Junior Year: Turning 21 (Both in Age and Blood Alcohol Concentration)
Thursday, January 12, 2006
Is anyone even here today? The Hive is fucking blowing up – go there, read, post, share – be positive mother fuckers.
EDIT: First column is up.
Well, read the story first (sorry if it’s a little sloppy, I didn’t get to edit it – The Hive has been keeping me busy). Then go.
______________________
Before 21, college life was shitty beer and cheap liquor at your friend’s house. House parties with keg stands and Evil Dead running on mute in the back ground, maybe some porno projected on a wall. Homemade jello shots and special brownies served next to a bowl of Doritos and a bag of Hershey Kisses. People hooking up in closets or hallways. Thirty people standing out on a freezing cold porch smoking cigarettes and throwing the butts into a flower pot that didn’t sustain life since 1983.
But after we turned 21 – all that stuff above – that became the after party.
My 21st birthday was a pretty big ordeal. It started with dinner where all the not-yet 21-year-old people came out to the Sunset Grill and chowed down with me – must have been about 25 people. After dinner we went to Ri-Ra’s for dancing and heavy drinking, about half of the party left because they were underage but for every twenty year old that left, two twenty-one year olds took their place. We owned that bar all night, everyone having a good time. Even R came out, with her new boyfriend – which was awkward but I didn’t really care too much.
Interesting fact about that night. As far as I can tell, everybody got really drunk. Also, everybody except for me got laid – I got sick, instead.
After I turned 21 I was at a bar every night. I went to the BU Pub with friends in-between classes, met up with professors and tried to get knighted but I just couldn’t drink the shitty mixed drinks to do it. Getting knighted at the BU Pub was relatively easy – I think there were 52 different drinks you needed to put down to do it unlike other places where there were hundreds of different types of drinks you needed to consume before getting your mug on the wall.
But, easy or not, I couldn’t make it. No way in fuck a free mug with my name on it was worth drinking a Long Island Iced Tea.
Then there were our local bars. I already talked about PJ’s, the home of my infamous “pissing on myself” incident. Crossroads was one of my favorite places- great pizza and onion strings, the board games were a plus.
One time at Crossroads a friend of mine told me she’d kiss me if I chugged a pint of Guinness – not even a challenge, dropped that shit down in ten seconds and collected my booty. We used to go there and drink straight from the pitcher – one for each of us. We went there for my first 21+ St. Patrick’s Day. We had two tabs going that me and three friends were going to pay. We were buying drinks for people all night and by the time we were done the tabs totaled about three hundred bucks each, so 600 bucks split between the four of us. Now-a-days, that’s a good night out – in college that’s a fucking nightmare. But we paid it and left the bar with plenty of phone numbers which ultimately turned into absolutely nothing.
Wednesday Night was karaoke night at T’s Pub – we used to take that joint over. When everyone else would do “Hotel California” and “Respect” we’d roll twenty deep and do “We Are the World”. One time me and two friends did “No Scrubs”, choreographed dance and all.
I had a routine where I’d dedicate a song to Guam’s mom and sing it to her.
“Although we go! To the ennnnnddd of the road…
Still I can’t let Guam’s mom go…”
Or the now classic:
“And it got so good to Guam’s mom, you know what she told me?
Let me tell you what Guam’s mom told me, she said:
´Stroke it Jason Rodriguez, but don´t stroke so fast
If my stuff ain´t tight enough, you can stick it up my...´ WOO!
I be strokin!”
We also had this friend Eddie who did a mean impersonation of Kermit the Frog doing “Rainbow Connection”. It was awesome.
Ahh…alcohol.
When we were slumming we found ourselves at The Dugout which is everything you’d expect from a place called “The Dugout”, spit and all. I think we only went there when we didn’t feel like walking anywhere else – that place was just sad. It had a great location, besides the BU Pub it was the only bar in the middle of campus, but Jesus Christ it was a fucking dump.
There were the more haughty taughty places that we could never get a seat at and waited ten minutes for the bartender to even look at us like The Cactus Club. It was always some girl who’d suggest going there and every guy would groan – nothing better than spending twenty bucks on a communal margarita made with rail tequila.
But we went because we had to – because we always dragged the ladies to our dingy holes in the wall and it was only right we combed our hair every once and a while and paid it back.
EDIT: First column is up.
Well, read the story first (sorry if it’s a little sloppy, I didn’t get to edit it – The Hive has been keeping me busy). Then go.
______________________
Before 21, college life was shitty beer and cheap liquor at your friend’s house. House parties with keg stands and Evil Dead running on mute in the back ground, maybe some porno projected on a wall. Homemade jello shots and special brownies served next to a bowl of Doritos and a bag of Hershey Kisses. People hooking up in closets or hallways. Thirty people standing out on a freezing cold porch smoking cigarettes and throwing the butts into a flower pot that didn’t sustain life since 1983.
But after we turned 21 – all that stuff above – that became the after party.
My 21st birthday was a pretty big ordeal. It started with dinner where all the not-yet 21-year-old people came out to the Sunset Grill and chowed down with me – must have been about 25 people. After dinner we went to Ri-Ra’s for dancing and heavy drinking, about half of the party left because they were underage but for every twenty year old that left, two twenty-one year olds took their place. We owned that bar all night, everyone having a good time. Even R came out, with her new boyfriend – which was awkward but I didn’t really care too much.
Interesting fact about that night. As far as I can tell, everybody got really drunk. Also, everybody except for me got laid – I got sick, instead.
After I turned 21 I was at a bar every night. I went to the BU Pub with friends in-between classes, met up with professors and tried to get knighted but I just couldn’t drink the shitty mixed drinks to do it. Getting knighted at the BU Pub was relatively easy – I think there were 52 different drinks you needed to put down to do it unlike other places where there were hundreds of different types of drinks you needed to consume before getting your mug on the wall.
But, easy or not, I couldn’t make it. No way in fuck a free mug with my name on it was worth drinking a Long Island Iced Tea.
Then there were our local bars. I already talked about PJ’s, the home of my infamous “pissing on myself” incident. Crossroads was one of my favorite places- great pizza and onion strings, the board games were a plus.
One time at Crossroads a friend of mine told me she’d kiss me if I chugged a pint of Guinness – not even a challenge, dropped that shit down in ten seconds and collected my booty. We used to go there and drink straight from the pitcher – one for each of us. We went there for my first 21+ St. Patrick’s Day. We had two tabs going that me and three friends were going to pay. We were buying drinks for people all night and by the time we were done the tabs totaled about three hundred bucks each, so 600 bucks split between the four of us. Now-a-days, that’s a good night out – in college that’s a fucking nightmare. But we paid it and left the bar with plenty of phone numbers which ultimately turned into absolutely nothing.
Wednesday Night was karaoke night at T’s Pub – we used to take that joint over. When everyone else would do “Hotel California” and “Respect” we’d roll twenty deep and do “We Are the World”. One time me and two friends did “No Scrubs”, choreographed dance and all.
I had a routine where I’d dedicate a song to Guam’s mom and sing it to her.
“Although we go! To the ennnnnddd of the road…
Still I can’t let Guam’s mom go…”
Or the now classic:
“And it got so good to Guam’s mom, you know what she told me?
Let me tell you what Guam’s mom told me, she said:
´Stroke it Jason Rodriguez, but don´t stroke so fast
If my stuff ain´t tight enough, you can stick it up my...´ WOO!
I be strokin!”
We also had this friend Eddie who did a mean impersonation of Kermit the Frog doing “Rainbow Connection”. It was awesome.
Ahh…alcohol.
When we were slumming we found ourselves at The Dugout which is everything you’d expect from a place called “The Dugout”, spit and all. I think we only went there when we didn’t feel like walking anywhere else – that place was just sad. It had a great location, besides the BU Pub it was the only bar in the middle of campus, but Jesus Christ it was a fucking dump.
There were the more haughty taughty places that we could never get a seat at and waited ten minutes for the bartender to even look at us like The Cactus Club. It was always some girl who’d suggest going there and every guy would groan – nothing better than spending twenty bucks on a communal margarita made with rail tequila.
But we went because we had to – because we always dragged the ladies to our dingy holes in the wall and it was only right we combed our hair every once and a while and paid it back.
Labels: mitc
posted by Jason at
12:20 AM
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