I'm throwing you all the way back to Wednesday. Most days I can't remember what I ate for lunch, so wish me luck in re-visiting the most recent Hump Day.
Comments on the phrase Hump Day: 1) It is ambiguous. Wednesday falls on the hump of the week, right in the middle. Or maybe there is a more erotic tale of the phrase's history. 2) If people are humping on this day, could someone please include me? Thanks.
Now, moving from Humping to Drinking, which is odd 'cause more often nights begin with Drinking and then progress to the Humping. If we could only make a booze sandwich with the humping. When I say "we" right there, I am referring to me and probably maybe almost any willing member of the female demographic ages 18 (gotta keep it legal, not my favorite idea, but I hear you get a different kind of loving in jail) to anyone who appears to be relatively close to my age, 21, and who does not double my weight, so if you keep it under 400 pounds, sign me up. Better do it with a pencil though, 'cause I can't promise anything. Way off the mental track I had laid out for this thing.
Back to Wednesday, my friend Shana's 21st Birthday. Shana lives in a house with five other friends of mine and they were going to get a 1/2 barrel for the party to set things off right.
Brief Note: At parties where any kind of kegs are involved, the explanation of the difference between 1/4 barrels and 1/2 barrels must be given to at least three people, 90% of the time it being girls. The concept that you are just not going to have a full barrel at your house ever never quite sinks in.
So I show up at about 8:30, earlier than most. We do the prerequisite drinking games and calling "not it" on filling up the pitchers. I was the voluntary Pitcher Bitch twice. Shana, and another birthday celebrater, Shaggy, were sitting in and getting the bulk of the drinks given to them, as they very well should have expected. They are both chugging a good amount of beer and taking the occasional shot. Meanwhile, Tina, a housemate of Shana's, was not planning on drinking too much. Then she chugged a glass of wine during a waterfall exercise, after which she said something to the effect of, "Okay, let's get drunk!" Good stuff. More and more people begin filing in, breaking up the game, but that is fine with me. I am a better mingler than drinking game player. I never really pay attention, unless we're playing Hockey, in which case I'm always looking to give somebody an assist. So now we mingle. Shana is quite concerned about getting to Brother's to get her Birthday Mug. So I tell her I will make that trip with her before 12, since most others at the party are not 21. Those who are not yet of age will head to the local underage "any ID'll do" bar - Shee-nan's. So Shana, 4 other girls and me leave for Brother's a little before 12. In case you weren't paying attention, that's a good P to V ratio for me. We get her mug and split for The Nasty Habit Saloon (The Single Worst Bar That I Have Ever Been In), and Shee-nan's, also known as the slimy bucket of shit. The place eventually grows on you, literally and figuratively. At this point Shana is getting a little bit drunk (that was an understatement). Sensing her equilibrium may be a little off, she does some excellent leaning at Shee-nan's, being resourceful even while inebriated. I only helped her rush out the front door twice to visit the garbage can, which both times we checked was still there and the bag did not need to be changed. The city is using our tax dollars to keep it clean, good to see. So then I asked Shana to walk me home. She took hold of my arm to make sure I would make it alright. On the way, Shana noticed a black cat crossing ahead of us. She made sure it wouldn't curse us with bad luck by yelling that she hated it. I thanked her for keeping me safe from the superstitious demon. Then we saw a nice young woman across the street with whom Shana tried to get me a date. She yelled, "Hey, it's my 21st birthday!" trying to start up a conversation with this woman, after all, 21st birthdays are a great conversation piece and ice breaker. The woman would have none of it and she moved on. A few blocks later, Shana wanted to see if I could walk by myself so she let go of my arm and I unhooked mine from her's. After I didn't follow her to the grass and road, she grabbed my arm again so we could finish our walk together on the sidewalk. I think her having to walk a much bigger person home made her tired, 'cause she crashed pretty hard on her bed right away when we got home. Then we got a mixing bowl… moving on. All in all, it was a most excellent night, full of beer, booze, birthdays, laughs, and friends. What more can you ask for?
How about another birthday? Okay, so on to Thursday.
Perverted Tom turned 21 on Friday, so naturally we had to go out Thursday night at midnight, once referred to by my youngest brother as "night noon." Tom and his special lady friend (who shall remain nameless to protect Tom - just kidding, special lady friend of Tom's (she objected to me referring to her as the special lady friend, but I am not going to change, why? 'cause it's my blog and I think it's funny. Why is it funny? See The Big Lebowski.)) Anyway, Tom and his special lady friend were at some other friends' house for a while playing beer pong. I sat here drinking and doing the Thursday Night TV Report, still in shock from the Ray Liotta Primetime Drama Performance of the Millennium. I confess to making overclaims often, but this is not one. Read Thursday's entry. Then Tom came over with three friends - Michelle, Broe, and Dr. John, who is not certified as a Ph.D. or M.D. by any recognized board that I am aware of, - and his special lady friend. Then we headed to Water Street. On the way, I made an alcohol related threat to Tom, who hadn't been drinking very much yet, much to my dismay. Remember, I love obliteration. Tom conceded that he needed a light night 'cause he knew he was going to get hammered on the next time. I bought that and we headed to the G.I. (Grand Illusion), shockingly enough, a bar in which I had never been. We headed to the balcony and grabbed a couple booths. I dig that bar - good atmosphere, really nice change of pace and good music, not that pop shit you get everywhere else. We order some Delusions, their specialty drink consisting of Southern Comfort and a bunch of other shit that gives it a redish-blueish color and a really nice potency level. We had four of those or so and then I went to get Tom a shot. With Tom by my side, this convo transpired:
Me: Can I get a tequila shot for this guy?
Bartender: What kind?
Me: The cheapest shit you have.
I laughed. He drank, cringed, sort of thanked me and we headed on our way home. A fairly tame, but very fun night.
So now I have had two really fun nights and still have Friday and Saturday ahead of me. I am pleased.
Friday was Tom's real birthday, so Tom's Special Lady Friend (TSLF) (hey, I used capital letters that time) and I cahooted to throw Tom a surprise party. Our cahooting consisted of TSLF securing her house for the party (my roommates had to be up at 8:00 on Saturday to dribble and shoot, so no go at my place) and me getting a 1/2 barrel, some booze, and getting the people to show up. I like changing the form of the word "cahoot." Since neither TSLF nor I knew Tom's exact plans, we decided to play him as he went. I had the people show up a little before eight. TSLF and I had both been in contact with Tom earlier in the day and his temporary plan was to actually do studies until 7 or so, some big project or something. I don't know, I don't understand academic responsibility. So, at 8, I call Tom and he tells me he has just woken up. Huh? He fell asleep. I told him he had a 1/2 hour to shower and eat and I was going to be at his house to get him and take him to my place and begin to overintoxicate him. So, passing on responsibilities, TSLF went to get Tom at 8:30 with strict instructions from me to not start fooling around at Tom's apartment. They showed up at 8:45 and we all yelled surprise. Wooha. That "Wooha" was to be read with a slow, deep inner voice as to indicate something good but run-of-the-mill occurred. If you've been reading my blog, I instructed you on how to read one other Wooha. You are a vet now, but not in the militaristic sense. Two of our friends Scott and OB brought presents for Tom. Tom opened Scott's first, which was a pretty big box wrapped in newspaper and duct tape. Inside was the top of a fire hydrant, a broken fly swatter, a guitar pick, and some loose change. Kick ass. Next was OB's gift. OB was uber-proud of his gift, proclaiming that it took him four minutes to get and wrap. It was wrapped in paper toweling and duct tape. After removing the paper toweling, Tom found a Topper's Pizza box. Inside the heavily grease stained box was a an alarm clock from circa 1987, a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles cartoon, a box of Macaroni and Cheese, three potatoes, and a plastic man wearing just a red speedo - in other words, a bunch of shit. The public gift from TSLF was a set a bouncing boobs. No, not her own. They were rubber and set on some plastic feet and when you wound it up, they bounced around. If McDonald's really wants to go with Adult Happy Meals, this should be the toy in the bag. I don't know about the private gift from TSLF, but I'm sure it was good, and if not good, at least well-intended. My gift was a 1.75 liter bottle of Jack Daniels and a couple poster boards that read "Happy 21st Tom" and had some pictures of his drunk ass taped on. I also brought some markers so party-goers could deface Tom, or just sign their name.
Tom told me he was completely surprised, which means I at least got one thing right this weekend. Then at about 11:45, Tom, TSLF, and I headed for the bars. Our first stop was Brother's, for the mug, which Tom didn't even bother to get, but I did manage to get some T-Bombs, a Vodka-Red Bull (for Tom), and TSLF got matching his and her Mind-Erasers for the two of them. Then we moved on to the Pio, where we had to get some jag bombs and more drinks, nothing too bad so far...so far. Then we headed to the 66% populated with underagers, shithole that we go to every weekend that is Shee-nan's. This is when it was time for Tom to have the Three Wiseman, a Cement Mixer, some drinks and some other shit too that I forgot about by now. I was getting pretty drunk too, as I was taking most of these with him, (keyword: most) but he was taking the brunt of it. So then we headed for his place. Tom didn't do such a great job of walking. He took a real nice fall while urinating on TSLF's house. Then we headed back to his apartment, where he couldn't get the key in the door, so his SLF did it. Once inside, there was a fall, inexplicable shirt removal, vomiting, funny pictures taken by TSLF and me and then a great passout. Ah. How nice. Just how 21st birthdays are supposed to be. Drink too much but not so you die. I pat Tom on the back. He was a great sport and did very well, something he can be truly proud of and tell his grandbabies about one day.
Three birthday celebrations in a row. What could be next? What's left?
Saturday, that's what.
Fortunately for me, the keg that I got for Tom's surprise party was only about 3/5 finished. So, I walked across Water Smeet to get that and bring it back for a little shindig of our own that night. The basketball team had Sunday off and all I heard about all week was how excited these guys were to just get really fucked up.
Our night started out with the members of the 213 (my house) playing some poker and doing some of the alcohol intake that we all enjoy. The poker game was going on as most do, then I lost all my chips and the seed of a debacle was planted. I do not remember the hand I lost on, but I remember not being too disappointed, so I probably lost a race or someone pulled a turn card or river card out on me. This is not the point, the point is that I offer up the ideas of re-buys. They agree, citing a deep rooted longing to have us all bond at the same poker table for it had been awhile. So I toss in five more bucks and get 50 more chips. Game continued. By the time people started showing up at our house, I had bought back in twice more, Shane twice, The Rizz once, and Heed once. Now, when we were ready to call the game on account of our wanting to get shitfaced and mingle, Shane had just lost all his chips, The Rizz has 278, I had 155, and Heed had 45 of the chips. But we couldn't just split up the pot based on a percentage of how many chips each guy had. The Rizz had 58% of the chips, normally we might give him 58% of the pot and so on. We could not do that because of the re-buy factor, we had to give Shane a shot to buy back in if he wanted. We couldn't just give all the money to The Rizz 'cause he had the chip lead, because I still had plenty of chips to play and turn the tides of the game. So we fought about a solution for about 20 minutes. It wasn’t really a fight as much as it was a whole bunch theorizing and explaining. We eventually decided to write down all the stats and put the money in an envelope in my room and worry about it the next day. Well, the money and stats are still sitting on top of my computer. If you come into my house and take it, I will pull your esophagus out via your rib cage. Gruesome, I know, unwarranted, yes, but this is poker we are talking about. We will figure it out sooner or later.
So a bunch of dudes on the team and some other friends began trickling in and soon, at 6' 1", I was almost the shortest guy in the room by 3 or 4 inches. Things started getting wild. Guys were requesting shots. "Of what?" I asked. "Doesn't matter," they replied. So, I started pouring shots of vodka. Then I started pouring double shots of vodka. Then we finished the remainder of the keg. And all was well. Very well. With brotherly like ridicule of each other and ridiculous impersonations going on, we were all laughing extremely hard. We talked a reluctant dude into taking another shot and so we drank to peer pressure. We tainted the basketball teams' posters with markers, guys called girls that other guys didn't want them to call, then those girls came over to hang out. Just loads of indescribable fun. And then, just before night noon, we split for the Greasy Dive that is our Watering Hole, Shee-nan's. At this point, nobody even close to being remotely able to possibly be considered maybe relatively sober. The Rizz was leaning against a wall because his legs weren't working as they should have due to an overindulgence of alcohol. Heed's shirt was unbuttoned revealing no shirt underneath and his hair slicked back like some dude out of the 1950's, it goes on and on from that night. The Rizz was even uncharacteristically spotted passed out in his computer chair. He would later fall out, get back in, pass out again, then make it to bed. It's really too bad that nobody has a clear recollection. Heed summed it up really well today when he said that at practice they were trying to remember stories from Saturday night, but nobody could come up with anything. Job well done, all. It kind of goes the same way as the philosophical question, “If a tree falls in the woods and no is around to hear it, does it still make a sound?” If we were all really drunk and nobody remembers much of the later portion of the night, did we still have fun? Well Hell Yeah We Did!
I woke up on Sunday at 2:30 p.m., watched my Vikings lose on a last second field goal, then squandered the rest of my day away.
What a great four days Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday were. This is what life is all about for people in my age bracket: friends, drinks, parties, football, poker, fun, laughs, stories, pranks, etc. (If you are 40 and have a family... HAHA)
Note to Randy Moss: Get Healthy.
Note to G.W. Bush: Oh where, oh where is your cabinet going? Good thing we’ll have a bunch of second choices holding office.
Note to new Secretary of State Cunnilingus Rice: (No note, I just wanted to write Cunnilingus Rice)
I feel like The Sports Guy. Word Count: 3,075
Until Later.
# posted by Deets : 10:30 PM
