July 4th Weekend (Thursday night-7/3)


Advertisement
Published: July 9th 2008
Edit Blog Post

Getting HammeredGetting HammeredGetting Hammered

Look at the diversity!
It was Thursday, but since us Americans love celebrating the day white men became “free” from other white men while Native Americans and African slaves looked on from the sidelines, it was a Friday. It’s motherfucking July 4th!!

America….FUCK YEAH!




As if we needed more of an excuse to drink, a friend’s birthday was July 4th.

“We’re getting fucking shitfaced,” we all told each other. We had five types of liquor, Everclear (never drink Everclear) and of course, copious amounts of beer to help us reach our goal. But of course, everyone held back…except yours truly and T-Camp (the black guy I keep mentioning in passing the past few entries).

I drank a bit of this and a bit of that while keeping my body supplied with a steady stream of American beer. Before I knew it, I was posing for pictures and talking shit about everyone, about everything and of course, about every race. T-Camp also started pulling shit out his ass and started chopping on everyone else.

It hit midnight, we all cheered for the birthday girl and then we hit the town.

“The town” in the case of College Station,
Rush Hour ParodyRush Hour ParodyRush Hour Parody

We might look like Jackie Chan and Chris Tucker...but we're still getting rejected from every club in Texas
TX is two tiny perpendicular streets. There are 3 tiny ass clubs and about 5 bars. To give you some relative size, the Jewish quarter in Auschwitz is probably ten times bigger.

We stumbled over to this street, and then we had to decide where to go. It’s not like we had much choice, especially since me and T-Camp were a part of this group. I’ve neglected mentioning this in previous entries except in sarcastic jokes that no one takes seriously (I wanted to make sure I was 100% certain of this), but this town is FUCKING racist (*surprise*).

If you were wondering why I haven’t had my share of ridiculous stories like I usually have in the summer, it’s because I can’t fucking get into places here (and the people around me are pretty lame).

I have been rejected from clubs here every single time. A few of the reasons they’ve given: my pants are baggy (my pants are actually pretty tight), I needed to take the sticker off my fitted (who the fuck takes the sticker off a fitted?), it was 25 and over night (pure bullshit), my shirt is too tight (bitch, please), etc.
L-Cass and MeL-Cass and MeL-Cass and Me

The Birthday Girl


I always point to other patrons who are clear counterexamples to these absurd rules they make on the spot, but of course, the bouncers don’t give a flying fuck. T-Camp, being black, has gotten the same treatment.

Fucking Southern Hospitality my ass.




One of the people in my group tells us about this “amazing club” down the road which allows minorities…so we go…and it’s one of the weirdest places I’ve ever walked into.

I guess the interior of this club was made to look like a log cabin, or one of those 2-step, “yee-haw” type country bars. But there’s a fucking disco ball hanging from the ceiling, club lights flashing everywhere and a DJ booth…

But it’s not hiphop they’re blasting in this place. It’s country music.

And everyone is doing those weird, funky dances where you have a partner and spin her around and hold her close and gallop back and forth on the floor.

What the fuck did we walk into?

This is supposed to be a club? This was one of the worst clubs I had ever been to or heard of. I turn to the guy
The ClubThe ClubThe Club

How many douchebags can you spot in this photo?
who led us here. “What the fuck is this place?” I felt like the Jews when they finally got to Jerusalem. “Moses, you led us for forty fucking years through a motherfucking desert to bring us to the one motherfucking place in the Middle East that has no oil? Thanks.”

I nurse a drink and try to uneasily fit in with these strange Texans. But I probably looked about as lost as the Iroqouis when the Dutch bought Manhattan from them for $24 (“So, I just give you this string of shitty beads, and you hand over this amazing island. Deal?” “Um…ok…”).

And after about three country songs and my drink has finished, I’m thinking about leaving as I can’t do this shit. Then the song abruptly ends and fucking Southern bass blasts out the speakers and the whole club is rocking to some Durrrty South hiphop.

What the fuck!?

I turn to T-Camp, he smiles and we dive into the dancefloor…

…and after one song, it’s back to country and all that energy from the thumping bass has quickly dissipated into a slow-ass weaving dance as some guy named “Bob” croons about his pickup
When the country music is playingWhen the country music is playingWhen the country music is playing

The Caucasians are happy, the Minorities are sad
truck, his shotgun and his lost love.

I’m confused as hell…was that hiphop song just a glitch in the playlist?

And after waiting for a few more country songs to play out, the club is suddenly bouncing again to some Durrrty South lyrics.

Which once again switches back to some slow, melodramatic country song.

After about 2 more repeats of this pattern, I’m fed up.

I hate clubs to begin with as I suck at dancing and there is no way I’m getting laid. But in normal clubs I can usually hide my atrocious dancing skills since it’s dark as hell and it doesn’t take much rhythm to grind up on a girl under the false pretense of dancing. And if I’m real lucky, the alcohol flowing through my veins, the repeated pounding of misogynistic lyrics into my eardrums and the scantily clad women assailing my vision will easily convince me that I’m a player and I’ll sloppily make out with some random girl that under normal circumstances I wouldn’t have the confidence to speak to.

But this club is completely different. The place is brightly lit so flaws in dancing are mercilessly picked apart. Instead of rappers telling me to “Ohhhh skeet skeet skeet skeet!” I have some country bumpkin telling me to weep in a corn field. And instead of hoes wearing skirts shorter than a white boy’s vertical, you have Southern Belles wearing long ass dresses Scarlet O’Hara style. And unlike a normal club where everyone is hyped for the whole night, here everyone goes bonkers when the rap starts blaring but the energy is completely killed as the DJ quickly switches to a country vinyl.

Oh, and I can’t convince myself I’m getting laid.

Cuz I’m in Texas.

The drought continues.




T-Camp and I walk out the club and sit on a bench in front of a parking lot trying to figure out what to do. What is there to do? We’re both minorities in a town that grudgingly accepts that we’re here but won’t take us in.

And we’ve both had no luck in procuring women.

Our thoughts are interrupted by shouting to our right.

We swivel to see two guys jawing nose to nose. One of the guys clearly doesn’t want to fight but he’s talking ridiculous amounts of trash (we’ll call him Pussy), the other is completely ready to fight but he’s more laid back as he knows Pussy won’t do shit, and if Pussy did do something, he would knock him out (we’ll call him OG).

People (friends of Pussy, I’m guessing) are trying to calm the situation down. Pussy is herded backwards by his girl and like any other pussy, he’s jawing more and more as the distance furthers. Finally, OG has had enough and walks right up to him asking for a fight.
Of course, Pussy keeps talking the talk but not punching the punch, so it gets into one of those stupid standoffs where testosterone pumped males have a "my cock is longer than yours" competition.

I’m watching this off to the side (I’ve already had one fight in Texas, and I’m not going to get into another for some stupid ass reason) with T-Camp as we agree that both are dumbasses. If you wanna win a fight, punch first, talk later.

A guy standing next to us butts into our conversation, “Yeah man, you know that guy doesn’t want to fight cuz he hasn’t punched yet. Was me, I would’ve socked his ass.”

Both T-Camp and I agree. “That’s how we do it back where we’re from.”

“Yea man, I’m throwing a house party now but since my friend won’t end this bullshit, I gotta stick around.”

He then calls out to OG. “Yo hurry your ass up, we gotta go.”

But OG is still jawing with Pussy and there is no end in sight as they’ve hit the point where if one backs down, the other “wins”.

The guy standing next to us sighs and then shrugs at us. “You guys seem pretty cool, wanna come to my party?”

We’re both taken aback. A white Texan wants to party with us?

Texas has been boring so far…

T-Camp answers quickly, “You don’t even have to ask…We’ll be there.”




We go to the guy’s pickup truck parked in the lot (his name we find out, is Alex), jump in and he starts driving.

Me and T-Camp are excited. This is a real adventure (and we’re still smashed from the liquor we drank earlier).

10 minutes into the ride and I start feeling a little nervous. It doesn’t look like civilization—from what I can make out in the dark, we’re on some small ass two lane road with a lot of green on both sides. I then mentally question my decision making process—“Hmm, going to a complete stranger’s 'party'…and this stranger also happens to be the first white person who’s been nice to us…”

Visions of cross burnings, lynchings, KKK rallies flooded my mind…

My anxiety wasn’t cured when we made it to the house…there was a dirty couch propped up on the deck, another pickup parked in the driveway, random footballs, gun shells and a dog strewn across the lawn.

Two other white guys were sitting on the couch, stereotypical big Texans with a stereotypical Budweiser clutched in their meaty paws. They were trying to coax the dog to them.

“Here…come on, boy. C’mon Lefty. Get over here nigger.” The dog finally ambled over to them. “That’s my nigger.”

I stare at T-Camp. Oh shit. What the fuck kind of situation did we get ourselves into.

We had no clue where the fuck we were, probably miles from our dorms stuck with a bunch of rednecks.

They herded us into the house and if the alarm bells weren’t ringing before, they were clanging now.

Besides an X-Box 360 connected to a flat screen TV, it looked nothing like any house I’ve ever been in before.

The floor was one of those creaky floorboards type with a rich layer of sawdust covering it. Beer cans, caps and bottles (all of the Budweiser and Miller family of beers) were strewn about carelessly. Texan, Confederate and American flags were displayed prominently on the walls. A pool table lay in a corner, but instead of a cue stick and pool balls laying on it’s felt surface, there were guns.

Lots of guns.

A few rifles. A shotgun. A few pistols. A glock. A sniper rifle.

To stop myself from shitting my pants and running straight back to New York City, I hesitantly sat on the edge of a chair.

T-Camp followed suit.

We both accepted a beer (Budweiser) and watched a John Mayer concert DVD (by the way, I thought John Mayer was the gayest person alive after hearing some of his songs on the radio, but when he plays live, he is absolutely amazing with a guitar).

I slowly started relaxing (with aid from the beer) after we finished a few songs on the DVD and I realized I wasn’t going to get lynched. These guys were absolutely hilarious as they all talked mad shit about each other. I started to hesitantly crack a few jokes (most went over their heads—except the racist ones) and before I knew it I was throwing jokes left and right.
Then Alex mixed us some potent (but extremely good) whiskey cherry drinks and I was fucking gone.

Some fly girls came over, partied with us (surprise, they weren’t interested in me or T-Camp), one made out with one of the guys (but he failed to get to second), somewhere in between I had drank another beer and another of these deadly whiskey-cherry combinations, the girls peaced and around 4 am Alex drove us back to the dorms, I stumbled out of his truck as I thanked him profusely for my best night in College Station (and got his phone number for future parties) and my last memory was Alex driving off as I walked purposefully towards my dorm about 10 yards across the street yelling something belligerent at the top of my lungs.




I was staring at a paper cup.

It was filled with something black.

I was sprawled in a chair.

I extracted my hand from underneath me.

I grabbed the cup and took a sip.

I nearly jumped out of my seat.

It was scalding hot.

It was coffee.

Ok, where the fuck am I?

I looked around. It wasn’t hard to identify.

They look the same anywhere in the world.

Starbucks.

But where? Outside was a nondescript road. It didn’t look like College Station.

Ok, time to go home. I got up.

I nearly collapsed as my right leg had falled asleep.

I stumbled over to the cashier. There was no one there.

I rang the bell multiple times, amusing myself but getting a bigger headache in the process. Finally a dumpy black women came over. “What you want?”

“Where am I?”

She stared at me like I was a fool.

“Texas.”

She walked away.

I was too hammered, too tired, too confused to even reply “Thanks, bitch” to Aunt Jemima's retreating back. Ok, this woman wasn’t going to be that helpful, so I walked over to one of the computers temrinals and fired it up (too drunk to even remember my name, yet I can still work a PC. Yes, I am Asian).

After a drunken IM barrage with one of my friends back in New York City, EC (whom I haven’t spoken to in 3 years), including a drunk call, another customer walks in.

A white girl.

I manage to convince myself that she'll help me although all evidence up this point clearly points to the contrary (especially since the black women had confirmed I was in Texas...and not New Mexico...or Mexico).

And I don’t remember what I said, or how disastrous my appearance was, but something must’ve worked as she went out of her way to drive me back to my dorm (time does strange things when you’re drunk, but I think it was about a 30 minute drive).

Along the way she grills me about my life and being my inebriated self, I don’t mind boasting about my adventures….especially since she’s amazed at all the places I’ve been to.

She pulls up to a familiar street, I thank her many times and try to give her money, try to get her to agree to a dinner, try to pay for gas, anything to show her my appreciation (and to have a step up in the game…us Japanese are notoriously sneaky) but she just smiles, thanks me for recounting all my adventures (“This was the funniest night in awhile” she says) waves goodbye and drives away.

I stumble into my dorm around 7:30am (whilst the doorman gives me a hard, quizzical look) and I realize I have to make a party at 1pm since it’s the Fourth of July today. I set my cell alarm for 12:30…that gives me…5 hours of sleep (I can also do math while completely hammered. Go Asian genes!).

I pass out on the common room floor.

Advertisement



Tot: 2.064s; Tpl: 0.09s; cc: 13; qc: 60; dbt: 0.0755s; 1; m:saturn w:www (104.131.125.221); sld: 3; ; mem: 1.4mb