This was a short experiment in my writing. I enjoyed it and I hope some of you did too. I’ve found myself a writing gig for an online print source. I don’t know how it’ll go, but I’m excited. I figure I could do better work there than on here. Thank you for reading and I wish you few the best.
After my last post, I was disgusted with myself. I felt like I compromised myself. I’m all down with getting fucked up, but I never saw myself as the kind of guy who did hard drugs. I was afraid to read my last post because of this. I wrote that right after I did a few lines and I was afraid to read those thoughts. A friend of mine died in high school, and that day I wrote a lot about it. I have yet to look it over. I was afraid to feel like that again. That low, that helpless, that distraught. The thoughts that ran through my head those years ago are written in a composition notebook in my bedroom in my parent’s house. I have seen characters in film be unable to do something because they were afraid of the emotions that would follow. I never understood that. There have been hundreds of times where I’ve thought about reading what I wrote that day. No matter how curious I get, I just cannot bring myself to do it.
I don’t regret trying the “nose-clams”. I’m glad I got it out of my system, but boy was it on my mind after it. I remember it so clearly. A girl asked me where she could do it, I brought her upstairs, I robotically grabbed a glass sign from the wall, put it down as if I had been Hunter S. Thompson in a past life. I wrote the last post immediately following those actions. I heard the police were outside and I went down and hid out in the kitchen. As I sat there sniffing ferociously, doing that knuckle to nose thing we all learned from The Wolf of Wall Street, I typed out my previous post. Not a high point in my life. Since then, I have been completely turned off of the drug. After I invited some ladies into my room and they were looking for a place to “do the donuts”, I gave them my adolescent psychology textbook for a surface. These girls were pretty troubled, I’ve gathered that much but it came full circle after watching them do blow off of a adolescent psych book. A book these girls should read. Anyways, after my blowtime and the boxed wine slapfest, there was a baked point. I found a pledge who possessed the devils lettuce and we smoked a blunt and ruminated the current state of Hip-Hop music.
I haven’t done much since that night. It was homecoming, I got trashed with alumni, it was a great time. I finally decided to cut out cigarettes. Not that it was a big problem with me but I could see it budding. I smoked the last camel saturday night after some much needed sexy time. I felt more like Don Draper in that moment than I felt like Jordan Belfort in the week before. I keep thinking about drinking less, but I don’t want to give it up. I don’t want to give up drinking until I need to. I’m not addicted to alcohol, I’m addicted to having fun and alcohol brings me to that spot more frequently and efficiently than any other alternative route that I could think of.
I met a girl recently. It’s a new hookup if anything, I’ve grown weary of the previous hookup. I like the beginning of these things, but these things rarely end well. This girl spent the night saturday and I feel alone complaining about sleeping next to another human. Like I was drunk, where in the fuck do I put my arms? How do I convey to her that my arm is being put into a sleeper hold under the top of her back? How do mention this without offending her? No, you’re not heavy, my arm is just sensitive TO ANOTHER LIFE FORM WITH ITS DRUNK DEAD WEIGHT ON TOP OF IT! Chrissakes. From this paragraph, I never felt more like that old fuck on 60 minutes. Andy Rooney? How i’d love to hear his take on the male’s perspective of college hookups and the many feelings that rush through these poor thought brain centers that are inhabited if not enhanced with alcohol.
I’d also like to write a love letter to the real MVP out there. Jagermeister, how do you do it? Introduced following Hitler’s appointment as Chancellor of Germany (No connection hopefully), Jagermeister has been getting college kids laid before the Netflix and Chill line. Sweet jesus. I fell in love with Jager last weekend. Jager does it all, gets you fucked up, gives you confidence like most liquor, I drank Jager while I was sick this weekend, I felt better. That’s right, this saturday I drank cups of Earl Grey to clear the sinuses and I took swigs of the Jager like the mysterious potion man told me to do. I think Jager’s cough syrupy qualities may have contributed to my feeling better but Jager, you’ve been the Sundance to my Butch Cassidy as of late. I look forward to seeing you again on Halloween this weekend. ~RH
Ive been drunk for thirteen hours. Lemme present the rundown. 11:00 A.M. Mimosas. Champagne and orange juice. Killed the bottle in 20 minutes. After that proceeded to sneak into the 21+ tailgate party. I’m not 21. Snuck in. Brought a grill in for my frat’s parking spot. The security asked for an ID I said I’ll give it when I put it down. I didn’t. I bounced. Drank a few beers. Mingled with alumni. Solid time. Then went to the house. Shot some guns in a sand pit. Shotgunned some beers, (total number, 13). Passed out during the Michigan game. Partied. Played beer die. Drank over 20 beers for the day, and in addition to that drank some schnapps, jager, and rum. Got really squirrelly. Took an adderal. Played some die. Did blow for the first time. Loved it. Feel bad for saying it. Might try again. Cops are outside. Hiding in the kitchen. Life is interesting to say the least. Can’t wait till the weekend recap tomorrow ~RH
Sick. Tired. Trying to write a short story for class and frustrated with my strong start and it just fell completely flat. I’m going to sleep on it and write the rest tomorrow with a clear head. The story is my attempt at southern gothic, a sub-genre I really seem to be enjoying. I particularly like the grotesque tendencies of these types of stories. I’m just trying to write this gross piece set in the cajun south. It’s fun to think about. I wrote it while listening to Teddy Pendergrass’ greatest hits. They are great hits, but it was such a strange pairing. Picture listening to Marvin Gaye and trying to write a story about murder. Those things seem to write themselves. RIP MG.
Saw a girl with a really nice butt today. That was sweet. But I probably got more excited seeing a pug on campus. What a strange little dog. I’m in love with them. I want one. There is something about those dogs where I get an outer space, alien vibe. I dig the shit out of that vibe. I’ve always been drawn to tiny dogs, I’m a tall person and I just love the contrast. Big guy, little dog. Something fun about it.
Homecoming comes closer and closer. My excitement is real. Mimosas will probably be the title of that post. It’s going to be a great day, rain or shine. I’d like to go to bed now, I should probably start writing these earlier, but it’s becoming a bit of a routine now. Almost midnight, shit, gotta squeeze off a blog post. Alright cats, have a good night. ~RH
Here it is, the highly anticipated sequel to my most drunken post. I thought about editing it but I figure I leave it in its natural state. What a post that was. The honesty, the insecurities that followed. The post in question, “8. Ocho” was the best representation of my drunken state. I hit my bed, immediately turn on my folk music playlist. That’s how it is most of these drunken nights. The real treat this morning was reading my texts to my beer die partner. I apologized profusely for losing so early when he countered with “What are you talking about? We came in third place?” I was surprised to learn of my “drunken master esque” Beer Die ability. The 11 beers may not sound like a lot but in actuality they were the twenty bizz ounce tall boys. Equal to roughly 22 beers. On top of that, woke up with zero hangover. That’s what I imagine P.Diddy feels like when he wakes up.
I watched the debate tonight and spoiler alert, I’m the faggy liberal cousin who annoys the piss out of his conservative father. Oh baby was I feeling the Bern tonight. I don’t want to turn this into a political blog but I really enjoyed what Bernie, Hillary, and O’Malley did tonight. Also, for some great comedy, please look into Jim Webb’s response to the enemy question. Basically said he had an enemy who tossed a grenade at him but need not worry because he put that mawf in the dirt. Paraphrasing of course.
I have a cold but that won’t stop be from getting obliterated this weekend. Homecoming shall be a grand ol time. Sleep well everyone and be good to your pets. ~RH
may or may not puke during this. Currently in bed about 11 beers deep with 6 shots to boots. I can’t feel my face when I’m alone. Very drunk. Had to eat half a pizza because it couldn’t fit in the fridge. Ain’t they the saddest tale. Here I lie drunk as a skunk and twice as smelly listening to bob Dylan.
Life is decent. Work is okay. School break is better. Alcohol and prescription drugs beat entering. Cue flight of the Concords. My personal favorite, The Bus Driver’s Song.
Very drunk. Life is a melody. ~RH
It’s been one week. Here’s where I’m at. I got a C+ on the exam I thought I was most certainly going to fail. Not too happy with the grade but I’ll take it. After the test I had a 8 hour work day which blew many dicks. After a tough day I celebrated by not drinking. Yes. That’s right folks. Sober on a Friday. Who could of predicted that? My Friday night ended with McDonald’s and some Netflix. Not too shabby. I started watching Narcos and I’m enthralled by the concept of it. Coke, money, bilingual television? I’m in.
Saturday, after a morning of Narcos became a bit more debaucherous. Is that a word? Debaucherous. I’m getting the ol’ red squiggly under it. Fuck it. After Narcos I began playing beer die at 2:00 PM. After running the table for 9 hours I figure I cash out with what little dignity and cheap light beer I had with me. Called the DD, got more McDonald’s (that’s becoming a problem), and went home and passed out.
I love those drunken mornings where you wake up in a sleeping bag, shirtless, surrounded by cigarettes and candy wrappers. I’m sure that’s happened to every well respected writer. Right? Guys? Anyone? I sobered up around 9:00 AM and drove home. No hangover (score). My mom wasn’t home for the 3 hours I was passed out on her couch (probably for the best). I had some nice home cooking and watched the Pat’s struggle to beat the Cowboys by 20+ points. In my bed now just chilling. All is good in the ‘burbs. I have a beer die tournement so if I make a post it will be trashy af. I’m loving this 4 day fall break. One love ~ RH
I can’t write much tonight. I would love to devote some time to writing a nice thing about my day but I have a test tomorrow morning at 8am I am not ready for. I wish my professor would accept tears as extra credit. I’m listening to Chief Keef as I study. Will probably be the reason I fail. Bang bang. Sosa. 3Hunna. ~ RH
In the drinking game beer die, the numbers 5 and 7 are never spoken. Instead they are referred to as “Bizz” and “buzz”. Today’s entry marks post number bizz and that makes me feel happy. The bizz and buzz thing gets difficult because in my fraternity, a single utterance of the actual word results in a drink. It’s entered my vernacular. I caught myself in math class today asking a girl what she got on number bizz. She looked at me like I had buzz heads.
Today was a long day. Classes from 8-11 after the blackout inducing Edward 40 Hands. Then I had work from 12:30-6. Just now getting home from the library, I’m tired as fuck and real peeved I missed the season premiere of AHS. I think I’ve developed a cold. Thanks, Obama.
For breakfast today I had a bagel with smoked salmon cream cheese. I think it’s safe to say that this is the height of luxury. I felt like moneybag toting cartoon villian as I spread that fish over my bagel. Salmon is a great dish in its own regard but I’d hate to be the fish that made it into the cream cheese tub. That has got to be a worst gig in the fish biz.
After Friday morning it’s smooth sailing. One test and I’m on a 4 day vacation/bender. Good times to be had. Going to avoid 40’s for sure. Tonight’s playlist will be Paul Simon’s pandora station. Good night ~ RH
Tonight is hopefully a night I’ll remember. Good chances I will not. I was driving home from class when I got an invitation to participate in “Edward 40 Hands”. For the uninformed, a drinking game where the participant tapes a 40 oz bottle of malt liquor to each hand and finished both to be free. This is also called “40 ounces to freedom”. This term popularized by the ska band sublime on one of their albums. Anyways there I was, leading the pack at the half hour mark. Almost done my first 40. And this being my first 40 hand adventure, I was naive. Everyone looked at me to see if I was okay. Most saying “are you sure you wanna start that fast?” They were right. Half way done my first 40 I was drunk. Spoiler alert. I didn’t come in first. But I didn’t puke either. Another tradmark of the game. I finished well before my big brother, another newbie in the game. After that we all drunkenly stumbled over to the intramural sporting events where our team was in the finals. A lot of slurred conversations with pledges later we won the game. I got a ride home and I’m just now preparing for my 8:00 A.M class. Pounding water like its the cure for cancer I lie in bed happy. Not worried about work or class tomorrow. Just content with the now. One love to the slim few who see this. Word is bond. ~ RH
Enter the Rumham 