July 4th Weekend (Friday+Saturday-7/4+7/5)


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Published: July 18th 2008
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Waking upWaking upWaking up

This is what I found on my camera
July 4th started with me falling out of my bed.

I do 360 mute grabs off 20 foot jumps. I’m contemplating skydiving next weekend. I get flat out rejected by the skankiest broads. When I say a fall, its not one of those pussy “roll-out of bed lie comfortably on the ground whilst still wrapped in your comforter” kind of falls. Not one of those “the day is sunny, the world is beautiful type of roll out of your bed” type falls.

It’s a fall.

In the never-ending list of shit I can’t stand in Texas, one of them is my bed. It’s raised 4 ½ feet off the ground and I (and everyone else) can’t figure out how the fuck to lower it. In the off chance I do manage to get a girl into my room, I would have to persuade her to climb onto my chair, then I would have to trick her into clambering onto my desk and then, finally, I would be in a situation in which I could lead her into hopping onto my bed.

Romantic, eh?


Anyway, I had assumed I was on my common room ground, as that’s where I remember passing out, so when my cellphone futilely beeped for the tenth time in my jeans pocket, I rolled over onto my side to push myself up…

And I started floating

As my hungover, underslept brain tried to interpret the stimuli it was receiving, my body smashed onto the floor in an exemplary demonstration of rag doll physics.

And for the second time in Texas, I woke up, hungover as hell, head throbbing, checking out my busted mug in a pool of my own blood.




I managed to meet up with T-Camp and Lats (a black girl from South Carolina) and we met up with a car that was going to drive us to this barbeque.

The driver, Keys, turned out to be from Brooklyn so I had an amazing time reminiscing about the City while we drove through Redneck, USA.

I started getting a funny feeling when Keys started listing the people coming to this barbeque; all the names she started shooting out sounded like French inanimate objects of the female form(La-Mar, La-Var, La-Trice) or Hispanic (Jesus, Jose, Yolanda) or just plain ghetto (Jay-jay, Tyrone, Rasheed). The driver
A Big Bottle of VodkaA Big Bottle of VodkaA Big Bottle of Vodka

We measured it and its 2 feet tall
was also from a pretty sketch neighborhood of Brooklyn (and was also black). I rewound back to how I got invited to this party, T-Camp: “You wanna go to a barbeque?” Me: “Sure”.

I had no idea who was at this party, I had no idea what this party was about and I had no idea where this party was. So being my usual self, I just blurted out, “So…what kind of party is this?”

“It’s a minority party.”

Oh. Ok, of course.

Wait…what? “A minority party?”

“They’re racist to us down here, so we hit them back with their own medicine. It’s sponsored by the University so it’s technically open to all. A lot of white folks RSVPed to this thing but we found excuses to deny them.”

“And lemme guess…since there’s no white people, there’s no Asians.”

Keys turned back to me.

“You’re the lone yellow sprinkle on the chocolate muffin.”




I soon found out why the white people wanted to RSVP. This barbeque was baller!

It was in some gated community’s pool—there were fountains overflowing into pools, mini waterfalls, floating beer fridges…it looked like a pool you would expect to see in MTV Cribs. Beach volleyball was off to the side, music was pumping and inside was even more ridiculous.

Flat screens, leather couches, pool tables, the whole works.

And the food was fucking amazing too. Pork—Keys, who was turning out to be funnier by the minute, explained the choice of meat, “The black people love meat, they’re happy, the Asians love pork fried rice, they’re happy, the Hispanics are just happy to be in America, they’re happy and the browns, the Jews and the vegetarians can’t eat pork, they’re unhappy… so that makes everyone happy.”—accompanied by turkey, sausage and all the fixings.

Even though it was a university sponsored event, someone had managed to drag in beer into the receipts so everyone was languishing poolside with free beer to wash down the food.

I was trying to spit game but it was impossible. Half of the people couldn’t understand English or were pretending they couldn’t speak it (the Hispanics) and the other half were busy stealing all the TVs (guess which race).

Given the complete shutout I was experiencing in Texas, I didn’t really care. I chilled with a
Dropping a Pickup Truck to the GroundDropping a Pickup Truck to the GroundDropping a Pickup Truck to the Ground

Another reason why Texans are idiots
bunch of people and the conversation slowly drifted away as everyone sipped drinks and tapped their foot to the Dirrrrty South bass (it’s a minority party, remember?). The combination of good sun, good food and good beer with bad sleep and a bad hangover easily convinced my body to shut down and I crashed in a deck chair.




I was prodded awake by T-Camp, shivering cold as the sun was setting and the temperature had dropped to a “very chilly” 80 degrees Fahrenheit.

We loaded up into cars, caught the fireworks (a huge disappointment…but I guess not every fireworks display is not going to look like the Macy’s Fireworks Extravaganza in NYC), tried the “fireworks pick-up line” (Girl: “The fireworks are soooo pretty!” Boy : “Not as pretty as you, babe” Girl: “Ohh…you’re so deep!” ) on a few black girls and almost got shot, loaded back up into the cars and got dropped off at my dorm.

It was about 11pm on the Fourth of July and I was dead sober (albeit, extremely tired from sleeping in the sun for 5 hours).

I got drunk with some friends, belligerently ordered and then attacked a Breakfast Special at IHOP (at midnight) and then crashed into my bed.




Given the amount of alcohol I had consumed over the last two days, Saturday seemed like a great time to take a break.

Keys picked up me, T-Camp and Lats and we headed out to go shopping.

To explain the situation, we had all just gotten paychecks from our program (our program pays in huge, 5 week lump sums) and being good Americans, we needed to quickly spend it to keep ourselves mired under the poverty lines.

I’ll give you some advice for aspiring consumerists—buying shit is amazing. Buying too much useless shit is stupid. Buying useless shit which you can’t afford is stupider. Buying shit with black people who just got paid is the single most stupidest thing you can ever do.

You know how everyone jokes that if black people didn’t buy rims and just bought a house they could get out of the ghetto? Well, I never really believed it. I thought all the rich ones (drug dealers, rappers, sports players) were the ones that bought such ostentatious displays of wealth.

Nope it’s the poor ones who try to look rich. You can’t even feed a family of four and you’re buying fucking rims?

But n***** they spinnin’!!

Anyway, we split up into two group based on gender. I, like all straight males, spent ten minutes buying what I needed to buy (a fitted, basketball shorts and a T-shirt, in case you were wondering), and then sat back and watched T-Camp destroy this mall (and his line of credit).

For example, he bought sneakers, and since he had money, “I’m classin’ up to S-Perry’s to show I got money” and went and bought himself some S-Perry’s as well. And then he bought a fitted to match his shirt and another shirt to match his S-Perry’s and this cycle went on forever. Idiot.

By the time we dragged his ass out of the mall, he had racked up $500 worth of worthless shit.

And we still needed to go to Target, Old Navy and countless other outlet stores.

But first we needed to eat lunch.

And of course, what did we eat for lunch?

Fried chicken.




After eating we went to an Old Navy and while there, T-Camp and I tried to decide who should hit on the hot floor manager. We were both convinced she liked us because “she smiled at me!” Looking back, we both sounded like complete fools as the job description of a floor manager is to smile at customers. But she was hot, so who the fuck gives a shit?

But before either of us made a move, the girls dragged us out as they finished buying whatever they were buying and we took a short walk towards Target (the next store over).

Along the way, Lats nudges me. “That girl is looking at you.”

I whirl around, and there’s a girl sizing me up, sweeping up from bottom to top. And I guess her definition of “good looking” was seriously flawed (or her standards were extremely low) because as she hit my face, her eyes locked and she smiled flirtatiously.

I blinked three times to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating.

And then I spun around to make sure she wasn’t looking at someone else.

Nope. She was staring straight at me.

What the fuck? Who the hell is this girl? No girl in their right mind would me attractive. And in the off chance that some girl has taken enough LSD to think I look striking, she wouldn’t toss a meatball straight down the pipe. Even in New York, even in Montreal, hell even in Tokyo, a girl has never thrown me signals like this. And this is motherfucking Texas where I’m not supposed to even have a chance with any girl.

It’s like one of those Sunday morning comic panels: Circle three things wrong with this picture.

1) A girl likes this skinny ass Asian motherfucker.
2) Said girl blatantly shows this to said “skinny ass Asian motherfucker”.
3) It’s in Texas.

I’m kind of frozen in place. I’ve been out of the game for so long that I have no clue what to do. I’m standing there frozen in the batting box.

Her smile falters a bit. Predatory instinct kicks in.

“Ok. You got this. Remember your training.”

“You’re about twenty feet away, close the distance while maintaining eye contact.”

“You gotta think of something witty to say. Think. Wait. Oh shit, is that her parents behind her?! Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!”

If you ever see a girl with her parents, the golden rule is DON’T APPROACH HER. Especially if she’s a minority. Minority fathers tend to be highly irrational, highly excitable and extremely bad tempered and protective when their daughters come into play. Not to say that Caucasian fathers aren’t any different, but images of them being sued for beating a young Asian will usually flash through their minds and stop them from pummeling the fuck out of you.

Minorities don’t have any money to begin with so they don’t have this problem.

Oh, and since they’re minorities, they don’t mind busting a cap in yo’ ass and then calling their shady minority friends to find a place to dump you body.

But back to this scene at hand.

I see a small window of opportunity as her parents are about ten feet behind her and I’m about fifteen. If I can reach her before her parents and quickly get her number or something…I’m good. I could also get my ass kicked as soon as the father realizes what I’m doing.

But the window is closing fast. With each second her parents are getting closer….closer…closer…

I took a deep breath (the father is clearly very large in comparison to me…think Fat Joe vs Mini Me) and then dart forward…

And as I’m racing forward, I instinctively feel it…

I cringe inwardly because I know, I absolutely know, something is barreling towards me from my right. My instincts were honed for 20 years jaywalking through New York’s hellish streets and I know I’m about to get pummeled by something in the corner of my peripheral vision but my head isn’t rotating fast enough for me to see the incoming threat…

And I get absolutely smoked.




After my head has stopped bouncing off the pavement and I gain back some of my motor skills, I open my eyes to a very blurry view of the world.

I shake my head and sit up.

It’s still blurry.

I shake my head.

Better. But now my head is spinning.

I look around after the world has righted itself.

A huge skid mark leads to a shopping cart on its side, shopping bags strewn about and a five year old blond boy crying about a his “boo-boo” on his knee.

My head feels like its splitting open, I can't see straight and I haven't gotten pussy in over months, suck it up bitch. White kids, always crying even though their parents don’t beat them. Losers.

And in my groggy state, I manage to put two and two together.

A skid mark. A shopping cart on its side. A crying boy. This boy was probably "racing" his fucking shopping cart and I happened to be in the way. I just got upended by a 5 year old white boy pushing a shopping cart?

Way to keep it real, Gen.

And as I try to clear my head for the umpteenth time, something nags me.

I was doing something…I was running…that’s why I got blindsided…why was I running?

And it hit me and all my thoughts returned. Shit, gotta think of something witty so I can get this girl’s number. But wait, where the fuck is she? I frantically searched with my eyes, but she was gone. Where?

I had no idea. She wasn’t around. Fuck!!!!

Suddenly, my vision was invaded by two worried eyes as cool hands cupped my face.

“I’m so sorry Tommy hit you! He always pretends he's in a NASCAR race when he's pushing his shopping cart. And I always thought it was cute, but...Are you alright? Do you want some water? Is there anything I can do for you?”

And in my dazed state, I said the truth.

“Your son just cockblocked me with his 'NASCAR'. Just get me some pussy.”

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