July 1st, 2001

silly, bunny ears

Technicalities, technicalities.

OK, so we're not a frat house: we do not have a beer bong. David (Godai) just pointed that out to me.

No beer bong. No bar. Therefore, not a frat house.

We shall have to repair this, immediately.
  • Current Music
    murray head - one night in bangkok
running, bomb tech

By special request from acpizza: "the ill-fated orgy"

[Edit: "HSBF" is better known as That Idiot Shawn.]

Once upon a time, when I was way the fuck too young and stupid, I had the honor to be a guest at one of my high school best friend's parties, this one to be afterwards known as "the ill-fated orgy." I was a freshman at the University of Alaska Fairbanks, and the year was 1998.

The guests at this party were as follows:

J*, a very sweet girl, the best friend of my college roommate
M*, my college roommate
Poppa Smurf, a guy who was only 18 like most of the rest of us, but looked overage
HSBF, that idiot my high school best friend
C*, HSBF's girlfriend
T*, a friend of J* and C*, very detached from the whole thing
G*, this chick
Tomcat, G*'s fuck of the moment, a very sweet guy
R*, HSBF's best male friend, dating/fucking J*
Mel, the ditzy chick from a few doors down on my floor in the dorms, fired from her job as a student police officer, turned down by the paramedics as a volunteer

...and me.


Everybody showed up at some point or other. There was drinking, laughing, loud music, talking, gossip, smoking weed. I did not participate in that very much, if at all. I can't remember. Poppa Smurf drank some hydrogen peroxide because we'd hidden the booze from him (he was totally plastered and hitting on J* invasively) and got extremely sick. Mel and M* left with him, leaving:

J* and R*;
HSBF and C*;
G* and Tomcat
T*, and me.

Naturally, one would think that in a situation where people were getting naked and stuff like that, that the uncoupled people, seeing as one was male and the other female, would couple up together. Not so. I had really no attraction towards T*, and he had none toward me; we were in perfect agreement on that score. T* left.

The girls in the group, myself included, were by this time very drunk, and we decided to make it a chicks' night out, and piled into the computer room with J*'s massage lotions, and all stripped down and gave each other backrubs, no guys allowed. I did one of those tearful "I'm so glad for the two of you" Drunken True Confessions to C*, saying I was cool with whatever she and HSBF did as long as he was happy. R* leaned on the door and wanted to come in. We said: "No men allowed."

"But what if I cross-dress?" R* wanted to know.

So R* became Roxie, and entered. Tomcat became ... umm, Tonya, I think. HSBF wanted to enter, but refused to take on a female persona, and was barred from entering. He got mad, punched out the door, and went out to his car to sulk. I sent C* after him to cheer him up, which she did quite well.

It eventually turned out that everyone else, all the couples, went into the bedroom and fucked. A fucking orgy. I was left out. Pissed me off to no end, even through the alcohol, and *nothing* disturbs me when I'm drunk. They were in there for what seemed like hours.

I know I'm screwing up the chronology of this, because I know that T* was there while the orgy was happening, and so was Poppa Smurf, because he was standing on his head against the computer room door, talking to the cat, and writing very bad poetry in a notebook I happened to have with me. So the orgy must have happened before Mel and M* got there. Ah, I love chronology.

But I was pissy. I drank a total of five shots of whiskey that night. I'd only ever drunk a bit of rum in soda before, so I was totally drunk. Apparently at some point M* advised me against drinking that fifth shot. I drank it anyway, nothing to take away the burning down my throat.

The night is a blur. I do remember that at one point I walked out to the outhouse (Alaskan plumbing, don't you love it?) totally stark naked, this in the middle of winter, except for my shoes, and found it very funny that I was doing so. I wobbled and stumbled, but didn't fall, not even once.

There was another cute moment with three redheads in one bed -- J*, C*, and G*. My hair wasn't red at this point.

I didn't get laid. I had a very bad time. Poppa Smurf and I didn't talk to each other much after the event, not that we'd talked to each other much before. J* and I were still friends. C* and I.... well, the less said there the better.

yes, this is a very disorganized post. I defy you to remember anything that happened under the same sort of circumstances, given that HSBF was Prime Candidate #1 for marriage, way back when, and he'd even made some comments to that effect in my presence...
  • Current Music
    Dead Milkmen - The Conspiracy Song
running, bomb tech

audience participation

Roommate is singing along. This is ... certainly interesting.
  • Current Music
    Rocky Horror Picture Show - Timewarp
running, bomb tech

things to write up and post

There Is No Complete Silverware Set Stolen from Denny's
The Bachelor Party from Hell
The Pen Is Mightier Than The Sword
some of the other college stories from the Young And Stupid College Year
smoking and incense in the winter cold
more cat stories
Center for Talented Youth
The That Idiot My High School Best Friend Stories
Kamikaze Fruitfly (an excerpt from my Novel In Progress)
  • Current Music
    Cracker - Euro Trash Girl
Azzgrin, Azure: Lunatic, crazy

Okay, I have got to fucking try that.

acpizza recommends skittles dissolved in smirnoff.

Hmm.

What creative variant of this can I offer my loyal readers?

I know!

Skittles in peppermint schnapps!

(Hey, work with me here, it's what's in the house.)
  • Current Music
    Cracker - Like Being Stoned
running, bomb tech

memories

To this song, I will always have the loveliest of memories.

I can't give specifics; I'd be killed by two sets of good friends. Suffice to say that at some point in my past, it was demonstrated to me that some of my friends trusted me and cared about me as much as I trusted and cared for them. Despite a situation that might have driven someone else bonkers, I retained my calm and a good mood.

Ennirikit, etiernna mi twer.

The process-hunt I went on the other day went well. It's back to the calm. Good.

Why is it that I have a hard time pulling up the faces of the people I know the best in my mind? I know them, I know the way they feel -- their faces are elusive, though.
  • Current Music
    Gundam Wing: Endless Waltz: White Reflection
running, bomb tech

TeleGlobal Services (TGS)

Remember, once upon a time, how I'd said that I'd found a new job? A work-at-home type job, of a telephonic nature.

Well, then the babysitting situation got straightened out, and since the job was psychically damaging to me, I decided not to take the job, and failed to sign the contract when they shipped it to me.

Well, they called once, which I ignored, and today -- today! they called at, I see by our caller ID box, at FOUR FUCKING FORTY-ONE IN THE MORNING.

Roommate picked it up. "Hello? ...We're not interested."

"Who was that?" I ask groggily from the couch.

"Telemarketers: TGS."

"Oh, fuck."

"What?"

"That was the phone sex company I was going to work for."

"Oh."

Fast forward two hours. Phone rings again. "Hello, could I speak to Jo-Ann?"

"Huh? Who?" say I, kind of muzzily realizing that they must mean me, as some people see my one-syllable name, "Joan," as the two-syllable name "Joan," the same one that the dude/chick had in I Will Fear No Evil.

"Never mind, wrong number."

Mind wakes up; realizes that this must be TGS, and they must be calling for me. Go back to couch, lie down, stew about it for a bit. I haven't had enough sleep (went to bed at 3:45) and must work at eight.

This is not just insult on top of injury, this is .... inability to find their eight hundred number and call back toll-free. Damn.

Knock on door. It is Dude's girlfriend, come to pick up her boyfriend and my nephew for their day of fun out of the house so that Sis may have a rendezvous with her boyfriend (who she has not seen in about a month and, judging from the amount and volume of bitching, really misses) in private. "Sorry I'm late; I overslept," she says.

"Thasss OK," I say, bleary-eyed.

"Oh, did I wake you up?" she wants to know.

"Noooo, the telemarketers already did that," I say. "Hey, wanna help me harrass them?"

"Sure," she says.

I pull out the calling card and proceed to call the number so thoughtfully provided on the Caller ID box.

"Someone from this number called for a Jo-Ann?" I ask.

"Yes, we were wondering if you wanted to log-in," lady on the other end says.

"CAN YOU TELL ME WHO FROM THIS COMPANY CALLED ME AT FOUR-FORTY-ONE IN THE MORNING?" I demand, still in a perfectly reasonable tone, but with considerably amplified volume.

"Ma'am, this is a twenty-four-hour company...." chick begins.

"I AM NOT A TWENTY-FOUR HOUR PERSON. I NO LONGER WORK FOR THIS COMPANY; I DID NOT SIGN YOUR CONTRACT FOR A REASON; SO PLEASE TAKE ME OFF THE FUCKING CALL LIST!" I say, still at considerable volume, and no longer with sweet reason in my voice.

"Have a n-nice d--" chick begins as I hang up the phone.

People swarm out of the woodwork from the corners of my house.

"I'm sure glad [nephew] was still asleep," says Sis, emerging in her pajamas.

"You rock, dude!" says Girlfriend.



General laughter. "I am *not* a twenty-four hour person!" is going to be a byword around here for a while.