Sunday Chronicles
Dear Stick,
I'm having a bit o' trouble. I just had my 21st birthday the other night and well, we all know how those go. I wasn't even going to go out because I had a Calculus exam the following morning, but a buddy talked me into having a beer. We drank. Sometime after midnight, my old roommate (who was our waitress) carries me out to her car and takes me back to her place to crash. I crawl in. I get sick. I crawl into the bed in my old bedroom. And I'm out.
Sometime throughout the night I roll over and notice a sleeping body next to me. I can make out a flannel shirt and an afro. I immediately know who it is, think, "Eh, whatever," and fall back asleep. Turns out, my roommate's boyfriend (who was drinking with us all evening) was too drunk to find his own bed. He found mine though. The following morning we exchanged, "Good Mornings," and he was off to work.
I'm concerned that my initial (only) thought was one of acceptance and not of reaction. Should I just brush this off and cherish the 21st birthday memory, or am I a fag?
- Confused in Kentucky
Dear Fag,
Man that reminds me of this one time, after a craaazy busy fu*kin' shift. So we all get off and cruise over to Nick's house. Dude, a quick stop at the Liquor Mart for a bottle of Vanilla vodka, and we out. Anyway, so we're sittin' around the table and shit. I think there was like 6 or 7 of us just bullshittin. Or we were playin' cards, I can't fu*kin' remember. . .
. . .Duuuude! We were playin' some game and shit 'cause I remember that some part of the game was havin' to take a swig of the vodka if you lost or fu*ked up or somethin'. So Nick kept packin' this bowl and we just kept fu*kin' smokin' and drinkin' and playin' whatever fu*kin' card game we were playin' And then I remember sometime, whenever it was I don't remember, when his roommate came home. I never met him but he seemed a cool fu*kin' cat. Kid reminded me of that singer from R.E.M. Bald 'n shit. Anyway, so R.E.M. guy packs this other fu*kin' bowl and now we got like two hefty, Colombian-stuffed fu*kin' pipes chasin' each other around the table. I was like, "What the Fu*k?" I dunno man. I. . .next thing I remember was. . .fu*k that man. I think I was sittin' up against the wall in the bathroom. . .or somethin', and then Lacy comes in and trips over my garden hose-like legs and just starts fu*kin' pukin' her brains out like 2 feet in front of me. Dude, I was too fu*ked up to even move, let alone give a fu*k.
Man. That was rough.
Fu*k Nick.
Stick out.
