My Night of Shame

In an effort to avoid having every single story on here paint my room mate as the one who makes mistakes, I'm going to include the story of the worst night of drinking I've ever had.

If only I was this dignified at the end of the night.

Allow me to preface this story by telling you that while I do no not drink heavily on frequent occasion, I have an excellent track record in dealing with nights like that. For one, I'm a pretty big guy, and thus able to shrug off some effects just based on size alone. Secondly, I normally prepare myself fairly well, drinking water throughout the day, being sure to eat foods that aren't too likely to react poorly with alcohol while ensuring that I don't drink on an empty stomach.

Indian food can mess you even without drinking.

This particular night, I was not prepared. At all. My room mate had an old high school buddy visiting this weekend, and so far we had all been having a good time hanging out, going to the gym, playing video games, etc.

Normally we would have shown the friend around downtown Greenville, but it was freezing cold that night, so we were planning on just having a quiet night in. However, my room mate got a text at around 7:30 or so from a girl who was having a bit of drinking at her apartment and wanted to know if we would join her and her friends.

Artistic simulation. Actual girls not that hot.

Naturally, we said yes. I'm all for a chill night of drinking at somebody's apartment, and it was nice to have something to do. I hadn't had dinner yet, so I quickly make myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, wolf i t down with a glass of milk and am out the door. Mistake number 1.

We bring some beers, and the girls had some mixed drinks. I had a few of each. How many is not important. Also, I don't know how many.

Who the fuck do you think I am?

Shortly though, one girl wants to shotgun a beer, but doesn't want to do it by herself. I volunteer because it's always fun to do something a bit outgoing at parties, and she was kind of cute. Mistake number 2.

For people who take their binge drinking seriously.

I was wearing a nice pullover that was a gift from my cooperating teacher during my senior year at NCSU. Thoughtfully, I remove it. I didn't want to get beer on it.

If only there were some product I could use for that...

Well, after that, everything goes downhill. My room mate quickly realized that I was on the verge of becoming a shit show. In my infinite wisdom though, I did not hear/heed his advice. At one point I think I was drinking wine straight from the bottle. Mistake number 3.

Just let it be said that I was fairly wasted at this point. So of course we decide to go down town anyway. Drunk logic: it's inescapable.

Also, there are minotaurs.

A lot of the other people are hungry, so we decide to partake in perhaps the best food for drunk people in downtown Greenville: Michelangelo's Pizza. Just to give you an idea of how many drunk people eat there, it is the only pizza place I've ever been to that has bouncers. They aren't there to protect the pizza, they're there to defenestrate the drunks. (Look it up if you don't know what it means)

These guys will toss you out, and then eat your pizza.

Michelangelo's is one of those pizza places with large slices and various fancy types of pizza in addition to the plain old pepperoni and cheese. My room mate didn't have any way to pay because he had lost his credit card a week or so prior, so I agree to pay for both.

Unfortunately, my room mate likes to eat odd pizzas like buffalo chicken and asparagus pizza. I was too drunk to tell the cashier that I wanted two different types of pizza, so I just got a slice of the pizza my room mate had selected. Mistake number 4.

Seriously? I guess this is technically a pizza.

After the first few bites hit my stomach, I start to feel kind of bad, so I go to the restroom and stare at the toilet for a few minutes. Nothing. Oh well, I'm good right?

Wrong. Now my room mate and everyone else are definitely sure that I'm wasted-face, and decide to go home for the night. Mistake number 5.

As we cross over the railroad tracks on the way back home, I feel a rumbly in my tumbly.

And not the good kind.

Frantically, I roll down the window and blow chunks all over the outside, and even the inside, of the Jeep. Some got on my pullover, all that carefulness earlier was for naught. But it wasn't done there. Oh no. Twas not done there.

As everybody else watched "The Hangover" in the living room, I was busy positioning myself so that the stuff spilling out from my mouth would make it into the toilet. Oh the shame. I'm not one to go down without a fight though.

Yes, I'm picking on the French.

So as I lie there, huddling over the toilet (luckily I had just cleaned it that morning), my room mate comes in to check on me. After establishing that I was fine, I told him that I was sorry for making a bad impression on his friend. I don't often get to meet my room mate's old friends, and it sucked that I was in such a predicament.

Then I said, quote "He's a pretty cool guy, even if he doesn't know that blowjobs make a sound." (Some of the conversations we have can be a bit awkward) My room mate replies with, "Maybe she just wasn't giving it a hundred percent effort?". Choking back my vomit for a few more seconds I say, "More like zero percent effort!"

Oh shit! Somebody call the fire department!

Then it was back to puking my guts up.

The Ballad of Crazy Crazy

One of the constants in my room mate's life seems to be that girls he's interested in turn out to be a little bit crazy.

Surgeon General's Warning: Results may vary.

Although I haven't known him for too long, and don't exactly ask him for stories about girls that he has been involved with over the years, several examples of crazy ex-girlfriends come to mind. However, today we are only going to discuss the one whom we call "Crazy Crazy". (cue ominous music)

So, he met this girl at a cousin's wedding over the summer, and thought that she seemed really nice. She had made her own sun dress, was an attractive young lady his own age, and seemed like an overall classy girl. I later pointed out to him that anyone can seem classy if you meet them at a wedding.

Okay... "almost" anybody.

So he begins texting her, talking to her on the phone, all the things that people today do when they like somebody. They seem to hit it off. In fact, they would talk/text for hours almost every night. And I mean hours. Like, start at 11:00 and finish at 3:00 in the morning, talking about nothing in particular. That is either really sweet, or really crazy. I'll let you decide, because honestly we've all been there before.

Eventually he goes to visit her one weekend, at wherever it is that she lives. Somewhere in Georgia or South Carolina, I'm not really sure, and it's not really important to the story. They have a great weekend, watch one of the "Saw" movies (typical date fare), it turns out she's creative in the kitchen, and you know that my room mate loves fancy cooking stuff.

Funnily enough, he doesn't like most sociopaths.

So, after this she decided to come visit him. Now, I don't have a problem with my room mates having girls stay over, especially since now I live in a place with separate bedrooms. I could hang out with them in the living room while they watched "Se7en", and then just give them space the rest of the time.

However, there was a fundamental difference between her and us that was quickly made apparent. She didn't do shit as a grad student! Literally, she could take a whole week off just to do whatever. So while both of us have real work to do (me reading 700 pages of history books a week, him memorizing cancer terminology or whatever it is that medical students do), she would just sit around, bored.

Artist simulation. Baby used for comedic effect.

He would go to the library to study for a couple hours, and she would just sit there. Staring at him. Like a puppy dog who really wanted you to play with it. Because she didn't have anything to do, she couldn't seem to spend any time away from him. You just couldn't leave her alone. As I told a friend of mine, it was like babysitting a small child.

There's no telling what kind of trouble she'd get in.

My room mate and I used to go to an undergrad environmental biology class with a friend of ours (for various reasons, including but not limited to messing up the grade curve and meeting girls) We invited Crazy Crazy, but she didn't want to go. Afterward, we hung out for a bit and decided to get some dinner. Again, my room mate checks to see if she wants to come, but she says no, she's fine.

She is not fine. This is when Crazy Crazy starts to have a meltdown. She calls, upset to the point of tears. It is so bad that my room mate has to leave to run damage control.

This is the last baby picture, I swear.

Crisis averted, he decides to make that night a quiet affair by staying in and watching a movie. She wants to watch "American Psycho". You may have noticed a trend over the course of this post. This girl only likes movies that involve fucking dismemberment and murder. This is a warning sign, for reals. It's alright to like these movies, but when you don't like comedies, action movies, comedies or even chick flicks there is something wrong.

Picture this, but replace the cats with chainsaws.

Sunday rolls around, and it's time for her to leave at last. My room mate is a little bit relieved at this point. She seems a bit mopey, and doesn't really want to go. She toys with the idea of skipping her classes and staying longer. Tactfully, my room mate tries to persuade her that this is not a prudent course of action. She leaves. Whew!

Oh wait. I forgot that she is crazy! As my room mate and I begin discussing how the visit went, she calls from the road. Hysterical. She's now crying her eyes out, talking on her cell phone, while driving. She's also not the best driver to begin with. My room mate tries to calm her down. She decides that she's just going to come back.

You know the quote, so I won't insult your intelligence.

Realizing that we don't want to be around her, we decide to go to the gym to play basketball. As we drove back home, we began joking about how she's more than a little bit crazy. "Ha ha! We should check to make sure all the knives are accounted for when we get back." We're so funny.

But seriously, when we get back and my room mate is walking towards his room to talk to her, I go to the kitchen to check the knives. We have a pretty awesome magnetic knife rack, so it makes counting knives pretty easy.

We're missing one. Fuck! Quickly, I motion frantically to my room mate to abort.

"Danger, Will Robinson! Danger!"

It's too late for him to pull away, he's trapped. He can't just do a double take, can he? Well, you'll be happy to know that the missing knife was merely in the dishwasher. Whew, close one!

And after that night, she finally does leave. But do not be disheartened dear reader, for Crazy Crazy is not a girl who quits easily. If we have time, the saga will continue.

Life With One Channel, Part Two

In an earlier post, I mentioned how through a combination of factors (we're both poor college kids who can't afford cable and digital TV's line of sight transmission) my room mate and I only get one channel: NBC. Although NBC has it's redeeming qualities, it regularly ranks dead last in the ranking systems among major channels. That by itself isn't completely terrible, but we get in on channel 7, WITN out of Greenville. This is a problem.

"WITN? Ed Harris sent me. You know why."

When you only have one channel, and that one channel is terrible, what do you do? Frankly, my room mate and I play a lot of video games and movies when the television is on. But sometimes it's the middle of the day, and you don't feel like doing any of the reading that comes with being grad students, you just want to watch some TV. Normally not that big a problem, unless you only get one channel. And that one channel is the worst fucking channel ever.

After starting your day with the interminable blather of the Today Show and whatever other drivel WITN decides to show bright and early, you reach the crux of NBC daytime television. The marathon of mediocrity and morons is led off by what is arguably the strongest segment: Rachel Ray, for like two straight hours. Luckily, my room mate is big into learning cooking stuff, and I like food, so it works out alright.

Also, she's a lot more attractive than Martha Stewart.

We'll skip past the unavoidably bad soap operas that come on around noon, because now we get to the really soul crushing part of the day's broadcast: court T.V.

The average 'contestant' on court T.V.

If you are not familiar with the concept of court television, take equal parts Jerry Springer and COPS, add a dash of pseudo justice and mix liberally with a dash of embarrassing facts unrelated to the case before the judge. Although the judges in each of the three solid hours of court television are probably actually real judges, I have more respect for random people or objects with the word 'Judge' in their name. Examples: Pontiac GTO's, Mike Judge, etc.

This guy has my complete respect.

Each of these shows has a greater collection of degenerates and losers suing and counter suing for ridiculous reasons and prices than should be humanly possible. Like seriously, what producer was like, "Let's get this guy who's suing his crack addict ex-fiance for not paying back a verbal agreement loan; while she sues for emotional damages because he called her a crack head, and once got a DUI."

Somebody who knows the quote to this scene.

There are three straight hours of people in black dresses pretending to care about the cases before them for judicial reasons instead of merely profiting from society's need to feel better than some other poor schmuck. We have yet to see a case where this new-fangled thing called "evidence" took precedence to the personal issues.

I'm just glad in a way that these frivilous and overtly pointless quarrels are not clogging up the already bogged down judiciary system that my tax money goes to. Wait, what? You mean these judges are merely legal arbitrators whose rulings are able to be (and often are) appealed in real small claims courts? Fuck.

My personal favorite form of conflict resolution.

Tales From the RA Office, Part Two

When we last left off, I was detailing some of the stories from back in my days as an undergrad. I became an RA in my junior year, where I worked with my future room mate. So, first day that the residents got to the dorm, shit started going down. Normally, you would think that residents would wait for a little bit after getting to where you're going to live to start breaking the rules. Not these residents.

Not our residents, but you get the point.

This first story will be "The Tale of Drunky McPunching Stuff", which begins the very first day of the semester. Since this was just the start of the semester, all of us RA's had just done our floor meetings, speaking to the residents about general rules and procedures. Among those procedures are things like the residence hall being a dry dorm, aka, no drinking. Since most of our residents were freshmen and sophomores, so most are younger than twenty one, and thus unable to drink legally.

This didn't stop old Drunky McPunching Stuff. Apparently this girl was ready for the Daytona 500 of drunkness. According to testimony from other residents after the fact, she started her engine, metaphorically speaking, at about 3:00 that afternoon. She pregamed for the floor meeting that took place at 5:00 that day. Seriously?

These girls had a meeting with the dean to prepare for.

A bit of background information on this girl. I still to this day do not know her actual name, mainly because "Drunky McPunching Stuff" just rolls off the tongue better. She was an eighteen year old freshman girl. She probably weighed in at 100 lbs, soaking wet, and towered at an impressive five foot nothing. Not the sort of person that needs to be drinking vodka for dinner. Perhaps she was all out of the margaritas she pounded down for lunch?

Anyway, the RA with the privilege of being the first one to be on duty was my room mate, what a lucky guy. Since it was the first night, another guy RA decided to do rounds with him, both because they were friends and because he was bored.

Not that bored. Nobody is that bored.

The first round happened at 8:00, and marked the time that the RA on duty was supposed to be in the RA office. They saw Drunky McPunching Stuff downstairs on the boy's half of the floor, carrying on. Whatever. It's the start of the year, she's trying to meet some new people, we've all been there.

Fast forward to the 11:00 round. This round marks both the end of the time the RA on duty was required to be in the RA office as well as the start of quiet time. 11:00 seems late enough to tell people to start toning it down a bit if you ask me. Well, Drunky McPunching Stuff didn't ask me. She's still going strong, but getting more carried away in her gestures, speech and just overall acting a bit sloppy.

She was a huge "Mean Girls" fan I guess.

My room mate tells her that it is 11:00, and quiet hours are starting, so she should probably take it down a few degrees. Also, the hours for co-ed visitation will be ending at the next time they do a round at 2:00 am. She's like, "Whatever. I do what I want." The two RA's simply shrug and leave, hoping that she won't be there when they come back. No such luck.

It's now 2:00 in the morning, and time for the final round. Somehow, Drunky McPunching Stuff realizes this and decides that now is the time to cause a scene instead of just going up to her room and then coming back after the RA's leave. Like a normal person. She is far from the fields of logical thought process at the moment.

"No, I have not been drinking, officer. Scout's honor."

This is where the shit really hits the fan. As the two RA's attempt to persuade her that she needs to just pack it in and call it a night, she starts to flip out. Like Jerry Springer style flipped out. She starts belligerently insulting them, asking why they "have to be so gay" and calling them a vast quantity of insulting names.

Finally, after venting her rage while both guys struggled to remain professional, still telling her that it was past visitation hours and that she needed to go to her room, she does. If you would think that the story would end here, you'd be wrong. It's only a brief intermission.

Grab some popcorn, a drink and come right back.

Thinking that they were done for the night, my room mate and the other RA continue their rounds, working their way up from the first floor. Drunky lived on the third floor, and she wasn't ready to give up without a fight. She's out in the hallway, telling anyone who would listen how mean the RA's were, and how they were total dicks.

Both guys show up, and commence to trying to get her to just go to her room. Again. She was already in a bit of trouble, but Drunky didn't do things halfway. Her friends manage to get her in her room for a bit and plead with both the RA's not to write her up, promising to look after her, making sure that she's alright, etc. This is when she decides to hulk out.

"Hulk no want to take nap! Hulk want to party!"

Much like the Hulk, she came back with less clothes, a crazy look in her eyes, and maybe a bit of makeup smeared on her face. It's on. She starts by trashing her room, turning over dressers and barricading the door. She changes her mind and moves the desk and then proceeds to run to the bathroom in a fit of rage. There, she proceeds to punch things, hence the sobriquet "Drunky McPunching Stuff".

However, unlike the Hulk, she was not possessed of super strength, and more importantly she was all too vulnerable to harm. After smashing the mirror in the bathroom with her fist, she storms back into the hallway, eyes blazing, hand dripping blood. At this point, my room mate and the other RA are starting to jostle for position in response to the threat. By that, I mean they were each trying to hide behind the other.

The fetal position probably wasn't far behind.

The other girls try to convince the RA's that she was just having a really bad day, and that it would be alright. "She just found out that her aunt has cancer and was going to die in a month. She didn't have a chance to visit with her." they said. Exasperated, my room mate replied, "She's got a month." He caught a little bit of hell from our supervisor for that remark later.

They decide to call for some back up. Campus police and the RD on duty are contacted, while the two RA's still try to contain Drunky McPunching Stuff to that area of the dorm. My room mate goes downstairs to meet the RD and the cops.

So of course, Drunky does what nearly everybody in an episode of COPS does. She runs. Yelling down the stairwell, the other RA cries out "She's making a break for it!"

Going for the gold, baby!

Two floors down, my room mate breaks into a full sprint. Sees the cops and the RD and was like "This way!" They catch sight of Drunky. The police chase her. One cuts her off. She reverses direction, maybe even throws in a spin move for effect. One police officer finally takes her down, probably not as easily as he thought he would though.

Artist's simulation.

After securing the crazy drunk chick, campus police then begins to question her, the RA's and some of the other girls. An hour and a half later, they managed to get her to the hospital. Probably because she had about a 0.2 or higher BAC. When you've downed a fifth of vodka and you only weigh in at the featherweight class, you've probably got a serious chance of having alcohol poisoning.

She gets to the hospital at about 4:30 in the morning. They take care of her, and promptly discharge her at about 7:30 in the morning. She refuses transport back to campus, deciding to walk back instead. Rex Hospital is nearly six miles away from campus. This girl walks back with her bandaged hand, in pajamas and slippers.

Legend says that on the first night of every semester, you can hear her drunken rants on the third floor of the dorm.

"Ruh Roh!"

Tales From the RA Office

My room mate and I met nearly three years ago when we both began working for NCSU Housing as RA's. That was my junior year, and his super senior year. Yes, he liked his first senior year so much that he decided to do it again. It was probably my best year of undergrad. I lived and worked with some great people that year. At the same time, I also lived and worked with some real MENSA members. This post will be the first installment in a series of posts telling stories from back in the day.

Not 'that' far back in the day.

The first day I met my future room mate, he was wearing a blue T-shirt that said "The MCAT is my bitch!". I'm not kidding. The second day I knew him, he was trying to drink a gallon of milk and failing. Failing miserably. The third day I knew him, he was talking about the time he turned his apartment into a beach themed party with a couple hundred gallons of sand. I think that these first encounters pretty much set the tone for how my time with him goes: entertaining as hell.

One of the people we worked with can only be described in one way. If you've ever watched the television show "The Office" and are familiar with the character of Dwight, then you pretty much know this girl. Deep down, she had the best interests of the staff and the residents at heart. However, her eccentric personality, with her ridiculous solutions to problems and outrageous personal anecdotes really made her stand out.

And just as much fun to mess with.

For the first several weeks we just sort of assumed that she was a little out of her comfort zone, and that once she got to know the rest of the staff she wouldn't have the urge to tell such crazy stories or posit inane ideas. No such luck. As the year went on, we realized that was really who she was. It was probably after the third time she prescribed a concoction of garlic, pepper, honey and lavender to cure a case of the sniffles.

At least lavender doesn't have to surmount the blood-brain barrier.

But enough about the co-worker for right now. It's time to get to some of the really good dirt. And by dirt, I mean residents. And by good, I mean dumb. Never let it be said that we were not lenient RA's. In fact, if we had been completely diligent in the pursuit of our jobs, few if any residents would have escaped with stern reprimands from University Housing.

My floor was a co-ed floor, comprised mostly of people on the same scholarship that I was on. As such, they were largely pretty smart people, and able to hide their miscreant tendencies. My room mate, on the floor below me, was not so lucky. He also ran half of a co-ed floor, except instead of freshmen, he had seniors. Some were even almost as old as him. These were grown men living in the dorm, drinking forties in the hallway.

A regular Tuesday night on his hallway.

Before I begin ragging on his residents, let me say that without my room mate's positive influence, these guys would have turned out worse than they did.

I was on pretty good terms with most of the guys on both my floor and the first floor, or at least as good terms as an authority figure can be on while still attempting to maintain a professional level of involvement. As such, sometimes I would eat meals with them in the dining hall. This story is about the time when myself, another RA and two residents went to the dining hall. Three of us learned that the fourth one might not be too bright.

As we sit down and start eating whatever it was that was being served that night one dude, we'll call him Silly Resident, looks over at another table. Silly Resident says "What is that guy doing?" Intrigued, we look over and see a guy mixing some mustard with a little bit of honey. "He's making honey mustard" we say. Question answered.

Good thing we got that situation resolved quickly. Wait...

Silly Resident doesn't believe us. "That's not how honey mustard gets made" he says adamantly. Puzzled, the rest of us exchange glances before asking if he was serious. Oh, he was serious. "How did you think they made honey mustard dude?" we ask. "I mean, it has to do with the type of mustard seeds they use, or the consistency or something. Right?" Silly Resident says.

"No, no, no. That's not how it works dude. Honey mustard is called honey mustard because it's mustard and honey. It's in the fucking name. How do you not see this? Did you think this was like buffalo wings or some shit?"

Silly Resident's defense? "Well, I mean, I'm not like a mustard connoisseur or anything."

A true mustard connoisseur always uses Gray Poupon.

"Not a mustard connoisseur? Have you ever had mustard before? Yes? Have you ever had honey mustard before? Yes? They taste different, you idiot! This isn't some Mr. Wizard bullshit! It's honey mustard! Honey! Mustard! Damn!"

Pictured: Some Mr. Wizard bullshit.

Illiteracy

For a very intelligent person, my room mate is functionally illiterate. I don't mean that he can't read, I mean that he won't read. He says the only reason he reads at all is because Hugo the Hornet (the mascot for the Charlotte Hornets NBA team) came to his elementary school and told him to.

Not sure if he reads out of respect, or fear of a giant insect.

I can't count the times when I've begun a sentence with "Hey, have you read..." only to trail off and finish with "Never mind. Sigh." I'm not just talking about stuff like Pride and Prejudice, I mean things like Beverly Cleary books, all the way down to The Lost Little Puppy.

Pictured: A scholar and a gentleman.

If you've ever seen the show "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia", and are familiar with the character portrayed by Charlie Day, this next quote will hit home. "Your illiteracy has screwed us again, Charlie!" I think of that often when I try to bring up a character or plot that contributes to whatever discussion we're having. I will bring up something like Encyclopedia Brown or the differences between the movie and book version of The Da Vinci Code, and he will look at me like I'm speaking gibberish.

Paradoxically, he is an avid reader of Mark Twain's obscure short stories, books explaining theoretical physics and anything about NCSU basketball. And even though he has never read a single one of the Harry Potter series, he loves the movies. So much so that he and a friend once waited in line in full costume just because they had nothing better to do.

Not him, but you get the idea.

In order to solve this problem, I proposed that he get a Kindle 3. For those of you who don't know, the Kindle is basically a portable electronic screen that stores and presents books, cutting down on having to actually carry around books while at the same time looking like a pretentious technology snob.

Yes. I mean you Steve Jobs.

The only thing is, there is no such thing as the Kindle 3. It was a parody created by the folks at CollegeHumor. Although with a little research, it looks like Amazon is actually about to make the third installment in the product's line. The parody add shows testimonials from people who now love reading thanks to the Kindle 3.

What makes the Kindle 3 better than the previous two versions was the exciting new visual interface. One guy even read the whole Lord of the Rings trilogy in nine hours. Essentially, the fictional Kindle 3 is a DVD player. And that's the best way to get my room mate to read.

Mike Myers is a terrible author...