Friday afternoon saw my arrival into D.C. From there, I took the Metro to Maryland and got picked up by a Jew. We held hands, but didn't kiss. Yet. Buffalo Wild Wings was the lunch destination and boy is that always great. Next up saw the arrival of the cute little sparkplug blondie, 210. Hugging, but no open-mouth kissing ensued. Boy was it sure nice to see some of these delinquents again. We met up with another Jew, and went into D.C. for the night. There, we went to a house that didn't use air conditioning. The thermostat read a mere 80 degrees. It's not like we were drinking there and dehydrating ourselves or anything...
After hours talking about television programs, such as The X-Files, and movies, we left to go to a hipster/liberal/hippie bar. They didn't take cards. Uhh, hello? It's the 21st century dick clowns. I drank a German beer with two Jews. Then I went upstairs on the wobbly floor and pretended like I was going to dance with the behemoths that were roaming around. I didn't have nearly enough alcohol in me to dance, and the gay kid who was on ecstasy or molly could not be competed against. We left shortly after and took a bike taxi to Union Station. Either he didn't use deodorant or the 11 blocks he peddled on his bike with 4 adult humans was too taxing on his hippie ass. The smell was unbearable. The jests toward him were unethical. Jewish people are relentless.
Saturday was a much neater day. A barbecue had been planned out in Virginia. I had always had the assumption that my family was royalty in terms of being alcoholics. And I mean that in a serious way. Like alcoholism runs in my family, but the pickle family crushes my family in a much more fun, safe way. We got there around 1:30 and I was already ingesting beer, by choice. After numerous beers and several hours, shots were starting to get poured. One shot, two shot, six shot, drop dead. By 9:00 I think I was blacked out. Somehow I made it to the bar. I had a beer handed to me and all I remember was wobbling. The bouncer came up to me and said "That's your last beer." And I could swear on my life that I responded "No. It's my first beer."
Needless to say, I was escorted out of the bar, but voluntarily by a friend because Mr. Jew Boy claimed he was "tired." After living with me for 4 years, he must have known I wouldn't let him take me home for no good reason. I took my shirt off on the walk, made it to the basement, and immediately passed out on the futon. One hour later I awoke, sat up, and proceeded to vomit on the futon. I also remember telling myself that what I was doing was wrong, but couldn't physically stand because my world was spinning. Pussy. I know. I was then thrown off the futon and it was brought outside almost instantaneously. Washed off by the power of a hose, it looked as if I didn't fuck up too bad. I puked some more in the backyard and ventured back downstairs.
I said my apologies and passed out for good this time. I awoke the next morning feeling paralyzed. Not like a typical hangover, but something that wouldn't allow me to move. I made it upstairs and started puking some bile in the toilet. Hot, I know. I talked to the family, continued hating my life, and left to go back to Maryland. I slept all day and ate Popeyes for linner. (lunch + dinner) Then I saw my other former roommates girlfriend and another mutual friend of ours. We went out for more drinks and relived our youth. Not as exciting as the previous night because the goal was to be social, not obnoxious. I had a really great time.
We called the boyfriend and talked for a while. I miss him. And then went back home and pretty much went to sleep after some dashing conversations. I woke up today knowing that I had to come back home to this miserable life. Gone would be the people that I spent 4 years forging incredible relationships with. So too would be the people that I'm just beginning to forge friendships with. Back to home where life blows hard. But that's life I guess. It was bad enough that I had to be upset about that, but the bus ride home takes the cake.
The ride is typically a 4 hour trip. Sometimes the driver will stop for rest, sometimes he won't. Well once we got into Delaware the traffic was at a standstill. I think they were doing construction on each lane of the only major major highway in the entire fucking state. I hate Delaware and everything associated with it. Than the dickhead driver stopped at a rest stop. Fine, whatever. But the very best part of the trip was the fat fucking piece of shit sitting in the back of the bus. I don't know if you'll know what I'm talking about, but the generic laugh that fat people have. Like they are trying to catch their breath while laughing simultaneously. Well this fat bitch was laughing the entire 5 hour drive back to New York. I wanted her to choke on the 20 piece bucket of Popeyes she picked up for herself.
And now I'm home. Alone. Unemployed. Lacking real social interaction. I feel sorry for myself and the life I lead in New Jersey. Only time will tell if I can make it out of this shithole soon. But once I do, brighter days are surely ahead. I had such a great weekend that I'm kind of wishing I didn't. Now I can look ahead and realize all of the fun shit I'm not going to be doing. Fuckkkkkkkkkkk. DC, I'm comin' for ya. Because "I am better than you" New Jersey.
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