The Point

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!"

The list required that the two girls--my lesbi-besti, Arla, and my constantly politically incorrect friend, Kimya--push someone into a bush, play flip cup in the crowded dining hall and tabletop someone (push someone backwards super hard so that they fall and hit their ass...or head. It's legitimately not safe.) among other things.


Because I was considered the best friend of both Kimya and Arla, I figured that there was no effing way I would be targeted for any of their schemes. I even participated in a few of the items on their list, hoping they might see me as co-conspirator and leave me alone. I volunteered to bring a few Solo cups and cans of Natty Light to the dining hall one night to make the illegal flip cup tournament a reality. I watched them throw the same girl into a bush twice. I even let them demonstrate tabletopping techniques to me and pretended to care.


So you can imagine my surprise when two days later, Kimya turned her malicious attention on me. 

rafaaafrrrk

It happened like this: Arla and I were throwing yet another bangin' party on our hall. My handmade beer pong table was out and surrounded by tipsy ladies oogling the design--rainbows! a false bible quote: "God Loves Love" (from Genesis 2:6 obvs)! and a powder blue background! The table's co-designer, Dot, was standing beside me helping measure beer and set out cups for an epic game of pong. 


I was so distracted by the insane amount of people in the hall that I didn't notice that Arla and Kimya had disappeared from the party. Just as Dot and I finished setting up the table and breaking the crowd into teams, Kimya showed up. She opened her arms and walked towards me. "Hey! You can play on my team!" I told her. I put out my arms too, thinking she was attempting to hug me. At the very last second before we made contact, Kimya pulled her right breast out of her shirt and slapped me full on in the face with her boob.


You weren't expecting that were you?


Nor was I.


And let me tell you: IT HURT.

by Young Prism

Kimya has double Ds. Her breasts are gigantic. 


After she hit me, I just stood in the middle of the hallway in shock. Everybody was laughing but me. I was just taking it in. 


That's when I tasted blood. Kimya had hit me so hard with her gigantic breast that she'd busted my lip and I was bleeding into my mouth. It was fucking disgusting. I rushed into the bathroom and locked myself in a stall so everyone would leave me alone. It was a classic throw back to middle school.

Angela Chase basically taught me to hide the bathroom in the '90s

From the safety of the stall, I could hear Kimya yelling, "Number 14 on the list has been accomplished!" 


"You wanted to smack a girl in the face with your tit?" Someone asked in response.


"Well not necessarily a girl, but I always wondered if I could smack someone with my boobs and now I know I can."


I was starting to brood in my bathroom stall. I mean, seriously--who does that? Luckily, a knock on the door saved me from hearing anymore of Kimya's celebration in the hall. "Abernathy?"


"What?" I asked, recognizing the voice immediately. It was Julia, the same friend who keeps the photographs of me on Four Loko under locks. 


"Are you still bleeding?" I pulled a tissue away from my lips. It was speckled red.


"Affirmative." 


"Come out here. Let me look at you." Julia plans on being a nurse so she's all about making sure people are okay. Unfortunately, I hate being doted on.


"I'm fine," I told her, finally exiting the stall. 


Kimya walked into the bathroom, took one look at my swelling lip and begin laughing. 


I didn't talk to her again for weeks.

Where I went to college, we have three nights every fall that are, unavoidably, going to be party nights. Resident Assistants assigned those nights know that they will accompany some overenthusiastic first year or sophomore to the hospital to get her stomach pumped. They know that they will only be able to write social violation reports for extreme cases such as cocaine snorting and arson because everyone on campus will be violating some rule on those nights. Luckily, those students who aren't criminals or addicts or RAs are free to enjoy these three nights without fear of repercussion for minor infractions.

As an undergrad, this.was.amazing.

During my first two years in school, I had fun and I drank on these nights, however, I kept myself in check. But in junior year, I got cocky.

Really cocky.

I have *such* a crush on Runaways era Joan Jett Photo by Brad Elterman

The specific night on which this story occurred began simply enough: I had a few drinks in my room with my friends. I wandered around the halls and drank some more with friends. Then I went outside for a few cigarettes and met up with my friend Stella and her boyfriend, Stanley. We were just running out of alcohol and debating where to find more when Rosaline approached us.

Rosaline is a year older than me and she is the very definition of a hippie. The wedding rings she salivates over are wooden. She doesn't shave her armpits unless begged to do so. She has been known to go days at a time without showering. Her clothes usually have beads or talismans sewn on to them and they jingle as she walks. Obviously, she's one of the most awesome people ever born.

As she shared a cigarette with us, Rosaline announced to Stanley that she was about to have a major load of mary jane delivered to her room and he had ten minutes to decide if he was in. Stella is allergic to mary, so it was always a major treat for Stanley if he found it when he came to visit Stella.

Instead of rushing to say yes, Stanley told Rosaline he'd let her know in the next few minutes if he'd be joining her. Stella and I exchanged a quick glance of concern: Stanley should have been jumping for joy. Right then Rosaline's phone rang and she walked away to answer the call.

"What's going on?" Stella asked, brow furrowed. "Are you not feeling well?"

"I'm fine," Stanley answered Stella and turned to me. "Abernathy, go with me."

"WHAT?!" Stella and I shouted. I wasn't even sure Stanley liked me and here he was insisting I score mary jane with him.

"I can't go alone," he almost sounded like he was begging as he looked off to where Rosaline had disappeared. "She's kind of...different. And I don't know these people. C'mon Abbi."

Stella shoved me, "Abbi, go with him. You know Rosaline isn't the most put together and if something goes wrong you can get Stanley out of it." I looked at Stanley and examined the wrinkle-free button down oxford he was wearing, the Sperrys on his feet, the Ray Bans poking out of his pocket...he'd never do this without me. Stella was staring at me and I knew she could tell what I was thinking. "He needs you Abbi."

Thanks to Jose Cuervo and a serious lack of judgement, I finally agreed.

As we walked up to Rosaline, a rusted black jalopy pulled up to the edge of the lawn. Rosaline turned to us, "That's him. Go wait for me in the smoke room."

"The Smoke Room" was just some girl's dorm room where people were always smoking something--cigarettes, pot, crack. Seriously, the girl had no boundaries. Tentatively, Stanley and I headed to the room. My college was pretty small, so I knew the owner of the smoke room, but I worried about the implications of entering such a laissez faire environment.

Inside of the room, people were sitting everywhere. A few were smoking cigarettes, but no one was talking much. We all sat awkwardly for about five minutes before Rosaline joined us. Immediately, the room came together like a well-oiled machine: three water pipes appeared out of thin air. In no time, they were packed and lit and beginning to circle the room.

Stanley sat directly across from me. We each received pipes at the same time and looked at each other cautiously as we took our hits. Something felt weird, but I didn't say anything: I hate smoking mary. I'd only done it a few times before and never using a pipe. I sat and took the room in, which was becoming increasingly more difficult as the people within the room breathed think pale clouds of smoke into the air.

When the pipe reached me a second time, I knew something felt wrong. I looked over to Stanley and he caught my eye before motioning to the door, "I think we should leave here. Now."

Like sixteen year olds with handles of SoCo at a busted house party, we bolted. "That was crazy!" Stanley said.

"I know." We walked over to the lawn, to find Stella still smoking on a bench.

"Done already?" She raised an eyebrow as Stanley slid onto the seat next to her.

"Something was off with the mary," he told her. "Right?" he looked to me.

"Right." I breathed. Suddenly, I did not feel so well. "I'm going to go find a beer." I said, trying to save face as I began looking for a dark corner to get sick in.

***

When I came to, I realized that I was in the back of the senior dorms. I'd snuggled into the brick wall and artificial scratches all over my arms and back. I couldn't remember how I got there from the bench with Stanley and Stella, but I was sure that if I moved even an inch, I would die.

I heard music coming from the dormitory above me. Inside, girls were still drinking and smoking and partying as the night wore on. This is where I began hallucinating. 

I wiggled deeper into the earth and held my breath, sure that if someone in the dorms found me outside, they would turn me in to the police. As I listened to my breathing, it occurred to me that the ground I was laying on was on a slight incline. I became terrified that the hill was actually a giant mountain and I was going to roll down it into the street below. In my confused state, I was convinced that I was going to roll into the street and break my arms. Then someone would call the paramedics and they would call my parents. My parents would show up at the hospital and say, "Abernathy, we are so disappointed in you!"

Then they would kill me.

American Gothic by Grant Wood

I began crying and digging into the ground, literally clawing into the dirt for fear that I would roll down this "mountain." Eventually, I passed out.

***

I woke up and realized that I was beyond drunk and high. I was genuinely fucked up. Making my first intelligent decision of the entire evening, I left my hiding spot on the ground and stumbled to the back door of the senior dormitory. Luckily, a friend of mine walking through the hallway saw me standing awkwardly outside and let me in.

"Are you alright?" She asked.

"I don't know!" I started crying again. "I don't want to break my arms on the mountain!"

"Alright, Abernathy. I'm walking you home." This was A Big Deal. My dormitory was at most a hundred feet from the senior dorms. I knew then that I looked just as fucked up as I felt.

via halfgodboy

My friend walked me back to my room, where I found my friends sitting around talking. I didn't even acknowledge them as I peeled off my jeans and t-shirt and crawled into my bed.

One of the girls asked if I was going to get sick.

"Probably," I told her. "I'm pretty sure I'm dying. I'll miss you."

***

When I woke up in the morning, there were twigs, clods of dirt, and leaves in my hair, under my fingernails and in every inch of my bed. I felt so sick I didn't eat again for two days.

It was easily the worst hangover of my entire life.

The Code: A Story with Hand Gestures

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.

Friends, it's 2011! It's a new year and time for a fresh start. So keep an eye out, because coming to you soon will be a better, brighter, prettier version of The Point!

from FuckYeah, Raainbows

Mad love,