Showing posts with label Drunken Escapades. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Drunken Escapades. Show all posts

Friday, March 4, 2011

8:41 AM

We're All In This Together

Ahoy bitches,


Don't get offended. I use bitches as a term of endearment.

Do you know what I love? I love when I come upon the chance to do something sketchy with other people. You know, it doesn't seem quite as sketchy to pull the hinges from a door to get into a forbidden room if there are six people involved. Lighting a cement post on fire? Almost normal if fifteen girls are doing it. And talking your friend's little brother into stripping at a classmate's birthday bash is totally not weird if four other people help you decide between the firefighter and policeman costumes.
www.manopedia.com 
(Firefighters always win with male strippers. Girls make great policewomen though!)

The only negative aspect of group sketchiness is that, sometimes, I become a participant unwillingly. And that's when sketchy becomes risky...


We're All In This Together

So. It was my senior year of college and I needed a break. Seriously, being on a campus of 700 or so all the time and seeing the same people day in and day out can be kind of intense.

Arla could see that I was cracking (I'd begun waking up at 10am to watch Judge Judy and drink Natty Light in my underwear until my classes began at 1pm) and so she suggested we go on a road trip. We needed somewhere we could get to in an hour or less because, lezbi-honest, I couldn't go longer than that without a drink. I called up an older friend of ours, Breana,  who had graduated the year before, and within a few minutes we had a place to stay in a neighboring city and the promise of a crazy night out at the local gay bar.

Sweeeeeeeet.
furryelephants.tumblr.com
(This is my fantasy. The bar was no where near this fancy.)


Classes ended at 4:30 P.M.  so Arla and I rolled up to Breana's home around 6 on a Friday. Of course we began drinking right away. Breana had invited a few friends over and they were more than happy to help us drink our cares away. After a few rounds of Kings, Arla and I were sufficiently tipsy. Breana loaded us into her car and we began the journey to the bar.

In the backseat, I began pulling mini-bottles of Captain Morgan's out of my purse. To this day, I don't think I can tell you how I got them. I'm sure it was sketchy, some way, some how. But however they came to be, I was more than happy to share them with my lesbi-bestie and the two other girls smashed into the backseat with us. When we hit the bar half an hour later, the whole backseat was on cloud fucking nine.

Throughout the night, Arla and I rotated the beer-buying duties. Luckily for us, this was a complete dive and all beers were only $1.75. Well, all beers but one: Coronas were $2.50. Drunkenly, Arla and I discussed upgrading our Bud Lights, but we decided $2.50 was just too much for a beer.

About half an hour after we made this agreement, I was across the bar from Arla, dancing with some old guy and his glow-in-the dark wands. Straight bars will never match the Whatever Goes vibe of gay bars. Suddenly, Arla begins walking towards me with a big grin on her face. In her hand was a beautiful, sweating, cold, fizzing Corona. "I got that hot chick to buy it for us," she said, nodding towards an middle-aged woman in leather pants. "Riiiiiiight..." I took a swig and felt the delicious chill of fresh-from-the-icebox-beer roll down the inside of my back before I gave the bottle back to Arla.

"Actually," Arla continued, "that woman agreed to buy it for us, but then some guy just handed me his. He said he didn't drink from it though." I began to respond, but Arla had even more to say, "My mom always told me not to drink beverages provided by strangers because they might be drugged. That's why I'm sharing this with you. If we get raped, at least we'll go through it together."
A Little Princess (you already knew that, right?!)

You've. Got. To. Be. Shitting. Me.

That's what you're thinking right?!

Because that's totally what I was thinking.

So I said as much.


"No," Arla smiled and put her arm on my shoulder, "I really love you enough to do that. I would never make you go through anything alone." I examined Arla's face for some sign that she was joking, but that girl was drunk and she sincerely thought I was thanking her for (possibly) sharing a horrible roofied future with her.

I grabbed her arm, excused myself from the man with the wands, and dragged Arla through the bar until I found Breana. "You've got to take us home NOW." I told her.

I was just finishing the recount of Arla's logic to Breana when Arla began hugging the older man behind me. Breana and I exchanged a look of confusion before Arla explained, "This is the man who gave us the beer!"

fin

To answer any questions: Yes, we left the bar. No, no one messed with us. And Arla only barely remembered her actions the next morning, so I couldn't be as angry with her as I wanted to be.

Now, what would you say was the point of this ridiculousness? Suggest away in the comments.
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Friday, January 7, 2011

9:27 PM

The Code: A Story with Hand Gestures

What's up, friends?


Well I am no longer taking my creative writing class, so I have approximately 5 extra hours a week to split between this blog and submitting my work to literary journals. Hopefully this means we'll be seeing a lot  more of each other. Pretty soon we might even be going steady (get it? ahahaha).


It's funny the way people focus on their academic passions after school, isn't it? I started a blog to write and took a class for credit just because I missed learning. A classmate of mine looks up which new books professors are requiring for classes she took in school, then buys the books and actually reads them. A set of best friends I know have declared 2011 the "Year of the Civil War" and will be exploring the war through road trips, documentaries and films, and a heavy duty reading list. 


Best friends do crazy things together. That's kind of what best friends are for. Here's a story about me and my lesbi-bestie Arla.


The Code: A Story with Hand Gestures

After we came out to each other Arla and I decided to lay down some lesbi-bestie ground rules. Basically, they went as follows:


  1. Never hook up with your lesbi-bestie's crush, girlfriend, or fling. In short, we don't share lady friends.
  2. When another woman starts dissing your lesbi-bestie, SHUT THAT BITCH DOWN. Even if your lesbi-bestie may have done something wrong-ish. 
  3. Complete honesty at all times.
Via the Notebook Doodles

That's it: The Code which allows our friendship to thrive while so many others crash and burn.

Almost immediately following the development of The Code girls were out to get us. At the time, there were two girls I was hooking up with semi-regularly (aka every time we were at the same party). The first girl wasn't the best kisser, but she was--by far--the most aggressive. She was also the dirtiest talker I've ever come across. Seriously, I'm blushing now just thinking about it. We can call her Jezebel--for obvious reasons. The second girl was really into calling the shots, so we can call her Rica Suave. 


When you get down to it, the three of us were just friends with generous benefits. 


One night, I threw a huge party with Arla. Our hall was packed with people, alcohol, and a haze of smoke (from God only knows what substances). Towards the end of the night I overheard Jezebel and Rica discussing which girls at the party they would and would not hook up with. One of the girls mentioned Arla as a possible conquest and I began to laugh. 


"That will never happen," I told her firmly.


"That was rude," Rica seemed upset.


"No, it's the truth. Arla and I have a promise and she won't break it over either of you." I informed her.


"I bet I can make her." Jezebel said.


"Really?" I asked. Seriously, Jezebel was the kind of girl you make a friend with benefits and not an actual girlfriend. She had no hope of being the kind of girl who breaks up friendships. 


"I bet I could." Rica said, staring at Arla. 


I snorted. Of course, what I said above about Jezebel applied to Rica as well. 


"Are you jealous?" Rica asked.


"Not at all. In fact, I completely support you. Go, try your hardest. But you're stuck with me." 


Both girls glared at me before crossing the room to try to seduce Arla. It was probably one of the single most hilarious moments of my college career. Arla shot them down and ended up leaving the party to spend the night with a girl who was neither Rica nor Jezebel. 


from thequickanddirty (and obviously the Simpsons)


Two weeks later, I walked into a dance party to find Jezebel crying in the hysterical way that only drunk girls can. Her friends told me she was crying because Arla refused to make out with her. I looked around and found Arla with the girl from two weeks ago. 


I didn't touch Jezebel after that night because, let's be real, I don't play second fiddle.


Score one for Team Lesbi-bestie.
from cafepress


Rica took a much smarter approach and gave up on Arla the night I told her it was a lost cause. In fact, after she found out why Jezebel was kicked to the curb, she was careful never to do or say anything that might pit me against Arla and vice versa. She stuck around for a while and eventually became friends--without benefits--with Arla too.


fin


The point: 
1. Don't mess with other people's relationships. 
2. If you become a friend with benefits, you'll have slim to no chance of transitioning to a legitimate relationship. 

***

Friends, do you agree with my points? What am I missing?
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Thursday, November 18, 2010

2:44 PM

This Shit is Bananas

Friends,

We have an EMERGENCY! It's Wednesday afternoon and I am writing you a new post and putting my previously written and beautifully drafted post on the back-burner just so we can talk about what's going on in the world today. I read the news, I know what's up. There's a very serious epidemic going around. Do you know what I'm talking about?

I'm referring to the banning of Four Loko: the bigger, stronger, cooler, bad boy big brother of Sparks and Joose. I hope you've seen Four Loko before. Either in the hand of an obnoxiously drunk person, on the news, or as you were purchasing it at your local Kroger. If you've never had the pleasure, Four Loko comes in a giant camo-print can. The camo is either pink, purple, yellow, green, or blue depending on the flavor. Check it out:

Yuuuuuuuuuummmy! And apparently, super dangerous. Each can contains 11% alcohol by volume and enough energy to power you through a mini-marathon. All over the US, people are freaking out because college kids are drinking multiple cans of Four Loko and then passing out, going to the emergency room, or - in the worst cases - dying.

I have drank Four Loko on three occasions - each one more magical than the last - and have since stopped drinking that shit. It's not because I don't like it - I LOVE IT! In fact, I love it entirely too much. And because I know what's good for my reputation, I've stopped. I now can only have a Four Loko on special occasions. And it has to be my ONLY drink of the night. (In all seriousness, you only need one. This particular combo of caffeine and alcohol is potent.)

But apparently college kids have no clue what's good for them. NO CLUE! And because of this, they are going to cause it to be outlawed for everyone.

So, because I love this opportunity to keep up with current events (and because my shame tolerance is relatively high), I'm going to tell you a story about me and the Loko.

This Shit is Bananas

The first time I ever saw a Four Loko, I was at my friend Sharon's house. We were hanging out, getting ready for what were were hoping would be big house party when Sharon's roommate, Lisel, approached me with a Four Loko in hand. Someone had left a few camo-print cans in her beer drawer after her last party and she refused to drink the stuff. "However," she said, "I know I can count on you to drink it Abernathy. You drink anything."

Truer words have never been spoken.

While my friend, Jade, inspected the can and began raving on about how stupid it was to drink alcoholic energy drinks with this much alcohol (she's studying to be a nurse), I played a quick round of eenie meenie miney mo to choose which can I'd go for first: blue raspberry or fruit punch.

Blue raspberry won out and so it began. I will tell you all that the first sip of Four Loko was fucking disgusting. I mean, so sweet and sugary, I thought I'd lose all of my teeth. However, I'm not one to turn down a free drink, so I powered through and about halfway through the can, it didn't seem to taste so bad. That's also around the time I started to feel it's effects.

At the time this story takes place, you should know that I was working on spicing up my exercise routine. I had been using dumbells at home, but I was bored. I tried running, but I'm not a big fan of moving that fast unless someone's chasing me. I tried going to the gym, but I was always beat there by old faculty members who wanted to listen to Simon and Garfunkel while we worked out (SIMON & GARFUNKEL!!!). Finally, I settled on Carmen Electra's Strip Tease DVDs. Unfortunately, the only one the local thrift store had was installment four: The Lap Dance.

So half a Four Loko in, I decided to show my girl friends all of the moves Carmen had taught me. To help you picture the scene, I'm in the living room with 5 or 6 girls while all of our guy friends are out on the porch. Luckily, the back porch has a sliding glass door, so the boys can see everything going on inside.

I asked Sharon to put on "something slinky" (which I think ended up being Britney Spears, but that's neither her nor there), I grabbed a kitchen chair, and got to work. At first, everyone looked a bit scandalized. I mean I was standing up, lying down, straddling the chair- generally acting like a drunk with an embarrassing idea. But by the second run through, I began noticing that people seemed a bit more attentive to my antics.

This is when Jade intervened. She walked over to the chair and said, "Hey. I want to learn to do that." So I slowed the dance down and began telling her how to shake her hips. We ran through the dance a few times, but she refused to do the move that required she swing her leg over the chair back so she could straddle the chair. I didn't push: Carmen says that everyone gets comfortable in their own time.

After we got tired of that, I decided to go outside and see the boys. I would say at this point, there was maybe a quarter of my drink left. It wasn't until I walked outside that I realized they had witnessed my every move. One high-fived me, but another decided to comment on the speed of my dance, saying it was too slow and not fluid enough.

SERIOUSLY???? What guy complains about witnessing two girls shimmy around for 20 minutes? I mean, I'm not a pro at boys, but from the amount of times I've been hit on by them in the clubs, I think it's safe to say that - in general - boys love watching girls gyrate around.

So, drunk as I was, I got angry. Who was he to think he could insult me? Especially, drunk arrogant energized me? I said, "Fine, you want to see a lap dance? I'd show you one, but I don't want to tease you with one when you know you can't have me."

My friend said, "Hey baby, it's whatever. I'm not going to stop you and you might come over to my team someday."

Uligh...nastay.

Lisel spoke up before I could say anything in response. "You could give me a lap dance." Of course I could. Lisel's living room is very quickly taking on the reputation of lap dance central. I've recieved, witnessed, taught, and given lap dances in her living room. I don't know why, but her living room is where the crazy goes down. (Do you hear me Lisel? Sharon? Lap Dance Central in there.)

Driven by my need to defend my marvelous lap dancing skills, I grabbed Lisel and marched her into the living room. Jade just shook her head, "You are not going to do this." She said it like she was watching a freight train barrel towards my reputation, but she could not hit the brakes fast enough to save me.

"Oh yes she is!" Lisel bellowed. "Sharon, put on the music!" The music came on and I began to work my magic. I'll admit, I was a little too into it (it's a risk you take when you're working with the Loko) and within 4 bars of the song, Lisel was shoving me off of her lap.

As I caught my footing I heard a beeping noise, which sounded suspiciously like a camera. I turned quickly and found Jade in the corner with her digital camera in hand. "Oh no," I breathed, shaking my head. You don't have to be sober to know that drunk photos typically aren't for sharing. However, you do need to be sober to figure out how to deal with them. I opted for chugging the remainder of my drink.

Ten minutes later, Jade was no longer taking pictures: she was videotaping my rap-tacular skillz as I performed Afro Man's "Colt 45." And at this point, though I knew I didn't really want to be taped, I was too drunk to even ask her to put it away. Oddly enough, the boys were all over this. I earned mad respect once they realized that I knew- and was prepared to sing- every. single. word. It was amazing.

Soon after, the boys left and Jade passed out. Sharon approached me with the second can of Four Loko and insisted I drink it. I may have been drunk, but I was not stupid. I told her no and she suggested that we then share the can. I agreed, although I had no intention of drinking anything more than a sip.

We stayed up talking for a while and I stuck to my guns- I barely even tasted that can of Four Loko. Everyone went to sleep while Sharon and I were chatting. Then Sharon fell asleep an hour or so later. Here's where the caffeine side of Four Loko comes in; it keeps you up. I was awake with only Netflix to keep me company until 5am. At which point I realized I was sober enough to drive and dirty enough to need a shower.

Fin

Alright kids, I think we can all agree after seeing my first run-in with the Loko that it's okay to drink it if you know your limits. This is where THE COLLEGE KIDS ARE DOING IT WRONG.

Is that The Point: "Know your limits"???
I can think of at least two other points. What do you think?

Update!
The Points:
1. Thou shall know thy's limits with regard to alcohol. Seriously.
2. It pays to have the confidence to tell your friends "no" when pressured.
3. You know you picked a good friend when she promises not to post your drunk lap-dance photos all over the interweb--and then follows through on that promise. Thank you, Jade.
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Thursday, November 11, 2010

3:23 PM

Oblivious Abroad

Hey,

so I came up with a new plan for the blog. I'm always thinking of new plans for this thing. My new plan is to post my stories on Thursday evenings. And when I post, no points or morals or big picture ideas will be provided. And then you can give me point ideas through the weekend. On Monday, I'll weigh in. You know, this might make this feel a bit like a discussion and that could be totally cool.

What are your thoughts? Will you play along? I know one little lady who will; my friend over at PostCollegiate! She's a sweetie and you should visit her blog to say hi.

Oblivious Abroad

When I got to Denmark, I told myself that I was on a great adventure and the only goal was to "find myself." Five girls from my college went with me to Hamlet's homeland, but I told them after week one that I didn't want to spend much time hanging out with them; if I latched onto people I was comfortable with nothing abroad would be able to force me to grow up.

I look back on this and think about how much of a badass I am. Seriously, there I was in a country where I didn't speak the language, I didn't know my way around, my parents were a nine hour flight and layover in London away, and I was pushing away the only people I knew.  Sometimes, I'm super impressed by my crazy ideas. 

Anyways, in week one, I accompanied some of the Americans in my apartment complex to this wonderful bar in the center of Copenhagen, The Scottish Pub (so creative!). 



Everyone loved this bar because they served this huge tube, which looked like a bong of beer. You paid $20 or 100kr for it and you and your friends would be able to drink for a few hours (if you were American) or 45 minutes (if you were Danish). I wish I could show you this amazing contraption, but it's not even on the pub's website!

So there I am, week one in Copenhagen, surrounded by hoardes of American kids who are just as lost in this city as I am. A boy from my crash course in dansk (Danish), decides to meet a bunch of new kids through our shared alcoholism, and purchases the beer tube, announcing that he'll share it with the first six kids to show up at his table.

Obviously, within two-point-five seconds, I'm sitting at a fully occupied table. Kids start moaning as they realize the table is full, but the six of us with seats happily push them away. We all stare around the table with giant toothy grins; we know we're about to get drunk on someone else's dime and it can't be anything but wonderful. As we start drinking, it becomes apparent that we don't know anything about each other so we begin to chit-chat: this is what program I'm in. Here are my lofty dreams for my European semester. How are all of the people here so beautiful? (And they are beautiful. Fucking gorgeous.)

About halfway through the beer tube, our conversation took a telling turn. Fun fact: at the time we were in Copenhagen, the city boasted a multilevel sex museum, Museum Erotica:

Unfortunately, it closed in summer 2009. Luckily, this story is set in late winter 2008, and for seven American kids from seven small liberal arts colleges, this museum in the middle of the shopping street was so interesting. What was in there? How much would we have to pay to go in? Is it appropriate for teens? Would we see porn if we went in?

We considered walking over to the museum (which is literally five minutes walk from the town center), but decided it wasn't worth the sacrifice of our beer. Instead, we continued to discuss the attitudes towards sex in Europe (crash course: no one cares about what you do, who you do it with, and - as long as your 16 or so - how old you are when you're doing it). One boy was talking about how his host mother told him he was welcome to have his girlfriends or boyfriends over whenever he liked. He responded by saying, "Thanks for the hospitality, but I have a girlfriend in the States...and I'm straight."

His mother just nodded, "I know, you've told me. But when you decide to have others over - girl or boy - it's okay."

I was about to snicker, when a few of the other kids at the table shouted out terms of agreement; they'd gotten the same greeting upon entering their host families' homes. One's host father had even asked him how he planned to stay in Europe for four months without sleeping with anyone if the girlfriend was all the way in America.

The only girl at the table, other than myself, spoke up. She said her host sister had explained that no one would expect any Dane at our age to commit to being with only one person. Also, they thought we were kind of young to decide we'd only ever be with this gender or that gender. In Danish terms: we were sexually oppressing ourselves.

We all took a minute a good dose of beer to think this through. Playing with her long red hair, the girl spoke up again. "I think it's kind of a neat thing, you know?"

"Yeah," this one guy said, pausing. "We should sexually liberate ourselves this semester."

"Here ye, here ye!" The boy from my Danish class shouted. We all toasted each other.

"Alright," someone shouted, "all around the table: what are you going to do to liberate yourself?"

"Visit the sex museum!"

"Cheers!" We shouted and drank.

"Go to the naked party in my kollegium (Danish dorm): no clothes, no drink!"

"Cheers!"

"Enroll in that new sexuality class that's posted on the bulletin board at school!"

"Cheers!"

"Find a gay bar and compare it to this one."

"Ch-"

"STOP!" The read head girl yelled.

"What?" We all asked.

"You." She pointed at me. Crap. The gay bar had totally been my plan for sexual liberation.

"What?" I asked, annoyed to be called out before my idea could be cheered.

"If you don't want to go alone, I'll go with you. Gay bar, gay club, just call and I'm in."

I shrugged, "Okay."

"No, seriously." She grabbed my phone off of the table and plugged in her number. "My name is Rachel."

"Okay." I shrugged again. "Thanks."

"Seriously." She said. She was looking at me really funny- her eyes wouldn't look away from my face and I didn't really know what to do or say.  I looked around the table, hoping the boys to speak up. They were all staring at us intently. As soon as they caught me looking at them, they began chugging what was left of their beers. I was on my own.

I looked back down to my phone. "Rachel Gay Bar?" I asked, seeing how she'd named herself in my phonebook.

"Yeah," She smiled, "so you don't forget."

"No worries: I won't." I promised her.

But here's the thing: I totally did. It wasn't until three months into my semester (and one month before I was going home), when I was sharing a block of hash with some friends when I decided to check through my phonebook and came across "Rachel Gay Bar." And - after quickly running through that night again in my head- I finally realized she had totally been hitting on me in the Scottish Pub!


Fin

Before you begin making fun of my gaydar epic fail, you have to remember that when I got to Copenhagen, I was thinking that being gay was this thing I might be, but probably wasn't. Like, I knew that might be what was going on in my head, but I doubted it. I guess this is called denial or excessive ignorance of self. All the same, I'm starting to wonder if I'll ever tell you a story where my gaydar works or I have game with the ladies.

Only time will tell.

Now, suggest your points!

The point of today's story is...





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Thursday, September 30, 2010

8:29 AM

Hey, Guess What? We Play for the Same Team!

Ohmigosh guys!

I'm posting TWICE IN ONE WEEK. What the fuck, right?!

This is my gift to you for being patient.

I have another coming out story to tell you. Only in this one I actually do come out of the closet, so weeeee! for that small success. I love this story so much that I'm not even going to give you an introduction to it, I'm just going to jump in.

Hey, Guess What? We Play for the Same Team!

My senior year of college, I had my own room in this wonderful dorm that had high ceilings and hardwood floors. My lesbi-bestie, Arla, lived across the hall and neither of us had a single class before 10:40 in the morning. Life was wonderful.

Part of the reason that Arla and I work so well as besties is that we are both hardcore party girls. We've tested ourselves, and learned we can party for fifteen days straight before we breakdown. That's pretty impressive isn't it? It's okay if you also find that a bit disgusting. No one needs to drink tequila every day for fifteen days, but that's a story for another day.

Luckily, we've developed a few rules and habits to keep us healthy and breathing on nights when the parties get a little too intense. Our senior year we introduced carbs into our recovery plan, and we always wound up sitting on my floor and eating copious amounts of Tostitos and queso sauce. Eating of course led to talking and nine times out of ten, we'd forget about the food in minutes and wind up sprawled out on the floor having wonderful heart to hearts. We are the girliest gays you know.

One random Saturday night, we lay curled up, facing each other and telling secrets on the floor when I announced, "Arla, I think I like girls."

"Really?" She asked.

"Yeah," I smiled, "Yeah, I think I do."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." (Don't you love drunk conversation?)

"Well, I knew that." Arla said very seriously.

I sat up, shocked. "How?!"

"I just did," Arla claimed. "You seem really gay." I made a face, but Arla continued, "Like I even remember thinking that you were gay when I met you first year."

"What?"

"Yeah," she reasoned, "You were really weird. But in a gay way." She thought for a moment. "But I don't know what I am."

"What?!" I exclaimed, "You've only dated a girl for the last three years."

"That doesn't mean anything." Arla rolled back to a seated position and attacked the queso. "Like, what makes you think you know?"

I shrugged, "I don't know. Um...I just think I know."

"No, you're right," Arla said. "You're gay...but what am I?"

"Gay." I said.

"So now we're both gay?" Arla asked.

I rolled back onto the floor and stared at the ceiling. "Yeah," I murmured.

"Yeah." she said.

We sat in silence for a moment. "We're gay." Arla announced. We both broke into giggles.

Fin

The Point of Today's Story: 
Never assume you know everything about the people around you. You'll always be surprised by the new things you'll figure out if you keep paying attention.
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Monday, September 27, 2010

9:09 AM

Are These Girls Hitting On Us???

I'm baaaaaaaaaack!

Hey hos,

I am back with another fabulous story. Are you excited? Were you worried this day would never come? It's okay, so was I. But we made it. You and I, together forever. I promise.

So, we're going to resume our relationship with a story from my time in Denmark. Somewhere around two years ago, I spent four months of my junior year living in the capitol city of Copenhagen and picking up all sorts of fabulous Danish customs which I had to un-learn upon moving back to the states (the hardest one to lose: drinking in class and in the town square as a way of celebrating a good day). This is by far one of my favorite Danish memories and I hope it elicits a few giggles as you read through.

Enjoy!

Are These Girls Hitting On Us???

In my study abroad school, the students were divided up by academic programs. My group, communications and mass media, consisted of about twenty-six kids from Russia, Canada, China and the US. Throughout the semester, each program goes on two or three field trips through Denmark and greater Europe. For the communications program's first trip, we stopped in a small town in Western Denmark named Ringkøbing. 

For our one night in Ringkøbing, we were invited to stay at a convent which had a strict lights out and lock-in time of 12am. Luckily for me and my fellow communication students, our charter bus rolled into Ringkøbing around 8pm. The twenty-six of us quickly decided that drinks were in order, so after claiming rooms and laying down our luggage, we took to the city and sought out the only legitimate bar in the town.  

Now, I have to be honest: I wasn't all that close to anyone in my program. But if I had to name the two people I liked best, they would be Emery and Ekaterina. Ekaterina was from a small town in Maryland and did everything exactly as she wanted, all of the time. As we wandered off of the bus, she complained about all the girls getting dolled up just to grab a few drinks. Seeing an opportunity to cement my social circle for the evening, I volunteered to wear sweats to the bar with her. All of the other girls in our program balked at the idea and continued coating their lashes in Revlon as Ekaterina and I pulled on our scrungiest, comfiest, warmest sweat pants.

We grabbed Emery on our way into the bar and alerted him that he would be our buddy for the evening. So as the twenty-six members of my program found seating in the bar, I cozied up to a table with my two favsies and settled in for a few drinks.

We started out with shots of Jack Daniels on Emery's tab. The bar was named Shooters (can you believe it?) and Emery had on a Jack Daniels t-shirt, so he christened our table "Team Jack" and promised to cover all shots of Jack for the evening. I should have known then that we were in for a long ride. Ekaterina and I took our shots graciously but quickly forgot Emery and got lost in a conversation between ourselves (basically, ripping on the crazy girls in our program. Can you see why we got along so well?). 

I love you all enough to find this bar on GoogleMaps

About two hours, a few rounds of beers, a two rounds of Jack shots later, the majority of our program left Shooters to head back to the convent. Although it was only 10ish, they worried that they would get too drunk to get back on time (a fair argument as the convent was about half a mile away and were navigating the path in the dark). Instead of leaving with them, Team Jack bought another round and stayed on.

We engaged in completely ridiculous conversation and, for whatever reason, Emery kept the shots coming. At one point he got up to get another tray of shots and two Danish girls came over to the table. Ekaterina and I had seen them earlier in the bathroom. They were slim, blond, and dressed in glittering, skin-tight gold dresses. Their hair was teased into crazy angles that only Danish girls can ever pull off. Both girls were wearing heels despite the brick roads of  Ringkøbing. One girl was amazingly tall and the other was a typical height of 5'4 or so. 

The tall girl pulled up a bar stool beside me, "Hi, I'm Lenja." (Pronounce it Len-YA) She pointed to her shorter friend who was beside Ekaterina, "This is Sacha." Ekaterina and I rolled our eyes at each other. We were used to girls trying to get in with us just so they could hit on Emery; he was gorgeous and though I was figuring out how gay I was at the time, even I couldn't deny Emery's good looks. Tall, brunette, and just dark enough to look exotic without implicating a specific country of origin, Emery was smart, he played soccer, and he was amazingly fit.

"Our friend's name is Emery," Ekaterina said. "No, he's not taken but he is from Canada and is only in town for the night."

Lenja and Sacha looked at each other awkwardly. Sacha finally slid her arm around Ekaterina's shoulder. "I don't care about what your friend's name is. What is your name?" I felt Lenja drop her hand to my thigh and I looked over to Ekaterina, who was clearly just as confused as I was.

We introduced ourselves as it began to dawn on us that maybe, just maybe, we were getting hit on. This is when Emery choose to re-join the table. Emery took one look at these girls and, knowing just how gorgeous he was, began hitting on them with a confidence that only boys who always score can have. Ekaterina and I  continued to stare at each other in shock and mumble incoherent words every now and again. Very quickly, we could see Emery's distress as the girls tried to ignore his advances and continued to touch and look at Ekaterina and I. Finally, Lenja and Sacha couldn't handle it anymore, and they left the table.

Emery inquired about our guests immediately, "Did those girls seem weird to you?"

We burst out laughing. "Oh my God!" We shrieked between shots, "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!"

"We're wearing sweats!" I screamed! "Sweats!"

"I know! I can't believe..." We burst out in more giggles.

"What?" Emery asked, looking at us both cautiously. "What are you two going on about?"

"Hitting on us!" I half whispered to Emery, "those girls! They were trying to pick us up."

Emery shook his head, "You're joking."

Ekaterina, "As I live and breathe! They think we're sexy-"

"In our sweat pants!" I finished. We both burst out in more giggles. 

Emery looked at us both with new found respect. "Whoa. That's kind of hot."

"Oh shut up and take us home," Ekaterina ordered as she and I polished off the last two shots on the table.

The first quarter mile of the walk back to the convent was simple: we filled Emery in on exactly what had happened while he'd been retrieving the final supply of shots. Then Ekaterina and I decided to hold hands and pretend we were actually together since we were obviously super awesome (and so super drunk). It's around this time that we came across the construction site. Ekaterina had to pee and recruited me to go with her. "Girls don't let friends pee alone." She said. 

"Or girlfriends," I corrected. We began giggling all over again and the next thing I remember we were both fully clothed lying on our backs side by side in front of a bulldozer. 

"Oh no." Emery was standing above us looking worried. "Get up, we have fifteen minutes to get back."

"No," Ekaterina shouted, "we're sleeping out here. In the dirt." She grabbed my hand. "It's okay, Abernathy will stay with me."

"No no no no no," Emery shook his head. "We're all going back to the convent."

"I don't think so." Ekaterina taunted.

"If I have to pick you up and carry you back, you're going home. Is that understood?" I looked over at Ekaterina. She had a crush on Emery (like every girl in our program... but me) and I could see the gears turning in her head.

I sat up. "I'll walk home if you carry Ekaterina." 

I am such an awesome friend.

Emery looked at me suspiciously, but he bent down and picked Ekaterina up anyway. She didn't let go of my hand so I stood up as Emery hoisted her over his shoulder.

As we walked through the glass double doors of the convent, we heard the automatic clocks click to lock us in. Looking up at the clock in the corner, we realized we made it home seconds before our deadline.

***

Today's points:

My friend, K, says the point of this story is I make a cute butch lesbian. I disagree (I'm sure I make a cute butch, but that's not The Point). I think that the point of this story everyone is attracted to ladies who are comfortable in their skin. That and people always think you're hottest when you aren't even trying. In sweats or evening gowns, if we're comfy and having a good time without worrying about impressing anyone, those are our magic moments.
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Thursday, August 19, 2010

6:22 AM

How Did That Straight Girl Get in My Bed?

Hey crew,

How are you doing this fine Thursday? Can you believe I'm meeting a deadline? This is exciting; I may get the hang of this yet!

It's time for another tale about my post-collegiate existence. This one guest stars my roommate's best friend from high school, Cambria. Cambria is surprisingly attractive (though she is straight) and she is also freakin' hilarious. However, whenever Cambria comes to visit, things have a way of breaking or going ridiculously awry. 

This week's story is my favorite of the Cambria Chronicles. I hope it makes you laugh out loud at your computers! (If it does, you should totally comment and let me know.)

How Did That Straight Girl Get in My Bed? 

On the night this story took place, my roommate, Gemma, invited two of her friends to crash at our place: Jack and Cambria. The four of us went out for dinner and drinks at a local bar. The conversation never dulled and when the restaurant closed, we decided to pick up a few bottles of wine and keep the night going. Between refreshingly honest conversation and a few fixed card games, we lost track of time and partied into the early morning hours. 

Eventually, we ran out of wine and realized that it would probably be in our best interest to go to sleep: Gemma and I had to go to work in a few hours, Jack had an EMT test at 7:30, and Cambria had a first round interview for a very lucrative job in town. Jack ended up on our sleeper sofa, Cambria was going to share Gemma's bed, and I had my room to myself. We all said our goodnights and promptly passed out.

Around 4am, I woke up to weird noises in my room. Unsure of what I'd find, I took a deep breath and poked my head out of my covers, only to see Cambria pacing back and forth beside my bed. Relieved and somewhat confused I said, "Hey Cambria, what's going on?"

She looked at the floor and shook her head, "Don't worry about it. I'm just going to go use the bathroom. I think it's over there." Cambria looked half asleep still, but she was pointing towards the hallway where the bathroom was located, so I figured she'd make it to the right place.

I lay down to go back to sleep while Cambria tried to leave my room, but she couldn't figure out how to get the bedroom door shut (in her defense, the lock is too high so you have to wiggle the door just right). Finally, I crawled out of bed to close it myself. The two of us ended up fighting over the door for a good minute or two. We eventually got it closed, but by then I was wide awake and I needed to pee too. I decided to sit outside of the bathroom and wait. 

And wait.

And wait.

Finally, Cambria came out of the bathroom and pushed past me. In my exhausted half-drunk state, I thought to myself, "Whatever, Abernathy; go pee and deal with her later."  

So I did my thing. But when I got back to my bedroom, Cambria was spread eagle on my bed. 

Now you should know that I have a giant stuffed teddy bear that I sleep with every fucking night. I've had it as long as I can remember and it's not going anywhere: my rule is I can't date a girl who has a problem with my bear being in the bed. And absolutely no one can sleep with my bear but me.

Cambria was laying on top of my bear! I reached over and yanked it out from under her and cried, "Cambria!?" 

The girl didn't even budge.

So I said, "CAMBRIA!" 

But she didn't move. 

I felt bad because I didn't want to wake Jack, but this hooker was in my bed. So eventually, I smacked her back with my teddy bear (maybe this wasn't quite necessary), and kind of shouted, "CAMBRIA!!!"

Quick as a whip, she looked at me and screamed, "I call the wall!" before rolling over to go back to sleep.

So I said, "Fuck it," and climbed into my bed and went to sleep beside her.

When I woke up for work a few hours later, I was in bed alone. Not bothering to question the early morning's odd events, I began to get ready for my day. As I finished cooking breakfast (okay, pouring cereal), I saw Cambria sitting on the couch. She looked really confused. 

I looked at her and she stared back quizzically, but neither of us said anything.  A few minutes into the standoff, Gemma came out of her room and sat next to Cambria. "Dude," she said, "where did you go in the middle of the night?"

Cambria looked at me and cocked her head before asking, "Did I sleep in your bed?"

I nodded and said, "Yeah girl, you called the wall."
Fin

Today's Point: Sometimes your guests will require more hospitality than you originally anticipated (i.e. half of your bed). Give what's reasonable, but know your limits: no one touches your teddy bear.
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Friday, August 6, 2010

4:50 AM

I Love It When My Birthday Is A Shit Show

Hey friends, hey!

It's Thursday. I'm giving you a blog post. We should all be (a) impressed because I hate deadlines and (b) super excited about this. I know I am!

And now, a bit of insight before we start this week's story: my life philosophy is fuck new years. It is not really the start of my year, it's just some random day I don't have to work. My years start and end (quite literally) with the best day ever: my fucking birthday. I don't care if I get yelled at, chided, wasted, sick, lost, naked, embarrassed, broke, high, or in a fight on my birthday. Nothing, and I do mean nothing, has ever interfered with my birthday spirit. Luckily for you, dear readers, this means I have many fantastic birthday stories to tell you!

We'll start with the story of my foray into the world of legal alcoholism: my twenty-first.

I Love It When My Birthday Is A Shit Show
When I got to college, I was amazed to discover that I shared my birthday with a slew of other girls. You only need to know two of those girls. The first is Sharon. Sharon's birthday is actually the day before mine, which is kind of fabulous because it gives the two of us a legitimate excuse to plan a forty-eight hour party. The second girl you need to know is Kayden. Kayden and I share an exact birthday. We're basically twins.

Sometimes, like when I need to borrow shoes for my ginormous feet, being Kayden's twin is amazing. Other times, I'm reminded that having a (fake) twin means two times the ridiculous and drunken behavior. Those times, being a twin kind of sucks.

Such a time was our twenty-first birthday. For some reason I can't recall, a lot of my friends who had previously graduated were in town and I was super excited to meet up with them. Because we would turn legal at midnight on Sunday, everyone agreed that the partying would start on Saturday evening. Kayden took charge and invited everyone to a nice dinner out. However, she neglected to invite me to this dinner nor to inform our alumna friends that I wouldn't be attendance. She even invited my lesbi-bestie, Arla.

I was left me to fend for myself at the dorms.

Surprisingly, I wasn't all that upset. I received lots of calls from my alumna friends who felt terrible and promised to visit me later. Besides, Kayden had a fake ID and I didn't, so I wasn't keen on being the underage girl holding the crew back until twelve. So I settled down with a fellow underage friend and prepared for a few hours of quality pre-gaming.

Eleven forty-five eventually rolled around and I bid my underage friend audios and hiked down the street to the bar to meet up with Sharon, who should have been well into her birthday bash by the time I arrived. I was only going to have two hours out to enjoy my birthday and I didn't plan to miss a single moment.

As expected, Sharon was already there and telling you that she was trashed might be putting things lightly. I chugged a few beers and downed a Tom Collins before walking Sharon outside so she could get some fresh air and realize it was time for her to go home. During this break Kayden called to let me know that she would not be joining me nor would she be permitting our alumna friends to leave the bar she'd dragged them to!!!

Kayden explained that she just didn't want to share our birthday any more. It was the single most idiotic thing she's ever said to me. Friends, I wasn't at my best. I called her a ridiculously vulgar name and hung up.

Upon re-entering the bar, I explained that Sharon had moved her leg of the party back to campus and that we were all to pretend that Kayden didn't exist for the next week...And that's when it happened. Love. I looked down and on my table there sat a sparkling blue drink in a cup the size of a fucking fishbowl. It was beautiful.

"Waah?" I asked, speechless by the sight.

"Blue motorcycle," a friend responded. "I bought it for Sharon."

"Well shit," I volunteered, "I'll take care of it for her."

Do you know what's in a blue motorcycle? Look it up. Seriously. Stop reading, open a new tab. Look that shit up. If you want, you can hypothesize how this story will end now.

Arla showed up at my bar, out of breath from rushing over from Kayden's stupid birthday party, only to find me halfway through the blue motorcycle. By that point, I was sitting with my friend, Toga, and I felt fucking fantastic. My world was warm and hazy, and it swayed gently side to side.

Eventually, I stumbled to the bathroom to compose myself and when I came back out, Toga and Arla had hidden my blue motorcycle! To make matters even worse, my alum friends kept inadvertently reminding me they were with Kayden by blowing up my phone with apologies for staying with her. And to top it all off, the bartender was walking around yelling that it was last call.

Remember how I told you that nothing fucks with my birthday? Well, I looked around and saw a half full pitcher of Bud Light at an abandoned table across the bar. I ran over, took it, and I drank from it like it was water and I was Jesus finishing my forty days in the desert.

Lucky for me, I knew one of the waiters rather well and he decided to ignore the fact that I was breaking enough Alcohol Beverage Control laws to cause his bar to lose their liquor liscense. I finished the pitcher completely by myself and set about my return to campus.

First, I lost my responsible sober friends and went to check on Sharon. She had managed to get herself to bed and she still hadn't gotten sick. Gotta love that birthday spirit!

Next, I found my hook-up buddy and we did our thing. Eventually that ended and by the grace of God, I found my way back to my dorm. I had two beds in my room that year and Toga was already drunk and passed out in one. I considered getting into the other one, but decided the floor looked much more comfortable.

I sat still for approximately ten seconds before I realized I was bored and everyone I liked was asleep. Toga woke up five minutes later to see me hugging my trashcan. "Abernathy," she whispered, "are you drunk throwing up or bored and sleepy throwing up?"

Rest assured readers, I've matured in the last few years and this is no longer a legitimate question for my friends to ask.

"Bored," I croaked.

"Okay," she said.

I then proceeded to leave the room, clean out the trashcan and crawl back to my room. This time, Toga sat up in the bed and watched me curl up on the hardwood floor in front of my closet door. "Do you need help getting into bed?" she asked.

"Naw, floor is better," I moaned.

Six hours later, I woke up to Toga stepping over me. I rolled over onto my back and looked up at her. I was still in my dress, my tights were ripped, and it felt like someone was smacking my skull with a ball peen hammer. "Hi," I whispered.

"Happy Birthday!" She shouted.

Fin

Today's Point: As long as your closest circle of friends makes it to your birthday, forgive everyone who doesn't make it. You've got the people you need and those missing the party still love you.
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