Tag Archives: college

She doesn’t get it

I like Facebook because it really is a good measure of what people are thinking. That’s also what scares me, a lot. Take a look at this conversation that I was FORCED to comment on. She clearly didn’t get my point. Keep in mind this is a college educated women who is working to become a doctor – God help us all. My comment is in the red box.

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This isn’t the first such rant this women has posted online. So if you were wondering, yes, there really are people like this out there.

The funny thing is – I’m sure she didn’t get my point at all.

sorority party in college: POOH STEW

“Legendary-ish Stories” is a series I plan to write occasionally in which I describe actual incidents that happened in my life. These incidents often involve alcohol and at times immorality – neither of which I necessarily condone. With these stories I hope to add a touch of humor and display human imperfection while simultaneously eroding my credibility. Enjoy.

When I was in college my wife (then girlfriend) spent a brief stint in a sorority.  I will say that there are certain social benefits one gets from being part of any organisation – in this case I found myself invited to quite a few parties and retreats with free alcohol.  On one particular occasion the sorority decided it would be a great idea to throw a cabin themed event.  So a few weeks later I found myself 2 hours from the nearest town in a giant cabin with about 40 or so other college aged people – with more alcohol than is healthy for any group of individuals isolated in the woods to have in their possession.

On the last night in the cabin was the “big blow out” event.  It was the expectation that everyone would binge drink and leave not a drop of alcoholic beverage on the property.  So I guess that is where my story really begins.

I was scoping out the attendees of the party – trying to find someone who would be willing to consume gratuitous amounts of alcohol with me.  That’s when I saw Charley.  He was a chubby guy drinking a Guiness at a table with his date.  I could tell by the look of him he had the energy needed to take us through a night of binge drinking.  I mean who drinks a Guiness that can’t hold their weight when it comes to alcohol?

The next thing I knew we were throwing back shots of free vodka, chugging beers, and drinking booze at a rate that is dangerous because you drink faster than you feel the effects.  At some point during our binge drinking glory Charley went missing.  Gone.  No where to be found.  I was drunk so I didn’t think much of it – hell I barely knew where I was!  That’s when Charley’s date came running down the stairs in a panic.  By the drunken look of panic in her face I assumed that someone had died – or she had lost her make-up bag.

“Charley locked himself in the bathroom, I heard him fall, and the door is locked – he’s not responding and I can’t get the door open!”

To add to our little situation we found out that the bath tube was running – which made it highly likely that Charley was about to drown while passed out in the tube.  Had I been sober I may have responded more rationally, but under the intoxicated circumstance I decided that I was the obvious choice to save Charley – so I went up the stairs to investigate.

I knocked on the door, but of course there was no response.  We decided it would be best to unlock the door just in case poor Charley was choking on vomit and bath water.  Eventually someone a little more clear headed was able to open the door – but the sight we saw was more horrible than I or anyone else could have EVER imagined.

There Charley sat, in his own shit, naked.  His fat belly was smeared with the foulest smelling human excrement I had ever experienced. There is modest penis lay, not proud and shriveled for all of the sorority sisters to see.  He opened his eyes and without a word noticed we were looking, but not concerned, fell into the bath tub.  We thought we had found a stroke of luck until his clumsy foot closed the drain.  The water started to rise.

A few moments later Charley was chest deep in his own pooh water.  A soup of his own shit where he was the main ingredient.  I started to scream at Charley – there was no way I was going to put my hand in the tainted water to open that drain and it wasn’t an option to let the water flood the cabin.  Finally he complied and the tub emptied.  What was left was a ring of shit that covered the previously pearly white bathroom.  The fesses cover his body too – like a fresh spray on tan – if that spray happened to be shit stew.

To make matters even worse I noticed there was a police officer standing next to me.  He was in as much disbelief as me.  We couldn’t believe the sad sight before us.  Apparently in the panic someone had called 9-1-1.  The police came to “save” poor Charley from alcohol poisoning.

Since there was a large amount of alcohol involved the police officer decided to check each of our IDs.  Luckily everyone who had consumed alcohol was 21 – that is almost everyone.  Our poor pooh covered friend was a mere 20 years old.  So to add to the fact that he was covered in a brown film – he was also going to jail.  The police officers loaded him in the police car and took him to the station.  That’s also when it began to snow.

It kept snowing for 2 days.  It was a blizzard in Georgia.  That may not seem like a big deal to you, but in Georgia when it snows the state shuts down.  No one drives because we can’t clear the roads.  That means that poor Charley was destined to a jail cell in the south Georgia countryside for 3 days and nights – a nice lesson for a guy who shat himself.

Me?  Well I learned a lot that night.  One – just because a guy is drinking a Guiness doesn’t make him a good drinking partner and Two – never shit yourself.

binge drinking is for college kids – or at least it should be

“Legendary-ish Stories” is a series I plan to write occasionally in which I describe actual incidents that happened in my life. These incidents often involve alcohol and at times immorality – neither of which I necessarily condone. With these stories I hope to add a touch of humor and display human imperfection while simultaneously eroding my credibility. Enjoy.

I woke up this morning my head pounding and I’m pretty sure a little less intelligent. For the first time in months I enjoyed a night of binge drinking. I’m sitting here right now thinking to myself that I really have no desire to do this again over new years, although peer pressure will no doubt overcome my will to avoid a hangover though.

My biggest question isn’t why this hangover is so “sucky”, but rather how the hell I put up with this shit several days a week while I was in college. Even more amazing is that I somehow made it through and retained a decent amount of knowledge. Knowledge that was forced fed to me by my professors when I was no doubt more concerned with putting grease into my stomach to ease the symptoms of a hangover induced by bottom shelf liquor varieties and cheap beer.

Last night was fun, but I didn’t dance with a transvestite and I didn’t black-out so I guess there is no amazing story to tell – this time. I did however enjoy the rush of guzzling beer with a few college friends and reliving the glory days of old. I also gained a new found respect for my apparent hollow leg in college that could only be filled with gratuitous amounts of low grade alcohol.

Long story short being hung-over sucks, occasionally binge drinking with friends is fun, and getting freak nasty with your wife on the dance floor like its 1999 is what its all about.

college – words of wisdom from a guy who has been there

I remember my first semester at college.  At 18 I was untraveled, ignorant, and had no idea what I was getting myself into.  I had the same blind and arrogant self confidence I have always had for some reason.  Honestly, the first year was the toughest and I don’t think I really knew what I was getting myself into.

To be honest, the first time I stepped on the college campus was the first time I had ever been on a college campus.  Neither of my parents had an education so I didn’t know what to expect.  I didn’t know what college looked like, what I should do, or anything.  Really, it was a miracle that I somehow applied, took the SATs, and was accepted.  I guess you could say that I always knew I was going to college, but I kind of just stumbled into the place.  The whole reason I chose the University was based on name and prestige.  I couldn’t go to the same place everyone else was going – I had to do better – I’ve always had something to prove to myself.

I remember pulling up to campus – expecting some massive gateway entrance to the school.  I didn’t even realize I was on campus.  Finally I found my dorm room and was equally surprised.  It wasn’t like TV, the dorm room was more like a prison cell I was going to share with a roommate.  On the bright side, I had met my roommate and we hit it off.  Looking back, my ignorance to the whole college process is laughable.  I had never even visited a single college campus!  I basically did like a good student and followed the advice of councilors and professors – luckily I had good advice.

My high school educational system was a joke too.  I thought I was prepared.  I had studied very little through high school and thought I could carry those same habits through to college.  Wrong.  That first year was an eye opening one.  To be honest, I stuck it out due to pure desire and unwillingness to quit.  I was homesick, I felt out of place, and it all felt strange.

I did do a few things right.  For starters I got a job (after a couple months) which kept me occupied.  I don’t think I was meant to do nothing – when I’m working I am actually much happier.  Perhaps out of habit.  Another thing I did was join the wrestling team.  I eventually made it to the first team and had the opportunity to travel here and there.  Most of my best friend today came via my job and extracurricular activities.  If I had stayed cooped up in the dorm room all year, I might not have made it.  Looking back, I can’t believe I thought I wasn’t going to have a job – the shit I did at that place was some of the best memories I have.  I think I value people who value hard work – like minds, I guess.

It’s also funny looking back on my time in college in detail.  At first glance the only thing I recall was my last two years – which were by far the best.  Mostly classes I loved, drinking stories, etc.  When I think of it in detail though – there were certainly some tough times, especially that first year.  I think there is something about memory that makes me look back on things a certain way.  I tend to ignore the bad parts of life and focus on the good.  I know people who do the exact opposite so I’m thankful for my predisposition to be positive.

Hell, just to see the contrast of the first two years of college versus my last two is light night and day.  I came into my own those last two years – I really figured myself out.  I think that is what college is all about though, no just lessons learned in the classroom, but about life and about yourself.  I can guarantee had I stayed at home and attended the local University like many of my friends – I would not be anywhere near the man I am today.  My thoughts have changed and in many ways I am a different and better person.  I guess I got my money’s worth.

So what would I tell my brother-in-law if he was to happen upon this blog?  I would tell him to stick it out and enjoy every second of it.  I would tell him to put himself out there and get out of his comfort zone.  I would tell him to do things he normally wouldn’t do and to make memories worth remembering.  I would tell him to read every page of every textbook and to appreciate the education many people take for granted or never have the opportunity to receive.  I would tell him to use this time to grow.

Rue Bourbon – my first time on the most sinful street in the bayou

“Legendary-ish Stories” is a series I plan to write occasionally in which I describe actual incidents that happened in my life. These incidents often involve alcohol and at times immorality – neither of which I necessarily condone. With these stories I hope to add a touch of humor and display human imperfection while simultaneously eroding my credibility. Enjoy.

I remember the first time I set foot in New Orleans famous French Quarter.  It is a beautiful and cultural place – I love it.  However, I’m not here to talk about the culture or beauty.  This story is about the shit show that is the legendary Bourbon Street.  There is an energy, I remember even as I approached I could hear the sounds of an intoxicated crowd growing louder.  That, in turn, made my anticipation grow.  I couldn’t wait to get there – I almost wanted to run.  I wanted my first beer in hand, I wanted to participate in one of the most sin-filled streets on earth.  I wanted to be part of it.

Even now I can see it, when I first turned the corner on to Bourbon.  All of the anticipation I had build up inside myself only intensified.  The streets were packed.  There were vendors trying to convince me to enter their sex shops and “gentlemen’s clubs” to watch the latest X-rated act about to be performed.  Places named “love acts” and “barely legal” only surpassed by the sheer number of businesses selling cheap alcohol.

I quickly scanned the street trying to take it all in as quickly as possible.  Then I saw it – “HUGE ASS BEERS”.  A massive beer for only $5 – it was really a college student’s dream.  I didn’t hesitate and I purchased one.  The cold sweet nectar of what was surely a cheap bud light never tasted more satisfying.  A hurricane, hand grenade, and a few more beers later the night became a blur.

I remember people offering us free beer to come in their bars.  One major advantage of Bourbon Street is the sheer economics of the situation.  Supply and demand, my friend.  Few places on earth is there such a supply of alcohol and sex – which in turn drives prices down.  So far down, in fact, that alcohol becomes so dangerously cheap that even a college student can afford to drink themselves to near death.  Which of course, we gave our best shot.

Now let me explain something.  Walking around Bourbon Street while under the influence is kind of like being in the twilight zone.  You see things you aren’t sure that you can explain.  Under normal, completely sober circumstances the events would still be strange.  For example, take the street performers.  They do cartwheels around the damned street like something you would see at a circus whilst on psychedelics.  There are men who make a living by spray painting themselves silver and acting like a statue.  There are women, barely dressed, trying to coheres you into their little sex shop in hopes of taking all of your hard earned college monies.  There are voodoo shops and haunted mansions – there is even a haunted bar.  Needless to say, it’s sensory overload.

Then comes the parade and the beads.  What’s interesting is that women – even the most conservative – seem to be willing to expose themselves for $1 beads.  What is even more interesting is the men.  It seems like every man in the parade who was given the responsibility of handing out beads was over the age of 65.  Perhaps it is an earned right that one has to be promoted to over the years via hard work and labor – and finally given the privilege of commanding nudity at the cost of a few worthless beads.  The truth of this matter I have never found the answer to.

At this point, perhaps you are asking yourself “Did you ever attend one of the sex shows?”  The answer, of course, is yes.  What intoxicated 21 year old can resist the temptation of a no entry fee, sex show combination?  Not us, that’s who.  Upon entering we found seats and grabbed a beer, which was surprisingly as inexpensive as any other beer.  However, what we soon learned was what we were witnessing was a sight that they should be giving beers away for free.  It became obvious, as a elderly black woman came on the stage, that barely legal meant something different in NOLA.  The train wreck we witnessed was one of wonders and I have vowed to never speak of the events that took place on that stage – that intoxicated night.  We left no tips, just tears.  Lesson learned, sometimes when the entrance fee is free – you pay for it with your dignity.

Back on the street at what must have been 2am we continued our intoxicated journey, but I have to admit, I do not remember much after that.  I have a few blurry memories of losing my voice and the flashing lights of what in retrospect seems like a rave, but I couldn’t tell you how true or exaggerated that story is.  What I do remember is being teleported to my hotel room and time traveling to the morning after.  I do not remember going back to the room – nor do I remember where I lost my shirt; but I guess that is the things memories are made of – the ones you can’t remember.

*I will be headed back to NOLA for new years 2011-2012.  I will be sure to keep you all posted.

i didn’t get here alone

When I was in high school I was kind of a typical guy on the surface.  I hid all of the problems I had at home.  I put on a confident face at school, but not fake confidence – it was real.  I was lucky to have it for no reason at all.  Maybe it was arrogance.  I played every sport the school offered, but I was best at wrestling.  I went on to become a state runner-up my senior year of high school in the largest school district in the state.   Looking back on it, I’m not sure at what point I decided I would try so hard at sports.  I think it was an outlet for everything else going on in my life.  I think it was all for me, something for me to be proud of and to focus on.

I also found pride in my school work and honestly I think people thought I was a dumb ass because they associated me with they typical jock stereotype.  I made all A’s.  The truth is, I didn’t even hang out or associate with many other athletes.  In fact my two of my three best friends were a Brazilian and a guy from Holland.  For some reason I never associated with most of the people I grew up with.  I think I had a natural aversion to rednecks and ignorance – even when I didn’t know it at the time.

Really, all this is inexplicable.  I have no reason to be this way.  I was raised by two parents that didn’t graduate high school.  My dad worked doing manual labor and we accepted welfare and food stamps.  Both of my parents had trouble with addictions.   The year before I left for college I bought my own groceries.  In fact, I had planned to just pay for college all on my own, but I didn’t have to do it alone.  Truth be told someone, for some reason saw something in me and helped.

I’m not sure how he found me and he never asked for anything in return.  His daughter was in the band and he was a prominent member of the community.  I can only assume he saw me playing sports and somehow found out my background and decided he wanted to help.  He took me under his wing and mentored me.  He found money to cover my first year of college (scholarships from people in the community), he found money to pay for my school supply (including a computer), and offered me advise I couldn’t get elsewhere.

I know that someday I will do the same thing for someone else.  I know that I appreciate what he did for me more than I have ever expressed to him.  Maybe I should tell him, honestly, but I feel like there is some unspoken thing between us that it doesn’t have to be said.  At the time I didn’t even appreciate the help as much as I should have, but looking back – I can’t believe how fortunate I was and I know that it changed my life forever.  It changed my spirit and how I see being a good man and a good person.  I hope I can do the same thing for someone else, so selflessly, someday.  If you have the opportunity to help someone, like I was helped, you should too.  He may never know it, but his generosity really made the world a better place, even if it was only one person at a time.  I’ll continue that and make sure his investment was a good one.

the first time I smoked marijuana

I have smoked marijuana three times in my entire life, but I will never forget the first time.  I was in college and like most of the things I have done in life that I regret, I was a little drunk.  I remember heading back to a friends house who lived close to the bars, like we always did, to avoid paying for a taxi.  His room-mate was a connoisseur of cannabis  (among other substances) and offered us a few free puffs from his giant mega-bong.  I watched everyone else take a few puffs and after a while I succumbed to peer pressure – like a real man.

I remember putting the giant bong up to my mouth and inhaling for as long as I could.  I could feel the smoke burning in my lungs and I kept it in as long as I could.  I exhaled and everyone encouraged me to go again, immediately.  I did.  What seemed like seconds later I remember feeling like my head was going to explode.  I coughed uncontrollably and every cough made me higher.  I kept saying “this is why it’s called high, my head feels like a balloon”.  I went to the bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror and laughed uncontrollably for what seemed like an hour.  I was officially under the influence of marijuana.

After a while I finally settled down, but I was still drunk.  I’ll admit that the high felt great.  I hit the couch and that’s when it hit me.  Not from being high, but from being intoxicated.  The room started to spin and I had to run outside.  I puked up all of the delicious pizza I ate a few hours before, the greatest loss of the night.

I suppose that is what college is all about.  Doing stuff that makes your body hate you.  That, I did in scores.  I also felt dumb for the next 24hrs.  Maybe it was an mental exaggeration within myself, but I really felt dumb.  Literally mentally slow.  My reactions were slow and I remember thinking to myself – “I feel like a simpleton.”  The truth is – I was too drunk and too high – and all at the same time.  Lesson learned, the hard way.