Last Weekend
Many Fridays, we plan to find a party. "We" in this case generally refers to Olivier and I. He wants to go to a place crawling with women, so that he can have sex with them. I want to go to a place where I can drink a lot and possibly meet someone who is not conversationally repugnant. Generally Olivier is successful. I am somewhat less so. Floozies are numerous, horny, idiotic, and drunk, mostly because they consumed all of the alcohol prior to my arrival. Thus we see how the split between our success rates occurs.
Actually, we usually both fail because we can't find a party to begin with, but last Friday we had one lined up in advance. It seemed like a solid plan. Huge shindig, complete with band and multiple kegs. How could it possibly fail?
Oh, let me count the ways.
Our first ride abandoned us, and virtually nobody else was available for transportation. When we finally got a ride there were other complications. When we got to the place, the beer was intermittently mobbed to my exclusion or absent entirely. Finally I got Dave to run me to the store to buy my own supply. Immediately upon my return to the party, the police arrived and forced me to abandon the hard-earned drinks. Thus enraged, I made my way home and drank until I could not stand up.
I was pissed, needless to say, and thus resolved that Saturday night I would forgo parties entirely and see "Munich" instead. This plan would have worked fine if I hadn't checked my away messages before I left and thus seen a name which was last on my screen many months ago accompanied by threats of litigation. Needless to say I was perplexed. I dealt with this by drinking more and drinking faster than ever before, leaving me with the idea that walking, alone, on Method Road, at night, would be a good idea. Actually, what I was doing was more of a parody of walking, but the point stands.
It was in this condition, drunk and ambulant, that I encountered the Nigerian.
The Nigerian rolled up alongside me in an SUV and said, "Get in the car, man, I give you ride."
"Nah, man, I live less than two blocks from here."
"What, you no sex?"
(Pause) "Say what now?"
"You no sex? I'm gay."
"Uh...well, I'm not, so...have fun with that, I guess."
(Pause) "Come on man, get in the car."
"Dude, I really don't think you're understanding me here."
And then he sped away, I made it to my house, and passed out.
Sunday I got up early and drove home to surprise my mom. I stopped at a Bojangles on the way. The person who gave me my food called me "ma'am" before realizing her mistake. I resolved that such constituted the second sign in as many days that I needed a haircut.
Then I got home and the Panthers made collossal jackasses out of themselves and I was cast into yet another dejected, enraged, and embittered state, so upon my return to Raleigh I drank myself retarded until I passed out. Again.
---
There are certain points you should glean from this:
1) I solve all of my problems with alcohol. None of my problems were actually CAUSED by alcohol.
2) Last weekend sucked mammoth balls.
3) I did, in fact, need a haircut, which I got today.
4) I apparently live on a street where people expect to find male prostitutes.
5) Fuck the police.
6) Jake Del Homme would have the potential to be a historic quarterback if he could just be more consistent. Oh, and the Seahawks can all get a big spoonful of my ass.
Actually, we usually both fail because we can't find a party to begin with, but last Friday we had one lined up in advance. It seemed like a solid plan. Huge shindig, complete with band and multiple kegs. How could it possibly fail?
Oh, let me count the ways.
Our first ride abandoned us, and virtually nobody else was available for transportation. When we finally got a ride there were other complications. When we got to the place, the beer was intermittently mobbed to my exclusion or absent entirely. Finally I got Dave to run me to the store to buy my own supply. Immediately upon my return to the party, the police arrived and forced me to abandon the hard-earned drinks. Thus enraged, I made my way home and drank until I could not stand up.
I was pissed, needless to say, and thus resolved that Saturday night I would forgo parties entirely and see "Munich" instead. This plan would have worked fine if I hadn't checked my away messages before I left and thus seen a name which was last on my screen many months ago accompanied by threats of litigation. Needless to say I was perplexed. I dealt with this by drinking more and drinking faster than ever before, leaving me with the idea that walking, alone, on Method Road, at night, would be a good idea. Actually, what I was doing was more of a parody of walking, but the point stands.
It was in this condition, drunk and ambulant, that I encountered the Nigerian.
The Nigerian rolled up alongside me in an SUV and said, "Get in the car, man, I give you ride."
"Nah, man, I live less than two blocks from here."
"What, you no sex?"
(Pause) "Say what now?"
"You no sex? I'm gay."
"Uh...well, I'm not, so...have fun with that, I guess."
(Pause) "Come on man, get in the car."
"Dude, I really don't think you're understanding me here."
And then he sped away, I made it to my house, and passed out.
Sunday I got up early and drove home to surprise my mom. I stopped at a Bojangles on the way. The person who gave me my food called me "ma'am" before realizing her mistake. I resolved that such constituted the second sign in as many days that I needed a haircut.
Then I got home and the Panthers made collossal jackasses out of themselves and I was cast into yet another dejected, enraged, and embittered state, so upon my return to Raleigh I drank myself retarded until I passed out. Again.
---
There are certain points you should glean from this:
1) I solve all of my problems with alcohol. None of my problems were actually CAUSED by alcohol.
2) Last weekend sucked mammoth balls.
3) I did, in fact, need a haircut, which I got today.
4) I apparently live on a street where people expect to find male prostitutes.
5) Fuck the police.
6) Jake Del Homme would have the potential to be a historic quarterback if he could just be more consistent. Oh, and the Seahawks can all get a big spoonful of my ass.