This is all hearsay, as I don't remember any of it, but.....

A few weekends ago, I went to a Halloween party.
But before I went, I drank. A lot.

The basic situation is as follows:
We're rollin about 10 people deep. Dressed as the "Club Soccer Team." Original, isn't it?
We've all been drinking since about 7pm. We got to the party around 11:30 (I guess?)
I thought it'd be brilliant to run a "warm-up" lap around the party, since we're a soccer team and all. So I did.

Now, fast forward through some beer pong, awkward dancing, prostitutes, shots of jager, jello shots, SoCo, busch light, burps with vomit in them, more awkward dancing, horrible group pictures, and some more busch light.



I find myself in the kitchen, drink in hand. What kind of drink, you ask?
Water. My roommate cut me off. Who saw that coming?

Anyway. Back to the story.

My friend, Ginge (Or Ginger, Diana, Red, etc), was "Emotional" for Halloween. This entails a black hoodies, tight jeans, black chucks, black nail polish, black eye liner, and temporary black hair dye. Yes, you read that right.

Temporary. Black. Hair. Dye.

Now. One thing to keep in mind is that I was very drunk. Blackout, even.

Shocking, I know.

So, Ginge comes up to me, all 4 feet 6 inches, and starts a friendly conversation. We're chatting, I'm probably not paying much attention, because lets face it, when do I ever?

I distinctly remember thinking to myself, at some point in the evening, "I wonder what it'd look like with black dye dripping down her face"...

Now was the time to find out.

I take the for-mentioned cup of water... lift it high above My Little Fire Crotch, and slowly poor it on her head.

And then (apparently) laugh hysterically in her face.

Until she slaps me clear across the right side of my face.


Apparently, along with my common sense, my pain sensors were also MIA....
So I look at Ginge, and with a very serious tone and facial expression, say "You know.... that MIGHT have hurt if I weren't so drunk..."


So she punched me.

Worst part?
I don't even remember what the makeover looked like.
DISCLAIMER: NONE of this, except for the "I wonder what it'd look like..." statement, was relayed by my own memory. EVERYTHING else is what I was told the next morning when I had to ask "Why does my jaw hurt?"

DISCLAIMER #2: I love Ginge. We're back on good terms now.

The night the cops came.... four times.

About mid-way through this summer, a big group of us decided that we needed to have a party.
At this party, we decided, we would play power-hour, and 80's dance music.


Power Hour is never a good idea.

Neither is 80's dance music.

And putting them both together? Worst idea ever.
Continue reading for a reason as to why.


I don't know what time we started drinking, but I'm sure it was sometime before sundown, because it's ALWAYS sometime before sundown.

Anyway. So we drink, and everythings relatively tame, aside from Megan yelling "DRINK!" EVERY 60 SECONDS.

By about the 45th minute, we're all feeling quite happy, and decide it's time to go to the pool. At this time, it's probably close to midnight.

So we all find some towels, we grab 2 cases of beer, and start the trek to the pool.
After about 30 minutes of cannon balls, diving in the shallow end, double fisting beers in the pool, attempted "chicken-fights," Sue kissing Lauren, and shit-talking, we see flashflights...

Cops.
Cops.
Cops.
Cops.

Fuck.

We all stuff our beers into the back of our bathing suits, hide the empty beer cans, and try to play it cool.
The cops walk in to the pool area, and ask us what we're doing, and if we knew what time the pool closed.
We all responded, "no sir, we don't"... at which point he directs his flashlight to the largest sign to ever exist and said "Well, looks here like it closed at 10"... then he looked at his watch and goes "But it's only 12:30... you were close to being out on time." What a sarcastic fuck.

I truly don't remember much of the conversation had between the 2 cops and the 15-20 drunk kids trying to act sober and innocent, but below are some quick recaps.

Lauren was kind enough to offer the cops beer, stating that "We've all seen 'Super Bad,' we KNOW you want some beer" and was then followed by someone else yelling "We can get you donuts, too!!!"

They kindly reject our offers, tell us to be quieter, or they're going to have to evict us from the pool for "disturbing the other tenants."

This is when you see Megan DeFelice's decides she has something important to say... she chuckles, makes herself seen by standing on her tip-toes in the pool, lifts her beer high in the air for all to see, and goes "WELL why don't you evict THEM for disturbing US!!?!!??"

Apparently, "it doesn't really work like that," says the cop. Good try though.

The cops then leave us be, telling us if they have to come back, they really might do something about it. We agree to quiet down, and promise we'll head home "after 1 more beer."

Well, after about 3 more beers (each) most of us are still at the pool. Apparently on the walk back to the apartments, the same cops (our 2nd encounter for the night) met some of the interns in their walk back to Megan and Michele's, and were happy to see that it appeared we were finally calling it a night.

Naive little cops.

We re-start the power hour (80's themed, still) and start dancing on tables, jumping on couches, stomping on the porch, and lighting sparklers IN THE APARTMENT (Megan.).

Knock-knock.......knock-knock.
Mother fucker.
Cops. Again.

Tim answers the door, and being the most mature, fatherly figure in the bunch (syke), he shushes us, says "I'll handle this" and steps outside.

He came back in, telling us the cops want us to turn the music off, but we can still stay and drink, but if we can't be quiet, we all have to go home.

Megan and I are NOT happy with this ultimatum.
We want music.
One more song.
One more song.
Just one more.

We start loudly whispering "ask for one more song, ask for one more song, ask for one more song" to Tim, but he does not.

So we say fuck it, and have our one more song anyway. What song? Jesse McCartney... "Body Language" Quite possibly the ONLY song we listened to the whole summer.


Fast forward another 30-45 minutes, and it's time to head home. I grab my keys and phone, and walk out the door and down the steps (I live in the next breeze-way down, no driving required) and see 2 taxis!!!

The cops REALLY do care about our safety in Asheville. They genuinely are against drunk-driving, and are going the extra mile to serve their community.

Frantic with my discovery, I run back in, announce that there's taxis outside and everyone should "GET 'EM WHILE THEY'RE HOT!" Everyone starts to make moves, packs up, says good-bye, and heads out.


We get down the stairs, everyone deciding how they're going to make 2 cabs work for 10 different destinations, and that's when we realize they weren't taxis... They were the same cops.
Again.


Goodnight.

This summer was by far one of the best opportunities one could have. There were probably 30 or 40 interns total, but only a small group of us became really close. We were all thrown into a completely different environment without knowing anyone, and sometimes not knowing ourselves. We came into this summer not knowing what to expect, and leaving with a changed life (or am I just speaking for myself?). We had 3 months to be anyone we wanted to be, and to just have a damn good time.
And let me be the first to say, this shit was B-A-N-A-N-A-S.


I found myself driving up to Asheville, NC on May 17th, 2009.
I was a bit skeptical as to what to expect for the summer for a couple of reasons:
3 months.
New job.
New place.
New people.
Cheaper beer (only by about .30 cents, but enough to entice me to buy more)


The next few blogs are going to be recalled as best I can remember them (so don't set your expectations too high)

We had run-ins with cops. We drank. We broke fences. We trespassed. We drank. We were loud. We danced. We drank. We hooked up (and we didn't hook up). We got flat tires. We drank. We got noise violations. We drank. We were threatened with the loss of our jobs. We drank. We called in "sick" to work. And we did a lot of other stuff, but I think you're getting the picture... We drank.

I'm going to give you a quick rundown of the main people in these stories. They are as follows:

Emily "Tallahassee"/"Brando" Brandewie- Animal. Senior at FSU. Can't drive. Is my "soul friend"
Megan DeFelice- From PennState. Flip cup Champion. Cup thrower. Took a cup of beer to the face.
Lauren Blackwell- From Burlington, NC. Drinks a lot. Still hangs her essays on the fridge.
Tim "Syphilis" or "Toxic" Smith- ECU Pirate. The only wiener that would hang out with us. No self-control. Asshole. And is probably still looking for shoes that are cooler than mine.
Michele Master- Hippie. From FSU. Does not stop dancing.
Frances "Franny" Singer- Michigan State student. We slept together... every night (minus a few...hm?).
Emily "Boyd" Boyd (me)- Perfect Angel. God-send to the working world. Always the DD.
Nicole "Nubbins" Blastow- Fuckin' knows what shes cookin'. From up north (gag me). Skinny dips. A lot.

There's others that will be mentioned in stories, but the above 8 were repeatedly involved with the cops, debauchery, and suffered excruciating hangovers.

Fasten your seatbelt, fuckers, it's going to be a wild blast from the past.

The night we almost died

This is a very long weekend, so I'm sure this "blog" is a little scrambled. Hang with me.
And I'll warn you now, it's not quite as funny as the older posts, but it was a good time... only because I survived to tell it. This could be an ultimate fail, but I'll try it anyway.


So, St. Patrick's Day, 2007.

I find myself on the receiving end of an invitation to go to Savannah, Georgia to throw down for the weekend. Being the cool Freshman that I was, I accepted.

England, Keens and I set forth on our journey around noon on that Friday. It's about a 6 hour drive, only took us 8. Impressive, huh?
Don't judge, we hit Raleigh rush hour traffic, got lost, hit some more traffic, and got lost again. But we got there, and that's all that matters.

We walked in the house. We're greeted by England's friend, Winston, with beer in hand. Good start, huh?

It get's better.

We all changed, started with the pregaming, and headed to River Street. England, not quiet 21, is the responsible (seriously.) DD.

After a full-blown Tenacious D concert, we finally parked, peed between some trash bins, and headed to find the actual party.
We found it.
And it was ridiculous.

Free beer. Green beer. Lots of free green beer.
Long story short, we get drunk, we yell "ohlay ohlay" until we can yell no more, and started the journey back to the car.

But not before we're flashed by a man, take a picture with the worlds tallest man(sort of...pictured below), and Winston gets praised for her "sexy knees."

We finally got back to the car, and England safely transports a car full of drunks back to the house.

Fast forward... the next day is pretty much the same exact thing, minus 8 hours of aimless driving.
A few of the events of that day include: a bus ride, a long line, McDonald's chicken nuggets, camel-backs, morelong lines, sleeping on the bus, getting in the wrong line for a different bus, beer, Aftershock (the signature drink of our Freshman year), some dankass corndogs, and some psycho bitches.

Psycho bitches, say what? Yeah.
Psycho bitches.

We get back to the house kinda late Saturday night. Probably 2amish. We're all just chillin, ya know, drinkin some, screwin' around.
That is when the psycho bitches come in...
Around 3:30am, we heard the other people staying in the house with us (all of whom we haven't seen the ENTIRE time, but have effeciently consumed MY beer...bitches) come in. They're drunk. Very drunk.

They come running up the stairs yelling "BITCH, FUCKERS, WE'RE GOINGTO KILL YOU"...you're going to kill us?? Well, what on earth for? Let's be rational.

We didn't know, neither did they. But that didn't make them any less angry.

We just all calmly walked (sike, we ran like little cheetas) into our rooms, shut and lock the doors.

Eventually, they calmed the fuck down and went to their room.After we think they've gone to bed, we go back out into the living room to get our beers, and continue our night, assuming these wild boars had finally just passed out.
Wrong.

We start to hear them yelling again. "BITCH, YOU OWE ME 7$" to which I responded, "who, me?" and was responded to with "YES BITCH, YOU! YOU OWE ME 7$" Winston calmly replied for me, "uh it' s on your sidetable"..."OH... WELL I'M STILL GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU." and they start to get up and come after us.

Panicked, Keens, Winston, England and I all head back to our room, lock the door, and start brainstorming.We're leaving. Gone. Getting out. For our lives sake, we cannot stay (actually, we could, but we'd really rather not be murdered in our sleep, because Winston would lose her deposit)

We pack, wait til we hear complete silence in the living room, and make a run for it. They hear us leaving, and start running after us.

We are literally being chased out of the house. We are able to shut a few doors behind us to slow the bitches down, and load up (Keens, England and I) in England's car.

As we're pulling off, we see them in the rearview yelling "YOU FUCKING HIT OUR CAR WITH A BAT! COME BACK! YOU FUCKING HIT OUR CAR WITH A BAT!!!"
Hit your car?
With a bat?
What bat?
Seriously, what bat? I'm curious.

This is when you see my bright side.
Being the brave, strong, stupid solider that I am, roll down my window, take a deep breathe, and yell...
"QUE? YO NO HABLO BITCH"
("What? I don't speak bitch")

She didn't think that was very funny. Infact, that angered her even more.
Surprise!
Luckily, cars can out-run wild boars.


The moral of this story is:
If you go to Savannah, Georgia for St.Patrick's Day, fight back. Or you'll find yourself driving 6 hours back home at 5am.
Oh, and don't try to tell an Australian that he isn't from Australia because you're from Australia... you'll probably loose... especially if you're not really from Australia (our fight pictured to the left... please take note of how unentertained he looks).

You probably had to be there, but.......

I spent the Spring Break of 2008 in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, with 8 friends from school, and a few friends from New Jersey.

We had a 4 bedroom house about 2 blocks from the beach, nice weather, plenty of frozen pizzas to get us through the week... and a lot of alcohol.

Only one of those things I listed is really going to be important in this story... can you guess which one?

Amongst the people that are with me are Rebashta (Birthname:Rebekah) and Lauren. Rebekah and Lauren are honestly two of the most ridiculous souls I've ever met. Ever. And I've even met Flo-Rida and Gucci Mane... that's sayin' somethin.

Anyway.
We were sitting on the deck one night around the "table of conversation love." If conversations could have sex, this would be where it would first happen. It's that magical.

We're all sitting out there and we've each got our Busch Light and/or Miller Lite's, horribly made jello shots, and double bottles of cheap wine near by. It's about 11:30pm, and we're one of maybe 3 houses that are occupied in the 5 square miles surrounding. With that being fact (or so we thought), we were flabbergasted when we saw a group of guys walking in the road beneath our deck, and went ape shit. And by we, I mean Rebekah. Everyone else sat calmly and watched the idiocracy that was about to unfold.

It started with a simple "Hey ya'lllll" from Rebekah.
...We got a reply...."hi"

Lauren, already becomming frazzled with the lack of enthusiasm from these fellow Spring Breakers, decides to initiate more conversation.... "What's goin onnnn?"

...We got another reply... "nothin'"

At this point, we're all coming to the conclusion that either this group of people were either on a quest for personality, or drinking O'douls, thus making them still very sober.

Not happy with the reply she received, Lauren sassily flicks her wrist down below and says "forget them" and goes inside to get another beer. Rebekah wasn't backing down. Rebekah never backs down.

She yells, "wanna come party? we got jello shots"
They reply "no"
Still very unsatisfied, she makes another effort... "and beer!"
...."no"

By this time, Lauren has returned.

After getting the second "no" from these obviously very disinterested group of people, Rebekah is about to step it up a notch... We see her giggling, trying to get a straight face, and taking a quick jello shot, then she leans her head back, preparing to project her voice for all to hear.......

"HOW MANY DICKS YA'LL GOT?????"...

And Lauren, never one to be outdone, follows with...

"CAUSE WE GOTALOTTA PUSSY"

The response we received?.... silence.

Shocker, I know.

Excuse me, bitch?

So, today was the 31st day of actual class days this semester (I counted).

I have 1 class on Monday, Wednesdays, and Fridays (when I go), and 3 classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays. You might be asking why the fuck is this relevant? Well, I'm about to tell you why.

There's this one girl in my class on Monday, Wednesday and Friday, and we also have a class together on Tuesdays and Thursdays. If you do your math right, thats a class with her everyday.

I remember the first day of classes when I saw her. She was hard to miss. She had a choppy haircut (but not in the good way) and a black hoodie with vibrant letters that spelt out "UNCG". I remember thinking "oh thats a very pretty pink." Good story, huh? No? That's because it's not over, asshole.

I didn't take note of the fact that she was wearing the same hoodie everyday until I started to notice a slight stench in class. I remember it clearly, it was a Wednesday. It was 52 degrees out, partly cloudy, 40% chance of precipitation.

Being the contribution to society that I am, I considered it my duty to the class to find the culprit, and take care of it. So I started sniffin. You know how you do the casual armpit sniff to see if YOU'RE the one that smells like putrid body odor? Yep. That's what I started doing. But I wasn't smelling me, cause I knew damn well I was smellin' good. Afterall, I had already showered that month(ocean breeze scent shampoo).

I smelt all the people in my close proximity, and it wasn't any of them. So the search continued. As I was looking for the next person to sniff, a very pretty pink caught my eye. Hm.

I sniffed her.
I gagged.
Literally gagged.
I would go as far as to say I was dry heaving, except it wouldn't have been dry. My esophagus still had beer in it from the night before. But that's a story for another day.

Anyway, after texting all of my friends about the disgusting discovery I made, I started to pay attention in class. Class goes on, and every now and then I would get a repulsive sour smell hangin out in my nose hairs. I just accepted the fact that not everybody can be as well groomed as I (insert laughter here), and almost got over it.

But I couldn't. I fixated on the fact that I had NEVER seen this girl in a different outfit than the one she was wearing. Not once. This was honest to god the only hoodie I'd ever seen this girl in.

Well, today, (a Wednesday) she surprised me. She had on a different shirt. It was a navy long sleeve t-shirt that said "University of North Carolina at Greensboro" in yellow type. It was somewhat large on her, but atleast it smelt good. I texted some (read: all) friends about the revolution. I was truly thanking the good Lord above for blessing me with an unsour scented shirt on my fellow classmates.




Class ends, we start packing up.
As I'm leaving, she stops me and quietly whispers... "I think you wore that shirt Monday..."



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