Luke Grown Up

Spring break came and went. I spent much of it relaxing and watching movies. I watched around 2 a day. Life was good. As you know, I saw Ross when I went to Boston last week, but I didn’t get to see Diaz. He and I spoke, and he said he might come out on Saturday.

Well, I’m sitting on my couch this Saturday afternoon reading a book, and I hear CSS playing suddenly in my room - it’s my ringtone. I walk into my room and see I am getting a call from Chris Diaz. I pick up.

Me: Hello?
Chris: Yo! Guess what?
Me: You’re pregnant.
Chris: Fred and I are coming to Amherst tonight!

He sounds slightly thrilled, and I’m pissed. Let me explain Fred to you. This is a story in and of itself.

I first met Fred this past New Year’s Eve. He is John’s friend from UMass who is a 29-year-old Marine. John invited him to Diaz and Ross’ New Year’s Party. He showed up, sixer of Bud in hand, and mingled. I had no problem with him at this point - he was diffused since there was so many people there. On the T ride back from the fireworks, he was telling off-color jokes really loudly while most of the car laughed. So far, he was fine. Then shit changed.

When we returned, John and I decided we wanted to go to the South Street Diner to get some food. Fred was all about it as well. We left the apartment, and as soon as we set foot outside, Fred started bitching about the idea of going to the Diner and having to order “a fucking eight-dollar milkshake.” This was his argument the rest of the way there. When we got into a cab to take down there, he started bitching out the cab driver, who thought it was hilarious and started laughing at him, which made him even more mad. John had to keep telling him to take it easy.

Finally, we got there, and we had to wait outside because the place was packed. There was a guy taking orders in advance, so what does Fred do? He orders a milkshake. Then this homeless-looking guy kept giving Fred shit, and that was just making him even more mad. When we got a table, the food came, and Fred, sitting next to John, got in John’s face from inches away and was talking really low. I looked down and ate my food without saying a word- I was terrified. Finally, John told him to leave, and he did. We found out later that Fred woke up the next day with a black eye and no memory of anything that had happened.

Since then, Fred has randomly shown up at Diaz’s apartment and stayed for hours, talking someone’s ear off. This is exactly what happened on Saturday: he showed up, hung out for awhile, and tagged along with Diaz to Amherst.

At this point I’m pretty worried. Fred grabs the phone from Diaz and starts talking to me. I have no idea what we talk about. After they say they’ll be heading here in a couple hours, I hang up and call John. John says he will have to make it out to us. I tell him I’ll call when they arrive. I call up Richards, who tells me he’s breaking glass jars and throwing snowballs at cars and asks me to join him. I tell him to come out drinking later. he agrees to it and hangs up quickly, as a car is coming.

Well, for the next couple hours, I read, drink some coffee, and then throw on the GI Joe movie and open up a bottle of wine that I had started a couple nights prior. As I’m working on it, I get a call from Diaz saying he and Fred are downstairs. This is around 7:30. I run down to get them. We head back upstairs and stand around for a couple minutes. I offer them each one of my shitty beers and cut my hand open twisting off one of the tops. I put a band-aid on it. I start up a different movie (Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children, a movie I had already watched once that day, but it’s amazing) and get myself a shitty beer. I cut my hand up worse opening that one. We drink those and then I get my new whiskey out (Tullamore Dew) to pour into my new flask. I pour three shots and we toast to having a good night. I drink it and love it - it is the smoothest whiskey I’ve ever had. I take out a funnel and start filling the flask, and a little bit spills because the funnel doesn’t fit right in the flask. I fill it about halfway, citing that that should be enough. I put it in the back-left pocket of my jeans. I talk to Richards and he tells us to come to his place, then we can go out from there. John is MIA. His phone seems to be off, and his voicemail box is full. Interesting. We head out.

At Richard’s, we have a drink. I have a Busch Light to take a break from ShitBeer (Otter Creek Winter Ale or something like that). I take a swig of whiskey. Then I raid Richards’ Sun Chips. I’m loving them. Richards is drinking Canadian Mist out of the plastic bottle. I taste it and am not a fan. After 15-20 minutes, we decide to head out.

We scope out the scene uptown and decide McMurphy’s is the place to be, even though I hate McMurphy’s. When we get uptown John is standing in front of Delano’s smoking a cigarette. I find this very funny. We all go into McMurphy’s and get a couple pitchers. We are sitting near the door, either one or two tables away from the bouncers. I have to use the bathroom, so I head over there. There is no line for either toilet, which is a relief. I go in, shut the door, and start draining. After I’m finished, I pull out my flask and take a swig. I replace it, probably don’t wash my hands, and walk back out. There is a pitcher of Honey Brown at my table. I tell the boys I’ll buy next round. Fred is a mess. He has been drinking all day, and he is nothing more than an infant. He can’t talk or walk. John is not in a good mood. As I’m sitting, my flask slides out of my pocket and clanks to the floor. Whoops. I get up to pick it up and make the mistake of making eye contact with one of the bouncers. He calmly points his thumb over his shoulder out the door. I nod. I tell the party that we’re being booted. We leave.

I don’t remember this next part at all. We go next door to Delano’s, and they refuse to let Fred in for obvious reasons. Before anyone else can even get in, I’m already sitting at the counter ordering a pitcher of Bud Light. John agrees to babysit Fred, and Diaz comes in and chugs the pitcher with me. We leave pretty soon after. John has vanished. The remaining four of us decide it’s time to make tracks. We decide to go next door to Antonio’s, a delicious pizza place that is open late. I buy a few slices for Diaz and me. Fred is passing out in one of the booths. They try to kick him out, but he wakes up, then falls back asleep. This happens a couple times. I happily cram slices down my throat. We leave.

We go to Richard’s to get Diaz’s car, then Diaz and I take his car back to my place while Fred and Richards follow in his car. Apparently Richards smokes a huge blunt in my room - I don’t remember this. Diaz and I decide it is a brilliant idea to run the halls and tear down EVERYTHING. We do this on every floor. We make a huge mess.

I wake up the next day at 5:45. I sit at my computer for hours while Diaz usurps my bed. Around 10 Fred is up and Diaz awakes as well. Fred talks for awhile and drinks a Raw Tea, then we all go to the Route 9 Diner for some fuckin’ eats. Fred takes an Otter Creek with him.

When we arrive at the Diner, Fred still has half a beer left. He sits in the back seat like a child, reading Rolling Stone and drinking a beer while Diaz and I go inside and put in our name. Fred comes in and starts being slightly inappropriate. He has been wearing a shirt that says “I wouldn’t fuck you for practice” across the front for several days - it is stained, so much so that even though it’s a black shirt, the discolorations are very visible. The people around us keep shooting us looks. We finally get a table and sit. Fred talks. We order. Fred talks. Our food comes, Fred disappears. We wonder where he went. I finally see him outside, doing god-knows-what. I theorize that he went to the liquor store. He comes back in and asks Diaz for his car keys - my theory was correct. He had gone to the store, bought a 12-pack of Pabst, and stashed it in some bushes behind a palette. I shake my head as he leaves. He comes back, eats half his food, then goes to the bathroom. Diaz and I have been finished eating for a little while, but Fred still has a ways to go. He comes back, eats, talks, and generally just tires the two of us out. Finally, we leave. Fred cracks a beer in the car. They drop me off at my place, and when they leave, I breathe a sigh of relief. I then notice the cable in my common room has been ripped out of the wall.

“Goddammit Fred!”

John and I had planned to go to Boston for St. Patrick’s Day about a week ago. After the party at McMurphy’s last weekend, he disappeared for awhile. Literally, for about 5 days. I got a call on Wednesday from John, asking about this weekend. I told him I still wanted to go, so we agreed to communicate more on Friday or so.

Well, Friday came and went. I drank a bottle of wine and left him threatening voicemails, none of which were answered.

Saturday morning, my friend Ross, the guy we were going to stay with, gives me a call, and I tell him that I can’t get in touch with John. He tries too, but to no avail. I tell him I still want to come in, but without John, it’s a no-go. We figure nothing’s going to happen.

At approximately 1:00 PM I get an IM from John. He previously misunderstood the situation – he thought that Ross wasn’t going to be in Boston, and that it would be pointless to go if that were the case. I tell him that Ross was on his way to Boston from Franklin, and that he would be there when we got there. John agrees to drive out to Amherst to get me, and from there we will take the Pike into Boston. I call Ross and inform him of the plan. I hop in the shower and get dressed. I pack clothes for the next day and hang out for awhile. Then I get together a hodge-podge of beers for us to drink on the ride there (3 Guinness, 2 StrawBlonds, 1 Sierra Nevada, and a can of Busch Light).

When John finally arrives, I am waiting outside. I hop in the car and we’re on our way. We listen to HIM and Ween. When we hit the Pike we crack a pair of Guinness. So far, so good. About halfway there and John needs to stop for gas. We pull into the gas station/rest area. I feel like I’m fading (I went to bed around 12:30 the night before and awoke at 5:45 for no reason, unable to sleep – a common occurrence as of late), so I go inside the building and get in line at Lavazza for a cup of some of the worst coffee in existence. Lavazza has the market cornered, because their coffee is shit, but drivers have no choice – it’s either that or fall asleep at the wheel. I guess with the proliferation of Green Mountain Coffee at McDonald’s, also at the same rest stop, we now have a choice. Regardless, I go to the counter and I wait. There are four people behind the counter and I am the only person in line. Two of the workers (girls) are talking to each other on the right. One is showing the other some stupid fucking beads she has around her neck. The other two (man and woman) are chatting it up on the left. I’m not sure if they work there or at the adjoined pastry counter. None of them even look at me, much less make eye contact or ask me what I want. At this point I realize that I don’t really want coffee badly enough to wait for someone to notice me. Rather than going up and saying something to get their attention, I say fairly loudly, “Fuck it.” I turn around and walk out. John gives me a weird look when I tell him what I did. We are gassed up, so we hit the highway once again.

Once we arrive in Boston, we drive to Ross’ place and drop off our stuff. By now it is about 6:00. Ross and I shotgun a beer, and we settle in with John to drink a few more. Ross isn’t 21, but has a fake ID that we’re pretty sure will work, so we plan our night around that. I am really fuckin’ hungry, so I advocate getting pizza. They are all about going to TGI Friday’s, but I try to explain to them that it’s just a more expensive Applebees ripoff. They get pissed at me and concede to my urgings for pizza. We go to Il Mondo for some slices. While I eat my two slices, Ross and John run to 7-11. They return and Ross gets a slice of barbecued chicken. I get another slice of cheese. I still need an energy drink.

After the pizza, we go to this bar down the street from Ross’ place called The Squealing Pig. Ross gets in without a problem. I need to piss, so I tell one of them to order me a Red Bull and vodka. After my session with Mr. Urinal, I get out and find that they don’t have Red Bull. A little annoyed, I get a Guinness instead. We find a table sans chairs by the ATM and hang out. We toast to feeling good all the time. Following that round, I go to the bar and ask for 3 shots of Jack and 3 Buds. The bartender comes over with 3 Bud Lights. I ask if they are out of Budweiser, he says they don’t serve it. I have a typical “Luke ‘Wha?’” moment, and I get John’s help bringing the drinks back to the table. I’m still feeling the imminent crash. We take the shots and mine sits a little funny. I drink my beer and ignore it. The three of us finish up and leave.

At this point, Ross urges us to go to a party at his friend’s place. We figure that we need beer. We go to a liquor store and buy a sixer of Newcastle and a 12 of Bud Light. I pick those up as well as a Red Bull (finally). The box that the Buds come in is missing a side. Not important, but a little unsettling. We go back to Ross’ apartment to get backpacks to put the beer in. While there, I let loose a golden shower and drink my Red Bull. Once we get everything situated, we head out to Ross’ friend’s.

We arrive and are greeted at the door by a young man in a green corduroy jacket. The party seems to be dying. John, Ross, Green Jacket, and I play a few games of quarters. It is a fairly even game. Then the four of us go upstairs and gaze at Green Jacket’s bar that he built. Around us, the stragglers are getting it on, and those who aren’t getting it on are in relationships. Seems to be a bust. I go downstairs and catch a bunch of dudes busting each other’s balls. I laugh. John and Ross come down, and Ross and I go outside to smoke a Black And Mild. While outside, we tell everyone to have a Happy St. Patrick’s day, and I decide that I’m going to speak with a Boston accent for the rest of the night. John joins us, and we depart to go to another bar called Flann’s.

On the way there, we pass a pizza place. Ross and I want pizza. We ditch John, who makes his way to Flann’s. Ross and I go inside. I get a slice and Ross gets two. These two girls sit down next to us. I tell Ross to talk to them, and he makes small talk for a moment, but then they ignore him. After my slice, and after Ross’ two, he gets up and gets us both another slice – this time, it is Sicilian pizza (thick and square). Though I didn’t really want it, I ate it anyway. By now I am feeling a lot better than I was earlier. Some girl next to us is claiming that she is a virgin, even though in the sentence before she said she had sex with several men. Ross and I exchange a laugh with one of the dudes sitting with her. We get ready to leave, but Ross physically bars me from leaving until I talk to the two girls that he chatted up earlier. I come up with a great comment. I walk over to one of them, smack her pretty hard in the arm, and say, “I don’t mean to sound like a creep or anything, but I really like your highlights.” Obviously, pretty creep sentence. I turn on my heel and we leave, laughing all the way.

We head over to Flann’s, but there is a line to get in. Ross and I get in line. I call John and inform him of the situation. Also, by this time, I have dropped the Boston accent after realizing how fucking stupid of an idea it was. As we get to the front of the line, John comes out to smoke a cigarette. He goes back in right before we get in.

For some reason I always have trouble at bars. Something happens that always makes me have a “Wha?” moment. Earlier in the evening I had one at the Squealing Pig. Weeks ago I had one at Delano’s when they said they were out of gas, and another one when the barkeep at Moan And Dove wouldn’t give me three shots. For some reason this shit only happens to me. Anyway, the “Wha?” moment at Flann’s happens when I first hit the bar. Having no cash, I want to start a tab. I ask what the minimum is on tabs, and the bartender says they’re not taking tabs that night. “Wha?” I walk back to Ross and tell him, and he gives me cash. I buy us a pair of Guinness (for ten fuckin’ bucks) and we go meet John in the back. We get there and he’s chatting up these two pieces of skirt. One of them asks me for the beads I am wearing (I don’t remember exactly where they are from). I don’t read her whatsoever and tell her I’ll give them to her if she shows me her tits. She totally isn’t the type. She doesn’t say much more to me and basically runs away. John is hitting on this girl with a green plastic pipe. He’s really into her, and he puts his arm around her. I watch Ross play Pac-Man – he’s fucking terrible at it. John goes outside to smoke a cigarette, Ross joins him to get some air, and I sit down and feel alone. I am talking to this girl, but one silence is too long, and she runs “to be with her friend”. I am moody at this point. I walk to the front and peer out the window to try and find John and Ross. I see them and make faces at them. They come inside rather quickly. John gives me a look. We head back to the rear of the bar. I’m the last one of the three of us in a line back there. On the way back, as I’m walking by some asshole, he purposely splashes beer on me. I whip around and say, “What the fuck man?” At this point I know he did it on purpose because he doesn’t look at me but tries to shake my hand. I shove him away violently and tell him to fuck off. I don’t want to get in a fight, but I’m on the verge of allowing it. I turn back around and meet back up with my friends. While in the back, we witness some young dude stumble into the back on his way to the bathroom and fall head first into the wall.. Since he is far from the wall, his body is nearly parallel to the ground when he strikes it. I laugh. We stick around a little longer, then decide to leave.

We go back to the apartment and drop off our stuff. We may or may not have another beer – it is hazy. We decide to go to the South Street Diner. I am still annoyed.

We leave the building and I catch a cab. We’re on our way and out of nowhere, the cabbie takes out his phone and rudely starts calling someone. This annoys me more than anything – if I’m in your cab, don’t fucking put my life in jeopardy by talking on the phone. So he’s speaking in some other language, and I start laughing. The language sounds ridiculous. He makes a noise: “Eeeeeee” in a high-pitched voice. I duck my head and futilely stifle my laughter.

We arrive at the Diner and we have to wait for a few minutes for something to open up. I flirt with a couple fatties to get a cigarette since John only has two left and I don’t want to steal them from him. Finally, it’s our time. We sit at the bar and order our food (I order a reuben). Ross and John are infatuated with our waitress – I don’t see what the big deal is. John puts money in the jukebox, but it doesn’t register. I inform the waitress, and she gives us a dollar. John asks her what she wants to hear, and she requests some Johnny Cash. John plays Ring of Fire and some other song, and she is into it. Ross and John get boners. Our food arrives and we eat it. My reuben is pretty good. After we’re done, I pay the bill. Ross gets the rest of his sandwich wrapped, and we leave in search of a cab.

Well, the next hour is us searching for a cab. We walk to the nearest bank so John can get cab fare. From there, we keep walking so that we may be able to hail one. No such luck. The night is cold, and I just want to get inside somewhere to warm up. Ross is getting exceptionally pissed, and I am finding the whole situation incredibly funny. We make it all the way down to the theater district, and still, nothing. We are on both sides of the street, crisscrossing it to find a cab going in either direction – anything so we can get home. Ross is about to snap. He is leading the pack, and I am about 15 feet behind him, with John bringing up the rear somewhere far away. A drunk couple walks by us, the girl stumbling. Ross yells in her face to walk straight. Finally, at some weird crossroads that I don’t recognize, we get a cab. The driver is Haitian, and he’s a fucking riot. He keeps talking about weed and banging girls. He is literally out of his mind. He runs several red lights and swerves around traffic.

On Huntington Ave, right before the turn onto Ross’ street, some girls pull up next to us. They ask the driver through an open window how to get to I-93. He gives bad directions, and we somehow get in front of them at a red light. Out of nowhere he gets out of the cab and closes his door. He goes back to talk to the girls, and we’re in stitches. Ross gets out too as the light turns green. We are sitting in the middle of the road, blocking a lot of traffic. Ross left to get someone’s number. He comes back without his food. John and I are heated. He gives us a number sans area code, and I proceed to call voicemail boxes to find out which number is correct. It is now 3 AM. I finally decide on the 508 area code because it was the only number where I got a name (Stacy), so I call her up. I ask her if she was just in a car behind a taxi, and she says no. I do a poor job explaining the situation, and I hang up.

We get back to Ross’ place, and John is antagonizing Ross. He keeps saying, “Ross…I’m serious.” Ross is getting angry. After a short pause, John calls Ross’ name. Ross answers, and John pulls the line out again. John and I are having a great laugh. I do the same thing, and Ross is pissed. We go to bed.

I wake up around 9, unable to sleep. I am officially up for the day. We go to Dunkin’ Donuts to get some food. I get a juice because I’m not hungry. We see a fatty passed out in a convenience store window. I am fairly disgusted.

When we get back to the apartment, I shower. I receive a call at 11 from a number I don’t recognize (I just looked it up now as I’m writing this, and it was someone from my hometown – very odd). I answer the phone, and it’s a girl (Stacy) asking me if I called her at 3 AM the night before. I laugh and say yes. She seems frightened and asks why I called. I start to explain, and at this point John and Ross figure out what’s going on and start laughing at me. She doesn’t understand how I knew her name. I explain the voicemail thing to her, but she doesn’t get it. I apologize and hang up.

John and I leave shortly after. We have a pseudo-philosophical discussion about dudes and babes. My mom calls me as we are traveling off the Pike. She asks me if I’m coming home at all during my break, and as I’ve stated plenty of other times last week, I tell her I’m not. She asks what John’s doing, and I tell her he’s going back and forth. Later on in the conversation:

Mom: So I mean, if John’s going back and forth, you could hitch a ride home with him if you want.

Luke (bluntly/loudly): …I’M NOT COMING HOME.

The she starts going on about some memory game show. I have no idea what she’s talking about. I lose signal, so the conversation ends. John calls me a dick and gets a good laugh when I explain to him what she was saying to me.

After this, shit’s boring. Nonetheless, good times had by all.

It is a good feeling, getting in the door, hearing the music, and being able to partake in the festivities instead of being stuck in the cold with everyone else. Really good. I cheer in joy.

But I’m getting WAY ahead of myself. I shall start in the beginning. I found out a couple days ago that McMurphy’s, an “Irish” bar in Amherst was going to have a party yesterday called “The Blarney Blowout.” Though St. Patrick’s day isn’t til next week, we will all be on Spring Break, so they made it happen a week early. A smart idea, because they brought in a lot of people. The girls and I planned to go.

Anyway, I wake up yesterday after a night of drinking at Delano’s. It was a good crowd the night before - plenty of room to move around, and I was with a few good friends from home, so it was good times. I got home late, really drunk. Originally I was gonna take it easy in preparation for McMurphy’s, but of course I didn’t. This is after two more nights of drinking on top of that. So I wake up, and I don’t feel that hot. I feel okay, but I actually consider not going to the party. My stomach is in turmoil, and I just feel dazed. I decide to shower, get dressed, and make my way to the DC to get some breakfast to settle my stomach. I inform the girls of my plans, and I tell Ash that I’m coming over when I get back.

Breakfast is decent. The eggs are tasty, as is the sausage, but the chocolate chip pancakes nearly put me over the top. Don’t get me wrong, I love them, but my stomach isn’t into them right at that moment. I feel like something is punching my guts. I get a tall cup of coffee to help wake me up. The coffee is really good.

I leave the DC and come home. It is 11:15. I gather my things, grab the sixer of Guinness I had bought from the fridge, and head down the hall. I knock, and Ashley answers wearing a green shirt. She informs me that Lauren is still sleeping. We go into her room and wake her up. I offer her a beer, but she turns it down. I crack beers for Ashley and me, and we drink while persuading Lauren to join us. She finally caves and takes a shower. I’m getting very excited. The Guinness sort of hurts my stomach, and though I have plenty of time to have another, I shut it down. After some good busts on each other, Ashley, Lauren, and I catch the 12:35 bus into town and get in a line of about 30 people, waiting to get into the party.

Now, this could have been a very boring experience. In fact, it was at first. I deserted the girls briefly to go into the record store across the street. It’s a cool little store - they specialize in mostly used and older stuff, butthey also carry some obscure stuff - I’ve never seen so many Jandek albums in one place in my life.

Upon leaving, I walk back across the street, and I notice the girls behind us drinking beers wrapped in paper bags. I think, I am a fucking idiot. The girls are brilliant for doing this, and Ashley and I agree we must get beer. I almost hop a bus and go home, but we decide it’d make more sense to buy singles at Russell’s Liquors around the corner. Meanwhile, Lauren is cold and hungry. I tell them to divide and conquer, and that I’ll hold the place in line. Ashley embarks to Russell’s, while Lauren scampers into Antonio’s and returns with a stacked slice of pizza. While they’re gone though, this girl hops in front of me in line. She refuses to believe that I was there before them, even though her friend is backing me up. This girl is the epitome of strumpet: platinum blond, fake orange tan, slightly wrinkled skin, North Face fleece, etc. She’s giving me a hard time, but she’s so wasted she’s basically just mumbling. Finally, she concedes defeat and slinks back behind me in line. Lauren comes back, and Ashley soon returns as well. We crack three Guinness, and we drink them pretty fast. Now I’m starting to feel really good, and I am having a good time in line, harassing some people that keep going in and out of the bar. The girls think I’m going to get their asses kicked: I know the only ass that’ll get kicked is mine. I decide we need more beer, Ashley agrees, Lauren doesn’t. I go to Russell’s to buy two beers. On the way I see a fucking alien inside Subway. I’m not fucking joking. It is wearing a little girl’s clothing and has a wicked veiny head, and it is eating the end of a sub. No, it isn’t even eating it, it is just holding it up. It gives me crazy eyes.

I walk into Russell’s and decide on two Newcastles. I bring them back, and we drink. The line starts to move a little faster. Soon we’re right at the front.

Then the unthinkable happens. The Skeleton Girl from last post emerges from the bar. My muscles tense up, and my stomach drops. She is friends with the two girls behind us in line, so she is talking to them. I’m doing my best not to look at her, because I don’t want her remembering it was I who busted her shit the other night. I don’t think she recognizes me though because I look totally different: different jacket, different clothes, no glasses. I think myself lucky for leaving in my contacts even when I wanted to take them out earlier.

Finally, after a good hour and a half of waiting outside, being stared at by passersby and generally just having a good time, we get inside, and the fun REALLY begins. I force my way up to the bar and order us a pitcher. As I’m doing this, Journey comes on, and I curse the gods. We commence drinking, and I decide to get in line for the bathroom, because though I don’t need to go very badly, I know I will in the minutes it will take to get into the bathroom. The girls join me soon after. We make our ways in and out, then Ash buys us beers in these tall plastic glasses specifically made for St. Patrick’s Day. I am thrilled. We drink a lot of beer and are merry. I essentially tell them I love them. We share hugs. It is the happiest I’ve been in quite awhile.

When I go to use the bathroom next, I see this guy that I saw earlier who was trying to steal beer from me. He is in front of me in line and wearing a piss-yellow shirt. I rest my beer on a ledge and wait in line. He doesn’t think I’m looking, so he grabs my beer and tries to take a sip. I scream, “NO NO NO!” and he stops before he gets it to his lips. I tell him it is my beer, and he apologizes, saying he thought it was his. I call him out on it, telling him I know full well that he knows it wasn’t his beer. He apologizes again and like an asshole I give him a sip.

Later on, John shows up. We all drink together and have a great time. I am wasted. The girls leave around 5:30, and John and I leave soon after to get dinner. I offer up the DC, but he is not about it at all. He treats me to The Pub. I get a Coke and he calls me a pussy. I am a mess, swearing incredibly loudly amidst old people and children. My burger arrives and it is the greatest thing I have ever tasted. I distinctly remember the bun being softer than a summer’s breeze. Well, at the time I was thinking, “Damn, this motherfucker is soft.” I probably said it aloud as well. Anyway, with food in my stomach, I am feeling a bit tired. John drives me home and I go over to the girls’, expecting them to be there. I need my contact case, and I left it in Ashley’s purse. Of course, they’re not there, but Ange tells me they’ll be back soon. Sure enough, they are. I probably say something stupid, then grab my shit and go back to my room and pass out, Sigur Ros keeping me company.

I wake up around 10:00, feeling pretty god-awful. Ash may be going back out, but then quickly rescinds the idea, and I am relieved. I know that if people are going out, there is a chance I might join them. I go over there and hang out til about 12:30, then I go home and watch 101 Dalmations. I am exhausted, but I can’t look away from the screen. Hugh Laurie is mesmerizing me, and it hurts my head to laugh. I fall asleep around 2:30.

As a result of yesterday, I am broke. I plan on going to St. Patrick’s Day in Boston, so I need to make some money somehow. I wonder if anyone needs an escort or something.

They say everything happens for a reason, right? I stand behind that, less in the sense that we have no control over our future, and more in the sense that our actions and the actions of others influence our future actions. Therefore, anything I say or do is a reaction to the things I have experienced in my life.

That being said, I was a complete dick to some girl last night. But I’m not going to get into that yet. Suspense! I’ll proceed to lay out the evening and the events that led up to this fateful meeting. It opens on Luke sitting at his desk, doing his OWLs (online homework) for Chemistry. I am not having a good time with it because the girls invited me to watch Borat with them, and I really wanted to, but I had run back here to look for my watch (missing since Wednesday night) and to do my OWLs (due at 2 A.M. this morning). I am sitting here plugging away when I get a phone call from John, ordering me to come to The Pub with him. Apparently on Thursday night it turns from nice little restaurant to Strumpet City Dance Bonanza. I am reluctant because I have to finish my work. We agree to give me about 45 minutes to finish, at which point John will show up and we’ll go, regardless of my status. Well, I finish just in the nick of time. I throw on my jacket and we roll.

We pull up to The Pub, and the place looks deserted. John parks in the middle of an empty parking lot. We get out, perplexed, and proceed to walk without confidence through the front doors. There are a few people inside, including a Billy Idol look-alike (it was a woman). John gets the obligatory shot and beer for each of us, and we sit at a nearby table discussing the mystery of the empty place. The dance music is goin’, the dance floor is flashin’, but the dance itself is missin’. There are a couple lame dudes playing pool in the corner. John chastises me for never having seen The Color Of Money, and I chastise him more for never having seen The Hustler.  He also reprimands me for my unsure thoughts regarding Pre-Med, and he reminds me why I’m doing it.  I realize he is completely right, and that I know I can get in somewhere, and it’s not going to be as hard as I think it is to get all my requirements fulfilled.  After all, I can do anything if I put my mind to it.

Slutty-looking women start entering. A group of them crowds around near us. A guy with them looks like a mixture of Sean Willis and Jay D’Errico. I note this to John. One girl repeatedly makes John roll his eyes with her vapid behavior. I figuratively do the same. We decide to get the fuck out. While outside, we end up talking to the hybrid guy, whose name is Alex. Pretty cool guy.

John and I hoof it over to Delano’s, where the party is just getting started. A shot each and a pitcher. John’s friend Anthony shows up with his friend, so we all hang out at the corner of the bar. Pretty good times had by all, though John keeps busting on my choice of women, and Anthony’s friend continually asks girls if they have fat friends - surprisingly, they keep talking to him. I realize this is a fantastic strategy.

The rest of the evening is pretty uneventful until the very end, about 15 minutes before we leave. Still we are colonizing the corner of the bar, but now I am standing up. Over the period of the night I feel ready to administer some discipline. Now is the time. I see a girl very close in front of me with a fake-looking tan, leathery skin, and a real bony frame. She and her friend are coming my way, but are not paying attention to me. I know now what I must do. I grab the girl’s hip to get her attention.

Luke: Excuse me, I was wondering, do you go tanning a lot?
Girl: No, not really…?
Luke: Oh, I was just wondering because you kind of look like a skeleton.
Girl’s Friend: That’s not a very good pickup line!
Luke: No, it’s not a pickup line at all, I just wanted to tell your friend that she kind of looks like a skeleton.
(The girls conference briefly)
Girl’s Friend: Yeah, that’s really nice, it’s like that because she has a disease.
Luke (calling their bluff): Well, either way, she still kind of looks like a skeleton. What disease?
Girl’s Friend (raising her fist): I’m going to punch you in the fucking face!
Luke (unflinching, raises hand, pointing to right cheek): No, go for it - I’m not gonna hit you back - hit me right here. I just think you’re overreacting, just because your friend sort of looks like a skeleton.
Girl’s Friend: Okay, that’s enough. Turn around.
Luke: No, I don’t want to. I was just standing here, telling your friend that she looks like a skeleton.
Girl’s Friend: TURN AROUND.
Luke: Nah, I’m set.

At this point they finally stopped talking to me. The reasonable thing for them to do would be to walk away immediately, but what drunk is reasonable? Sure explains my actions. At this point, I go over to John and tell him that we had to leave right away. He asks why, and I tell him I’ll explain in the car. We leave.
Now, let me get back to my original thesis. This wasn’t just a random event. This happened because of a series of events that culminated in this conversation:

1. I haven’t been sleeping much for a good month. After this amount of time, I’ve become more bold and less caring of consequences. I bust chops harder and more often.
2. I was drunk. My boldness level was elevated from the regular 6 or 7 to a 9.
3. The night before I got insulted by some girl I don’t even know regarding my hometown and some other things I can’t remember. Major bullshit. I guess I decided to pay it forward.
4. The evening sort of darkened my outlook, because nothing was really going my way. On top of that, seeing all those strumpets at The Pub didn’t help matters.

There may have been other factors, but those are the only ones I can think of off the top of my head. Regardless, I stand by the fact that it was not just a random occurrence. Thinking about that now, I feel a little bit like a jerk. But not that much.

I woke up this morning wondering why I had a dream that some guy at a track meet was busting my balls really hard. Then I remembered that last night was Bust On Luke Night in Amherst.

Yesterday, I’m in my last class and I get assigned this huge ball-bust paper where we have to watch a foreign film and write about it. I’m pissed, and Lauren (my neighbor and classmate) is freaking out. Chris (Richards, my friend from Franklin and classmate) is pretty even-minded on the paper. But then again, that’s Richards. Anyway, it’s 5:30 when the class gets out, and I am to meet my friend and study for my Calculus exam that happens to be today. But I’m pissed that I have to find a movie, so I call it off. I figured I’d spend the whole night looking for something good that I hadn’t seen before.

Richards and I go get dinner at Worcester DC, and it is delicious. They have some of the best mac and cheese on this night, and I am thrilled about it. We chomp down our food while talking about chicks. I explicitly tell him that I don’t think I’m bragging about the pieces of skirt I’ve been getting, but it is a new thing to me. I’ve never been so smooth in all my days. Richards eats his cabbage soup, and we leave.

He drives me home to my place. Though I can walk, as it is not far away, it is very cold, and I opt for a ride. I come inside and search for a movie for a couple minutes, then say, “Fuck it.” John calls me up to go to the Moan And Dove. I tell him to come get me right now.

The Moan And Dove is the absolute best bar to which I’ve ever been. I have been there on multiple occasions, and it never ceases to amaze me. The atmosphere is dark and cozy, and the selection of beers is absolutely ludicrous. John always sticks with the classic Dogfish Head IPA, but I’m more adventurous and try something new in each glass. I start out with a Stone Smoked Porter, which is pretty on par with my style. I’m a big fan of the darker beers because they have a lot of character and a lot of layers of flavor. Plus, as is the custom with most beers, they get you drunk. John and I have minimal conversation, as he is staring at this girl at the bar (one of the bartenders on a night off) trying to grow the balls to say something to her, while I’m staring at the seven dumpy chicks sitting behind John. I am trying to figure them out for awhile, since two of them appear to be dating, and another has bruises all over her fingers. I rattle off to John my pros and cons of each, and after awhile one of them gets up. I see she’s wearing a hoodie that says “Mt. Holyoke Rugby” on the back. I say, “Ohhh,” and I tell John how the puzzle had just come together. At some point John tells me his roommate Brian is coming out to drink some beers with us.

I get an EKU 28 next, which is a 12-ouncer, but it packs a punch with 11% alcohol. Beautiful amber color, but too sweet for my taste. John gets a beer with a great head on it. I think another IPA.

Now the night gets interesting.

Brian calls up John and tells him he’s on his way. I’m throwing he EKU back pretty fast because I don’t like the way it tastes. I try taking little sips at a point, and though it’s successful in making it taste better, I realize that I’m just going to have to drink it longer, so I slam it back again. I follow it up with a Anchor Liberty, and John gets a Guinness. My beer tastes like heaven compared to the grossness I had just finished. I sort of get on John’s case about ordering a Guinness, but not really - I want to know of all the beers in the place, he got a pretty common one, and he tells me, “Sometimes, ya feel like a Guinness.” Couldn’t argue with that. Brian shows up and gets a beer. The three of us talk politics and John gets pretty quiet after a few minutes.

All of a sudden I get a phone call. It’s Ron Dog (my brother, Pete). Perplexed, I go outside to talk to him. He tells me about a website he is at and we talk about it briefly, and then I tell him to go to dynamoaf. He goes and reads a funny thing I had written and laughs. I laugh too. I laugh a lot.

We finish our beers and John asks me if I want another, because he’s going up to get one. I tell him to get me a pilsner (I forget who makes it), and he brings it back.

After we drink our fourth beers, I am not really that drunk, but feeling good. John wants me to go buy 3 shots of Jack with my own money. Thinking quickly, I walk up to the bartender and ask for 3 shots of Jack for John’s tab. The bartender refuses to give me 3, he’ll only give me 2. Perplexed as all hell, I say, “Wha?” He gives me some speech about not wanting to drive us over the edge, and since one of us is driving, he wants us to be safe. I pull out a few excuses, including telling him John is an alcoholic so he’s just getting started. I even asked for 3 shot of something else, clearly not getting the idea. Nothing. He breaks my stones and shuts it down. The worst part is yet to come: when I have to go back to the table and tell them that I can’t get the shots.

The worst part comes. The two of them stare at me and say, “Wha?” I explain it the best I can, and John breaks my stones. Then he goes to pay the tab. The bartender explains it to John. We leave, Brian in his car and John and I in his. John tells him he has to drop me off, so he’ll see him in a little bit back at the house.

We’re driving through the center of Amherst when I get an idea to go to a bar, either Delano’s or McMurphy’s, whichever is more crowded. We’re driving by, and McMurphy’s looks like it has a good amount of people in it, whereas next door Delano’s was all but deserted. I bring my idea up to John half-joking, and he says. “Y’wanna go?” I think for a second, and I say, “Let’s do it.” We park by Cousin’s Market and walk fairly drunkenly back up toward the bars. We laugh about how Brian is going to be expecting John but he won’t show up, and about how John doesn’t really call Brian unless it’s to pick his drunk ass up. John shoves me into some mulch as a cop is sitting in his car watching us from across the street. We walk by Delano’s and shut it down immediately. We enter McMurphy’s and some smokin’ Bacardi representative tells me to get a Bacardi drink.

John and I sit at the bar next to these four girls. There is an old old man sitting to my right, sipping a Bud Light from a cup, the bottle next to it. John orders us each a shot of Jack and a beer. We toast to feelin’ good all the time. I take a swig of Budweiser. God must have felt like breaking my stones, because I immediately knock the bottle over when I reach for it to take another sip. I pick it up quickly, and I feel like an asshole. I apologize to the bartender as she cleans it up. I effectively ruin my chances with all of those girls. John says I knocked it over so deliberately that he thought I meant to do it. Yeah, I wish. The old old man sitting to my right hates me. He vanishes soon after the incident.

More people start showing up, and John orders another round. I apologize again to the bartender because I think she’s cute, and John thinks she’s right up my alley. At some point we head to the lower part of the bar. I snag a spot at the bar and I’m hanging out, drinking my beer. I feel a tap on my shoulder, and I am surprised but happy to see my manager from work. She is surprised to see me as well, and questions if I’m 21. We have a conversation, but since it is very loud in there (these two assholes are playing guitar (Guitar Dudes on Wednesday nights)), it’s essentially a screaming match, where one of us will say something, the other will yell, “WHAT?!” the other will repeat it, the other will again yell “WHAT?!” and the cycle is repeated. For each sentence. She introduces me to her friends, one of whom isn’t drinking. Her friend and I talk briefly.

Then something happens, and I’m not sure how. I’m talking to another one of her friends, either from Weymouth or Wayland or something like that, and she starts busting my chops HARD CORE. I don’t even know about what! She makes fun of my hometown, and just keeps fucking talking about how this sucks and that sucks, and I’m completely speechless. I take it good-naturedly because that’s how I am, but then she disappears and it hits me that she was a complete piece of shit to me. I’m trying to find out where the fuck she is so I can yell at her. I ask my manager where she is, but there is no success, and I don’t think she knows who I’m talking about.

I find John, who tells me he’s calling Brian to pick us up and drive us home. We both laugh like a bastard. I try futilely to explain to him what happened with that girl. We try tracking her down, but no dice.

Brian comes and gets us, and I somehow get back in my apartment. I eat some pieces of steak, brush my teeth, throw on Nick at Nite on a timer (I lost my remote weeks ago), and crawl into bed. I get up to turn off the TV after a few minutes because it’s pissing me off.

Apparently I was pretty pissed when I came back last night. According to Alex, I was still yelling about that girl. I still want to berate her, and if I ever see her again, I’m going to give her a BIG piece of my mind.

I actually got a bit of sleep last night. Thy (one of my roommates) helped me out and gave me some herb that he uses a lot that apparently relaxes you. Sort of worked. Before it actually did relax me, I had a couple ridiculous conversations and continued talking really loudly around here, as usual.

But before any of this happened, I was doing about the same thing. I was busting balls REALLY hard, and I was cracking up about it. You have to understand, I’ve been a little out of control this past week, since the lack of sleep finally began tolling on me. I have been busting chops more than usual and harder than usual, yet I have not had and do not have any problem with it. This shit makes me laugh incredibly hard, and anything that makes me laugh is worth it, even if I’m laughing at my own ridiculous jokes and digs. If they make other people laugh, even better.

I’ve found myself inexplicably starting to yell about something or other, usually a series of non-sequiturs that I’d repeat over and over again. Last night when Benny and Thy came in from work I jumped out of my doorway and yelled, “YEAAAAH!” Benny asked me if I wanted some steak. Again I yelled, “YEAAAAH!” and the feast commenced. Basically he left a pot of steak strips on the counter with plastic wrap over the top, and I looked around suspiciously, peeled back the wrap, and took strip after strip one at a time with a fork. Delicious! I started climbing around the furniture. Keep in mind no one was even around - Thy and Benny were in their rooms, and Alex (my third and final roommate) was at work, so I wasn’t showing off my insanity. I was just standing at the counter stabbing a piece of beef when I decided it’d be a good idea to climb the couch and stand at the top.

So in a little bit I ask Thy for some of that herb, because he had mentioned it before and I wanted to see if it’d work. At this point I was really willing to try anything, since as I said in an earlier post, my insomnia has been affecting my schoolwork, and I wanted at least one night’s sleep. In fact, I was talking to a friend earlier who falls asleep very early for no reason. She asked if I wanted to trade, and very seriously I said absolutely. I’d rather be a lame-o than an insane-o. Anyway, Thy gave me some, I took it, and waited around for it to kick in. He said it doesn’t usually relax you at first, so I just hung out in here talking to some people online. Around midnight I decided to lie in bed and listen to Ween until I fell asleep. I queued up White Pepper and got ready for bed. I came back in, played it up, and lied down. It took a song or two, but I finally got relaxed and just listened to the music- it was great. I heard a bunch of things I never even noticed before, and it made me happy.

I got most of the way through the album before I think I dozed off. All I know is I was jarred up by another Ween album at 2:30 in the morning, so I shut off my receiver from my bed (I planned it out perfectly so I wouldn’t have to get up) and fell asleep. And the best part is, I didn’t wake up after the obligatory 6 hours - I lasted 7.5 hours until I had to get up to use the bathroom! I feel a lot better too - my eyes don’t burn, my head doesn’t hurt, and I feel relaxed, albeit a little drowsy. Well, no worries. Hopefully something of merit happens today so I have a good story to add either to here or to dynamoaf. That being said, let the day begin.

The last thing I want to do here is draw pity and make people feel sorry for me. I’m not one to do that, and frankly it’s stupid. If you feel pity after reading this, have a friend punch you in the gut. If you have no friends, have a stranger run over your toes in a luxury sedan. All I want to do is illustrate for my three readers what it’s like to be me as of late.

That being said, I have not had a full night’s sleep in more than three weeks. I’m becoming not unlike the guy who insisted there were parkas in the Wild West. My slumber time has been steadily decreasing, but about now it’s been hovering around 6.5 - 7 hours. I wake up every morning feeling tired. Usually I’m jarred awake by the urge to urinate. I’ve figured out over the past weeks that I can go six hours after drinking something before I have to use the bathroom. So I wake up, sit on the toilet in the dark (it makes matters really easy to sit - guys, try it if you have to go in the middle of the night) until I’m drained, then lie back down. It always feels good to lie down again, but the most I can do is simply relax - sleep never comes. I end up getting frustrated after lying there for about 15 minutes, and I sigh really loudly, curse, and get up. I’ve tried not drinking fluids for hours before bed, using the bathroom before I sleep, taking Tylenol PM, NyQuil, Benadryl, drinking a couple glasses of wine, covering up my window to keep the light from streaming in, and probably a handful of other remedies, but nothing works. Like clockwork, I awake at least two hours before I would like to and am up for the day. Sometimes I even try to go to bed earlier to try and get more sleep, but I just toss and turn for about an hour.

When I wake up, my eyes burn and I usually put in eyedrops if I’m feeling like it. I end up feeling worse than neutral all day, and today was no exception. All day my stomach ached, and only now is it starting to fade. I’m starting to be unable to do my schoolwork, since it takes a certain amount of concentration, a level which I’m starting to be unable to maintain. It’s really starting to piss me off.

Of course, lacking sleep leads one’s mind to enter an irrational territory. Sitting in the girls’ apartment last night, I make the realization aloud that I doubt I’m going to get into medical school. Angela says without offending that I don’t seem like the type. I couldn’t agree more. I used to have this plan when I first came here that I’d do really well and be this hot-shit med student and that I’d be able to do everything leading up to med school. Well, less than a semester and a half later, I’m on a road that doesn’t have street lamps and is essentially as expansive as a parking lot. I don’t know what I want to do anymore, but I’m getting antsy. I just fuckin’ want to be done with school so I can get a job and be on my own. I don’t want to go through 4+ more years of school after undergrad. I’ve resigned to the fact that I’m definitely gonna have to go to grad school, but that’s it. I can’t take any more of this wait - there’s two much future before my life can begin. Angela suggested I do something with writing, and though I love it, there’s no money in it. Unless I’m writing snuff films.

I also realized last night right before I drifted off that this is going to be one sad semester-end. I’ve no choice but to start a new chapter at UMass with unfamiliar people - all of my roommates and neighbors will be gone somewhere or other, from graduating to abroad. It really upset me. The people that I’ve shared so many good times with will be starting their new lives, and I will be stuck here giving handjobs to gorillas or whatever the fuck I’ll be majoring in next year. I wish I had more time.

Regardless, this is my life. I definitely made no mistakes transferring here, but now I have no idea what the future is going to hold. Any suggestions?

Let me reiterate: I don’t want your fuckin’ pity party. I do however want your drinking party. Call me up if you got one goin’ in your backyard.

If you haven’t read my post called “What The Heck Is This All About?”, stop reading this right now, click that link, read the article, then read this. It’s a few posts below this one if you want to search for it, but the link is easy. Both articles are incredibly long, but they’re worth it. Just fuckin’ read them.

Because of my other adventures this weekend, I strove to make last night the same. And just like the other nights, it began pretty innocently and got pretty interesting by the end. Now let me start by saying that all day I felt weird. Not bad, not hungover, just weird. Everything sort of felt like it was glowing, if this makes any sense. At around 5:30 I start off with a Sierra Nevada that John had left over my apartment the night before. Tasted a tad metallic, but whatever. I’m doing the dishes, drinking my beer, and listening to some music. I pick up a pair of tongs and slice my left palm with them. It doesn’t hurt because it was a sharp edge, but my hand starts bleeding everywhere. I apply pressure with a napkin until the bleeding stops, then go back to work. My hand starts bleeding again. Cursing, I apply a bandage and go back to work. Benny makes some potstickers for the two of us, and we dine.

By 8 I’m really raring to go. I iron the shirt I plan on wearing and toss it on. I’m feeling good, and I am waiting for the call. At this point nothing is happening. I break open a bottle of shitty Pinot Grigio I started last week during the Oscars and swill it down while making some discoveries about the pornography I had downloaded the night before, and I relay that information via AIM to John, who seems accepting. Let me tell you about this porn: there is absolutely no rhyme or reason to it. Usually I’m pretty direct about what I want for a particular session, and what I want follows a theme, like office sex or blacks, something like that. I really don’t want to get into what it is because it’ll take too long, but you can trust me when I say that it is nonsense. Absolute nonsense. Keep in mind I was pretty hammered the night prior, so the dissociated porn sort of makes sense in that context. Whatever.

So John and I agree to meet at Delano’s around 9:30. I finish my wine, have a bowl of Cheerios to balance my stomach, scream at Benny’s friend who is sleeping on the couch, and head out around 9:10 (my bus is at 9:20). I look and feel like a million bucks. As I’m leaving the building, Tha HIZ (my brother, a.k.a. Erich) calls. I talk his ear off as I walk to the bus stop, he talks mine off while I’m there. The only thing I remember him saying is an admonition at the end of the conversation: don’t try too hard to make your night crazy - be safe. I tell him I will be safe, and I hop on the next bus that comes my way (late).

I arrive at Delano’s and John is the only person there. He is sitting near the left side of the bar. I saunter up to him and grab a chair. He already has a pitcher going. I pour myself a glass and we shoot the shit. He says a couple of our friends are coming out, and that they’ll give us a call when they arrive in town.
I join John outside when he goes to smoke a cigarette. John talks to another man named Benny, who is drumming on the bottom of a 5-gallon bucket that he holds under his arm. The man is singing some song that I can’t remember.

John and I go inside with the intent of finishing our pitcher and getting another. More people are gathering, and John and I marvel at a girl whose asshole boyfriend is wearing a hoodie over a button-down shirt from the grunge era. At one point John gets up for some reason, and this guy is eyeing his seat. The guy sits, and I tell him that my friend was sitting there. He says he’ll get up when he gets back. John comes back, looks pissed. I tell him what happens, the guy gets up, and John buys three shots of Jack. We shoot together and the guy leaves us alone. At some point I order a rum and Coke to keep myself awake. John gets a vodka and Red Bull. We sip and take it easy as more people are coming in.

John runs off to the little girls’ room to drain the lizard and I order a pitcher of PBR. The bartender says no more pitchers because they are out of gas. I repeat this back to him because I am dumbfounded. He confirms that what I say is what he said. John emerges from the piss box and I tell him the news, panic in my voice. I tell him curtly that we have to leave. NOW.

We walk out and go to McMurphy’s. As we get to the door I heard Journey blaring inside. I seriously request that we wait until the song ends, and I confess my undying hatred for them to John. He laughs and we walk in amidst everyone singing off-key and obnoxiously loud. He orders a pitcher and we find prime real estate at the bottom of the stairs. McMurphy’s is one of those bars that is crowded all the time for no reason - everyone goes there even though it borders on ‘dive’ in my mind.

People keep coming up to John and hugging him (girls) or shaking his hand (guys) or a little of both (trannies). I am disappointed that John has so many friends and I have so few. We drink the pitcher pretty quickly and leave.

The plan is to go to De and Allie’s apartment and hang. We get in John’s car and start driving. We obviously get very lost because getting to their apartment is the only thing in Amherst that I can’t navigate. John gets directions from De but immediately forgets them. We are driving around aimlessly and listening to Bloodhound Gang. I try to sing Mope but stumble helplessly over the words. Between lyrics I try to co-pilot us to their apartment while simultaneously lamenting the death of the evening. It is still pretty early, and I am sad.

We go back to Delano’s, and the place is packed. John orders us a couple Buds and we see his friend Anthony. We talk to him for awhile, and I start feeling sick. I need food. At the back of Delano’s there is a takeout counter. I order a basket of fries. I stand there for what seems like too long of a time, and my fries arrive. I eat most of them and share them with John and Anthony. I don’t think they take any.

Delano’s is closing. We drive back to my apartment and haul in a 12-back of Bud Light. We get to the apartment and now is the time when time loses meaning. I scramble to call some people get something going, but no one is answering. Directly before this, I prank call some girl I used to go to school with and tell her she’s fuckin’ huge. She is. John leaves and doesn’t take his beer.

Looking at my phone now, I see that I called a lot of people last night. I called Tha HIZ again at about 2 - don’t know why. Anyway, through a network of phone calls I find out my neighbor Ashley and her sister are at a party down past the Hillel House, which is very far away. I decide to walk it. In a move reminiscent of the previous evening, I stuff a couple beers in my jacket and hit the road. I’m nearly there and I close my eyes. It feels good, like I could pass out and continue walking. I snap myself out of it and call Ashley as I arrive.

I say hello and crack open one of my beers. I offer the other to Ashley and her sister. Almost immediately after walking through the front door, this guy crashes into the room with his hands wrapped around another guy’s neck. He is basically threatening him and throwing him around the house. They exit the room. Some guy informs us a minute later that the cops are on their way. I turn around and calmly leave.

So begins the journey home. I’ve acquired a group of ragtag misfits: Ashley, her sister (Lindsey), Random Chick, and British Tool. I lob my beer bottle into the middle of the street, and it shatters. As we’re walking back, the girls start yelling at some dude walking alone way in front of us. This should have set off the alarm bells, but at the time it’s okay. He (Brian) joins the group, and we continue on our way. He and I discuss his transfer from Northeastern, and I call him Briano (bree-AH-no) a bunch of times.

We get back and everyone comes to my place. When we get to my floor, I point out the charred spot on the rug where Benny put out his cigarette the night before, when he claimed he was leaving his mark on the school. Everyone laughs.

We bust into the apartment and I start screaming for Benny. He emerges from his room immediately, wide-eyed and bushy-tailed. We decide to call and order the 5-5-5 from Dominos. Lindsey calls, but the line is busy. We all bitch for a minute while we continue calling. Finally, she gets through. The pizza is going to take 45 minutes. A dance party starts. Random Chick and British Tool are cuddling passed out. I retrieve a laundry marker from my room and Lindsey draws on his face.

The pizza arrives. A few of us run down to get it. From this point on I commence hitting my head on doors for comedic value. It is incredibly funny. We arrive back at the apartment, and Brian has vanished. Nobody has any idea where he has gone. We search the apartment, but he’s not there. He left without telling anyone, but we have no idea how he left the building, for we would have seen him. I realize now that he was walking alone for a good reason - because he’s a fuckin’ Jongi.

We consume the fantastic pizza and more dancing goes on. Random Chick and British Tool hit the road together, I believe. Finally, Ashley and Lindsey leave. Benny and I stay and are glad we live here so that we don’t have to “go home” - we ARE home. He helps me put up makeshift curtains in my room so I can sleep in - they work.

I wake up this morning and vaguely remember pouring out my Brita pitcher into something. When I sit down to write this post, like a pro I knock over a pint glass full to the top with water, getting it all over the wall, the floor, and my printer. I curse and clean it up.

See, it was pretty interesting this weekend. Again, I must pose the question: why does shit start to get ridiculous as soon as John leaves? Furthermore, why is John the catalyst? Unless I’m hanging out with John, ridiculous stuff doesn’t happen that night. But if we do anything, it gets absurd only after he leaves.

I’ve really got to stop doing this.

This totally belongs on John’s blog because of the subject matter, but no worries.The past two nights have been the first part of what I think to be one of the more ridiculous weekends of my life. I don’t know how I keep doing this, but apparently I’m getting really good at it.

I don’t even know where to start, so I’ll arbitrarily start by telling you that both Thursday and Friday night were shaping up to be early evenings. Thursday John and I went out to this bar I frequent (The Upstairs at Amherst Brewing Company) and had a few brews. Nothing serious, just having a few good times, and when we left I was little drunk. We came back here, had another one for the road, then John left and I settled in to what I thought was going to be a nice little evening where I was comfortably drunk, watching television and probably listening to some tunes. Really nothing to complain about.

I’m not really sure how it happened, but my roommate and neighbors convinced me to come out with them to the Monkey Bar, a puzzling bar with a dance floor and a cover charge. They offered to pay my cover because I refused, and they offered to buy me drinks because I was (am) broke. Can’t really argue with that. So I go to the girls’ (my neighbors) apartment down the hall, and they offer me what they were calling a “stiff” cosmopolitan, but I have the sneaking suspicion as I’m drinking it that it is fruit punch. I insult one of the girl’s hair and we’re on our way.

We end up going to this bar McMurphy’s, which I’m not a huge fan of, but the girls are regulars, so they can get cheap shit. We drink a couple pitchers there and move on to the Monkey Bar. Meanwhile, I’m getting hammered. I had already had an evening earlier, and it’s as if I started the night all over again. So we have some beer at the Monkey Bar, and we head to the dance floor in the back. Lots of bad music and such, but I danced. Yes, I danced. It was the lack of inhibitions that comes from a night of heavy drinking. I probably looked like a bunch of wet noodles in a bowl of water.

At the end of the night, we took the bus back to campus. There was this fatty on the bus that desperately needed some discipline: she was bent over for some reason, her thong was hiked up, and her ass was HANGING OUT. It was sort of gross. No, it was really gross. So I did what any sensible drunk would do: I did the old “deadpan/serious forward look” and reached out and snapped her thong against her back REALLY HARD. I played it off legit (I’m a pro at looking oblivious or pretending I’m occupied with something else), and she had no idea what was happening. Later on the ride, she complimented me on my glasses and started flirting with me. I was liking it, but I shouldn’t have. We went our separate ways when we got to my stop and I got off. I also left the bus.

So that’s Thursday. Then last night was like Thursday night on goofballs. Again it started off with John coming over with a sixer of Sierra Nevada and watching Stella while I did dishes in preparation for the raging bender I planned on having at my place a few hours later. He had one or two of his beers, I mixed what I think was the perfect gin and tonic, and around 7:30 we went out to get dinner at The Pub, a good little place that John thought was gonna be a shithole. We had some beers, some sandwiches, a few laughs. John’s a good guy to go to the bar with for a few drinks - we always find something ridiculous to discuss, and both of us leave a little wiser, a little drunker. Both on the way there and on the way back we encountered nothing but pavement with a thin and very slick coat of ice. It had rained earlier that day, and now it was freezing up, so all the wet ground was ice. We mused on how bad it was going to be later when drunk, because we were both in good states, but we could barely stay on our feet on account of the ice.

We leave and I desparately don’t want to do dishes and get the Grease Pit cleaned up. Oh yeah, the Grease Pit is my apartment. It’s called that because it’s a greasy slum most of the time because all of us neglect cleaning until I get fed up and go on a dishwashing binge, then end up washing all the surfaces and swiffing the floor, usually because I want to have people over and I don’t want them walking out on account of the soiled rags lying around. And indeed, that was the plan. So we get back and I start doing more dishes. I toss the rest in the sink and take out the trash. The place already looks a lot better, though a lot of work has to be done. By this point though, I have a pretty good feeling that no one is coming over. I resign to having a couple pretty bad beers while watching Stella with John and lament that my night is over. My roommate Benny goes over to the girls’ apartment with a bunch of alcohols- he is making cocktails. John and I part ways shortly after, as his friend is having some dudes over, and I shut that down. I’m really not into hanging out with a bunch of guys that I don’t know… not my cup of tea, even though John assures me they’re good people. I’m sure they are, but again, not my scene at this moment in the night. So John heads out and I head for the girls’ with half a Busch Light and an Otter Creek. I work my way through the beers pretty fast while the girls, Benny, and one of the girl’s boyfriend are sitting in their common room. They’re drinking this radioactive-looking green drink, and I am intrigued. Benny mixes one up for me, and I’m convinced that there is way too much sugar in the drink, but I down it. I was again thinking this would be the conclusion of my night, but I get invited to Ashley’s friend’s house down by the post office. Ashley, by the way, is one of my neighbors. I run back to my place to get a jacket and stuff it with beer bottles, and we hop on the next bus and head down to the house.

I had a really good time there. It was a good party with good people - I didn’t encounter one bro or guido, so I was content. But that’s changing the tense. So in we walk, and I get introduced around. I keep saying, “Very nice to meet you” to each person I meet. That’s the most courteous I’ve ever been. Usually it’s just “Nice to meet you” or something to that effect. I don’t know why I added the intensifier. Anyway, everyone divides and conquers, and I sit on the couch as a game of Asshole starts. I have never been the Asshole, and the couple of games we play are no exception. More people gather and we play Kings. We don’t finish the game at all.

Now, here is where things start to get tricky. I don’t exactly know how things led to each other, so bear with me.

Okay.

I am invited to play Flipcup in the kitchen. I hadn’t played this way before, and the last time I played was freshman year of college and I got very sick. It happens when you play with straight vodka and it’s one on one with 5 cups each. This time around, everyone has one cup. I think, tame. But there’s no problem with that. We play for a bit, and my team wins once, I believe. A bunch of us ended up outside with cigars. I vaguely remember someone (a girl I think?) saying that they had cloves and Black And Milds, but they didn’t want them. They are offered to me, and I politely decline. Upon this person’s insistence that I take them, I did: cloves in my left back pocket, B+Ms in my right back pocket. We (I don’t know who “we” is) head outside and I celebrate my gifts by enjoying a Black And Mild. Then I start to feel sick. I try shaking it off, but it’s unshakable. I have some water and take it easy. No fuckin’ dice. Finally, I retreat to the bathroom to make myself vomit. I get sick, but not a lot. I feel at this point that I have earned my namesake (Puke Olsen). I also feel dramatically better, but my mouth tastes (and probably smells) absolutely terrible. I try rinsing, but it does little. So I leave it alone. I go back out, have some more fun sans alcohol.

When we decide to leave, it’s pretty late. Two or two-thirty, I think. At this point in the night, the bus hasn’t been running for at least 45 minutes. So we start the long trek back to campus, sliding along the slippery pavement. We are laughing because not only are we unsure on our feet because of the group BAC, but the ice is making routine motor skills impossible. We get about to Bertucci’s and we have to cross the street. I lead the way, and I meet my demise: I slip on a piece of icy sidewalk and take a digger. Hard. I bash my face on the ground. I don’t think I can communicate to you how hard I fall or how hard I hit my right cheek. I would pay money to see it on tape. Everyone sees it too, and I’m pretty sure Ashley’s sister laughs her ass off. At this point in the evening, I have no pride anyway, so it only hurts physically. But it doesn’t really hurt that much. In fact, I think I laughed about it. As I was telling someone earlier in the night (I think John), I have a high threshold for pain. Always have. Getting really hurt as a little kid has its benefits. One of my friends informs me my face is bleeding. I touch my fingertips to the affected area and confirm this. I laugh it off. This morning I noticed that I hurt my hand and scuffed my watch too. I’m a little upset about the latter.

We’re just getting onto campus when a guy and his friend pull over and offer us a ride. The six of us cram into the back, and the clown car is on its way. We go back to the girls’ and hang out for awhile. I run down the hall with Benny to grab my camera so he can take a picture of my battle wound, and it comes out awesome. Benny goes to make himself get sick while I pee. We go back down the hall and I take the most amateur photographs of my life. At some point we come back here. Benny makes a Red Baron and we all go to work on it. Finally, at about five, everyone leaves. I brush my teeth, wash my face, and go to bed.

So it’s been ridiculous. These adventures are not normal for me- they’re completely new, but I love them nonetheless. My question is this: Why can’t any of these things happen when John is around? I always end up explaining myself to him the next day, and it’s absolutely absurd.

Oh, and here’s my face.