I woke up Friday afternoonish to the very distinct memory that Messin With Sasquatch, sometime on the way home from the airport, stopped the car in the middle of the street, pulled me out of the car, and slapped me. I don’t know why this happened. Sometimes people don’t quite get me right off the bat. It happens.
We started smoking. We watched movies. Beer was consumed. We watched this great cartoon about colonial times, which ended with cartoon Thomas Jefferson delivering the most eloquent justification of chattel slavery that I’ve heard to date, and believe me, I’ve heard a few. He succeeds in convincing a young female reporter type not to publish a scathing piece on the hypocrisy of declaring human freedom while owning other humans at the same time. Awesome. This was followed by something about Jesus when I swear I heard “the Romans froze Jesus in carbonite.” We smoked again.
We went out fairly early that night and got some food. This was followed by a succession of bars where I proceeded to drink a lot. I was introduced to a dude who shares my name and had an unfortunate condition that prevented him from drinking alcohol. We all went back to the apartment and smoked, and decided to go to the only bar who’s name I actually remember this entire trip.
Snake and Jake’s is without a doubt, the sketchiest bar I’ve ever been to in my life. It’s kind of all by itself in what looked like a mainly residential area, questionable looking characters hanging around out front. I rode over with MWS, while Booze Zombie rode over with another friend who we’ll call SpeedRacer. Other people were finding their own way there, but it was just us when we got there. We walk inside, and it’s uncomfortably dark. There’s just couches lining the walls, and a home-made looking bar. I loved it immediately. Dives aren’t created, they just have to happen. And this place may very well be “the perfect dive.”
MWS introduced me to a bunch of people who I apologize for not remembering. I just now while writing this realize that I have no clue how Sarge got here, but I ran into him later on. I was on my third vodka tonic by the time BZombie showed up with SpeedRacer. He plants him on a couch and starts telling us what happened to them on the way over.
BZ: SR is really trashed man…he was weaving all over the road and shit…he drove halfway across town. I was trying to get him to pull over and he was all “man, you’re just messing with me, I know where I’m going…” We finally came to a stop sign and I reached over and yanked the keys out of the ignition. We almost died.
I realize that drunk driving is way more ok down here than where I’m from, but that’s pretty crazy. We drink more and BZombie decides to bring SpeedRacer somewhere because he’s so goddamn trashed. They sort of half carry him out to go to somebody’s apartment. I move in on an empty couch and quite possibly passed out for a couple of minutes. I come to to MWS giving Sarge and me shit for not drinking enough. I wake up and drink more. It’s nearly 4 am, and this 100lb girl is drinking me under the table and giving me shit the whole time. Goddamn. I’ve been feasting on AAA pitching in New Hampshire, but this is The Show. I enter a Zen like state of consciousness. I separate my mind from the intoxication of my body, and I continue on.
We get back to the apartment and I get involved with MWS in a fantastic discussion of Russian literature. She pulls out a pile of books and tells me I can have them. Everyone passes out but us, and I feel a great sense of victory at having remained awake. We watch an old Woody Allen movie, “Love and Death,” which continues the crazy Russians thing. MWS goes to sleep. I’m the last one to go down. All I hear is hacking and groaning from everyone in here. We’re all dying. Saturday night, here we come.
-LFODD
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
My Trip to New Orleans: An Epic in Four Parts
Disclaimer: Any inaccuracies in this narrative are a direct result of the permanent brain damage incurred by the author during this trip. Any that are brought to my attention will be corrected.
Part 1 of 4
In 2007 I took a little trip,
Along with my buddy Sarge down the mighty Mississip,
Our minds were sharp, our thoughts were clear, our clothes were crisp and clean,
Headed to the Dirty Dirty, to check out New Orleans.
(Note: due to popular demand, Angel will henceforth be known as Booze Zombie...he earned it)
Day 1
The following takes place between 3pm and 6ish am
I planned a trip to New Orleans a couple months back after Booze Zombie moved back down there. I wanted to go see him, and I wanted to test myself against the best when it comes to drinking. I'll be honest, I talked a lot of shit before going down, I figured hey, drinking is drinking. Oh boy.
I talked Sarge into going along with me even though I think deep down he knew that he'd spend a lot of this trip looking on in horror at various things that I was enthusiastically participating in. In the end, I don't think I disappointed him. Our flight left Boston at 6. I got us bumped to first class, which was totally pimp because they give you free booze, and I figured that we could easily drink the cost of the upgrade, and thus make it a break even proposition. Our target was $150 in 3.5 hours, with the big disclaimer being that we couldn't get kicked off of the airplane, in my case a very real possibility. I figured as long as we could get to Philly and switch planes, we'd be all set. And if there was some sort of maximum drink limit, we'd have two shots at hitting it, with the two planes and all.
After two big vodka tonics at Legal Seafood at the airport, we board. I sit down and I notice two things. One, nothing pointy is driving itself into my kneecaps. No wonder people pay more to sit up here. Two, there's already a drink in front of me. There's still people boarding the airplane and Sarge and I are toasting success with screwdrivers. I'm never going back behind that curtain again.
We end up sitting on the tarmac at Logan for 40 minutes because Philly airport sucks balls. To make things go better they start serving the drinks two at a time and let us take turns giving surprise electric shocks to people in coach. I never knew the seats were wired like that. Anyway, the magic formula is one can of OJ, two nips of Finlandia. If I could smoke in here, I'd never leave. After we take off, we hit turbulence and the stewardess (that's what you are, deal with it) announces that they can't safely bring the drink cart out to coach and sell half cans of soda for 5 dollars each. She sets the mic down and brings Sarge and I two more screwdrivers each. I'm enjoying it but my head is filled with violent Bolshevik revolution. It isn't right how they treat the peasants up here. I realize they heavily outnumber us and I wish that curtain were a door.
We land in Philly 40 minutes late and we get to do some running. Full speed, shitfaced running. Sarge falls back but I keep going. Must make plane. Airports run on Lord of the Flies rules. Sarge catches up as we make the gate, inevitably on the complete other side of the airport.
Sarge: Dude, some lady stepped right in front of me when we were running, I knocked the bag right out of her hands.
Me: Nice! Please tell me you just kept going.
Sarge: Fucking right I did, every man for himself when you have a plane to catch.
We laugh.
The sign at the gate says some other flight. Between breaths I ask if we missed the New Orleans flight. Old Bored Guy informs me that they're just boarding now because every single plane in Philly was delayed for 40 minutes. Remember this because it's important. I hand him my ticket.
OBG: Just wait here sir...
He ignores me and checks other people in.
Me: Is there a problem?
OBG: I don't know, I have to confirm this...
He continues to check people in and ignore me. I use some of my drunken charm and interrupt his conversation with another passenger.
Me: What's going on here?...
After this I get into a row with some FNG who doesn't speak the English, and then the Bitchy Boss Lady who tells me that since my inbound was delayed, I've been bumped and will have to fly out tomorrow.
Me: Wait, the outbound that I'm holding a ticket for is right here, in this airport. I am also here in this airport. I am holding a first class ticket for this plane? What exactly is the issue here?
BBL: Well if this plane had taken off, you wouldn't have been on it.
Me: That's your argument? Jesus Christ that's not even trying. It doesn't even make sense. If the goddamn plane had crashed, we'd all be dead...but we're not.
I have no idea how, but this shouting match ended in Sarge and I sitting in first class and some other suckers getting bumped. I'm so glad I'm not middle eastern...I'd be in Federal Prison for yelling like that at an airport.
At some point during this Sarge called Booze Zombie and said that I got arrested, I did not know this.
We land in NOLA. Between us we put away 22 screwdrivers in something like 6 hours. I think that covered our upgrade fee. Sarge puked on the airplane. I told him that was a division of the Mile High Club. He was understandably proud.
BZ and his roomate, Messin With Sasquatch, pick us up outside. We head back to town. MWS is driving, she tells me there's an ice cold bottle of Stoli Raz under her seat. I grab it, and it is ice cold. I take a slug and hand Sarge the bottle. He takes a swig and immediately pukes. Pretty much all of it went out the window. Pussy, and to think we'd been training for this for a solid month.
MWS: So are you the guy who got arrested?
Me: No...(I'm confused)
BZ: Yeah you did, Sarge told me.
Me: Goddamnit you people are fucking with me.
We go into town and go directly to a bar. It's now about midnight on a Thursday, and the place is pretty crowded by my personal Thursday standards. I order vodka Red Bull, and the bartender hands me what seems like a slurpee cup from 711. I watched him make it. It was seriously half a bottle of Stoli and 2 Red Bulls. I'm a little concerned, because I'm already tanked and at this point I realize that this town is fucking serious about drinking.
We meet some more of BZ and MWS's friends at the bar. Seriously at least 5 people ask me how I got arrested. What the fuck??? I didn't get arrested. Finally Sarge explains that he told BZ that I got arrested, and of course BZ called at least everyone he knew and told them. Word travels quick.
After this we may have gone to another place that had live music, or we may have gone back to the apartment. Scene missing. Later on that night we went out to McDonalds. We picked up a kid by the name of Meerkat (this will make sense in Day 4's writeup). I introduce myself. He introduces himself. He sells me some pot. I love this town. We get to talking and he's a solid dude. We smoke a bowl waiting in the drivethru line. We wind up back at the apartment and smoke more.
MWS: There's no way I'm going to work tomorrow. I have to stay up so I can call in at 8.
Oh man.
MWS: Let's go to a bar.
I can't remember exactly, but this was something like 530 or 6 am. I realize I'm in way over my head here. They go and I pass out. I decide I don't have to win, but I gotta go the distance. Just go the distance.
Stay tuned for Part 2.
-LFODD
Part 1 of 4
In 2007 I took a little trip,
Along with my buddy Sarge down the mighty Mississip,
Our minds were sharp, our thoughts were clear, our clothes were crisp and clean,
Headed to the Dirty Dirty, to check out New Orleans.
(Note: due to popular demand, Angel will henceforth be known as Booze Zombie...he earned it)
Day 1
The following takes place between 3pm and 6ish am
I planned a trip to New Orleans a couple months back after Booze Zombie moved back down there. I wanted to go see him, and I wanted to test myself against the best when it comes to drinking. I'll be honest, I talked a lot of shit before going down, I figured hey, drinking is drinking. Oh boy.
I talked Sarge into going along with me even though I think deep down he knew that he'd spend a lot of this trip looking on in horror at various things that I was enthusiastically participating in. In the end, I don't think I disappointed him. Our flight left Boston at 6. I got us bumped to first class, which was totally pimp because they give you free booze, and I figured that we could easily drink the cost of the upgrade, and thus make it a break even proposition. Our target was $150 in 3.5 hours, with the big disclaimer being that we couldn't get kicked off of the airplane, in my case a very real possibility. I figured as long as we could get to Philly and switch planes, we'd be all set. And if there was some sort of maximum drink limit, we'd have two shots at hitting it, with the two planes and all.
After two big vodka tonics at Legal Seafood at the airport, we board. I sit down and I notice two things. One, nothing pointy is driving itself into my kneecaps. No wonder people pay more to sit up here. Two, there's already a drink in front of me. There's still people boarding the airplane and Sarge and I are toasting success with screwdrivers. I'm never going back behind that curtain again.
We end up sitting on the tarmac at Logan for 40 minutes because Philly airport sucks balls. To make things go better they start serving the drinks two at a time and let us take turns giving surprise electric shocks to people in coach. I never knew the seats were wired like that. Anyway, the magic formula is one can of OJ, two nips of Finlandia. If I could smoke in here, I'd never leave. After we take off, we hit turbulence and the stewardess (that's what you are, deal with it) announces that they can't safely bring the drink cart out to coach and sell half cans of soda for 5 dollars each. She sets the mic down and brings Sarge and I two more screwdrivers each. I'm enjoying it but my head is filled with violent Bolshevik revolution. It isn't right how they treat the peasants up here. I realize they heavily outnumber us and I wish that curtain were a door.
We land in Philly 40 minutes late and we get to do some running. Full speed, shitfaced running. Sarge falls back but I keep going. Must make plane. Airports run on Lord of the Flies rules. Sarge catches up as we make the gate, inevitably on the complete other side of the airport.
Sarge: Dude, some lady stepped right in front of me when we were running, I knocked the bag right out of her hands.
Me: Nice! Please tell me you just kept going.
Sarge: Fucking right I did, every man for himself when you have a plane to catch.
We laugh.
The sign at the gate says some other flight. Between breaths I ask if we missed the New Orleans flight. Old Bored Guy informs me that they're just boarding now because every single plane in Philly was delayed for 40 minutes. Remember this because it's important. I hand him my ticket.
OBG: Just wait here sir...
He ignores me and checks other people in.
Me: Is there a problem?
OBG: I don't know, I have to confirm this...
He continues to check people in and ignore me. I use some of my drunken charm and interrupt his conversation with another passenger.
Me: What's going on here?...
After this I get into a row with some FNG who doesn't speak the English, and then the Bitchy Boss Lady who tells me that since my inbound was delayed, I've been bumped and will have to fly out tomorrow.
Me: Wait, the outbound that I'm holding a ticket for is right here, in this airport. I am also here in this airport. I am holding a first class ticket for this plane? What exactly is the issue here?
BBL: Well if this plane had taken off, you wouldn't have been on it.
Me: That's your argument? Jesus Christ that's not even trying. It doesn't even make sense. If the goddamn plane had crashed, we'd all be dead...but we're not.
I have no idea how, but this shouting match ended in Sarge and I sitting in first class and some other suckers getting bumped. I'm so glad I'm not middle eastern...I'd be in Federal Prison for yelling like that at an airport.
At some point during this Sarge called Booze Zombie and said that I got arrested, I did not know this.
We land in NOLA. Between us we put away 22 screwdrivers in something like 6 hours. I think that covered our upgrade fee. Sarge puked on the airplane. I told him that was a division of the Mile High Club. He was understandably proud.
BZ and his roomate, Messin With Sasquatch, pick us up outside. We head back to town. MWS is driving, she tells me there's an ice cold bottle of Stoli Raz under her seat. I grab it, and it is ice cold. I take a slug and hand Sarge the bottle. He takes a swig and immediately pukes. Pretty much all of it went out the window. Pussy, and to think we'd been training for this for a solid month.
MWS: So are you the guy who got arrested?
Me: No...(I'm confused)
BZ: Yeah you did, Sarge told me.
Me: Goddamnit you people are fucking with me.
We go into town and go directly to a bar. It's now about midnight on a Thursday, and the place is pretty crowded by my personal Thursday standards. I order vodka Red Bull, and the bartender hands me what seems like a slurpee cup from 711. I watched him make it. It was seriously half a bottle of Stoli and 2 Red Bulls. I'm a little concerned, because I'm already tanked and at this point I realize that this town is fucking serious about drinking.
We meet some more of BZ and MWS's friends at the bar. Seriously at least 5 people ask me how I got arrested. What the fuck??? I didn't get arrested. Finally Sarge explains that he told BZ that I got arrested, and of course BZ called at least everyone he knew and told them. Word travels quick.
After this we may have gone to another place that had live music, or we may have gone back to the apartment. Scene missing. Later on that night we went out to McDonalds. We picked up a kid by the name of Meerkat (this will make sense in Day 4's writeup). I introduce myself. He introduces himself. He sells me some pot. I love this town. We get to talking and he's a solid dude. We smoke a bowl waiting in the drivethru line. We wind up back at the apartment and smoke more.
MWS: There's no way I'm going to work tomorrow. I have to stay up so I can call in at 8.
Oh man.
MWS: Let's go to a bar.
I can't remember exactly, but this was something like 530 or 6 am. I realize I'm in way over my head here. They go and I pass out. I decide I don't have to win, but I gotta go the distance. Just go the distance.
Stay tuned for Part 2.
-LFODD
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
A Tribute to 8Mile (No, not the movie)
Sarge and I headed up to Laconia last week to go to a party at our buddy Milfhunter's place. And, I must say, the Lakes Region is most definitely not fucking around when it comes to Beirut. It's not surprising, the game was invented at Dartmouth College in Hanover sometime in the late 1940's. It stands to reason the closer one gets to the source, the tougher the competition. Anyway, there were two standouts at this particular gathering.
First standout, sending Sarge and I to loss number two of the night, was this girl...late 20's or early 30's, married, not one you'd expect to own you at Beirut. But I'll be damned if she didn't hit 3 out of every 4 shots, consistently, all night. She and her husband ran the table all night, and were only once dislodged. We had to set up another table just so other people could play. I must say, the part I respect most was the casual, understated way in which she handled herself. Total sleeper, just you'd look over every half hour and they had won yet again.
Second, and most impressive standout, is my new personal hero, 8Mile. His name is 8Mile because he showed up wearing a Detroit Tigers' hat. There was really no resemblance to Eminem. Oh, and the fact that he nailed EIGHT CONSECUTIVE SHOTS against Sarge and I. If we were playing NBA Jam rules, we would've only had two turns on offense. And after missing the ninth, HE HIT THE LAST TWO. What can I say, we were demoralized, crushed, buried.
If there were a movie made about this, 8Mile would most definitely be portrayed by Rainier Wolfcastle, and I would be this unfortunate fellow.
We actually won a match against two talented ladies afterward, but then lost again and I had no choice but to break up the team and draft one of the talented ladies onto my side. We won another match and then lost again, sinking my personal record to 2-6, after a disappointing 1-5 showing by Sarge and I.
It's always nice to get up to the real NH, instead of messing around with all the no talent clowns down here in New Hampachusetts. And Bravo to you, 8Mile. That was impressive.
-LFODD
First standout, sending Sarge and I to loss number two of the night, was this girl...late 20's or early 30's, married, not one you'd expect to own you at Beirut. But I'll be damned if she didn't hit 3 out of every 4 shots, consistently, all night. She and her husband ran the table all night, and were only once dislodged. We had to set up another table just so other people could play. I must say, the part I respect most was the casual, understated way in which she handled herself. Total sleeper, just you'd look over every half hour and they had won yet again.
Second, and most impressive standout, is my new personal hero, 8Mile. His name is 8Mile because he showed up wearing a Detroit Tigers' hat. There was really no resemblance to Eminem. Oh, and the fact that he nailed EIGHT CONSECUTIVE SHOTS against Sarge and I. If we were playing NBA Jam rules, we would've only had two turns on offense. And after missing the ninth, HE HIT THE LAST TWO. What can I say, we were demoralized, crushed, buried.
If there were a movie made about this, 8Mile would most definitely be portrayed by Rainier Wolfcastle, and I would be this unfortunate fellow.
We actually won a match against two talented ladies afterward, but then lost again and I had no choice but to break up the team and draft one of the talented ladies onto my side. We won another match and then lost again, sinking my personal record to 2-6, after a disappointing 1-5 showing by Sarge and I.
It's always nice to get up to the real NH, instead of messing around with all the no talent clowns down here in New Hampachusetts. And Bravo to you, 8Mile. That was impressive.
-LFODD
Sunday, July 1, 2007
Travelling Beruit Roadshow II, Part B...
So, I believe we left off looking for a place to play some Beruit. After peering in and out of several open apartments (this was pretty much just open to the public) we spotted a table and some cups...and two problems. One, we were out of beer. Two, we had no balls. Ping pong balls that is. Another minor issue was the lack of opponents, but that was soon fixed.
Me: HEY! We're from New Orleans, and we'll beat anyone here at Beruit. Anyone. Who wants it?
Several eager opponents step to the plate, but only one team offered to find beer. They set off in search of a live keg. Long story short we ended up playing with quarters and owned everyone, and went up into some other apartment which was all tricked out like a dance club. At this point, I'm drinking Bacardi coconut rum straight from a 20oz. soda bottle. I'm feeling pretty good. I head outside for a cigarette, and I'm thoroughly enjoying it, when Angel comes out looking concerned.
Angel: Dude, there's this guy that is, like, won't leave Marisa alone, I dunno, we might need to do something.
I'm actually pleased with this development. I've been wanting to "do something" ever since I polished off that rum.
Me: Sweet, let's go do it.
Angel: Dude, let me handle this, it may involve some tact...
Me: C'mon, I got so much tact it's coming out of my orifices.
Angel: Yeah, that's what I mean.
We head up and Marisa is heading out. I decide to be charming and start yelling things in Spanish that may or may not have made any sense. We decided to head back to the dorm. It is frigging pouring rain.
As we head back, I'm talking with Marisa and we sort of get ahead of everyone else due to our ability to walk in more or less a straight line. We bypassed a graveyard on the way to this party, and now cutting through this graveyard, at 3 am, in the pouring rain, with absolutely no light, seemed like it would take a good 3 minutes off of our commute, so we decided to go for it.
Now, I have to say, if you ever get the opportunity to walk through a creepy graveyard really late at night, really drunk, with a really good looking girl, go ahead and do it. It's one of my favorite memories of my entire life.
So we start into this graveyard, and Marisa starts getting a little creeped out, and then we fall down in this kind of sunken area. My only thought is "Oh holy fuck, who just leaves graves open like this!!" But alas it is not a grave, just poor landscaping. We're soaking wet and covered in mud. Marisa is clinging to me like the rabid raccoon that kept attacking Peter on Family Guy. At this point we notice that no one followed us in here....we're alone. She clings tighter. As Borat would say..."That's niiice." We hear some strange night animal noise. I do the only prudent thing to do in this situation.
Me: So, you think zombies are real?
Marisa: OMG shut up!
She clings tighter.
After stumbling all the way to the far corner of our ill-fated shortcut,
Me: Fuck, who puts a chain link fence around a graveyard?
Our way is completely blocked. I size up the situation and decide I can climb over it, but chivalry isn't dead where Lfodd is concerned...
Me: Hey, you think you can make it over this fence?
Marisa: Not in these shoes...
Great, she's latin, but she's blond, and now she can't even climb a fence...
Me: You don't even speak Spanish, do you?
Marisa: What??
Me: Nevermind, we're gonna have to go back.
We make our way back, I'm sort of more carrying her than walking with her at this point, but we make it back to the sidewalk after like 45 minutes, and we continue on to the dorm room. We share a rather romantic walk back in the rain. She appreciates me for saving her from the zombies and whatnot. We get back upstairs. There's some douchebag in her room who no one wants around. Marisa escapes to her room, but the douchebag follows. She shoots me the "help me" look that women use when they don't want to be impolite to some douchebag who they don't want around. I use some of my surplus tact...
Me: Hey, I'm LFODD, what's your name?
Douchebag: (I'm going to call him Larry because I really didn't give a shit what his name was)
Me: Well, Larry, it's like 4 am, so why don't you show the lady a little courtesy, a little respect, and get the fuck out of here.
Douchebag looks angry, and a little hurt, but he realizes he's also looking up about 6 inches to convey his feelings to me, he decides that chivalry is indeed alive and well, and disappears. Problem solved.
At some point in sitting on Marisa's bed talking I seem to have passed out, thus cutting short my plans of amorous conquest that night. Angel wakes me up to get me out of there, because I'm walking that line of Douchebag who nobody wants around. I sleep in some Asian chick's bed. All in all, a good night.
So, I wake up in the morning and Marisa is sleeping on her own couch. Asian chick is nowhere to be found. I'm unconcerned. She's sort of awake, so I say goodmorning, crack a warm MGD can and pound it back. Ahhh, no more hangover. I interrogate Marisa on where there is a nice, greasy, old school diner to get breakfast at. She knows just the place. Nice. I go to wake up Angel. I shake him. Nothing. I yell at him. Nothing. I shake him again. He mutters, and I quote...
Angel (still very much asleep): uggh, uhhhh, grumpy robot machine.
He starts snoring again. What the fuck is a grumpy robot machine? I decide maybe beer will wake him up. I grab another can of MGD and crack it open next to his ear. He sits straight up in bed, fully awake, and he's SCREAMING. This may be the funniest thing I've ever seen. He's screaming like he's being murdered, totally disoriented, and Marisa and I are laughing my balls off.
Angel: What the fuck did you guys do to me??
Marisa: He opened a beer, and you just sat bolt up and started screaming...
Me: Yeah, you gotta admit that's pretty funny.
Angel: Yeah, that is kind of awesome.
We drove over to the statue of Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain and took our picture drinking with him. (If you don't know who that is, you should, so go look it up).
I buy us all breakfast, we drop Marisa off and head home.
Angel: Dude, we're really good at lying...
Me: Yeah. I told you, I'm a lawyer.
-LFODD
Me: HEY! We're from New Orleans, and we'll beat anyone here at Beruit. Anyone. Who wants it?
Several eager opponents step to the plate, but only one team offered to find beer. They set off in search of a live keg. Long story short we ended up playing with quarters and owned everyone, and went up into some other apartment which was all tricked out like a dance club. At this point, I'm drinking Bacardi coconut rum straight from a 20oz. soda bottle. I'm feeling pretty good. I head outside for a cigarette, and I'm thoroughly enjoying it, when Angel comes out looking concerned.
Angel: Dude, there's this guy that is, like, won't leave Marisa alone, I dunno, we might need to do something.
I'm actually pleased with this development. I've been wanting to "do something" ever since I polished off that rum.
Me: Sweet, let's go do it.
Angel: Dude, let me handle this, it may involve some tact...
Me: C'mon, I got so much tact it's coming out of my orifices.
Angel: Yeah, that's what I mean.
We head up and Marisa is heading out. I decide to be charming and start yelling things in Spanish that may or may not have made any sense. We decided to head back to the dorm. It is frigging pouring rain.
As we head back, I'm talking with Marisa and we sort of get ahead of everyone else due to our ability to walk in more or less a straight line. We bypassed a graveyard on the way to this party, and now cutting through this graveyard, at 3 am, in the pouring rain, with absolutely no light, seemed like it would take a good 3 minutes off of our commute, so we decided to go for it.
Now, I have to say, if you ever get the opportunity to walk through a creepy graveyard really late at night, really drunk, with a really good looking girl, go ahead and do it. It's one of my favorite memories of my entire life.
So we start into this graveyard, and Marisa starts getting a little creeped out, and then we fall down in this kind of sunken area. My only thought is "Oh holy fuck, who just leaves graves open like this!!" But alas it is not a grave, just poor landscaping. We're soaking wet and covered in mud. Marisa is clinging to me like the rabid raccoon that kept attacking Peter on Family Guy. At this point we notice that no one followed us in here....we're alone. She clings tighter. As Borat would say..."That's niiice." We hear some strange night animal noise. I do the only prudent thing to do in this situation.
Me: So, you think zombies are real?
Marisa: OMG shut up!
She clings tighter.
After stumbling all the way to the far corner of our ill-fated shortcut,
Me: Fuck, who puts a chain link fence around a graveyard?
Our way is completely blocked. I size up the situation and decide I can climb over it, but chivalry isn't dead where Lfodd is concerned...
Me: Hey, you think you can make it over this fence?
Marisa: Not in these shoes...
Great, she's latin, but she's blond, and now she can't even climb a fence...
Me: You don't even speak Spanish, do you?
Marisa: What??
Me: Nevermind, we're gonna have to go back.
We make our way back, I'm sort of more carrying her than walking with her at this point, but we make it back to the sidewalk after like 45 minutes, and we continue on to the dorm room. We share a rather romantic walk back in the rain. She appreciates me for saving her from the zombies and whatnot. We get back upstairs. There's some douchebag in her room who no one wants around. Marisa escapes to her room, but the douchebag follows. She shoots me the "help me" look that women use when they don't want to be impolite to some douchebag who they don't want around. I use some of my surplus tact...
Me: Hey, I'm LFODD, what's your name?
Douchebag: (I'm going to call him Larry because I really didn't give a shit what his name was)
Me: Well, Larry, it's like 4 am, so why don't you show the lady a little courtesy, a little respect, and get the fuck out of here.
Douchebag looks angry, and a little hurt, but he realizes he's also looking up about 6 inches to convey his feelings to me, he decides that chivalry is indeed alive and well, and disappears. Problem solved.
At some point in sitting on Marisa's bed talking I seem to have passed out, thus cutting short my plans of amorous conquest that night. Angel wakes me up to get me out of there, because I'm walking that line of Douchebag who nobody wants around. I sleep in some Asian chick's bed. All in all, a good night.
So, I wake up in the morning and Marisa is sleeping on her own couch. Asian chick is nowhere to be found. I'm unconcerned. She's sort of awake, so I say goodmorning, crack a warm MGD can and pound it back. Ahhh, no more hangover. I interrogate Marisa on where there is a nice, greasy, old school diner to get breakfast at. She knows just the place. Nice. I go to wake up Angel. I shake him. Nothing. I yell at him. Nothing. I shake him again. He mutters, and I quote...
Angel (still very much asleep): uggh, uhhhh, grumpy robot machine.
He starts snoring again. What the fuck is a grumpy robot machine? I decide maybe beer will wake him up. I grab another can of MGD and crack it open next to his ear. He sits straight up in bed, fully awake, and he's SCREAMING. This may be the funniest thing I've ever seen. He's screaming like he's being murdered, totally disoriented, and Marisa and I are laughing my balls off.
Angel: What the fuck did you guys do to me??
Marisa: He opened a beer, and you just sat bolt up and started screaming...
Me: Yeah, you gotta admit that's pretty funny.
Angel: Yeah, that is kind of awesome.
We drove over to the statue of Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain and took our picture drinking with him. (If you don't know who that is, you should, so go look it up).
I buy us all breakfast, we drop Marisa off and head home.
Angel: Dude, we're really good at lying...
Me: Yeah. I told you, I'm a lawyer.
-LFODD
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