Remember right before you left for college how you thought it was going to be like that movie Animal House? Nothing but booze and toga parties and hot naked chicks with big titties? Then you got to school and either spent the first two weeks treating it like that before realizing your grades were shit and you had to get your act together, or you found out that its fucking difficult to meet new people when your a self conscious little bitch and found yourself practically crying yourself to sleep at night wondering why God cursed you with an anti-social personality.
For me it was something of a mix. I went to a college on the other side of the states and knew virtually no one. So I did what an other reasonably insecure, sexually frustrated seventeen year old would do: I drank to extremes and had ridiculous, awe inducing adventures. For better or for worse, however, that was only on the weekend. During the week, I studied, went to classes, occasionally ate, maybe played some gamecube here and there, but for the most part I was completely isolated. As soon as Friday hit, I'd find a party, get fucked up, maybe make out with a normally unattractive girl twice my size and wake up the next morning with a headache, inflamed joints, and for some reason a feeling of deep, deep satisfaction. I was living. Or at least I thought I was, which in reality is just as good.
The rest is history. I don't want to bore you with the unattractive details, but for a while I seriously thought the stuff was arsenic.
It was probably for the best too. I didn't need the stuff anymore. I had my shit together. I had my 3.48 gpa. I had a Borders bookstore with the entire Dragonball collection. I spent the rest of the year chilling out there.
Since then I've more or less gotten over my fear of the booze. I'm at a different college too, one much closer to home. I've been here for about a week and a half. The campus is large and poorly designed. My room is tiny. My classes are kind of shitty. The weather makes the room humid and impossible to sleep in. In short, it kind of sucks.
I feel the urge. The urge to just go nuts or whatever. Does that read bad? I bet it does. My friends for the most part don't drink. The ones that do are hesitant toward inviting me to join them due to my er... drunken behavior which for whatever reason scares them despite my insistence that I am an extremely charming drunk. This behavior includes but is not limited to, picking fights with inanimate objects, picking fights with people, picking fights with animals, crying and screaming, vomiting profusely on anything that dares get in my path, chasing rabbits in hope of eating them, hooking up with fat chicks, hooking up with hot chicks, hooking up with my hand in a public place***. The list goes one. Actually, I can see why they wouldn't want to drink with me and I'm fine with it. I'm a dangerous drunk.
Still, I'm bored as shit here. I love my friends but one can only play super smash brothers so long before you get wistful for that Halloween where you made out with that hot Chinese batgirl, or the time you nearly got date-raped by an amazon-like giant.
True story.
***- This list is obviously an exaggeration, but you get the point.
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