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
Enter the Rumham 