Luke Grown Up

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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