I videotaped an assault on High Street. That betch had it coming once she stepped onto the street looking like a seasoned hooker... but still, girls shouldn't be getting assaulted on the streets of Morgantown lol ENJOY!
March 18, 2014
That One Time...
I videotaped an assault on High Street. That betch had it coming once she stepped onto the street looking like a seasoned hooker... but still, girls shouldn't be getting assaulted on the streets of Morgantown lol ENJOY!
It's Time
DC St. Patty's Shenanigans: 2k14
I'm getting older, which is making me somewhat more responsible. This year, my friends and I drove to the DC area to visit our friends and celebrate St. Patty's Day... like real adults, on a bar crawl in Arlington. Surprisingly, nothing too stupid happened to any of us... but there were two funny highlights from my trip:
Friday night, we traveled from Bethesda to Arlington to go out. My friends and I are either mentally retarded or believe we are above the law, because we all had water bottles full of wine in our hands on the metro. I had pregamed with Fireball that night, nothing out of the ordinary, but I was going rather harder than my friends. At the bar, I ordered myself some drinks and accused some of the guys I was with of being gay, which I guess they found entertaining, and became the drunkest guy in the bar.
Out of nowhere, mid-conversation, I was on the ground. Not on my knees, not tying my shoe, physically laying on the ground. Somehow, I had managed to trip over myself, at the bar top, and failed to catch myself with my available appendages known as arms. I don't remember much about this fall, except for the 2 guys I was accusing of being homosexual having to help me off the liquor soaked cement floor.
I woke up the next morning sore as shit and was quickly reminded of my epic bar top fall. Inevitably, my knee is bruised and doubled in size, I have a significant bruising to my elbow, and even have bruises up and down my hip. You would've thought I had fallen down a small flight of stairs, but no, I literally fell over at the bar and failed to catch myself.
The next day, after hours of drinking at our St. Patty's bar crawl, a few of my friends and I decided to trek home to prepare ourselves for a night out. My friend, let's call her Salamander (dead giveaway), was in rare form and she had managed to lose her boyfriend. A few of us left the last bar and started walking home, but Salamander was trailing behind with a box of pizza she found on a patio table. Our other friends were insisting we do not eat the mystery pizza, but Salamander and I were famished. We helped each other eat a slice, which made our other friends yell in disgust, so we ditched the pizza box on the sidewalk and hurried in front of the group.
Salamander lagged behind as we were crossing the street, when surprisingly, she picked up speed while the warning light had changed to "DO NOT CROSS" and a Land Rover, barreling down the street, came within inches of striking poor Salamander. The driver laid on his horn and Salamander giggled and pranced in front of the now-stopped SUV.
I wish I had gotten that on video. Salamander's reaction was priceless, like she had done nothing wrong and that massive SUV was just a tiny obstacle in her walk home. The driver was not pleased to say the least, I was actually afraid he was going to step out of the vehicle to verbally rape Salamander and possibly assault myself and our friends.
All-in-all, it was a successful trip... until I ordered a foot-long tuna sub from Subway shortly after Salamander's traffic folly. It ended up making me sick to the point I couldn't continue drinking that night, totally out of my norm.
The next time I decide to road trip to DC, I'm going to remember one simple fact: I'm 24 years old. I seriously need to start acting my age if I actually want to become an employable, respectable human being.
Friday night, we traveled from Bethesda to Arlington to go out. My friends and I are either mentally retarded or believe we are above the law, because we all had water bottles full of wine in our hands on the metro. I had pregamed with Fireball that night, nothing out of the ordinary, but I was going rather harder than my friends. At the bar, I ordered myself some drinks and accused some of the guys I was with of being gay, which I guess they found entertaining, and became the drunkest guy in the bar.
Out of nowhere, mid-conversation, I was on the ground. Not on my knees, not tying my shoe, physically laying on the ground. Somehow, I had managed to trip over myself, at the bar top, and failed to catch myself with my available appendages known as arms. I don't remember much about this fall, except for the 2 guys I was accusing of being homosexual having to help me off the liquor soaked cement floor.
I woke up the next morning sore as shit and was quickly reminded of my epic bar top fall. Inevitably, my knee is bruised and doubled in size, I have a significant bruising to my elbow, and even have bruises up and down my hip. You would've thought I had fallen down a small flight of stairs, but no, I literally fell over at the bar and failed to catch myself.
The next day, after hours of drinking at our St. Patty's bar crawl, a few of my friends and I decided to trek home to prepare ourselves for a night out. My friend, let's call her Salamander (dead giveaway), was in rare form and she had managed to lose her boyfriend. A few of us left the last bar and started walking home, but Salamander was trailing behind with a box of pizza she found on a patio table. Our other friends were insisting we do not eat the mystery pizza, but Salamander and I were famished. We helped each other eat a slice, which made our other friends yell in disgust, so we ditched the pizza box on the sidewalk and hurried in front of the group.
Salamander lagged behind as we were crossing the street, when surprisingly, she picked up speed while the warning light had changed to "DO NOT CROSS" and a Land Rover, barreling down the street, came within inches of striking poor Salamander. The driver laid on his horn and Salamander giggled and pranced in front of the now-stopped SUV.
I wish I had gotten that on video. Salamander's reaction was priceless, like she had done nothing wrong and that massive SUV was just a tiny obstacle in her walk home. The driver was not pleased to say the least, I was actually afraid he was going to step out of the vehicle to verbally rape Salamander and possibly assault myself and our friends.
All-in-all, it was a successful trip... until I ordered a foot-long tuna sub from Subway shortly after Salamander's traffic folly. It ended up making me sick to the point I couldn't continue drinking that night, totally out of my norm.
The next time I decide to road trip to DC, I'm going to remember one simple fact: I'm 24 years old. I seriously need to start acting my age if I actually want to become an employable, respectable human being.
St. Patty's Probz
Back in 2012, during my senior year at WVU, I decided to spend my last St. Patty's Day the only acceptable way: royally fucked up.
My friends and I started drinking around 10 AM on the coveted Sunnyside street of Beverly. There was one minor problem: I had to work at 4. That didn't bother me at the time... I figured I'd stop drinking around 2, get ready and go serve the general public endless amounts of salad and pasta just a wee-bit fucked up. Easy, right? Not for a seasoned drinker/borderline alcoholic, like myself. I ended up taking a wrong turn to Blackout City while playing in our St. Patty's Day 4-Square Tournament. It was a fantastic idea to turn the street into a 4-square arena. We lucked out with 70 degree weather for the mid-March event, and a shit ton of people turned out for their attempt at 4-square king/queen.
I didn't show my true 4-square talents that day... I was just too fucked up. Around 1 or 2, when I should've been slowing down my alcohol consumption, an officer approached our group on foot. I had a bottle of liquor in one hand and a beer in the other. Typical. At this specific moment in time, I was standing in my friend's driveway. He immediately asked for my ID, which I happily gave him, being 22, but the asshole continued, "Young man, you do realize you've got open containers on the sidewalk? I can issue you an open container violation."
Uhh, no you will not.
I immediately got sassy and pointed out that I was not, in fact, on public property, "Clearly officer, I am in the driveway of my friend's home, therefore I am not on public property." I waived my alcohol-filled hands around the area, to give him the full effect of the widely known concept of a driveway. He shook his head and told me to go onto the porch with my friends. There, I reiterated that I had to work at 4. My friends began planning my call-off. One girl was ready to call-in as my mother to say I had a family emergency, another was ready to call on my behalf of being arrested. Neither sufficed for me. I dipped out, friends unknowing, and walked home and drunkenly got myself ready for work.
I drove to work and whipped my car into a parking spot. I stumbled out of my car to find my arch nemesis from work, Donna, being dropped off. "Uhh, are you sure you should be here right now?" She yelled over to me. Yeah bitch, I can handle myself, I thought. I walked in, visibly drunk and ready to start my shift. My manager, some Mexican twat I didn't get along with, who had "uncle" as his first name, told me I was the extra. I'm not sure if he did this intentionally after seeing me stumble upon him, or if he could smell the alcohol seeping from my pores.
As an extra, you don't have to work unless another server doesn't show for their shift. I was in clear, or so you would think. Every server was quickly accounted for, but a drunken Dylsny decided, "Well, since I'm here, I might as well work." My manager rolled his eyes and I stayed for another server to work.
That day was the first time I received a negative comment. I worked a party with another server, who is known for being a clusterfuck spazz, and on our receipt it read, "You two could use a little work."
Well fuck. I ended my shift and had sobered up, drove home, and found the bottle from earlier in the day and finished it. That was literally one of the dumbest days of my life, but I justified every stupid decision simply by the fact it was St. Patty's Day.
For your viewing pleasure, this was also the same St. Patty's Day "I'm Schmacked" visited WVU. I'm not in the video myself, but some of my friends have cameos... enjoy!
My friends and I started drinking around 10 AM on the coveted Sunnyside street of Beverly. There was one minor problem: I had to work at 4. That didn't bother me at the time... I figured I'd stop drinking around 2, get ready and go serve the general public endless amounts of salad and pasta just a wee-bit fucked up. Easy, right? Not for a seasoned drinker/borderline alcoholic, like myself. I ended up taking a wrong turn to Blackout City while playing in our St. Patty's Day 4-Square Tournament. It was a fantastic idea to turn the street into a 4-square arena. We lucked out with 70 degree weather for the mid-March event, and a shit ton of people turned out for their attempt at 4-square king/queen.
I didn't show my true 4-square talents that day... I was just too fucked up. Around 1 or 2, when I should've been slowing down my alcohol consumption, an officer approached our group on foot. I had a bottle of liquor in one hand and a beer in the other. Typical. At this specific moment in time, I was standing in my friend's driveway. He immediately asked for my ID, which I happily gave him, being 22, but the asshole continued, "Young man, you do realize you've got open containers on the sidewalk? I can issue you an open container violation."
Uhh, no you will not.
I immediately got sassy and pointed out that I was not, in fact, on public property, "Clearly officer, I am in the driveway of my friend's home, therefore I am not on public property." I waived my alcohol-filled hands around the area, to give him the full effect of the widely known concept of a driveway. He shook his head and told me to go onto the porch with my friends. There, I reiterated that I had to work at 4. My friends began planning my call-off. One girl was ready to call-in as my mother to say I had a family emergency, another was ready to call on my behalf of being arrested. Neither sufficed for me. I dipped out, friends unknowing, and walked home and drunkenly got myself ready for work.
I drove to work and whipped my car into a parking spot. I stumbled out of my car to find my arch nemesis from work, Donna, being dropped off. "Uhh, are you sure you should be here right now?" She yelled over to me. Yeah bitch, I can handle myself, I thought. I walked in, visibly drunk and ready to start my shift. My manager, some Mexican twat I didn't get along with, who had "uncle" as his first name, told me I was the extra. I'm not sure if he did this intentionally after seeing me stumble upon him, or if he could smell the alcohol seeping from my pores.
As an extra, you don't have to work unless another server doesn't show for their shift. I was in clear, or so you would think. Every server was quickly accounted for, but a drunken Dylsny decided, "Well, since I'm here, I might as well work." My manager rolled his eyes and I stayed for another server to work.
That day was the first time I received a negative comment. I worked a party with another server, who is known for being a clusterfuck spazz, and on our receipt it read, "You two could use a little work."
Well fuck. I ended my shift and had sobered up, drove home, and found the bottle from earlier in the day and finished it. That was literally one of the dumbest days of my life, but I justified every stupid decision simply by the fact it was St. Patty's Day.
For your viewing pleasure, this was also the same St. Patty's Day "I'm Schmacked" visited WVU. I'm not in the video myself, but some of my friends have cameos... enjoy!
March 6, 2014
Neo-Clueless
Love the movie Clueless? You'll probably like this... Australian sensation, Iggy Azalea gives a 2014-spin on the 90's classic. The outfits and characters are dead on... even down to the red BMW Dion frantically drives down the expressway. Enjoy!
That one time...
... I threatened my father's mistress.
Ok, I got your attention with "mistress," but I guess she shouldn't technically be classified as such. When my parents separated and before their divorce was final, good ole Jimmy Snyds started fucking our next door neighbor. He's a rather upstanding individual, my father. This woman is a rather upstanding individual as well. She has dated half of my hometown and has been successfully un-married for nearly 25 years. Red flag? If no one will marry the bitch over that long of a time period, then don't date her either... there's obviously something wrong.
During one of my "Snyderfests", my party had been carried onto my driveway. We weren't being rowdy in most regards, but neighbors could definitely tell something was going on at the Snyder house. Apparently, my father realized as well. As I'm having myself a grand ole time in the driveway with my friends, taking shots of my go-to liquor of the time: 99 bananas, my dad decides to make an appearance.
He walks over to the house and enters the driveway. I guess, legally, he has a right to be at the home he built and currently pays the mortgage for, but at the time, he was not welcome at 142 Westgate Drive. He claimed his girlfriend's dog was missing. Boo hoo, pops, now get the fuck out of here. After my friends talked to him briefly, apologizing for my drunken behavior, he was off, back to his whore's house across the street.
The party continued and I kept taking shots. One of my best friends, Amanda, happened to have her digital camera out taking pictures of the night. Suddenly, Slutty McSlutterson, my dad's fuck buddy and slore girlfriend, shows up on my driveway. No. She. Didn't.
I immediately confronted her about what the fuck she thought she was doing. She reiterated to myself and party-goers her dog was missing. "Yeah, bitch, we know, my dad already came over and told us." I was more than ready to verbally annihilate this twat. Amanda, at this time, had taken out her camera to record the confrontation. I'm quoted after reminding her she is not welcome on my property that, "If I find your dog, I'm going to kill it... and set your house on fire. Now, get the fuck off my property."
She took the hint and left.
Now, one may think I was rather harsh on said whore. IF YOU ONLY KNEW. I can remember when she moved into the neighborhood. My aunt and uncle were visiting from Indianapolis that weekend. Somehow, she knew my parents prior to her move, so she ended up introducing herself to everyone outside my house one afternoon. My aunt must've gotten a "flirtatious" vibe from her, because she told my mom that was a woman you needed to watch out for. Lolololololz and look where that ended up!
On my mother's birthday the same year, my sister and I took her to everyone's favorite local restaurant. After we had been sat, I saw my father and this stupid bitch walking through the restaurant. Are you kidding me? Granted, my dad dined there on a regular basis, but he ALWAYS sat on the bar side. That night, while we were celebrating my mother's birthday, the woman he was still married to, they entered the same room we were seated in to dine. As the two passed, my dad kept to himself and smiled to us as he waved, and she followed suit, making a point to say, "Happy birthday, Marie" to my mother. My mom had to stop me from standing up. I asked if she wanted to find another table in the restaurant to eat at, considering those twats were seated behind us, but, being the strong, confident woman my mother is, she refused and we continued our dinner.
If there's any lesson learned from my story, it is: Don't become that bitch. Don't be the person with a less-than-savory reputation in your town for "getting around" and dating everyone, especially in your 40s/50s. Don't consider dating a man that is still legally married and has a wife and daughter living directly across the street from your home. Have some decency, wait for the divorce to be final, or use absolute discretion.
You may think, "well what about your father?" There are no excuses for him either... exactly why we didn't speak for 6 months.
***Disclosure: I would never harm an animal... and more than likely never set fire to somebody's home***
-DMS
Ok, I got your attention with "mistress," but I guess she shouldn't technically be classified as such. When my parents separated and before their divorce was final, good ole Jimmy Snyds started fucking our next door neighbor. He's a rather upstanding individual, my father. This woman is a rather upstanding individual as well. She has dated half of my hometown and has been successfully un-married for nearly 25 years. Red flag? If no one will marry the bitch over that long of a time period, then don't date her either... there's obviously something wrong.
During one of my "Snyderfests", my party had been carried onto my driveway. We weren't being rowdy in most regards, but neighbors could definitely tell something was going on at the Snyder house. Apparently, my father realized as well. As I'm having myself a grand ole time in the driveway with my friends, taking shots of my go-to liquor of the time: 99 bananas, my dad decides to make an appearance.
He walks over to the house and enters the driveway. I guess, legally, he has a right to be at the home he built and currently pays the mortgage for, but at the time, he was not welcome at 142 Westgate Drive. He claimed his girlfriend's dog was missing. Boo hoo, pops, now get the fuck out of here. After my friends talked to him briefly, apologizing for my drunken behavior, he was off, back to his whore's house across the street.
The party continued and I kept taking shots. One of my best friends, Amanda, happened to have her digital camera out taking pictures of the night. Suddenly, Slutty McSlutterson, my dad's fuck buddy and slore girlfriend, shows up on my driveway. No. She. Didn't.
I immediately confronted her about what the fuck she thought she was doing. She reiterated to myself and party-goers her dog was missing. "Yeah, bitch, we know, my dad already came over and told us." I was more than ready to verbally annihilate this twat. Amanda, at this time, had taken out her camera to record the confrontation. I'm quoted after reminding her she is not welcome on my property that, "If I find your dog, I'm going to kill it... and set your house on fire. Now, get the fuck off my property."
She took the hint and left.
Now, one may think I was rather harsh on said whore. IF YOU ONLY KNEW. I can remember when she moved into the neighborhood. My aunt and uncle were visiting from Indianapolis that weekend. Somehow, she knew my parents prior to her move, so she ended up introducing herself to everyone outside my house one afternoon. My aunt must've gotten a "flirtatious" vibe from her, because she told my mom that was a woman you needed to watch out for. Lolololololz and look where that ended up!
On my mother's birthday the same year, my sister and I took her to everyone's favorite local restaurant. After we had been sat, I saw my father and this stupid bitch walking through the restaurant. Are you kidding me? Granted, my dad dined there on a regular basis, but he ALWAYS sat on the bar side. That night, while we were celebrating my mother's birthday, the woman he was still married to, they entered the same room we were seated in to dine. As the two passed, my dad kept to himself and smiled to us as he waved, and she followed suit, making a point to say, "Happy birthday, Marie" to my mother. My mom had to stop me from standing up. I asked if she wanted to find another table in the restaurant to eat at, considering those twats were seated behind us, but, being the strong, confident woman my mother is, she refused and we continued our dinner.
If there's any lesson learned from my story, it is: Don't become that bitch. Don't be the person with a less-than-savory reputation in your town for "getting around" and dating everyone, especially in your 40s/50s. Don't consider dating a man that is still legally married and has a wife and daughter living directly across the street from your home. Have some decency, wait for the divorce to be final, or use absolute discretion.
You may think, "well what about your father?" There are no excuses for him either... exactly why we didn't speak for 6 months.
***Disclosure: I would never harm an animal... and more than likely never set fire to somebody's home***
-DMS
March 4, 2014
Private Party Probz
(Please read the prior post before reading this... I've chronologically documented my night lolz)
Once I had made it to my party, I needed a fucking shot. People didn't start arriving until a few minutes after myself, so I thought I'd buy a round and get to know my bartenders. Well, fuck. The one girl looked weirdly familiar to me. After I ordered a round from the other bartender, I asked the one in question what her name was. She is named after a fucking desert...and I knew exactly who she was. Months ago, at some frattastic, Motown club, I met some friends for drinks. Normally, I go places where I easily get served, since I know many bartenders. Not the case at this joint. I waited, patiently, for twenty minutes to be served... all while people came and went RIGHT NEXT TO ME. The bartender: desert bitch.
Now, I legitimately waited patiently, even going so far as to flash my Louis Vuitton wallet, hoping that would attract a server... I mean, it's real, so they can assume I'm of the upper-class. I won't mind. I did not get served that night. Not acceptable with Dylsny, so I left the establishment and have since never been back. The next week, the same bartender happened to be standing behind me in line for another bar. Drunkenly, I turned around and asked, "Hey, what's your name?" When she responded as being the desert bitch, I sassily remarked, "Ohh yeah, you bartend at Lux... you fucking suck. You legitimately fucking suck as a bartender."
I couldn't believe this girl was bartending my party. She knew exactly who I was and now realized she needed to suck up to me. It was fanfuckingtastic. I ended up pretty much avoiding the bar that night, because shots were being bought for me, so I didn't mind she was there. I'll let it slide.
The party had a great turn out, from what I've been told and who I remember seeing. The deal was that people inside my party would be allowed to go upstairs to the other bar for free, avoiding the cover charge. But, before I know it, mass chaos breaks out. I was literally being kicked out of my own party. Myself and all my party-goers were very confused. Apparently, someone in a green beanie let himself into the champagne storage closet and took a bottle for himself. Are you fucking kidding me? I still haven't figured out who the prick is, and if I do, I will unleash an unimaginable hell upon him. I bet he was one of the randos who wasn't even invited and lurking around my pretty friends. This is not acceptable.
Once we were cleared out, I found out they were charging us all to get into the bar upstairs. No, not me. I wasn't standing for this. Although it was my favorite bar in Motown, and it was my fucking birthday party, I was not paying to go upstairs. Instead, I decided to follow some friends to Joe Mama's... the bar I don't fuck with. It's whatever, I don't remember being there, didn't spend a dime, and left the establishment after a short period of time.
My night is still in pieces from the time before I was kicked out of my party all the way to bringing a regular hookup of mine home. My friend, and part-time roommate, Juanita, had left my party early because she worked at 7 am in a town 45 minutes away. I let her have my bed that night and I slept on the extra mattress in my living room, with regular hookup guy. Thank god I realized in my drunken state that I did, in fact, have more friends coming home to stay that night. I respectfully clothed myself before passing out and waking to a herd of six friends moments later.
We all crashed in different areas of my living room and woke at 8 AM. 8 fucking AM. I was sandwiched between "hookup" and my friend, Logan. Weird thing, though, I vaguely remembered my other friend, Seth, falling asleep next to me. Apparently, Seth was weirded out by myself and "hookup", so he switched with Logan. Valid. I would be too. But, for the record, I did not touch "hookup" a single time after my friends got home. I'm respectable, I wouldn't do that in front of my friends. But really, I wouldn't. PDA makes me cringe. Being hugged, touched, or any type of physical contact, makes me cringe.
We woke up, my friends, Susie (remember her?) and Canada decided to keep their drunk going, and started taking shots of whiskey then and there. Drunken Canada came in handy a couple hours later, when I found an array of hubcaps dropping off a friend from lunch. Normally, in broad daylight, I wouldn't mind getting a hubcap from the side of the road, or I'd just mentally note it and come back at dark. This, was a special circumstance. There were literally SIX hubcaps within feet of each other. Canada offered her hubcap-retrieving assistance, and gathered ALL of them up! It was by far the greatest thing I've witnessed. Now, I have a whole trunk full. It made my fucking day! haha
-DMS
Once I had made it to my party, I needed a fucking shot. People didn't start arriving until a few minutes after myself, so I thought I'd buy a round and get to know my bartenders. Well, fuck. The one girl looked weirdly familiar to me. After I ordered a round from the other bartender, I asked the one in question what her name was. She is named after a fucking desert...and I knew exactly who she was. Months ago, at some frattastic, Motown club, I met some friends for drinks. Normally, I go places where I easily get served, since I know many bartenders. Not the case at this joint. I waited, patiently, for twenty minutes to be served... all while people came and went RIGHT NEXT TO ME. The bartender: desert bitch.
Now, I legitimately waited patiently, even going so far as to flash my Louis Vuitton wallet, hoping that would attract a server... I mean, it's real, so they can assume I'm of the upper-class. I won't mind. I did not get served that night. Not acceptable with Dylsny, so I left the establishment and have since never been back. The next week, the same bartender happened to be standing behind me in line for another bar. Drunkenly, I turned around and asked, "Hey, what's your name?" When she responded as being the desert bitch, I sassily remarked, "Ohh yeah, you bartend at Lux... you fucking suck. You legitimately fucking suck as a bartender."
I couldn't believe this girl was bartending my party. She knew exactly who I was and now realized she needed to suck up to me. It was fanfuckingtastic. I ended up pretty much avoiding the bar that night, because shots were being bought for me, so I didn't mind she was there. I'll let it slide.
The party had a great turn out, from what I've been told and who I remember seeing. The deal was that people inside my party would be allowed to go upstairs to the other bar for free, avoiding the cover charge. But, before I know it, mass chaos breaks out. I was literally being kicked out of my own party. Myself and all my party-goers were very confused. Apparently, someone in a green beanie let himself into the champagne storage closet and took a bottle for himself. Are you fucking kidding me? I still haven't figured out who the prick is, and if I do, I will unleash an unimaginable hell upon him. I bet he was one of the randos who wasn't even invited and lurking around my pretty friends. This is not acceptable.
Once we were cleared out, I found out they were charging us all to get into the bar upstairs. No, not me. I wasn't standing for this. Although it was my favorite bar in Motown, and it was my fucking birthday party, I was not paying to go upstairs. Instead, I decided to follow some friends to Joe Mama's... the bar I don't fuck with. It's whatever, I don't remember being there, didn't spend a dime, and left the establishment after a short period of time.
My night is still in pieces from the time before I was kicked out of my party all the way to bringing a regular hookup of mine home. My friend, and part-time roommate, Juanita, had left my party early because she worked at 7 am in a town 45 minutes away. I let her have my bed that night and I slept on the extra mattress in my living room, with regular hookup guy. Thank god I realized in my drunken state that I did, in fact, have more friends coming home to stay that night. I respectfully clothed myself before passing out and waking to a herd of six friends moments later.
We all crashed in different areas of my living room and woke at 8 AM. 8 fucking AM. I was sandwiched between "hookup" and my friend, Logan. Weird thing, though, I vaguely remembered my other friend, Seth, falling asleep next to me. Apparently, Seth was weirded out by myself and "hookup", so he switched with Logan. Valid. I would be too. But, for the record, I did not touch "hookup" a single time after my friends got home. I'm respectable, I wouldn't do that in front of my friends. But really, I wouldn't. PDA makes me cringe. Being hugged, touched, or any type of physical contact, makes me cringe.
We woke up, my friends, Susie (remember her?) and Canada decided to keep their drunk going, and started taking shots of whiskey then and there. Drunken Canada came in handy a couple hours later, when I found an array of hubcaps dropping off a friend from lunch. Normally, in broad daylight, I wouldn't mind getting a hubcap from the side of the road, or I'd just mentally note it and come back at dark. This, was a special circumstance. There were literally SIX hubcaps within feet of each other. Canada offered her hubcap-retrieving assistance, and gathered ALL of them up! It was by far the greatest thing I've witnessed. Now, I have a whole trunk full. It made my fucking day! haha
-DMS
Invincible-ish
This past Friday I hosted a party for my 24th birthday... and of course, everything didn't go as planned.
Before I even made it to my party, on our walk downtown, we ran into a small obstacle: policemen. I had just left my sister's house near Ashebrooke with a groups of friends. Being the cocky motherfuck I am, I brought with me an open bottle of wine, and open can of Bud Light, and another Bud Light... just in case. Never have I been stopped by a police officer on my walk downtown, with open containers, so I felt invincible.
Two houses down from my sisters were two cop cars posted up on the goddamn sidewalk. Like seriously? I had too many alcoholic beverages in my possession to hide them discreetly in my jacket. I had almost made it by the cop cars before I heard, "Hey, you, stop!" Fuck. Surely, I was getting an open container ticket... maybe even a public intox... hell, it was my birthday party, I bet I was going to get all kinds of fucking tickets they could legally assign me... It's just my luck.
Well, as luck would have it, that officer walked right passed me for my friend, Ronald. Ronald had a single open beer in his possession. I literally stopped dead in my tracks as Ronald dealt with the observant officer. I was not yet in the clear, though. There was a second cop, straight up chillin', right behind me. I ran several scenarios out in my head. I could either continue walking by Ronald and the officer and risk him writing me a ticket as well, or I could take a chance with homeboy policeman behind me.
I took the latter.
I quietly turned around to face the second officer, holding all three of my alcoholic beverages. I said, "I'm really sorry, but I was just handed all of these drinks, we're on our way to my birthday party, can I just dump everything out? Right here, I dump everything out right here." This guy was too kind. He literally said, "Go ahead." Was this a joke? As I poured the beverages into nearby landscaping, I inquired as to whether I'd be written a ticket. "That's up to him, I'm not going to write you one myself, though." So, this guy is letting me go, will the other? Once everything is empty, I tell the officer I use to live in the apartments we are outside (truth) and knew there's a dumpster nearby that I can discard the bottles. I walk, nonchalantly up the apartment's lot and throw everything away.
I scurried off to the rest of the group, all girls, who had been waiting for Ronald and I during the whole fiasco. The cop writing up Ronald didn't notice me as I tried blending in with the girls. I wanted to go talk him out of the ticket, but knew it would inevitably end in my own ticket... and quite possibly extreme sass from my end... which would've probably landed me in the back of the cop car.
Ronald took the open container ticket and we continued our walk to my party. I stayed ahead of the group, determined to get there on time and partly to avoid a visibly-upset friend who had just been written a ticket, when I had not.
My night was off to a great, but shitty start.
Before I even made it to my party, on our walk downtown, we ran into a small obstacle: policemen. I had just left my sister's house near Ashebrooke with a groups of friends. Being the cocky motherfuck I am, I brought with me an open bottle of wine, and open can of Bud Light, and another Bud Light... just in case. Never have I been stopped by a police officer on my walk downtown, with open containers, so I felt invincible.
Two houses down from my sisters were two cop cars posted up on the goddamn sidewalk. Like seriously? I had too many alcoholic beverages in my possession to hide them discreetly in my jacket. I had almost made it by the cop cars before I heard, "Hey, you, stop!" Fuck. Surely, I was getting an open container ticket... maybe even a public intox... hell, it was my birthday party, I bet I was going to get all kinds of fucking tickets they could legally assign me... It's just my luck.
Well, as luck would have it, that officer walked right passed me for my friend, Ronald. Ronald had a single open beer in his possession. I literally stopped dead in my tracks as Ronald dealt with the observant officer. I was not yet in the clear, though. There was a second cop, straight up chillin', right behind me. I ran several scenarios out in my head. I could either continue walking by Ronald and the officer and risk him writing me a ticket as well, or I could take a chance with homeboy policeman behind me.
I took the latter.
I quietly turned around to face the second officer, holding all three of my alcoholic beverages. I said, "I'm really sorry, but I was just handed all of these drinks, we're on our way to my birthday party, can I just dump everything out? Right here, I dump everything out right here." This guy was too kind. He literally said, "Go ahead." Was this a joke? As I poured the beverages into nearby landscaping, I inquired as to whether I'd be written a ticket. "That's up to him, I'm not going to write you one myself, though." So, this guy is letting me go, will the other? Once everything is empty, I tell the officer I use to live in the apartments we are outside (truth) and knew there's a dumpster nearby that I can discard the bottles. I walk, nonchalantly up the apartment's lot and throw everything away.
I scurried off to the rest of the group, all girls, who had been waiting for Ronald and I during the whole fiasco. The cop writing up Ronald didn't notice me as I tried blending in with the girls. I wanted to go talk him out of the ticket, but knew it would inevitably end in my own ticket... and quite possibly extreme sass from my end... which would've probably landed me in the back of the cop car.
Ronald took the open container ticket and we continued our walk to my party. I stayed ahead of the group, determined to get there on time and partly to avoid a visibly-upset friend who had just been written a ticket, when I had not.
My night was off to a great, but shitty start.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)