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That awkward space between reality and reality television.
Tuesday, March 30, 2004
"Tonight we're gonna party like Lob-stars," shouted my roommate, Josh, across the BP station parking lot to his buddies who were furiously scrambling to arrange 32 Budweisers into a cooler full of ice that might have held 24 empty. Obviously, Josh had meant to say "Rockstars," but the alcohol was already beginning to kick in and it was only three o'clock in the afternoon. I had taken the day off from work hoping to enjoy the gorgeous late March weather, and a game of volleyball with the guys sounded like the perfect way to take advantage of such an afternoon. Of course, with these guys no activity is attempted without the King of Beers presiding over the festivities. The fact that we were playing on a University court did not deter the boys from APO from enjoying a few drinks while pretending to play volleyball and soaking up some rays. Now that I think about it, perhaps partying like lobsters was, in fact, the appropriate description because by the end of the game that is what most of us looked like. I'd like to report that no one was injured, but an arrant elbow from a kid called "Tuna" landed straight between my neighbor, Marc's, eyes. He bled for thirty minutes, but no sign of a break.
I left the boys a little early to prepare for an evening of baseball and theatre, two of my favorite things. When I returned to 302D, the guys were sitting around the living room, beer supply exhausted, poking and prodding at Tuna who was passed out, face down on the floor. They invited me to a party and I reluctantly agreed not feeling like heading to an early bedtime on a Friday night. I am not much of a partier and rarely do I go out with Josh and the posse, but this time my other roommate Jimmy was going. If Jimmy was going, that meant that I would not be the most uncool person there, and he is always enjoyable to be around at these events because by his third beer he is singing Sinatra and if you're lucky you'll get to see his Chief Sitting Duck impression.
Not wanting to pay for a cup for the keg necessitated a trip to Harris Teeter to replenish the trusty beer cooler. We arrived at the party and, not wanting anyone to steal from it, stashed our cooler in the trunk of Travis' car. "But wait," someone interjected. "We don't want to be coming all the way back here every five minutes," he continued. Everyone agreed it was a valid point. So, each of the guys proceeded to stuff his pockets full of cans. This may have seemed like a brilliant plan at first, but then I started to notice all these big, cool guys acting all big and cool inside the house with large wet spots on each of their thighs.
As it would turn out, this was a Catholic School Girl party, and all the females in attendance were dressed as such. However, this was not quite as exciting as one might expect, and I was informed after just a few minutes that it was a pretty lame party. I would have never guessed because it was basically the same as every other party I had ever been to. Finding nothing worthwhile inside, me and the guys hungout for a while out in the lawn doing our own thing. It was at this point that I spotted a balcony that I thought would be a much cooler place to stand around and Josh agreed. So up the stairs we went only to find that this balcony was more or less like an extension of the roof with a railing around it and the only access was through a bedroom window. This did not slow us down one bit, and through the window we went. We were eventually chased off of the roof by the girl whos window we had climbed through. By that time, however, the novelty had worn off, Duke had won the basketball game (we were watching a tv through another window), and I had had enough and was ready to go home.
I was sound asleep when Josh and Jimmy arrived home from the party. Jimmy went straight to his room and proceeded to crank up Beethoven's 9th and attempt to sing along. I believe I would have been upset by such a rude awakening if I hadn't been laughing at that absurdity of it. Josh reminded him that I was probably in bed asleep, so he cut the volume down to a reasonable level. However, he still felt the need to stand outside my door and yell in to me, "Brian, I'm sorry if I woke you up, buddy...but I just get so wrapped up in Beethoven!"
The moral of this story: Possum parties like lobster with Tuna, gets wrapped in Beethoven.
I left the boys a little early to prepare for an evening of baseball and theatre, two of my favorite things. When I returned to 302D, the guys were sitting around the living room, beer supply exhausted, poking and prodding at Tuna who was passed out, face down on the floor. They invited me to a party and I reluctantly agreed not feeling like heading to an early bedtime on a Friday night. I am not much of a partier and rarely do I go out with Josh and the posse, but this time my other roommate Jimmy was going. If Jimmy was going, that meant that I would not be the most uncool person there, and he is always enjoyable to be around at these events because by his third beer he is singing Sinatra and if you're lucky you'll get to see his Chief Sitting Duck impression.
Not wanting to pay for a cup for the keg necessitated a trip to Harris Teeter to replenish the trusty beer cooler. We arrived at the party and, not wanting anyone to steal from it, stashed our cooler in the trunk of Travis' car. "But wait," someone interjected. "We don't want to be coming all the way back here every five minutes," he continued. Everyone agreed it was a valid point. So, each of the guys proceeded to stuff his pockets full of cans. This may have seemed like a brilliant plan at first, but then I started to notice all these big, cool guys acting all big and cool inside the house with large wet spots on each of their thighs.
As it would turn out, this was a Catholic School Girl party, and all the females in attendance were dressed as such. However, this was not quite as exciting as one might expect, and I was informed after just a few minutes that it was a pretty lame party. I would have never guessed because it was basically the same as every other party I had ever been to. Finding nothing worthwhile inside, me and the guys hungout for a while out in the lawn doing our own thing. It was at this point that I spotted a balcony that I thought would be a much cooler place to stand around and Josh agreed. So up the stairs we went only to find that this balcony was more or less like an extension of the roof with a railing around it and the only access was through a bedroom window. This did not slow us down one bit, and through the window we went. We were eventually chased off of the roof by the girl whos window we had climbed through. By that time, however, the novelty had worn off, Duke had won the basketball game (we were watching a tv through another window), and I had had enough and was ready to go home.
I was sound asleep when Josh and Jimmy arrived home from the party. Jimmy went straight to his room and proceeded to crank up Beethoven's 9th and attempt to sing along. I believe I would have been upset by such a rude awakening if I hadn't been laughing at that absurdity of it. Josh reminded him that I was probably in bed asleep, so he cut the volume down to a reasonable level. However, he still felt the need to stand outside my door and yell in to me, "Brian, I'm sorry if I woke you up, buddy...but I just get so wrapped up in Beethoven!"
The moral of this story: Possum parties like lobster with Tuna, gets wrapped in Beethoven.
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