniture out whilst he was gone, but didn't succeed and then a shouting match ensued. A concerned (smart) neighbor later called the cops to keep an eye on him, and Psycho told the neighbor that he often sees men trying to break into her house at night, and many other houses on the block and has a shotgun. But now Psycho won't help her since she called the cops. No record of this has been found at the police station. (Although, even if it DID happen, even record speeds reached by the police for response time means that they still arrived 3 hours later)
And Troy is home alone this week.
Now that I've set the scene, I'll explain what then happened. We went for a walk, laughing about many things including classmates' 1st times getting drunk, crazy people we knew (trying of course, to top Psycho), and life in general. We walked by the Heart River park. Movement in the sand near the slide caught my eye. At first glance, it looked like a squatting dog.
At second glance, I realized it was an f'in MAN.
He was moving all around the park, but on his hands and knees. And then he would completely lay down in the sand and stop moving. Pretty soon he would sit up Indian style. All right. Lindsey's Flight or Fight had kicked in and i wanted to run. I tried to hide on the other side of Troy, to which he later admitted to thinking, "Screw protecting her, if he comes, I'm running and saving myself." Troy tells me to call someone who will care to think of a plan. We call Christa. She didn't answer. It might have been my last few minutes on Earth, and she silences her phone. Luckily for her it wasn't.We quickly got back to his house and hopped in Troy's car to investigate further.
We drove back the park, and could clearly see it was a man. Sitting in the sand. Of a children's park. Merely sitting. And then he'd lay down. Or get on his hands and knees and sit like that. Troy tried to take a picture, but I wanted to get away. I was in a car, in the passenger's seat. I'm not entirely certain where I thought I was going to go. So I stayed put, and we noticed one of the "Brave" in Blue, DPD (Dtown Police Department for those of you who are acronymally challenged) drive by. So we follow him and flash our lights to get his attention that we need help.
(Disclaimer: In no situations should the DPD be your first line of defense. Unfortunately, we were desperate)
We corner him at the softball diamonds (Mistake #1: He felt trapped) and rolled down our windows, (Mistake #2: He's paranoid) which caused him to shine a giant floodlight in our car (HIS mistake #1: it blinded the driver). We tell him what we saw in the park that HE JUST PASSED (Mistake #3: I believe his exact words were "There's a park back there?"). We explain yes, and tell him it's called 'Heart River Park,' could he please go see what's going on?
We let him drive towards the park, but are still curious as to what's going on. So DPD shines his trusty floodlight at the park. But the guy was gone. He must have seen the policeman pass the first time when DPD was too busy playing Marco Polo with his radio and the remainder of the police on duty that night, to notice he was even passing a park. However, DPD definitely noticed US there again that time (of course, when it wasn't US he needed to be noticing).
We drove away, careful to drive the speed limit, while DPD gets hot on our trail and follows us for probably about 10 minutes or so. Our theories were that the DPD thought that A)we were playing some sort of joke on him and he has no sense of humor, or B) we tried to create a divirsion so that we could go commit illegailities ourselves.
Sorry, DPD. You were wrong on both counts.
So now, somewhere running around Dickinson, is a man. A man who sits in children's parks at night, waiting for who knows what. A man who creeps away unnoticed by DPD (again...DPD wouldn't notice an elephant if it paraded through church during the homily...but give 'em an underage drinker or person going 3 over the speedlimit anyday, and they'll be on top of it.) to sit in more parks at night.
I think we need to just stick to Zoomie Zoomie.
Think again.
We've begun it again this summer, only instead of wandering my neighborhood, we alternate it with whoever happens to go on the walk. Last night was Troy's turn to host it on the South Side. Now, as some of my readers don't know where Troy lives or what the South Side holds in store, let me just give you a little visual. There are lights on only one side of the street and they are fairly spread apart. There are two trailor courts within about 4 blocks of each other and a couple types of low income housing. Troy's street is nice. His neighbors are friendly, and everyone looks out for each other. This is because in the corner house is a man that goes by "Psycho." His wife just left him. And when I say left him, I mean tried to move all the furniture out whilst he was gone, but didn't succeed and then a shouting match ensued. A concerned (smart) neighbor later called the cops to keep an eye on him, and Psycho told the neighbor that he often sees men trying to break into her house at night, and many other houses on the block and has a shotgun. But now Psycho won't help her since she called the cops. No record of this has been found at the police station. (Although, even if it DID happen, even record speeds reached by the police for response time means that they still arrived 3 hours later)
And Troy is home alone this week.
Now that I've set the scene, I'll explain what then happened. We went for a walk, laughing about many things including classmates' 1st times getting drunk, crazy people we knew (trying of course, to top Psycho), and life in general. We walked by the Heart River park. Movement in the sand near the slide caught my eye. At first glance, it looked like a squatting dog.
At second glance, I realized it was an f'in MAN.
He was moving all around the park, but on his hands and knees. And then he would completely lay down in the sand and stop moving. Pretty soon he would sit up Indian style. All right. Lindsey's Flight or Fight had kicked in and i wanted to run. I tried to hide on the other side of Troy, to which he later admitted to thinking, "Screw protecting her, if he comes, I'm running and saving myself." Troy tells me to call someone who will care to think of a plan. We call Christa. She didn't answer. It might have been my last few minutes on Earth, and she silences her phone. Luckily for her it wasn't.We quickly got back to his house and hopped in Troy's car to investigate further.
We drove back the park, and could clearly see it was a man. Sitting in the sand. Of a children's park. Merely sitting. And then he'd lay down. Or get on his hands and knees and sit like that. Troy tried to take a picture, but I wanted to get away. I was in a car, in the passenger's seat. I'm not entirely certain where I thought I was going to go. So I stayed put, and we noticed one of the "Brave" in Blue, DPD (Dtown Police Department for those of you who are acronymally challenged) drive by. So we follow him and flash our lights to get his attention that we need help.
(Disclaimer: In no situations should the DPD be your first line of defense. Unfortunately, we were desperate)
We corner him at the softball diamonds (Mistake #1: He felt trapped) and rolled down our windows, (Mistake #2: He's paranoid) which caused him to shine a giant floodlight in our car (HIS mistake #1: it blinded the driver). We tell him what we saw in the park that HE JUST PASSED (Mistake #3: I believe his exact words were "There's a park back there?"). We explain yes, and tell him it's called 'Heart River Park,' could he please go see what's going on?
We let him drive towards the park, but are still curious as to what's going on. So DPD shines his trusty floodlight at the park. But the guy was gone. He must have seen the policeman pass the first time when DPD was too busy playing Marco Polo with his radio and the remainder of the police on duty that night, to notice he was even passing a park. However, DPD definitely noticed US there again that time (of course, when it wasn't US he needed to be noticing).
We drove away, careful to drive the speed limit, while DPD gets hot on our trail and follows us for probably about 10 minutes or so. Our theories were that the DPD thought that A)we were playing some sort of joke on him and he has no sense of humor, or B) we tried to create a divirsion so that we could go commit illegailities ourselves.
Sorry, DPD. You were wrong on both counts.
So now, somewhere running around Dickinson, is a man. A man who sits in children's parks at night, waiting for who knows what. A man who creeps away unnoticed by DPD (again...DPD wouldn't notice an elephant if it paraded through church during the homily...but give 'em an underage drinker or person going 3 over the speedlimit anyday, and they'll be on top of it.) to sit in more parks at night.
I think we need to just stick to Zoomie Zoomie.
Lessons of Freshmen Year (4.28.07)
So as this freshmen year comes to a close, I have been thinking about everything that's happened, that we've learned, or that just in general, probably shouldn't be repeated. That being said, I want to share this with all my blog readers...who probably will benefit from this.
1. When a drunk friend tells you that putting her in the chair will make her throw up, you probably wanna follow that one. Because she isn't kidding. And really. Don't try it two times just in case she might have been joking with ya.
2. Sometimes, it just helps to cry. Whether it be over a bad grade on the paper (please refrain from yelling at your roommate's best friend),because your clean floor just got dirty, or because some bastard that goes by Shakira popped your lute, you may or may not feel a bit better.
3. If you have a bad feeling about the roommate still a month into the semester, get out. It won't get better. Especially when she brings her mother to stay over night who has snoring (and farting) issues.
4. Beware of lofts. If you sleep on top, you may turn into a collegiate volleyball player with the winning game spike resulting in your phone crashing against the closet. If you have the bottom, getting up is a bitch when you bang your head on it. Daily. More than once.
5. Driving in Fargo is scary. It's real bad when the defrost is broken and the car is full to capacity. Lesson to those in back. Don't scream, it upsets the driver. Who begins to scream too. And then the 3 remaining sing "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot" and everyone is convinced they are about to die for about 10 minutes.
6. Give people nicknames...it makes time go by faster. Examples are Popped Collar Boy, Sir Sneeze-a-lot, Crazy, and I'llTakeAGreen. Among others.
7. Club NDSU is never a good idea. They have a rootbeer keg, mocktails, and shots of unfrozen popsicles....plus 10 people will be there, 2 of which are male, 0 of which do not qualify for a mental home.
8. Change your major once, twice, 5 times if you choose. Ceres isn't smart enough to limit that sort of thing. I'm on my 6th major...and sophomore year has yet to begin.
9. Watch out where you walk on campus. 'tis not paved well and if you have any sort of poise at all, you'll fall and roll your ankle. And the Asian kid that sees you will go, "OH!" but hurry away without making sure you are able to stand on your own.
10. Last but not least, water is always clear. Vodka generally is too. Keep that in mind
1. When a drunk friend tells you that putting her in the chair will make her throw up, you probably wanna follow that one. Because she isn't kidding. And really. Don't try it two times just in case she might have been joking with ya.
2. Sometimes, it just helps to cry. Whether it be over a bad grade on the paper (please refrain from yelling at your roommate's best friend),because your clean floor just got dirty, or because some bastard that goes by Shakira popped your lute, you may or may not feel a bit better.
3. If you have a bad feeling about the roommate still a month into the semester, get out. It won't get better. Especially when she brings her mother to stay over night who has snoring (and farting) issues.
4. Beware of lofts. If you sleep on top, you may turn into a collegiate volleyball player with the winning game spike resulting in your phone crashing against the closet. If you have the bottom, getting up is a bitch when you bang your head on it. Daily. More than once.
5. Driving in Fargo is scary. It's real bad when the defrost is broken and the car is full to capacity. Lesson to those in back. Don't scream, it upsets the driver. Who begins to scream too. And then the 3 remaining sing "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot" and everyone is convinced they are about to die for about 10 minutes.
6. Give people nicknames...it makes time go by faster. Examples are Popped Collar Boy, Sir Sneeze-a-lot, Crazy, and I'llTakeAGreen. Among others.
7. Club NDSU is never a good idea. They have a rootbeer keg, mocktails, and shots of unfrozen popsicles....plus 10 people will be there, 2 of which are male, 0 of which do not qualify for a mental home.
8. Change your major once, twice, 5 times if you choose. Ceres isn't smart enough to limit that sort of thing. I'm on my 6th major...and sophomore year has yet to begin.
9. Watch out where you walk on campus. 'tis not paved well and if you have any sort of poise at all, you'll fall and roll your ankle. And the Asian kid that sees you will go, "OH!" but hurry away without making sure you are able to stand on your own.
10. Last but not least, water is always clear. Vodka generally is too. Keep that in mind
Twenty Dilemmas Courtesy of Drunk people (1.27.07)
1. "But I can call my dad, right? I'm sure he wouldn't care."
2. "Do you think I can handle one more shot?"
3. "I'm so sorry for all those times I was mean to you." "You weren't mean to me." "Ooops....never mind."
4. "Wait. Where did my pants go?"
5. "I think someone had sex on your coat."
6. "She hates me. So I texted her three times and told her I loved her."
7. "Yup. The bathroom sink was definitely turning in circles."
8. "THAT looks like someone on the Titanic getting seasick. I'm going to film it."
9. "Lay on the floor. The cops can't know you are sober and here."
10. "Someone touched my boob! Erin, it was you! I am not a lesbian!"
11. "Tuck tuck. Tuck tuck. Good as new."
12. "It's like a rollercoaster! We must be going 60 miles an hour! 25? Oh. 25."
13. "Birthday Girl gave me a lapdance!"
14. "Can you please just call the cops and turn me in?"
15. "I'm clean! I'm clean! You have herpes!! EWWW! Can I call you Herp?"
16. "No, really. I can just kiss you on the cheek. That would be okay."
17. "But is she really missing with that guy, or is she just asleep?"
18. "You must be drunk. I don't care that you had 4 sips. You are wasted. I can tell these things."
19. "No for real. If you value her virginity, you will not let her go back to that party."
20. "I am not being hoochy!" *Slap*
All of the above are courtesy of friends of mine while they were under the influence of alcohol. Not only do they always keep me entertained, but they have provided fun situations for me to dig us out of. Luckily for all of us, nothing terrible ever occured. Unfortunately, I'm going to protect their anonymity. And I'm sure there will be plenty more where this came from. So thanks Class of '06! I'm proud of you guys!
2. "Do you think I can handle one more shot?"
3. "I'm so sorry for all those times I was mean to you." "You weren't mean to me." "Ooops....never mind."
4. "Wait. Where did my pants go?"
5. "I think someone had sex on your coat."
6. "She hates me. So I texted her three times and told her I loved her."
7. "Yup. The bathroom sink was definitely turning in circles."
8. "THAT looks like someone on the Titanic getting seasick. I'm going to film it."
9. "Lay on the floor. The cops can't know you are sober and here."
10. "Someone touched my boob! Erin, it was you! I am not a lesbian!"
11. "Tuck tuck. Tuck tuck. Good as new."
12. "It's like a rollercoaster! We must be going 60 miles an hour! 25? Oh. 25."
13. "Birthday Girl gave me a lapdance!"
14. "Can you please just call the cops and turn me in?"
15. "I'm clean! I'm clean! You have herpes!! EWWW! Can I call you Herp?"
16. "No, really. I can just kiss you on the cheek. That would be okay."
17. "But is she really missing with that guy, or is she just asleep?"
18. "You must be drunk. I don't care that you had 4 sips. You are wasted. I can tell these things."
19. "No for real. If you value her virginity, you will not let her go back to that party."
20. "I am not being hoochy!" *Slap*
All of the above are courtesy of friends of mine while they were under the influence of alcohol. Not only do they always keep me entertained, but they have provided fun situations for me to dig us out of. Luckily for all of us, nothing terrible ever occured. Unfortunately, I'm going to protect their anonymity. And I'm sure there will be plenty more where this came from. So thanks Class of '06! I'm proud of you guys!
Tales De Vic's Part Dos (1.26.07)
While Felicity and Lazer watch Rent, (if you don't know, you probably shouldn't ask) I am going to tell you about my latest pet peeves/hilarious stories/general happenstances of Victoria's Secret. It gets better each day, I'm sure of this.
Today some girl walked in the store and proceeded in a very loud voice to tell her friend a story that started with the words. "Do you remember that douchebag I had sex with when I was drunk?" Now, in my expert opinion, any story starting out that way is bound to be beautiful. Imagine my excitement when she included me in the storytelling and asked me what I thought about everyone finding out during a game of Categories.
12 year olds are the most annoying customers ever. They go nuts over flip-flops. There was a sign above them that read $5 Flip Flops! with any pink purchase. Well, these 12 year olds weren't exceptionally bright. Because they thought they could just buy the flip flops. (even when Maddie, the ringleader of that circus, read the entire sign outloud) And when my dear Christine told them they could not, they threw them on the floor, yelled, "THIS STORE IS RETARDED!" and stomped out. I was embarass just to witness it. I was not that insane at 12.
Two girls are searching for underwear and one picks one up. "Do you think these would feel gross?" (Plain old, everyday underwear, nothing special about 'em) While I'm looking in amazement at her, her amiga goes, "Yeah. Especially if you washed them." IF?! Blog poll, how many of you have decided not to wash your underwear? Because that's the first I've heard of it.
A giddy, country-western couple that smells of cigarette smoke and cheap beer stumbles over to me holding hands. Obviously drunk, the wife smiles at me and yells, "WHERE ARE YOUR CROTCHLESS PANTIES?!" (she's at least 50) And her husband nods excitedly. Luckily for me and all the people in a 30 foot radius, we don't SELL crotchless underwear.
12 year old Little Brat picks up a 34 DD and goes, "THIS IS THE MOST GIGANTIC BRA I HAVE EVER SEEN!" Me and every sales associate in the area glared. Ignorant for two reasons. Half of our customers enjoy them, and some get implants for that very purpose. The other half are ridiculously self-concious about it. They don't need some pre-teen telling them they are gigantic. Can you tell I'm not a fan of preteens?
I also enjoy the packs of college guys. It takes them 6 or 7 guys strong to come into the store, and then while they are there, feel the need to make all sorts of manly jokes. ("This bra cup actually fits my head!" "This store is turning me gay." "Can you smell all that chick spray?" etc.) They leave without buying anything, but highfive each other on the way out for not falling under the influence of the panty tables. Boys.
Today some girl walked in the store and proceeded in a very loud voice to tell her friend a story that started with the words. "Do you remember that douchebag I had sex with when I was drunk?" Now, in my expert opinion, any story starting out that way is bound to be beautiful. Imagine my excitement when she included me in the storytelling and asked me what I thought about everyone finding out during a game of Categories.
12 year olds are the most annoying customers ever. They go nuts over flip-flops. There was a sign above them that read $5 Flip Flops! with any pink purchase. Well, these 12 year olds weren't exceptionally bright. Because they thought they could just buy the flip flops. (even when Maddie, the ringleader of that circus, read the entire sign outloud) And when my dear Christine told them they could not, they threw them on the floor, yelled, "THIS STORE IS RETARDED!" and stomped out. I was embarass just to witness it. I was not that insane at 12.
Two girls are searching for underwear and one picks one up. "Do you think these would feel gross?" (Plain old, everyday underwear, nothing special about 'em) While I'm looking in amazement at her, her amiga goes, "Yeah. Especially if you washed them." IF?! Blog poll, how many of you have decided not to wash your underwear? Because that's the first I've heard of it.
A giddy, country-western couple that smells of cigarette smoke and cheap beer stumbles over to me holding hands. Obviously drunk, the wife smiles at me and yells, "WHERE ARE YOUR CROTCHLESS PANTIES?!" (she's at least 50) And her husband nods excitedly. Luckily for me and all the people in a 30 foot radius, we don't SELL crotchless underwear.
12 year old Little Brat picks up a 34 DD and goes, "THIS IS THE MOST GIGANTIC BRA I HAVE EVER SEEN!" Me and every sales associate in the area glared. Ignorant for two reasons. Half of our customers enjoy them, and some get implants for that very purpose. The other half are ridiculously self-concious about it. They don't need some pre-teen telling them they are gigantic. Can you tell I'm not a fan of preteens?
I also enjoy the packs of college guys. It takes them 6 or 7 guys strong to come into the store, and then while they are there, feel the need to make all sorts of manly jokes. ("This bra cup actually fits my head!" "This store is turning me gay." "Can you smell all that chick spray?" etc.) They leave without buying anything, but highfive each other on the way out for not falling under the influence of the panty tables. Boys.
Christmas Traditions at the Casa de Bren (12.15.06)
As I was driving home from Fargo today, singing loudly and completely off key to every Christmas song ever made on the radio, it made me think of everything I would be coming home to.
Christmas Wreaths. My Grandpa Bren loves decorating for Christmas, and generally goes all out with Christmas wreaths. Twelve in fact. And that's just the outside of the house. Imagine my shock and horror when he halved them to only six this year.
Nativity Scenes. My mom recently purchased a giant porcelin nativity scene, placing it proudly in front of our window. My dad also recently cleaned the blinds. But then one fell onto Joseph, who got top heavy and toppled onto baby Jesus, decapitating him. Kind of ironic, isn't it.
Christmas Pinochle. My grandparents Kostelecky have a tradition of playing pinochle every Christmas day after lunch. But what would pinochle be without Bloody Marys for everyone? Civil, that's what. And civil is not a Christmas tradition we practice at my house. You drink, you call each other names, you are family.
He with the most presents wins. At grandparents Bren, each grandchild has to take turns opening one gift at a time so everyone can see what everyone got. Well, when I open a present, it's not going to be exciting to my seven year old cousins. But is it really necessary to taunt me that if I don't open my gifts faster, they are going to hide them? I don't think so.
Decorating opportunities. It's kind of a competition between my grandma and great-aunt to see who can decorate their houses the earliest. However, this year turned a bit extreme. They completely had forgone the Thanksgiving decorations to be ready for Christmas by November 1.
Jazzy. Jazlyn Marie Bren. No, this isn't my new cousin, it's my Grandpa's dog. First, middle, and last name. She's kind of jumpy. She bites if you run, stand up too quickly, or cough in her presence. Each year someone buys her something she doesn't need, and laughs when she skips right over it to eat the chocolates, before later vomiting. I don't see how this is funny, but it generally happens annually.
Yes, my cousin, there is a Santa Claus. Each year, it seems like one of my cousins each year begin to realize that Santa and their parents "team up." In fact, some parents have even told them that Santa is not real. Well, this makes them want to tell everyone, which generally isn't conducive to the rest of the family. So each year, I end up lying to a cousin, and in some cases, convince the ones whose parents said Santa's a phony, that he's real. In fact, one of the nonbelievers heard sleighbells on the roof. It was magical.
Destruction in Wonderland. Stay away from the tree. Don't snoop. Don't touch the nativity. With all of these rules, my cousins and I resorted to finding something more exciting to do. One of them got the brilliant idea to see how far back the chair would rock. Apparently not far. And apparently the walls are not as thick as we thought. He put the chair through the wall. So we covered it up, threatened the two youngest that Santa wouldn't come if they told, and quietly went upstairs.
The Hot Chick he won't marry. While not a Christmas tradition, and rather one of my homecoming, my cousin Ryan has announced yet again that he's hoping I don't bring Christa with me, because, "While she's a hot chick, she wants to kiss me, which is gross, and I'm not getting married, I'm going to become a cowboy." Sorry, Christa. Better luck next time I suppose.
I hope everyone has a very Merry Christmas, and that your family traditions are weirder than mine. Because I would feel a lot better about myself.
Christmas Wreaths. My Grandpa Bren loves decorating for Christmas, and generally goes all out with Christmas wreaths. Twelve in fact. And that's just the outside of the house. Imagine my shock and horror when he halved them to only six this year.
Nativity Scenes. My mom recently purchased a giant porcelin nativity scene, placing it proudly in front of our window. My dad also recently cleaned the blinds. But then one fell onto Joseph, who got top heavy and toppled onto baby Jesus, decapitating him. Kind of ironic, isn't it.
Christmas Pinochle. My grandparents Kostelecky have a tradition of playing pinochle every Christmas day after lunch. But what would pinochle be without Bloody Marys for everyone? Civil, that's what. And civil is not a Christmas tradition we practice at my house. You drink, you call each other names, you are family.
He with the most presents wins. At grandparents Bren, each grandchild has to take turns opening one gift at a time so everyone can see what everyone got. Well, when I open a present, it's not going to be exciting to my seven year old cousins. But is it really necessary to taunt me that if I don't open my gifts faster, they are going to hide them? I don't think so.
Decorating opportunities. It's kind of a competition between my grandma and great-aunt to see who can decorate their houses the earliest. However, this year turned a bit extreme. They completely had forgone the Thanksgiving decorations to be ready for Christmas by November 1.
Jazzy. Jazlyn Marie Bren. No, this isn't my new cousin, it's my Grandpa's dog. First, middle, and last name. She's kind of jumpy. She bites if you run, stand up too quickly, or cough in her presence. Each year someone buys her something she doesn't need, and laughs when she skips right over it to eat the chocolates, before later vomiting. I don't see how this is funny, but it generally happens annually.
Yes, my cousin, there is a Santa Claus. Each year, it seems like one of my cousins each year begin to realize that Santa and their parents "team up." In fact, some parents have even told them that Santa is not real. Well, this makes them want to tell everyone, which generally isn't conducive to the rest of the family. So each year, I end up lying to a cousin, and in some cases, convince the ones whose parents said Santa's a phony, that he's real. In fact, one of the nonbelievers heard sleighbells on the roof. It was magical.
Destruction in Wonderland. Stay away from the tree. Don't snoop. Don't touch the nativity. With all of these rules, my cousins and I resorted to finding something more exciting to do. One of them got the brilliant idea to see how far back the chair would rock. Apparently not far. And apparently the walls are not as thick as we thought. He put the chair through the wall. So we covered it up, threatened the two youngest that Santa wouldn't come if they told, and quietly went upstairs.
The Hot Chick he won't marry. While not a Christmas tradition, and rather one of my homecoming, my cousin Ryan has announced yet again that he's hoping I don't bring Christa with me, because, "While she's a hot chick, she wants to kiss me, which is gross, and I'm not getting married, I'm going to become a cowboy." Sorry, Christa. Better luck next time I suppose.
I hope everyone has a very Merry Christmas, and that your family traditions are weirder than mine. Because I would feel a lot better about myself.
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