fupafighter

The Physics of Drinking

This is why I was never good at science. Besides the goody bag stashed with my doormen, I also conducted a general sweep of my apartment so it wouldn't reflect the actual morally depraved and substantively abusive existence I lead on a daily basis. This largely meant de-boozing my kitchen. I had a large bottle of Stoli O stashed in the freezer (where all vodka connoisseurs know vodka goes before entering my blood stream) that was more than half full, however, it still left the impression that I might tap into that a little more often than necessary. Since I hadn't the time to run out and purchase more liquor to refill, I just topped it off with the next best thing--water. Hey, they're both clear, right? And since my dad's not much of a vodka drinker, who would ever know the difference?

Flash forward to my parents' last day in my apt., and my dad producing the Stoli O bottle from the freezer:

Dad: I can't believe this! You're vodka is frozen! Alcohol doesn't freeze.
Me (trembling): Oh, that's so strange. I have no idea.
Dad (holding bottle up to light): That's unbelievable. Why is this frozen?
Me (with a snap of the finger): You know what it could be? Because it's Stoli "Orange" there must be like orange essences or something in it that dilute the alcohol so it freezes. Wow, good thing I know! I won't be putting Stoli O in the freezer anymore...

Seriously, when will I have to stop acting like I'm 15 years old? This is the shit I pulled in high school. And when will I learn that water solidifies when put into the freezer? Jesus.

Lapse Apology

Yet again I find myself apologizing for not, well, writing more consistently about myself. I'm sure my loyal readership has been starved. A lot has happened, however, in these past few weeks:

Attended the fairytale wedding of my college roommate at the Four Seasons in Philly. The bride was beautiful, the chocolate fountain divine, and I was, not surprisingly, drunk...and wearing a gown. Glasses up to anyone who can remove me from my armor of wife beaters, khaki cargos and flip flops. Congrats to the newlyweds--you are now legally bound to be lazy together for eternity. Bravo!

Graduated from Sarah Lawrence College. Sort of. I walked across the stage, donned a velvet brown hood, and received the culmination of all of my *hard* work and sleepless nights these past two years--a blank diploma.

Entertained my mother and father for SIX days during the graduation frenzy. I was constantly tired and my mother asked me, "Oh honey, why can't you sleep?" I told her it's very hard for me to get a good night's rest with someone else in the bed with me...what I left off from that statement is that it's very hard for me to get a good night's sleep with someone in the bed who I'm not fucking.

Got my cat back from the grandparents. Oh yes, now ALL the stereotypes can be true.

I'm guessing there was more in between (Happy Birthday Nurse Nick--I'm sorry I don't remember your party, but you were lovely as always, I'm sure) but I'm certain it only involved a bottle of Stoli O and a pack of Bennie & Hedges menthol lights. I'm just your grandfather with boobies people.

Hopefully from now on since I have to stop calling myself a student and fess up to the real truth, I'm simply unemployed, I'll spend my summer days blogging about how much I worship Ellen. Let the games begin...

The Gayest Thing I've Done To Date

As some of you may well know, the 'rents have been staying with me these past five days and have yet one to go. Though it hasn't turned out to be the total donkey-punching that I thought it would be (not yet at least), the entire experience has been, well, about as desirable as an indefatigable dingleberry dangling from an ass mop. And aside from the simple situational inconvenience, hiding certain parts of my life from my parents, my father especially, has worn my patience and nerves thin. Basically, I want my bag of cigarettes, sex toys, ties, and gay mags back from the doormen who are watching it for me with vigilant attentiveness.

While my mom and I have played the twin sphinxes -- mirroring each other's images eating, boozing, and watching TV in regal gluttony -- my dad has been doing little fix-it jobs around the house that I am actually quite capable of doing, but alas, too lazy. Surprise. Yesterday evening he was securing my squealing headboard to the bed frame (God only knows what my neighbor thinks, considering I can hear her sneeze), and he seemed frustrated so I went over and asked him what was up. Looking around a little baffled, he said, "I just don't know what I did with my drill!" Without the slightest hesitation I responded, "Oh don't worry, here, just borrow mine."

It's a rapid descent down a slippery slope, folks.

crApprentice

Following a complaint filed against The Donald from one of the female contestants in last season's Apprentice--one which described the comically quaffed billionaire as a biased chauvinist who would never hire a woman or any minority--is it really a big surprise that the final three contendors were two broads and a black guy? Seriously, Alex was "fired" last week, but that boy is basically the cookie-cutter, cloned employee of the Trump organization. In fact, I'm sure the taxi that was taking him "home" was actually en route to Trump's human resources department. Now we're down to the two chicks...oh please, did you actually think Donnie would have a black shoeshiner running one of his "most luxurous" or "most expensive" or "most respected" venues in the WORLD? Never.

Amber Alert

After posting my query regarding the whereabouts of my thesis (or as CC and I now refer to the collective pile as my T-h-e-c-e-s), it seems that there have been a slew of sightings all over town and country, everywhere from betwixt the pages of books, bars, and how could we forget, choice areas of the body. My thesis is much like a Leprechaun, though--in theory it exists, but has anyone ever actually laid eyes on it? (and this includes myself) Well, no, not really. At the end of my little reading rainbow, however, instead of a pot 'o gold there lies the promise of a diploma, and instead of a little green Irishman, there' s a very hot-headed, red-faced Hungarian man perched upon my future.

General Posting: Once I fail to graduate and my parent's pull the plug on my pied-a-terre, I'm looking for some couches to crash on and friends to tire and inconvenience. Am open to any suggestions, thanks.