Highlights of the Weekend at Georgetown
Well, it was a sort of productive, almost fantastically amazing weekend for The Beav and his girl hunting prowess. Notice the words "sort of" and "almost" in the previous sentence. Let's see what I can tell you about my weekend at Georgetown and my couple of near-misses.
10/15
My weekend begins on Friday, when I board my flight out of Omaha. I'm bound for Milwaukee, Wisconsin, because all Midwest flights go through there more or less. (Side note, fly Midwest. It's all first class-style seating, they serve you warm chocolate chip cookies on your flight, and the stewardesses are hot. What more do you want in an airline?) When our story begins, I'm sitting in my seat on the place, my Kel Welco stocking hat in my lap, a mean case of hat hair, and probably an imprint from the knit of the hat on my forehead. I have hat-hair, a knit pattern on my dome and I'm dressed like I'm flying across the country. I am not money right now. So what happens? A gorgeous girl comes walking down the aisle, and she's got the seat next to mine.
Being the chivalrous man that I am (and by chivalrous I mean way too eager to please any hot female) I help her rearrange the overhead bin and put her bag away. She sits down, takes out some sort of academic journal article with highlights on it. It's about cellular biology or something...I don't remember...but it's clearly homework. I fail to remember that I look ridiculous, and then I turn to her and ask, "Doing a little leisure reading there?" Four good things then happen that don't usually happen to me:
1) She realizes I'm talking to her
2) She gets the joke
3) She laughs
4) She starts talking to me
Turns out she's a fellow UNL student; a grad studying nutrition. She's at least a few years older than me, so I figure she's out of my league. Probably for the better, because this means that I actually have a conversation with her instead of trying to throw my weakass game. Long story short, I somehow manage to hold a conversation all the way to Milwaukee. We deplane, and she seems to want to hang out if we've both got a long layover. Well, we don't. My next flight leaves in 30 minutes, so we'll be parting ways, but damned if I'm letting her go without at least throwing out the fact that I'm into her. I honestly can't believe I said the shit that came out of my mouth next. I'm either just a nice guy, or a total douchebag...but I think maybe both.
Me: Well hey, I didn't wanna just sit there and hit on you the whole time...but...I just want you to know that I think you're absolutely gorgeous.
Her: (Somehow not expecting this even though I've totally been eyeing her) Oh...wow, well...okay...thank you.
Me: I mean, I'm sure we'll maybe ever run into each other like once on campus and then never see each other again, so I just thought you should know, I'm really attracted to you...so...you know, you can take that with you. (Did I just say that? Who says that? When did my life become a Ben Stiller movie???)
Her: Well hey um...you said that you guys go to Randy's every week right?
Me: Yeah, Thursdays.
Her: Well, I live in [apartment complex] and it's right by there, so maybe I'll come by and meet you there sometime.
The conversation winds down, and I have somehow pulled off the nonchalant hitting on of a gorgeous girl who is at least 3 years older and probably smarter than me. How did I do that??? Somewhere deep down, though, I can't shake the feeling that she's going to later realize that she just let an undergrad with hat hair charm her on an airplane, and eventually come to her senses. I will not be shocked if she fails to show at Randy's.
Later that night, I arrive in D.C. and meet up with Brad. We get dinner, hang out for a while, and then go to a party and his friend's house. Let me just say that people at Georgetown wear a lot of sweaters and collared shirts, things of that nature. The guys are preppy. So knowing this and being of a rather preppy background, I could be prepared, right? So what am I wearing? Jeans, my oldass boots and our improv troupe's new t-shirt. It's chocolate brown with pink lettering that says "I'm A Huge Embarrassing Failure". People instantly know I'm not from around here, but they love my shirt. It makes for an excellent topic of conversation as I talk to various girls over the course of the night...but none of this happens until I play my first ever games of beer pong. It doesn't take long to find out that I'm bad at beer pong. Brad and I lose to a couple dudes, then we play against each other for a while (terrible idea) and then are challenged by two girls from Syracuse. They're both cute, but either they were real dumb, or they played the part very well. Sadly, Brad and I are too lacking in talent and sobriety to beat them. We play a friggin' long game and eventually call it a draw. We all finish our beers, and I realize that I have been emasculated, and have also had probably 5-6 beers in the short span of time I've been playing.
From this point on, the details of the night start to get blurry, but I talk to a lot of people about my shirt and about improv. I talk to one girl much more than everyone else. Let's call her BlondeGirl. After a while, five things become evident:
1) I want to hook up with BlondeGirl
2)The party is winding down
3) Brad is missing in action
4) I'm too drunk to remember which girls I've met and which I haven't
5) Girls don't appreciate you forgetting that you've already met them
Now, I know Brad as well as anyone, and I know damn well where he's gone, it's just a question of which girl he's with. Turns out he's wandered off with a girl (the only girl for that matter) he was openly making fun of when she walked into the party. He made fun of her because she was wearing big winter boots and it was around 40 outside. He called her "The Eskimo" for the rest of the party, despite her total lack of Inuit ancestry. Brad's G-Town friends are all very concerned for me, but I'm not. Hell, I'd be pissed if he didn't ditch me to get some ass, and he knows it. We go too far back for me to pull the "I'm supposed to be staying with you" card. Besides, I don't need him to babysit me by the time I'm Happy Drunk Beav. I'll hang out with anyone and love the hell out of it if you get enough beer in me. I try to downplay his absence and focus on going home with BlondeGirl because I'm gonna need a place to stay tonight. She seems like she's down with the cause, but uh oh...here comes somebody who ISN'T down with the cause.
TallFriend has gotten wind that Brad is missing, and now she wants to know how I feel about it. I quickly discover the real reason(s) she's come over. Firstly, she used to hook up with Brad, and wants to hate on him while gaining inside information from me, as former hookups are wont to do. Secondly, she's been drinking like the rest of us, and maybe it's the dozen plus beers I've had talking, but I think she might be eyeing me. Wouldn't it be a coup for her if she could punish her former hookup for going off with another girl by scoring with his best friend? A possible third option is that she has some obligation to BlondeGirl and feels the need to cockblock me on her behalf. If there's one thing girls hate, it's to see their friends get some if they're not getting any.
I'm now caught in a weird, weird place. On the one hand, I'm trying to hook up with BlondeGirl on my left...but on the other hand I'm trying to get TallFriend on my right to stop hating on my boy, while at the same time not angering her because I'm also considering her as a backup option if things fall through with BlondeGirl, which means that I'm trying to play a whole lot of cards very carefully all at once, while drunk.
Well, Brad returns, but only to leave again and take a crack at closing the deal with The Eskimo. I, too, must take my shot at deal-closing if I don't want to sleep on a couch or in some vacationing roommate's room in the lacrosse house. I step up my hitting on BlondeGirl, and it's going pretty well. Soon though, following much ushering from her friends, she has to leave. At this point she tells me that, and I quote, "I'd offer for you to come home with me, but my roommate has probably already sexiled me, so there'd be noplace for us to go." Okay, that was just insult to injury. If you're not gonna hook up with me, that's fine. I'll get over it, but for fuck sakes, don't tell me you like the idea but can't work the logistics out! Who does that?!? I suddenly am reminded why I hated living in the dorms. I joke to BlondeGirl that it doesn't matter, we can get a hotel room. The funny part of the joke is that I'm not kidding. I'm drunk, I've got a credit card...let's go halves and get it on right? She fails to go for this idea.
I'm now left alone in the house with a big lacrosse player, a French kid, and some unattractive girl. I'm not about to cockblock the French kid to try to get the unattractive girl to take me home, so I do what any drunk and self-respecting man would do. I start cleaning the lacrosse guy's house.
Just as I have emptied all the beer from the wounded soldiers (and believe me casualties were angeringly high) and thrown all the cans into the recycle bin, and am getting ready to pass out in one of the empty bedrooms, Brad calls me. It turns out that he has failed to successfully hook up with The Eskimo, so he's coming back. We walk back to his dorm, share stories of our close calls with hooking up, and pass out.
10/16 and 10/17
Let's make this long story short. The only major happening of this night that any of you will care about is that Brad and I set out to party at around 9:00 PM. It's parents weekend at G-Town, so not much is going on. By not much, I mean "not a damn thing". This isn't stopping me and Brad, though. We've made great stories with less. We have a 1.75 of Captain Morgan and plenty of ambition. Well, next thing you know, it's 5:30 AM, and between the two of us, we drank the whole fucking thing. To say that we might be drunk is to say that it might not be a surprise when Lance Bass finally comes out. I have drunk dialed a LOT of people, and here's the format of most of the calls.
Them: Hello?
Me: HEY!!!!! Whadd'reyou doin?
Them: Sleeping.
Me: PUSSY! It's (insert time) here, and I'mmmstill drinking. It's only (insert time, one hour earlier) there, you should be ffffuckin' partying. Brad and I are gonna drink a whole 1-7-5 of Captain, because we'refffffuckin' princes among men, and donnlet anyone ever tellyou different!
Miraculously, we don't go around breaking shit or starting fights. We wander around in a very docile manner and drink.
We pass out around 5:30 AM. We don't get up until about 5:00 PM. By this I don't mean "we didn't really do anything until 5:00", I mean "we could not achieve an upright posture until 5:00". At that point we go to Chipotle, because we want to make good and damn sure our digestive systems hate us.
After that we sit around and watch Fear Factor, which succeeds as a show only because it has hot women on it, and then eventually go The Tombs, which is essentially "the" Georgetown bar, to have some beers and watch the Sox-Yankees game. I quickly learn that a bar in Lincoln and a bar at Georgetown are not the same thing. When we walk in, there are guys in button-down shirts, polos, etc there drinking. Jack Johnson is playing over the speakers, and the bar waiters (all of them are male) are dressed in khakis, button-up shirts, and big plaid bowties. The bar is decorated in a theme dedicated to crew. (Note for Nebraskans, crew is a sport popular at colleges where there is affluence and/or water. It involves rowing. We have a crew team here, but they suck, which is probably largely due to the absence of major bodies of water in our region.) This bar is not at all what I'm used to, but I kinda dig it. We pick out a table and sit down. I notice that the girls next to us are drinking a bottle of white wine. This is definitely not what I'm used to...but I still dig it. We have some beer, watch the Sox win at around 1:15 in the morning, get some pizza, head back to the room and fall asleep.
The next morning I get up, go to the airport, and fly home. Through most of both flights home, I share my God-awful Chipotle and hangover farts with the other people on my plane, because I'm a bad person.
Later that day, I would come home, clean house, cook dinner, and then go out to have one of the more confusing nights of my entire existence...more on that in the next post. Basically we didn't terrorize D.C. so much as we terrorized our livers and GI tracts, but when you're hanging out with your best friend, what you do is irrelevant. It's still fun.
10/15
My weekend begins on Friday, when I board my flight out of Omaha. I'm bound for Milwaukee, Wisconsin, because all Midwest flights go through there more or less. (Side note, fly Midwest. It's all first class-style seating, they serve you warm chocolate chip cookies on your flight, and the stewardesses are hot. What more do you want in an airline?) When our story begins, I'm sitting in my seat on the place, my Kel Welco stocking hat in my lap, a mean case of hat hair, and probably an imprint from the knit of the hat on my forehead. I have hat-hair, a knit pattern on my dome and I'm dressed like I'm flying across the country. I am not money right now. So what happens? A gorgeous girl comes walking down the aisle, and she's got the seat next to mine.
Being the chivalrous man that I am (and by chivalrous I mean way too eager to please any hot female) I help her rearrange the overhead bin and put her bag away. She sits down, takes out some sort of academic journal article with highlights on it. It's about cellular biology or something...I don't remember...but it's clearly homework. I fail to remember that I look ridiculous, and then I turn to her and ask, "Doing a little leisure reading there?" Four good things then happen that don't usually happen to me:
1) She realizes I'm talking to her
2) She gets the joke
3) She laughs
4) She starts talking to me
Turns out she's a fellow UNL student; a grad studying nutrition. She's at least a few years older than me, so I figure she's out of my league. Probably for the better, because this means that I actually have a conversation with her instead of trying to throw my weakass game. Long story short, I somehow manage to hold a conversation all the way to Milwaukee. We deplane, and she seems to want to hang out if we've both got a long layover. Well, we don't. My next flight leaves in 30 minutes, so we'll be parting ways, but damned if I'm letting her go without at least throwing out the fact that I'm into her. I honestly can't believe I said the shit that came out of my mouth next. I'm either just a nice guy, or a total douchebag...but I think maybe both.
Me: Well hey, I didn't wanna just sit there and hit on you the whole time...but...I just want you to know that I think you're absolutely gorgeous.
Her: (Somehow not expecting this even though I've totally been eyeing her) Oh...wow, well...okay...thank you.
Me: I mean, I'm sure we'll maybe ever run into each other like once on campus and then never see each other again, so I just thought you should know, I'm really attracted to you...so...you know, you can take that with you. (Did I just say that? Who says that? When did my life become a Ben Stiller movie???)
Her: Well hey um...you said that you guys go to Randy's every week right?
Me: Yeah, Thursdays.
Her: Well, I live in [apartment complex] and it's right by there, so maybe I'll come by and meet you there sometime.
The conversation winds down, and I have somehow pulled off the nonchalant hitting on of a gorgeous girl who is at least 3 years older and probably smarter than me. How did I do that??? Somewhere deep down, though, I can't shake the feeling that she's going to later realize that she just let an undergrad with hat hair charm her on an airplane, and eventually come to her senses. I will not be shocked if she fails to show at Randy's.
Later that night, I arrive in D.C. and meet up with Brad. We get dinner, hang out for a while, and then go to a party and his friend's house. Let me just say that people at Georgetown wear a lot of sweaters and collared shirts, things of that nature. The guys are preppy. So knowing this and being of a rather preppy background, I could be prepared, right? So what am I wearing? Jeans, my oldass boots and our improv troupe's new t-shirt. It's chocolate brown with pink lettering that says "I'm A Huge Embarrassing Failure". People instantly know I'm not from around here, but they love my shirt. It makes for an excellent topic of conversation as I talk to various girls over the course of the night...but none of this happens until I play my first ever games of beer pong. It doesn't take long to find out that I'm bad at beer pong. Brad and I lose to a couple dudes, then we play against each other for a while (terrible idea) and then are challenged by two girls from Syracuse. They're both cute, but either they were real dumb, or they played the part very well. Sadly, Brad and I are too lacking in talent and sobriety to beat them. We play a friggin' long game and eventually call it a draw. We all finish our beers, and I realize that I have been emasculated, and have also had probably 5-6 beers in the short span of time I've been playing.
From this point on, the details of the night start to get blurry, but I talk to a lot of people about my shirt and about improv. I talk to one girl much more than everyone else. Let's call her BlondeGirl. After a while, five things become evident:
1) I want to hook up with BlondeGirl
2)The party is winding down
3) Brad is missing in action
4) I'm too drunk to remember which girls I've met and which I haven't
5) Girls don't appreciate you forgetting that you've already met them
Now, I know Brad as well as anyone, and I know damn well where he's gone, it's just a question of which girl he's with. Turns out he's wandered off with a girl (the only girl for that matter) he was openly making fun of when she walked into the party. He made fun of her because she was wearing big winter boots and it was around 40 outside. He called her "The Eskimo" for the rest of the party, despite her total lack of Inuit ancestry. Brad's G-Town friends are all very concerned for me, but I'm not. Hell, I'd be pissed if he didn't ditch me to get some ass, and he knows it. We go too far back for me to pull the "I'm supposed to be staying with you" card. Besides, I don't need him to babysit me by the time I'm Happy Drunk Beav. I'll hang out with anyone and love the hell out of it if you get enough beer in me. I try to downplay his absence and focus on going home with BlondeGirl because I'm gonna need a place to stay tonight. She seems like she's down with the cause, but uh oh...here comes somebody who ISN'T down with the cause.
TallFriend has gotten wind that Brad is missing, and now she wants to know how I feel about it. I quickly discover the real reason(s) she's come over. Firstly, she used to hook up with Brad, and wants to hate on him while gaining inside information from me, as former hookups are wont to do. Secondly, she's been drinking like the rest of us, and maybe it's the dozen plus beers I've had talking, but I think she might be eyeing me. Wouldn't it be a coup for her if she could punish her former hookup for going off with another girl by scoring with his best friend? A possible third option is that she has some obligation to BlondeGirl and feels the need to cockblock me on her behalf. If there's one thing girls hate, it's to see their friends get some if they're not getting any.
I'm now caught in a weird, weird place. On the one hand, I'm trying to hook up with BlondeGirl on my left...but on the other hand I'm trying to get TallFriend on my right to stop hating on my boy, while at the same time not angering her because I'm also considering her as a backup option if things fall through with BlondeGirl, which means that I'm trying to play a whole lot of cards very carefully all at once, while drunk.
Well, Brad returns, but only to leave again and take a crack at closing the deal with The Eskimo. I, too, must take my shot at deal-closing if I don't want to sleep on a couch or in some vacationing roommate's room in the lacrosse house. I step up my hitting on BlondeGirl, and it's going pretty well. Soon though, following much ushering from her friends, she has to leave. At this point she tells me that, and I quote, "I'd offer for you to come home with me, but my roommate has probably already sexiled me, so there'd be noplace for us to go." Okay, that was just insult to injury. If you're not gonna hook up with me, that's fine. I'll get over it, but for fuck sakes, don't tell me you like the idea but can't work the logistics out! Who does that?!? I suddenly am reminded why I hated living in the dorms. I joke to BlondeGirl that it doesn't matter, we can get a hotel room. The funny part of the joke is that I'm not kidding. I'm drunk, I've got a credit card...let's go halves and get it on right? She fails to go for this idea.
I'm now left alone in the house with a big lacrosse player, a French kid, and some unattractive girl. I'm not about to cockblock the French kid to try to get the unattractive girl to take me home, so I do what any drunk and self-respecting man would do. I start cleaning the lacrosse guy's house.
Just as I have emptied all the beer from the wounded soldiers (and believe me casualties were angeringly high) and thrown all the cans into the recycle bin, and am getting ready to pass out in one of the empty bedrooms, Brad calls me. It turns out that he has failed to successfully hook up with The Eskimo, so he's coming back. We walk back to his dorm, share stories of our close calls with hooking up, and pass out.
10/16 and 10/17
Let's make this long story short. The only major happening of this night that any of you will care about is that Brad and I set out to party at around 9:00 PM. It's parents weekend at G-Town, so not much is going on. By not much, I mean "not a damn thing". This isn't stopping me and Brad, though. We've made great stories with less. We have a 1.75 of Captain Morgan and plenty of ambition. Well, next thing you know, it's 5:30 AM, and between the two of us, we drank the whole fucking thing. To say that we might be drunk is to say that it might not be a surprise when Lance Bass finally comes out. I have drunk dialed a LOT of people, and here's the format of most of the calls.
Them: Hello?
Me: HEY!!!!! Whadd'reyou doin?
Them: Sleeping.
Me: PUSSY! It's (insert time) here, and I'mmmstill drinking. It's only (insert time, one hour earlier) there, you should be ffffuckin' partying. Brad and I are gonna drink a whole 1-7-5 of Captain, because we'refffffuckin' princes among men, and donnlet anyone ever tellyou different!
Miraculously, we don't go around breaking shit or starting fights. We wander around in a very docile manner and drink.
We pass out around 5:30 AM. We don't get up until about 5:00 PM. By this I don't mean "we didn't really do anything until 5:00", I mean "we could not achieve an upright posture until 5:00". At that point we go to Chipotle, because we want to make good and damn sure our digestive systems hate us.
After that we sit around and watch Fear Factor, which succeeds as a show only because it has hot women on it, and then eventually go The Tombs, which is essentially "the" Georgetown bar, to have some beers and watch the Sox-Yankees game. I quickly learn that a bar in Lincoln and a bar at Georgetown are not the same thing. When we walk in, there are guys in button-down shirts, polos, etc there drinking. Jack Johnson is playing over the speakers, and the bar waiters (all of them are male) are dressed in khakis, button-up shirts, and big plaid bowties. The bar is decorated in a theme dedicated to crew. (Note for Nebraskans, crew is a sport popular at colleges where there is affluence and/or water. It involves rowing. We have a crew team here, but they suck, which is probably largely due to the absence of major bodies of water in our region.) This bar is not at all what I'm used to, but I kinda dig it. We pick out a table and sit down. I notice that the girls next to us are drinking a bottle of white wine. This is definitely not what I'm used to...but I still dig it. We have some beer, watch the Sox win at around 1:15 in the morning, get some pizza, head back to the room and fall asleep.
The next morning I get up, go to the airport, and fly home. Through most of both flights home, I share my God-awful Chipotle and hangover farts with the other people on my plane, because I'm a bad person.
Later that day, I would come home, clean house, cook dinner, and then go out to have one of the more confusing nights of my entire existence...more on that in the next post. Basically we didn't terrorize D.C. so much as we terrorized our livers and GI tracts, but when you're hanging out with your best friend, what you do is irrelevant. It's still fun.
posted by Beav at 5:22 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home