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.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
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.
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