Bragging Rights

On this very day 2 years ago I posted a rant called "Shit man, I am sooo drunk!" The rant basically dealt with the issue of boys who count their beers (so cool) and I decided it needed to be revisited again.

My new detox diet doesn't allow for complete alcoholic binge fests anymore (my attempt to regain some level of dignity), so I have spent the past few weekends sober or atleast...mostly sober. I've noticed though that it appears that none of us have grown up. Two years ago, I bitched that guys defined their manliness through telling everyone how many beers they drank and it they are still doing it.

This past weekend Burch was approached by some guy who told her, "Man, I just had SEVEN beers and I even pre-gamed!" Burch pulled her best bitch card and spoke to him way over his head and then sufficiently humored him..."No way, that's crazy! Can you even see right now?"

One time Burch and I tagged team this guy who was bragging to us about his beer consumption. "You guys have no idea. I just had 18 beers! I've been drinking ALL night." We told him only real men count their beers and we were really impressed. He must be a real bad ass. He didn't get that we were making fun of him, but I suppose that's what happens when you're "SOOO DRUNK!"

Two years later and I still don't get it. Is there really a girl out there that is impressed by some guy who pounds down 20 cans of shitty Busch Light? (Damn Johnny, you're the best beer drinker here. You wanna go fuck?) It's not happening fellas. Wanting to glamorize your night because you spent it playing Halo with your brahs because you couldn't get any "play," shouldn't be done through bragging about those brewskies you totally crushed. If you're gonna lie or brag about asinine things, at least make it entertaining. "She totally wanted me and wouldn't stop hanging all over me. I'm gonna send her a facebook poke later, for sure. She wanted it, needed it, even." I mean...I'm still gonna stand there, nod away like I'm listening and am really impressed and then give you the "wow, that's so cool" eyebrow lift, but at least you were a little less generic. (kind of...not really). But don't you worry, your entire speech will be repeated the next morning during the Bo's Weekend Recap Vag Fest and then at least four other girls will think you're "cool" then too.

Why don't you put your big boys pants on, belt included, and realize no one cares. If you're the one who drank two beers and needs to sit down, the kid puking in the bathroom from the fifty second keg stand, the dude embarrassing himself by hitting on a "total ten" or the guy drinking O'Doul's, I DON"T CARE! I'M NOT IMPRESSED! I DON'T THINK YOU HAVE MASSIVE BALLS! I DON'T WANT TO FUCK YOU! Instead, inside is ever growing feeling of pity for you and the fact that your ego must be so bruised that you have to tell some stranger that you have a drinking problem (two hands and only one mouth! BAHHH HILARIOUS!) Can I graduate yet?

You're a few years overdue, I spent them waiting here for you

(This post isn’t a rant, but involves me making fun of myself a lot. If you were around for my “emo” days, you may really like it.)

This weekend I ended up at the Brewery to see some guy's band play. The guy that we had only met 2 hours prior at “Sausage Fest” asked Andrea and I to come and we only obliged after he agreed to guest listing us. In the end, they weren't too bad and are apparently playing at Barefoot this year.

In ninth and tenth grade, I spent all of my weekends at the Brewery, Duke Coffee House, Cats Cradle, Unity Church, and other small venues all in hopes of hanging out with a guy in the band I was currently trying to be a groupie for. I had the emo track jacket over the perfectly picked thrift store t-shirt, the ballet flats, the short pixie hair dyed that awful shade of red or very blond, and the attitude that I really cared about all of this music scene stuff (if my computer hadn't crashed junior year and lost all my pictures, I would post a fun picture of my lameness. However, I didn't shop at Hot Topic, so heaven forbid you confuse me with that crowd). My friends and I would roll up with our messenger bags, beaded bracelets and the best head nod we could muster while the bands played. It was all a really cute facade of some girl I thought I wanted to be and I thought the band boys would like. But thankfully, I never had any luck in that department.

Come junior year, I started hanging out with other people, dropped the wannabe emo look and quickly grabbed onto the ever-fleeting mod fad. God, I was cool. And as far as I can remember, I didn't return to any local band shows until recently.

So this was my first visit to the Brewery in over 5 years and this time it was much more empty and less smoky, but still as dirty as I remembered it. As I sat pretentiously drinking my tequila sunrise in my out-of-place cotton, belted dress, I couldn't help but remember how excited I used to get about it all. "OH EM GEE, we're gonna see (fill in the blank) tonight! Maybe we can hang out with them afterwards." We never did and instead I just looked like a twelve-year-old running around in four-inch heels trying to dodge the smoke and get some sweaty guy's attention.

While I explained the evidenced wonders of "the book" to Andrea and waited for the band to play, four girls dressed in silk bubble dresses, four-inch heels, giant clutches, and fancy up-do's waltzed in with a familiar air of excitement surrounding them. They all giggled as the boys in the bands walked by and when one of their friends returned with a beer she had bought with her fake. Oh EM Gee, guys! I couldn't stop laughing as I heard their loud squeals echoing across the room, because that was TOTES me six years ago, except they looked a lot cuter. They tried to dance along to the songs; all encircled each other while erupting in giggle fests and looked around to see if any of the band guys were noticing. It was vomit inducing adorable. And in the end, they were there to see the same guy who had invited us, but their agenda was much more obvious.

After the band’s set finished, we stuck around for another band to play and then I left knowing my local band show days were long gone. I had to get to the real rockin' out sesh anyway--Rock Band at Josh's.

Those years were fun though: stressed ear drums, smoky smelling clothes, ridiculous cover charges, getting picked up in mini-vans, and band pins all blanketed in the over-exaggerated lust for some guy who didn't know I existed.

And what have I learned since then: I don't date boys in bands (unless they are Steve Perry), beaded bracelets aren’t cute, my feet look funny in ballet flats (give me five-inch heels, please), short hair does not work on me, the Brewery makes shitty, over-priced drinks (who doesn’t have the right ingredients to make a cosmo?) don’t stalk or chase guys, but more importantly, don’t stalk or chase guys who don’t know you’re alive.

(On a complete side note: I lieu of reminiscing, I went and downloaded a lot of Thursday, Saves the Day, Juliana Theory, Jimmy Eat World, Death Cab, Ryan Adams, Get up Kids, One Amazin' Kid and The Smiths and it has been quite enjoyable. I forgot how much I used to like all of them. )

Adventures in ECU Healthcare Systems

Anyone who knows me, knows that I have spent about 25% of my life sick and hopped up on all sorts of antibiotics. From chronic ear infections and sinus infections as a kid to bronchitis, pneumonia, two hardcore mono episodes, 4 sinus infections a year, and all sorts of fun things now that I won't mention; I am always sick.

Considering I don't smoke anything, work out 6 days a week, rarely eat fast food or drink soda, sleep 8 hours a night, take vitamins, and am not a complete and raging alcoholic (yet), I can't really explain why I'm always sick.

Since February 12th, I have been sick. Sometimes it was painfully obvious and like right now for instance, you can't really tell. However, it is there, it's been lingering and it isn't going away. Back in February, I rolled up to the ECU Student Health Center armed with lies Stock told me to tell to make my sinus infection sound worse than it was, because there was no way I was going to be sick for my birthday. After I put on the phelgmy-iest show I could, they said I hadn't been sick long enough to get medicine and told me to take Mucinex. I retorted that if they didn't take care of this now, it would be come full blown, turn into something worse, morph into bronchitis and end with me having pneumonia and wanting to die. They assured me this wasn't the case; I knew differently and off I went Mucinex in hand and slightly perturbed.

February 17th, my birthday, I was home and had the flu set in, along with having my sinus infection graciously kicking it up a notch. I went to my doctor, who gave me drugs and said ECU should have treated it last week. A week went by, the flu subsided and the sinus infection went away. Now, I was just coughing up my lungs and completely congested, so back to the ECU Student Health Center.

I went in there told them their ineptitude to treat me properly lead to this and said I wanted cough syrup with codeine and a Z-pak. They said, "No, you're fine. Take Mucinex D." Great. So I did and it didn't go away. Instead, it became bronchitis (kind of like what I told them from the start). So that next week I went back and told them they screwed up again and now I have bronchitis. This time I heard, "Well, if you have bronchitis there is really no way we can find out (wrong!) and there is nothing we can do to treat it (wrong!). So here's some cough suppressant and more MUCINEX!" I wanted to slap that bitch across the face. You can treat bronchitis with a Z-pak! I would know considering I've had bronchitis at least 4 times.

So now 45 days later and I'm still phlegm city (I know, hot!), I finally returned to my doctor. And what do I have? A sinus infection...still. I finally got prescribed a Z-Pak and she switched all my allergy medicine. You see, if ECU had merely given me a Z-Pak when I bitched the first time, I wouldn't still be sick a month and a half later. Whenever you go in there, instead of asking important questions like, "Are you wheezing (I was...)" "Is the Mucinex helping? (it wasn't)" they ask, "are you practicing safe sex?" I really appreciate the concern for my vagina, but what does that have to do with my sinus infection?

I would think that since Greenville is only really known for its great health care facilities they would do a better job. Instead, they push mucinex and ask me about my drinking and sex habits (they're fine, drug me!). They also like to tell you that you might be pregnant because you've been coughing a lot and have a stomach ache, but I'm pretty sure you have to be getting laid to get pregnant. I mean I could be wrong, I'm just going off of what my fifth grade teacher told me.

So unless you want Mucinex, Plan-B, condoms that expire in April or to be harassed about STD's, I would stay far away from the Student Health Center.

A few questions to be asked:

Really, how many times will I fall down the stairs until I realize dropping laundry bombs on them is a bad idea?
In case you haven't been to my townhouse, I live on the sauna floor known as the third floor. I get this sweet little landing to myself, where I can look down on everyone who comes in the house and play the fun game of "Pants or No Pants." I also get my own staircase, which has been speckled in liquor, vomit and dirt stains.

Now, seeing as the washer and dryer are on the second floor, it is entirely too much to ask for me to bring my clothes all the way back up to my room. So the roommates and I have come up with a system: drop laundry bombs throughout my staircase; I find it useful. Every morning, I just sift through the piles for what I want to wear and I'm off. But some mornings, the laundry is out to get me. I have fallen down the complete set of stairs at least four times this semester. In a mad dash to catch the bus or to make oatmeal, my tired feet slip on the pair of pants hanging ever so precariously over the step, I begin to lose balance and begin a painful descent down the stairs.

Tuesday morning, I was pretty sure I broke my toe, but it's fine (everyone can relax!). One time, I really smashed my arm and over-extended it at the same time--that one was fun. The other falls have just ended in minor bruises. Every time I see the laundry, I think to myself that I should move it and then I don't until I hurt myself. So really, will I wait until I break my arm to stop throwing it on my steps or even then will I not learn?

On a complete side note: Today, I was running up the outdoor Joyner East stairs and somehow managed to trip and face plant straight into them. So, Tuesday, I fall down the stairs and Thursday I trip up them. Either, my clumsiness is just getting out of hand or stairs really aren't my thing.


What is that smell in my kitchen?
The first step you take into our townhouse greets you with an overwhelming scent of rotten trash. Welcoming, really. Even when we don't have full trash bags hanging in our kitchen, even when the sink is empty and the counters are clean, even when the beer pong table isn't in our house, it still wreaks of garbage.

So sometimes, I like to play "What's that Smell," not nearly as fun as "Pants or No Pants," but still provides some sort of entertainment. I smell the trash bag, the pantry, the fridge, the sink, and the counters and yet nothing has led me to the answer of, what's that smell? My last idea is it could quite possibly be our carpet that has been destroyed during all of our PJ parties and beer pong sessions. And when we get our carpets cleaned in the near future, the problem may be resolved. But until that time, I ask you all to play the rousing game of "What's that Smell?" because maybe you can provide some insight to the foreign stench.


Who are the homeless people in Mendenhall?
I spent an hour in Mendenhall every day my sophomore year, just wasting time in between classes. I'd fall asleep on the leather couches watching the Price is Right (in the time of Bob Barker, not Drew Carey), as Mendenhall employees watched the TV's blaring BET and danced along. I enjoyed my hour long escape that is until they came in.

There were two regulars that came in every day. They sat in front of the TV's playing X-Files or Golden Girls and ate food from their anonymous plastic bags. The ragged old man didn't bother me, he usually joined me in watching the Price is Right and fell asleep before I did. However, I wanted to kill the old woman. She would schluff her slippers across the floor as she walked, rummage loudly through her plastic bag and then precede to making loud smacking noises as she ate.

I had completely forgotten about both of them until I started returning to Mendenhall for lunch and to watch that new, strange Mariah Carey video that is oddly playing every time I come in. As I silently ate my yogart parfait, I heard the familiar smacking and as I slowly looked left, I was met with the oppressive sight of the old woman eating her lunch. And thus, mine was ruined.

I am not completely certain they are homeless, but they are there every day, all day. The woman comes in different clothing, but all are torn up sweat pants and sweat shirts. I understand it is a public space, but should we really allow homeless people to squat it out in our facilities? I'm really just bothered because the food smacking noise will forever be ingrained in my brain and it makes me shutter. Anyone know who I'm talking about?


Why is it that everyone in my merchandising 2350 class has the IQ of somewhere around 85?
Okay, this is a major based on fashion; it doesn't require a lot of brain power. I can see why all the idiot girls would flock to it, but I didn't know they let people this dumb into college. This past Monday, a girl known to me as "Muffin Top," went on a five minute tangent on why she loves St. Patrick's Day.

It went a little like this: "I just...I just love St. Patrick's Day. I don't really know why; I just do. It's St. Patrick's Day--what could be better? I mean, it's like the greatest holiday in America. Well, really, the entire world. Like, I get to wear green. It is great."

As Muffin Top babbled through her idiocy, I banged my head against my desk. When our professor asks questions, no one ever answers and when she finally starts calling on people, each one repeats the same answer, one after another. I really think a lot of girls just thought, "Oh hey, daddy buys me Seven Jeans and I know how to coordinate shirts and throw it all together with my knock-off Chanel bag, so I should totally open my own boutique one day!" These girls are mostly freshmen, so maybe I'm being a little harsh, but I'm fairly certain in a few years ECU is going to spit out a lot of overly-dressed, clueless girls.


Is "Love in the Club" really that great of an idea?
Granted, I pathetically love all things Usher and when Burch told me he had a new song out, I frantically ran to my computer to download it. But the song is illogical, which most rap is, but Usher's songs usually are a little bit above the "rims and hos" standard of today's rap.

The entire premise is that Usher sees some hot girl and wants to fuck her in the club or "On the couch, on the table, on the bar, or on the floor," if you will. Now maybe I haven't been to enough clubs, but I'm fairly certain you're not allowed to get up on the bar and stuff some girl's turkey, even if you are Usher. And what does bag you like some groceries that you got from aisle three really mean?

Lastly, if you're going to fuck in a club, shouldn't you try to be pretty covert about it? Usher is suggesting getting naked and porking her all over the place. I've shamefully worked out to this song every day for the past month, but every time it comes on when I'm running, I ask myself "why can't they just go home?"