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Published: June 24th 2008
I woke up.
I cracked open an eye, then another…except my right eye wasn’t opening. Scared shitless, with my fingers I pried it open…and realized it had been caked shut.
With my blood.
I navigated back to last night in my memory. Right.
After ten minutes of conserving my energy, I peeled myself off the floor. Ok.
I looked down at my body. Holy shit.
My body looked like camo paint for a St. Louis Cardinals game. Jesus.
Head banging from all the things I had done the night before, I staggered into the common room, grabbed some towels, wet them and listlessly wiped the floor. Ugh.
I did the best I could in my state, used a can of Axe to change the fragrance of the room from the sharp smell of blood to the scent of a bloody Italian Guido and took a shower.
Making sure not to slip when reaching for my towel, I dried, found the remnants of my clothes from the previous night and shaved. After pounding two Cokes and eating a ham sandwich, I felt slightly human again…minus the throbbing sensation in my head and nose
How much do Texans drink?
Zoom in. Those aren't pebbles, they're beer caps.
from the night before.
I stumbled to my computer, fired it up, checked my email…and realized I had a party that night.
Ok at least no drinking-it was a University sponsored party at some waterpark.
“Yo Gen, crazy night yesterday. wanna pre-drink before we hit the waterpark? Hit me back man!”
I spent the rest of the day conserving my energy and knowing I was going to make the regretful decision to predrink before the party. I ate some lunch, bummed around and talked with Kaz.
Kaz (I introduced him in the last entry) is half Native/half Persian and has some wild stories about the reservation. Yes, apparently the reservation is as depressing as we all hear, though his wasn’t as bad as others (why do you think he made it to college?).
He told me the ridiculous ways people got fucked up—they would chug Listerine, or add a dollop of Lysol to their drinks, or the most popular way was to steal hairspray, spray it into a cup and down it…
I was so flabbergasted by the hairspray story I couldn’t even throw a well-timed joke in.
Kaz and S&M
...attempt to play ping pong. Sorry fellas, the Chinese got this game down on lock
I’ve heard stories about reservations…but nothing as messed up as that. “What the fuck?” was all I could mutter as our conversation transformed into one that could take place in any suburban neighborhood.
“Hey man, it gets you fucked up.” “You’ve tried it?”
“Yea, it works.”
“But…you could fucking die! It’s fucking hairspray! It’s motherfucking hairspray!
That shit is supposed to keep your hair in place! Are you fucking retarded?”
“Yea, but it gets you messed up man…wanna try it tonight?”
We went to the local Quik-e Mart (Indian guy behind the counter and everything), bought some beer…and lingered in the cosmetics section.
Thankfully, cool heads prevailed. Or rather, common sense reared its head into our silent thoughts and we walked away with only 30 racks in our hands.
We drank, we drank, we drank, then got one of the nerds to drive us (obviously he wasn’t drinking) and ended up in bumfuck nowhere in a tiny waterpark.
We ended up playing water basketball for most of the time and consequentially shredding our soles on the rough surface of the pool.
Went back to the dorms, drank some
2 of the Girls at the waterpark
Even in times of desperation, its imperative you stack your farm team with the right arms
more, went out, didn’t get anything (as usual) and then collapsed asleep with my nose still exploding in pain and my feet tenderized from the basketball.
And then I fell off my bed.
The rest of the week was largely inconsequential—drinking is not fun when you can’t even convince yourself you have a chance (and let’s face it, I have NO chance). The game is too different here.
And without drinking, life in this shit town isn’t that enjoyable. I guess the highlight of the week was watching KG’s interview after he smoked Kobe and the Lakers to win the Finals.
On Friday, I went to DH’s house (my graduate assistant) with a couple people from my office. He’s a Korean guy, I have no idea what his age is but he has a wifey (yes, she’s attractive, but he’s a good friend), a 4-year old daughter (no farm team jokes please) and a 1 year old son so I’m guessing he’s at least 28.
When I walked into his house…I felt like I walked straight into a Japanese apartment. It had that same distinctive “Japan” smell, everything in the shelves looked colorful
Is this Asia?
If it weren't for the black man beating the other black man on ESPN, it would be.
and cute yet educational in the design pattern only Asians can pull off and everywhere I looked, reminders of Asia abounded. If it weren’t for the humongous truck parked outside, this could’ve easily been a house in Asia.
Shit. I almost bent over in a wave of nostalgia.
And the nostalgia didn’t let up. In fact, it increased as the night wore on as little things kept reminding me that this house was a slice of Asia.
We sat on the floor to eat homemade Asian food.
The wife was submissive and the kids were shy.
Beer was consumed and faces glowed.
I marveled DH with my crazy stories.
By the end of the night, I was practically begging DH to take me in.
But he pushed me out…wifey was a little tipsy.
Am I the only one not getting any?
I went back to the dorm, got drunk with some peeps, didn’t get laid, etc.
In fact, my life right now is getting torn apart in two different directions. My everyday life is amazing: I wake up 10am, shower, shave, check email and walk about a
mile in the nice Texas sun and at just the point when the sun has started to get oppressive and hot, I swagger into my air conditioned office at 11am.
And then just when the AC has started to give me goosebumps, it’s lunchtime and I meander out into the nice sun with some of my friends and if it's a Monday/Wednesday/Friday we eat 1/2 pound (or 1 pound) burgers at a nice, greasy burger joint or if it’s a Tuesday/Thursday, we have amazing Tex/Mex or Cajun food. All the food is amazing, filling Texas-size portions and completely free as we get a food stipend from our job. We get back to work completely stuffed and I let my food slowly digest as I work at my desk. Just when I’ve gotten sick of staring at a computer screen, and just when the food has completely digested, I’m out the door at 3pm (while still getting paid for an entire workday).
I meet with the rest of the crew from my program and we head back to the dorms, play ping-pong, chill until about 5 or 6, stuff ourselves with food at dinner (again, free), head out to
The peeps I work with
Affirmative action exemplified
play basketball, soccer, baseball or any number of sports until the fields are completely dark, get back to the dorms and shower, chill for a few hours, work out and then head to my room to get my daily dose of the world wide web.
It’s amazing. The best lifestyle anyone can ask for.
However, the other side of my life is spiraling in the complete opposite direction.
As of June 24, 2008, it’s been over 7 1/2 months since I’ve hit a homerun.
And I haven’t gotten anywhere close.
I don’t even have a pitcher I can even attempt to sign.
I’m a manger with a pretty nice lineup (my boys in Texas know how to play ball), but no one to play against.
No one’s pitching to me.
No one’s even looking in my direction.
If frustration equaled gold I would be El motherfucking
Doraldo. And then I would at least have the attention of the Jewish girls.
What do I do? What the fuck do I do?
Tot: 2.374s; Tpl: 0.074s; cc: 10; qc: 58; dbt: 0.0456s; 2; m:saturn w:www (22.214.171.124); sld: 1;
; mem: 1.4mb