Marc
Ugh. Saturday night's generally blow. This one's going to be no different, I bet. It's only 7pm, but it feels like 10, or 11, 10:30-ish. I don't know. Fuck tonight.
Last night was fun. It was roommate Jeff's 21st birthday, and we marched him to the bar at midnight, poured a ridiculous number of shots down his throat, and carried him around for the rest of the night. Fun fun fun. He was in the bathroom puking later, but trying to be tough and hold it in, and myself and Grant kept making noises with him, trying to show him that it was alright to puke. It's better actually, because it gets all that poison out of your system. We'd count to three, at which point my mouth would be stuffed with crackers and Pepsi, and I'd spit it all in the toilet, and try to convince Jeff that I was puking too. Brother's don't shake hands. Brother's gotta' puke.
So that happened.
Reminds me of my 21st birthday, where I got all ten shades of wasted, and bought everyone 40's, and they put our pal Luke in charge of me, and he took off, leaving me in the living room, alone, to deal with my inner demons, which came out in a rush of swill and bile. Fucking nasty. It's not surprising then that Zook, the very next night, it being his 21st birthday, only took like three shots before declaring himself done with his birthday, and a whole legion of us disappointed in him. To this day his poor performance is our example of what not to do on your 21st birthday. You only get to let go like that once, maybe twice in your life.
So ... yeah.
Now it's around 7pm, and things are slow. Our girls Jackie and Laura got me and Matt free dorm food tonight. Fan-fucking-tastic! Nothing like a Ben and Jerry's chocolate shake, all free and shit. Maybe I'll take a nap for a little while.
Ugh. Saturday night's generally blow. This one's going to be no different, I bet. It's only 7pm, but it feels like 10, or 11, 10:30-ish. I don't know. Fuck tonight.
Last night was fun. It was roommate Jeff's 21st birthday, and we marched him to the bar at midnight, poured a ridiculous number of shots down his throat, and carried him around for the rest of the night. Fun fun fun. He was in the bathroom puking later, but trying to be tough and hold it in, and myself and Grant kept making noises with him, trying to show him that it was alright to puke. It's better actually, because it gets all that poison out of your system. We'd count to three, at which point my mouth would be stuffed with crackers and Pepsi, and I'd spit it all in the toilet, and try to convince Jeff that I was puking too. Brother's don't shake hands. Brother's gotta' puke.
So that happened.
Reminds me of my 21st birthday, where I got all ten shades of wasted, and bought everyone 40's, and they put our pal Luke in charge of me, and he took off, leaving me in the living room, alone, to deal with my inner demons, which came out in a rush of swill and bile. Fucking nasty. It's not surprising then that Zook, the very next night, it being his 21st birthday, only took like three shots before declaring himself done with his birthday, and a whole legion of us disappointed in him. To this day his poor performance is our example of what not to do on your 21st birthday. You only get to let go like that once, maybe twice in your life.
So ... yeah.
Now it's around 7pm, and things are slow. Our girls Jackie and Laura got me and Matt free dorm food tonight. Fan-fucking-tastic! Nothing like a Ben and Jerry's chocolate shake, all free and shit. Maybe I'll take a nap for a little while.
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