benjib

Twenty, Bitches! One more year to go!

Thanks to everyone who left messages over the break, they were most appreciated. Now, time for some drunken stories of love my children. I must stress that none of this is made up.

Immediately after my English class, my best friend Dorothy picked me up and before too long, we were on the train, heading toward New York. I only mention the train so that I can tell this short aside: after a couple hours, we both became a little thirsty, so I headed to the cafe car for some water. The woman behind the counter told me that, "We're ou of water. Would you like some hot wings?" I'm still wrapping my brain around that. How do you assume hot wings are a substitute for water? The building block of human life? Boggles the mind.
After seven hours and two obstructions on the track, we arrived in Penn Station. If you ever stay in Times Square, by the way, the Hilton is great. No pool, but great rooms. There wasn't much drinking Friday, but saturday was a diffrent story. Two of Dorthy's UVA friends joined us for the festivities. We started the night out by seeing Avenue Q, which is the funniest play I've seen in my life. There was puppet sex! Afterwards, we returned to the room, where, after three beers and two little airplane bottles of Tanqueray, I decided that the best oufit for the rest of the night would be a sock on my privates, and nothing else. I decided that, even better, I could roam the hotel. The presidential suite was my first stop on my mostly nude tour of Times Square. Dorothy's friend Mark followed me with a digital camera, forever preserving this auspicious moment in time. As soon as I get the pictures, I'll post them on here somehow. I did cartwheels, just so you know. How I didn't get arrested, I'll never know. But I'd do it again in a fucking heartbeat.

My twentieh birthday was fairly quiet. Most of my relatives forgot about it, but that's par for the course. That Saturday, however, was a diffrent story all together. Around ten-thirty, I popped on over to the apartment my best friend Buck and his girlfriend Krystal share. There, we finnished two bottles of cheap champagne and two small bottles of gin. After we got good and liquered up, we went down to Merriman's, which is a gay bar in downtown Fredericksburg. Several men hit on me, including one who introduced himself as, I swear, "Sweet Hot Chocolate." I allowed Sweet to buy my friends and I green apple martinis, then we left and ran into Krystal's friend Rose, who introduced herself to Buck by punching him in his lower jaw. According to him, that's how she says Hello. She didn't punch me, however she did continuously give me beer for an hour, then insisted that I do bong hits with her and a friend. Twist my fucking arm about it, right? It turns out this was her way of flirting. After Rose temporarily dislocted Buck's arm, we left at Buck's insistence, who then informed that, if stayed, I probably would have gotten laid. Did I mention he's kinda an idiot? Anyway, I crashed on their couch, and woke up four hours later, still high, with several panicked voicemails from my mother, who knew damn well where I was, and was told I wouldn't be home until at least ten.

So, I think that everything went well. I return to college feeling a little more attractive with my liver even more fucked. My resolution to get drunk every weekend stays strong.