Page 84 of 85


Today, I went with my friends Jeremy and Nick to the Men’s Wearhouse. Well, they went. I got bored quickly and walked next door to CompUSA. It was fun, but also frustrating. There’s nothing worse than looking at lots of cool stuff you can’t possible afford.

Not that I didn’t buy anything: I just couldn’t get the laptop, flat panel monitor, HDTV, and wireless networking products that I really wanted.

Anyway, on the way there, we were discussing girlfriends. Jeremy jokingly asked me if I was going to marry my girlfriend Christine.

I smacked him upside the head.

I’m fortunate that Christine and I have the same outlook on life after college: spend a few years living for ourselves before we’re ready to settle down. The whole mortgage / dog / mundane suburban existence thing can wait indefinitely.

(Not that either one of us wants to live in the suburbs, though. That’s another rant completely.)

That is all.


I got to thinking last night.

I’ve been wanting a pet penguin for quite some time now. A couple years, probably. The thing is, no one sells them. I’ve searched online quite a bit, and you can’t get a pet penguin anywhere.

Before that, I wanted a pet monkey. Then I found out how hard they are to take care of, and how they can turn mean once they get old. That pretty much killed that dream.

But it occurred to me: if I had a pet monkey and a pet penguin, I’d dress them up in little costumes and make them fight. The penguin would get a really suave looking Bond-esque tuxedo (obviously), and the monkey would get a martial arts uniform with a monkey-sized black belt.

Then I’d pit them against each other in a cage match, sell tickets, and bet heavily on the monkey.

Egg Nog

So tonight, I get home from yet another group project meeting feeling a little down. My girlfriend’s sick, so she won’t be coming over, and tomorrow I’m going to have a ridiculous amount of work to do.

Then I remembered that my mom gave me a carton of egg nog. So I opened the carton and poured myself a small glass of the thick, light yellow, spicy-smelling liquid with small flecks of black and brown suspended in it.

With a bit of trepidation, I took a sip.

“Damn, that’s noggy.”

I sat down at my computer, idling wasting time, and sipping egg nog… until my stomach began to twist. It was right about then that I remembered five years ago when I decided to “get fucked up holiday-style.” I was mixing egg nog and spiced rum. It was terrible.

But it was the start of a very interesting night. I was drinking in a dorm, and after I ran out of egg nog (or rum, can’t recall very clearly), I went to the other side of campus and kept drinking with different people.

The rest of the night is pretty hazy… I only remember bits and pieces: vomiting black liquid into the toilet in a ladies restroom, making out with a girl that I had been intentionally avoiding (yes, after vomiting), having a crowd of people scream “GET A ROOM!” at us, and then waking up in her bed the next morning.

It was one of the few times that I’ve woken up and thought, “Where the hell am I?” To this day, I have no idea how I got into her loft.

What a mistake. Ugh. At least I didn’t have sex with her.

So now my body rejects egg nog. Since it’s only available once a year, I always have time to forget that in the interim.

Hey Christine, you want a mostly-full carton of egg nog?