I spent tonight at an off-campus house, doing the very typical college thing: playing beer pong, playing variations of beer pong (Civil War), and (not as typical) smoking orange flavored hookah. Needless to say, the hookah was delicious, the most savory part of the evening. I just had a thought: Imagine if inbetween puffs the tobacco went from orange flavored to Keystone flavored? Oh my god. I'd be drinking and smoking Keystone (Getting keystoned?). Horrendous. Anyway, of the 8 or so people present, I'd consider one of them to be a close friend and one a friendly acquaintance. The acquaintance definitely moved up a few rungs when she did me the massive favor of putting on "Party in the USA," (much to everybody else's dismay) and not revealing that it was I who had requested it. I accomplished this risky, seemingly anonymous request through great subterfuge: a discreet text message. I always feel a little devious if a situation presents itself that requires me to text somebody who is in the same room as me, but sometimes it's just unavoidable, like when you want to hear "Party In The USA" in a room full of people who will presumably tar and feather you over the matter. I am a huge fan of this song, and I write that proudly and without compunction. I feel like a number of my future blog posts will be about music, so I will surely dedicate one to Miley, Britney, and other artists who repeatedly churn out brilliant pop songs (with the help of a creative team, of course).
When the song ended, I went outside to talk to the people who were smoking cigarettes on the stoop. April is a fickle month, and it was far colder than I expected it to be. I put my beer can down right outside the doorway and stepped inside to get my coat. When I opened the door again this is what I saw: one party-attendant's legs covered in beer, the can laying crushed and kicked to the side, and a rather butch lesbian screaming "WHO THE FUCK WOULD JUST LEAVE A BEER CAN RIGHT THERE?!" I turned right back around and retreated to the safety of a room with witnesses. Apparently Leslie (the lesbian, whose alliterative name I found out eventually) stepped outside for a smoke, inadvertantly stomped down on my can, and sprayed everyone in the vicinity with cheap beer. My bad. Also, I hope that readers who don't know me well understand that I write "the rather butch lesbian" with the most kind and warm intentions possible. I am the most pro-gay straight guy I know, as will be illuminated in future posts about my adventures with Deg (pronounced "Dedge"), who holds the titles of phallus connoisseur, regal homosexual, and beloved friend.
A semi-digression: Had this been last semester, there is a great chance I would not have been at this party. My girlfriend is currently in Peru doing a study abroad program, but back in the Fall we spent most Friday nights together. I don't want to portray myself as one half of the elitist, elusive happy couple that everybody loves to hate (I know I did, before I met her), because that certainly isn't us. But there are undeniable differences in the amount of time I find to spend with other people. This is certainly a positive thing; I've strengthened numerous other relationships over the past few months, and I don't think this would have been possible to such a lovely extent had M. been here. And of course, she is having an amazing time in South America. That being said, I am eagerly awaiting her return to America come May.
I left the party after three hours or so because I was hungry and wanted to start this blog. On the walk back to my room my mind was zipping back and forth between a few topics: M., pending group projects, my upcoming trip to Japan (definitely going to write about that later), and macaroni and cheese. I know this post is rambling, but I feel like most of my writing is like that. It's tough for me not to go off on tangents, in speech or on paper. Sometimes I feel like I have so much to say and no time to say it, and other times I feel curiously blank, like I have a very comfortable 'nothing' to contribute to a conversation/situation. Perhaps blogging about my mundane experiences, exciting experiences, encounters, relationships, and other things will help me figure out why this is so. In any case, I am glad that you will be here with me along the way.
On a final note, I started to draw this semester. Now, I don't claim to be a good artist; I am nothing of the sort. Most of my drawing are of strange, ugly girls saying things to equally strange, ugly boys. My favorite part about it all is the talk bubbles. I'm going to post my drawings on this blog periodically. I hope you like them.
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