recollections

Frosh Meets World
Recollections

First, I would like to dedicate this semester’s frosh articles to my good friend, Higgins. I hope you have better Wednesdays in the future. Thanks for all the “constructive criticism” and making sure I stay on track.

After a recent debate over the quality of my articles this semester versus last semester on the YOUNet message boards, I’ve decided to revert back to last semester’s theme – “what I did while I was drunk this weekend” – just for old time’s sake. You all can let me know which you prefer to hear about – recollections of drunken happenings or deep thoughts – later.

Friday night, an impromptu end-of-the-year banquet for a certain group that will remain nameless was held at an undisclosed location, also known as my friend’s apartment complex. The original intention was to have a small gathering of people over to drink and watch “My Big Fat Greek Wedding,” which I have attempted to watch three times now, but I am proud to say that I finally remembered the main character’s name. I should also note that I made five little promises, based solely off past get-togethers with this particular group, which I may or may not have adhered to. For clarity, they are as follows: 1) I promise not to invite vodka to the party 2) I promise not to make my own margarita 3) I promise not to hit Bob* 4) I promise not to moon Jason* 5) I promise not to ‘yammy’.

After arriving at the scene, I was given two shots of cherry vodka, consequently breaking rule #1. Being a big fan of vodka mixed with well, anything, I took both shots like a champ and proceeded to down a margarita (I didn’t make it myself, so it was actually a margarita as opposed to a cup of tequila). At this point the movie had started, but there were too many people combined with too much alcohol to take care of for me to be able to sit still for any given period of time. When the buzz began to set in, the movie was abandoned for gay conversation and Natty Lite in the living room.

After a second beer, someone busted out a concoction containing Bailey’s and other liquors. It was called oatmeal something, but Rachel* and myself decided that the name “Buttery Nipple” was much more appealing to a drunk. I had several shots of this drink, mostly because it tasted like cookie dough, and things began to get interesting. Rachel was rather inebriated and was therefore dubbed the lightweight of the evening. At some point, a camera was broken out and several incriminating photos were taken of random people kissing other people on the cheek. I attempted to read a story about wine and sex, which I would recount if I could, and then followed it up with a drinking game involving more Natty Lite. Jason called the quality control phone number for Anheiser-Busch, Bob took lots of pictures, Rachel was paid to kiss Jason, and then things began to get extremely blurry.

I’m pretty sure Bob proceeded to kick everyone out of the banquet hall after the drunken conversation turned south, so a post-banquet party was found somewhere along Duncan Street. The last Natty had long since gone, but in it’s stead there was a fresh case of Bud Lite, and there was plenty of interesting conversation to be had. The most memorable part of the post-banquet, aside from random bets I failed to remember, was a black and white snake that Rachel and I kissed. Someone mentioned Shortcakes, a lush’s paradise at 2 a.m., and our crew caravanned two blocks over to the diner.

I have very little recollection of Shortcakes. Several shots and several beers had taken away most of my more rational thoughts; I do remember yelling “Ohio!” and “YOU.com!” I picked up an Auto-Trader Magazine, and tried to pay for everyone’s breakfast with a credit card (those don’t work at Shortcake’s Fine Dinning Establishment). Those driving were faced with an up-hill battle to get us to leave, and it was even more of a challenge for my driver, Tanner, to convince me not to go play Foosball at Willham. As it turned out there was no Foosball to be had at Willham, and aside from ripping a large hole in the knee of my favorite jeans, little other damage was done.

Waking up Saturday was interesting to say the least – bedtime at 4:30 in the a.m. was not bueno, considering I had to get up and drive home. Needless to say, Friday night was my weekend. But I managed to get a new pair of jeans from my mother without having to explain the hole.

All the Best,
Jory

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