A Typical Saturday in The Life of The Beav
10/2
8:45 AM
I get up early and go to improv. I realize that telling stories about stuff that happened during improv is only funny to those of us in the troupe, but I have to relay just one quote of Brett's: "Dude, you don't purr when your cat dies! If your grandmother fell off the roof, you wouldn't walk with a cane!" I'm not gonna tell the story of why it made sense at the time, just think about it.
2:00 PM
I go to Jeff and Brett's hoping to play the Brent Musburger drinking game. (http://lasooner.thoughtshop.net/sooners/mussberger.html)
Much to our dismay, Musburger isn't calling a game in our area this week. We watch Mizzou beat Colorado, and in my mind I watch the prices skyrocket for the Nebraska vs. Mizzou tickets I need to buy for my friends who are coming up for that game. So far, off to a bad start.
6:00 PM
I go to the Nebraska vs. Kansas game, and it's the worst excuse for a college football game I've ever attended. 78,000+ watch as our brand new West Coast Offense sucks ass to the tune of 4 turnovers, a safety, and only 14 points versus fucking Kansas. Luckily our defense is good, and we win 14-8. Nobody in red is especially pleased at the victory.
10:30 PM
I go back to Jeff's and get into a rasslin' match with Nate. He wins, despite being really drunk. I am sober, and can offer no excuse for the loss. We head out to party, and I ride with Jeff. We stop by my house and pick up my old buddy Captain Morgan. I think we all see where this is going.
11:00 PM
We park about half a block away from the party, which is at Brittney's. For the entire walk from the car to the party, some random, fat black guy with a joint in his hand screams at us from the corner about how he'll beat all our asses and he wishes we would come over there. I'm with Jeff and Mitch, who easily weigh over 600 pounds combined. I really don't think this guy would have beaten our asses and I don't know why he offered...but we let it go. Once we get close enough for him to see what I'm wearing, he really gets riled. It's a gameday, so I'm wearing a red t-shirt over a black long sleeved shirt, jeans, a red bandana, and my new gray and red Newbalances. I look like I might think that I'm mildly thuggish, and the fat black man now begins screaming at me. "Ooooh, especially you! I wish you would come over here, I'll beat your bitch ass! Bitch, get over here! I wish you would! I wish you would come over here!" Much though I'd love to get in a 4-man race riot tonight, I ignore him. We go inside and I begin drinking heavily, you know...like I do.
This party is a clusterfuck of various theatre people, many of whom are freshmen. If there's one thing that's funny at a party held early first semester, it's watching freshmen drink. These kids are a case study in social expectations about the effects of alcohol. I am sure that by the end of the night somebody will be pretty entertaining. Ultimately, I am not disappointed.
11:15 PM
Brett is in the kitchen, doing imitations of various theatre people if they were playing his role in the upcoming production of Medea. There are about 10 of us gathered around to witness this, and we're cracking the fuck up because it's hilarious...but only if you're a theatre dork like us and know these people. Since I'm roughly as big of a whore for attention as Brett is, I jump in and do a couple myself. Ultimately his are better, but that's ok. I got a little attention and that's what I so desperately, constantly crave. I forage off of the leftover pizza that Brittney said I could have and enjoy the spectacle.
11:45 PM
Some guy who I've never seen before walks into the kitchen. He's the token old guy at the party. He might be anywhere from 25 to 45, but at least he's friendly. He proceeds to make himself a drink with my Captain and my Coke. I am irritated, but I don't like to start trouble at parties, so I ignore it and hide my bottle of Captain after he leaves the kitchen. I would later find out from Jeff that the guy had paid Jeff $5 to have some of our Captain and Coke. More on that later.
1:00 AM
Everyone who has been drinking the whole time is drunk by now. I am no exception. Jeff and I, with a little help from that old guy, have finished the liter of Captain. Jeff has also talked me into taking a shot of Jaeger, and I've been drinking Bud since then.
My friend Jordan has arrived, and while I love this kid to death, I also have a great time taking advantage of his blatant homophobia. On this night of nights, I spend at least a good 10 minutes telling him how I'd totally do him on the merit of the dance he performed at the show he was in the night before. Jordan doesn't have anything against gay people, and even has gay friends. The weird and funny thing is that he cannot stand any sort of homoeroticism, no matter how joking, if it's directed toward him. He laughs off the first couple cracks, but after a while it's clearly starting to creep him out. This is hilarious to me. Eventually I have to explain to him that I'm just fucking with him for the sake of getting that reaction out of him, because he seems to be wondering if this is one of those moments where your buddy you thought was straight gets drunk and makes a pass at you. (This can and does happen, and has happened to me.) This makes it all the funnier to me. He eventually leaves the party, and I think that I probably shouldn't harass him so much, but fuck it. He's got a hot girlfriend to go home and prove his straightness with; he can endure a little crap from me. Besides, like Tucker Max says, if he can't take a joke, fuck him.
1:30 AM
Remember what I said about freshmen and drinking? Well, we have a winner! Her name is Kate, and she's a cute little blonde thing of an 18-year-old. Kate is around 5'3 and might weigh 125 pounds soaking wet. About 15-20 pounds of that is in her boobs. Got a mental picture? Good. While I haven't seen her with a drink in quite a while, Kate is acting just as drunk as she could possibly act. To her credit, she's not acting obnoxious drunk or slutty drunk, just "Wow, look how drunk I think I am" drunk. I can't resist harassing her, because she's obviously not as drunk as she's letting on. I comment on how she seems pretty buzzed, and she informs me that she's had (4 or 6...I don't remember. I really was drunk.) I tell her that it's a pretty good tally for such a small girl. She is mildly upset that I've called her small. (Note to self: No matter you say about a girl's size, it's wrong. Always.)
The conversation digresses into how she thinks she could "take me down". I think to myself, "Sweetheart, I don't think you could 'take me' in any sense of the word." What she means, though, is physically tackling me. I stand up and invite her to prove it. She declines because "you didn't look that big when you were sitting down". I weigh 160 pounds. I can't possibly look "that big" standing up, either. I kneel. Kate tries to take me down, and can't in at least 5 tries. She starts talking trash about how I couldn't pin her. Oh wow, this is funny. I haven't flirted high school style in a while. What the hell, I'm drunk...I'll take the bait.
I easily pin Kate, who has convinced herself she couldn't possibly have any motor skills. By "pinned", I mean "kinda half laid across with one arm". This was sufficient for victory. Several people are looking at me as much as to say, "You dirty, dirty old man. She was in 8th grade when you graduated high school." I am not trying to nail this girl. I mean, she's cute, I wouldn't kick her out of bed...but even I acknowledge that she's too young. A moment later, Kate rolls over so that my right hand, which had previously been under her back, is now right under her huge boobs. I don't think she notices, and I nearly tell her, but just then a voice in my head pipes up, "Don't you fucking dare! You shut up and enjoy this! She's the one who rolled over, just don't honk them and you're perfectly innocent!" I look up at Jeff, and he's on the same page with me. Here's roughly what transpired in our silent communication:
Me: You gettin' this?
Him: Yes, and I applaud you for it.
Me: I mean, she brought this on herself. I can't help it if she just rolled so that her awesome breasts are now in my hand.
Him: I know. Just savor it.
It is much like the non-verbal exchange we had 15 minutes prior when Kate was using him for a pillow.
Eventually I know that it's fish-or-cut-bait time, and I'm not about to actually hit on this girl. If there's one thing I don't need to do right now, it's lure in some poor, unsuspecting freshman. Freshmen always think you're gonna date them, and I don't need that. I'll stick to the seasoned girls closer to my age, who know better and mess around with me anyhow. Young Kate has a sort of real innocence that is somewhat charming. Some guy will totally ruin that before she's out of college, but that guy isn't me. Besides, innocent girls are awful in bed. What, you thought I was going to end on a noble note? I'm not even done yet.
I use my empty beer as an excuse to break up the high school style flirt-fest and head back downstairs.
2:00 AM
Brittney tells us it's time to go, and it's her house, so we go. I ask Jeff for the $5 the old guy paid him to drink some of our Captain. It turns out to be a $20 bill. Jeff shrugs and says, "I dunno, that's what he gave me." I just made $20 off a bottle of liquor I got for free. Bitchin'. Jaime offers to drive me home, because I'm mighty drunk and without a ride. I'm so drunk, in fact that I'm about a drink away from "Can't Form A Sentence Beav." If you've ever seen me like this, you know it's the only true indicator that I'm shitcanned. In my drunk mind, I think that this offer to drive me home clearly means hookup, because Jaime and I used to date...and, well, sometimes these things do happen.
2:10 AM
Jaime drops me off at the curb. She's not coming inside. Rather than being offended, I am impressed. Touche', Jaime, touche'. I have noticed how hard I have to work to put my thoughts into sentence form, and I realize that it's for the better. I am too drunk to perform in any manner, sexual or otherwise. It probably also doesn't help that I look like a bag of pale ass with a bandanna on it. I come inside, and yell upstairs at Dave and his girlfriend in my best Dave=Chapelle-as-Rick-James voice: "BIT-CHES! I'M HOME BIT-CHES!!! IT'S A CELEBRATION!!! SHOW ME YOUR TITTIES!"
No response. I don't remember what the hell I do after that, but I assume I go to the bathroom, have some water and pass out. That's what I usually do.
All in all, not a bad Saturday. I turned a profit, got drunk, and got huge boobs placed on my hand. I've definitely had worse weekends. Don't believe me? Read the St. Olaf story...
8:45 AM
I get up early and go to improv. I realize that telling stories about stuff that happened during improv is only funny to those of us in the troupe, but I have to relay just one quote of Brett's: "Dude, you don't purr when your cat dies! If your grandmother fell off the roof, you wouldn't walk with a cane!" I'm not gonna tell the story of why it made sense at the time, just think about it.
2:00 PM
I go to Jeff and Brett's hoping to play the Brent Musburger drinking game. (http://lasooner.thoughtshop.net/sooners/mussberger.html)
Much to our dismay, Musburger isn't calling a game in our area this week. We watch Mizzou beat Colorado, and in my mind I watch the prices skyrocket for the Nebraska vs. Mizzou tickets I need to buy for my friends who are coming up for that game. So far, off to a bad start.
6:00 PM
I go to the Nebraska vs. Kansas game, and it's the worst excuse for a college football game I've ever attended. 78,000+ watch as our brand new West Coast Offense sucks ass to the tune of 4 turnovers, a safety, and only 14 points versus fucking Kansas. Luckily our defense is good, and we win 14-8. Nobody in red is especially pleased at the victory.
10:30 PM
I go back to Jeff's and get into a rasslin' match with Nate. He wins, despite being really drunk. I am sober, and can offer no excuse for the loss. We head out to party, and I ride with Jeff. We stop by my house and pick up my old buddy Captain Morgan. I think we all see where this is going.
11:00 PM
We park about half a block away from the party, which is at Brittney's. For the entire walk from the car to the party, some random, fat black guy with a joint in his hand screams at us from the corner about how he'll beat all our asses and he wishes we would come over there. I'm with Jeff and Mitch, who easily weigh over 600 pounds combined. I really don't think this guy would have beaten our asses and I don't know why he offered...but we let it go. Once we get close enough for him to see what I'm wearing, he really gets riled. It's a gameday, so I'm wearing a red t-shirt over a black long sleeved shirt, jeans, a red bandana, and my new gray and red Newbalances. I look like I might think that I'm mildly thuggish, and the fat black man now begins screaming at me. "Ooooh, especially you! I wish you would come over here, I'll beat your bitch ass! Bitch, get over here! I wish you would! I wish you would come over here!" Much though I'd love to get in a 4-man race riot tonight, I ignore him. We go inside and I begin drinking heavily, you know...like I do.
This party is a clusterfuck of various theatre people, many of whom are freshmen. If there's one thing that's funny at a party held early first semester, it's watching freshmen drink. These kids are a case study in social expectations about the effects of alcohol. I am sure that by the end of the night somebody will be pretty entertaining. Ultimately, I am not disappointed.
11:15 PM
Brett is in the kitchen, doing imitations of various theatre people if they were playing his role in the upcoming production of Medea. There are about 10 of us gathered around to witness this, and we're cracking the fuck up because it's hilarious...but only if you're a theatre dork like us and know these people. Since I'm roughly as big of a whore for attention as Brett is, I jump in and do a couple myself. Ultimately his are better, but that's ok. I got a little attention and that's what I so desperately, constantly crave. I forage off of the leftover pizza that Brittney said I could have and enjoy the spectacle.
11:45 PM
Some guy who I've never seen before walks into the kitchen. He's the token old guy at the party. He might be anywhere from 25 to 45, but at least he's friendly. He proceeds to make himself a drink with my Captain and my Coke. I am irritated, but I don't like to start trouble at parties, so I ignore it and hide my bottle of Captain after he leaves the kitchen. I would later find out from Jeff that the guy had paid Jeff $5 to have some of our Captain and Coke. More on that later.
1:00 AM
Everyone who has been drinking the whole time is drunk by now. I am no exception. Jeff and I, with a little help from that old guy, have finished the liter of Captain. Jeff has also talked me into taking a shot of Jaeger, and I've been drinking Bud since then.
My friend Jordan has arrived, and while I love this kid to death, I also have a great time taking advantage of his blatant homophobia. On this night of nights, I spend at least a good 10 minutes telling him how I'd totally do him on the merit of the dance he performed at the show he was in the night before. Jordan doesn't have anything against gay people, and even has gay friends. The weird and funny thing is that he cannot stand any sort of homoeroticism, no matter how joking, if it's directed toward him. He laughs off the first couple cracks, but after a while it's clearly starting to creep him out. This is hilarious to me. Eventually I have to explain to him that I'm just fucking with him for the sake of getting that reaction out of him, because he seems to be wondering if this is one of those moments where your buddy you thought was straight gets drunk and makes a pass at you. (This can and does happen, and has happened to me.) This makes it all the funnier to me. He eventually leaves the party, and I think that I probably shouldn't harass him so much, but fuck it. He's got a hot girlfriend to go home and prove his straightness with; he can endure a little crap from me. Besides, like Tucker Max says, if he can't take a joke, fuck him.
1:30 AM
Remember what I said about freshmen and drinking? Well, we have a winner! Her name is Kate, and she's a cute little blonde thing of an 18-year-old. Kate is around 5'3 and might weigh 125 pounds soaking wet. About 15-20 pounds of that is in her boobs. Got a mental picture? Good. While I haven't seen her with a drink in quite a while, Kate is acting just as drunk as she could possibly act. To her credit, she's not acting obnoxious drunk or slutty drunk, just "Wow, look how drunk I think I am" drunk. I can't resist harassing her, because she's obviously not as drunk as she's letting on. I comment on how she seems pretty buzzed, and she informs me that she's had (4 or 6...I don't remember. I really was drunk.) I tell her that it's a pretty good tally for such a small girl. She is mildly upset that I've called her small. (Note to self: No matter you say about a girl's size, it's wrong. Always.)
The conversation digresses into how she thinks she could "take me down". I think to myself, "Sweetheart, I don't think you could 'take me' in any sense of the word." What she means, though, is physically tackling me. I stand up and invite her to prove it. She declines because "you didn't look that big when you were sitting down". I weigh 160 pounds. I can't possibly look "that big" standing up, either. I kneel. Kate tries to take me down, and can't in at least 5 tries. She starts talking trash about how I couldn't pin her. Oh wow, this is funny. I haven't flirted high school style in a while. What the hell, I'm drunk...I'll take the bait.
I easily pin Kate, who has convinced herself she couldn't possibly have any motor skills. By "pinned", I mean "kinda half laid across with one arm". This was sufficient for victory. Several people are looking at me as much as to say, "You dirty, dirty old man. She was in 8th grade when you graduated high school." I am not trying to nail this girl. I mean, she's cute, I wouldn't kick her out of bed...but even I acknowledge that she's too young. A moment later, Kate rolls over so that my right hand, which had previously been under her back, is now right under her huge boobs. I don't think she notices, and I nearly tell her, but just then a voice in my head pipes up, "Don't you fucking dare! You shut up and enjoy this! She's the one who rolled over, just don't honk them and you're perfectly innocent!" I look up at Jeff, and he's on the same page with me. Here's roughly what transpired in our silent communication:
Me: You gettin' this?
Him: Yes, and I applaud you for it.
Me: I mean, she brought this on herself. I can't help it if she just rolled so that her awesome breasts are now in my hand.
Him: I know. Just savor it.
It is much like the non-verbal exchange we had 15 minutes prior when Kate was using him for a pillow.
Eventually I know that it's fish-or-cut-bait time, and I'm not about to actually hit on this girl. If there's one thing I don't need to do right now, it's lure in some poor, unsuspecting freshman. Freshmen always think you're gonna date them, and I don't need that. I'll stick to the seasoned girls closer to my age, who know better and mess around with me anyhow. Young Kate has a sort of real innocence that is somewhat charming. Some guy will totally ruin that before she's out of college, but that guy isn't me. Besides, innocent girls are awful in bed. What, you thought I was going to end on a noble note? I'm not even done yet.
I use my empty beer as an excuse to break up the high school style flirt-fest and head back downstairs.
2:00 AM
Brittney tells us it's time to go, and it's her house, so we go. I ask Jeff for the $5 the old guy paid him to drink some of our Captain. It turns out to be a $20 bill. Jeff shrugs and says, "I dunno, that's what he gave me." I just made $20 off a bottle of liquor I got for free. Bitchin'. Jaime offers to drive me home, because I'm mighty drunk and without a ride. I'm so drunk, in fact that I'm about a drink away from "Can't Form A Sentence Beav." If you've ever seen me like this, you know it's the only true indicator that I'm shitcanned. In my drunk mind, I think that this offer to drive me home clearly means hookup, because Jaime and I used to date...and, well, sometimes these things do happen.
2:10 AM
Jaime drops me off at the curb. She's not coming inside. Rather than being offended, I am impressed. Touche', Jaime, touche'. I have noticed how hard I have to work to put my thoughts into sentence form, and I realize that it's for the better. I am too drunk to perform in any manner, sexual or otherwise. It probably also doesn't help that I look like a bag of pale ass with a bandanna on it. I come inside, and yell upstairs at Dave and his girlfriend in my best Dave=Chapelle-as-Rick-James voice: "BIT-CHES! I'M HOME BIT-CHES!!! IT'S A CELEBRATION!!! SHOW ME YOUR TITTIES!"
No response. I don't remember what the hell I do after that, but I assume I go to the bathroom, have some water and pass out. That's what I usually do.
All in all, not a bad Saturday. I turned a profit, got drunk, and got huge boobs placed on my hand. I've definitely had worse weekends. Don't believe me? Read the St. Olaf story...
posted by Beav at 1:27 AM
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