Gingers≠Blondes

Let me clarify this once and for all:

Gingers are NOT Blondes.

I'm bringing this up because my ginger roommate insists that he's blond. He came into the room today, as I lay hungover/somewhat still drunk in my bed, and starts talking about what bad sunburn he got from sailing. Granted it was bad. He's head was burnt in an downwards triangle that pointed towards his chin, and his ghost pale legs had odd red stripes on them. I don't know how he got such odd marks, but I digress.

I'd feel sorry for the guy if he didn't follow up the tale with "I guess you know what I mean, us guys with blonde hair and blue eyes always get burned"

. . .

Did he just imply that I look like him? A ginger?

Not acceptable.

My annoyance would have been forgotten if he didn't wander into my study corner later, sit down and say "can I ask you a question?"

I thought"This is wierd"

"Wow this is awkward to ask."

"Where is he going with this? Granted he's usually awkward, he just doesn't admit it"

"I might be interning in New York this summer, and I was thinking maybe if you're ok with it, since I'm not 21 yet . .

I catch on, and am eased that its not some more awkward question. I started thinking, hmm, maybe giving him my license would be good for him, it might get him out more. I need to get a new one anyway, mine still has "UNDER 21" written on it several times. But then he had to ruin it.

" You know, since we look so similar: blonde hair, blue eyes"

"WHAT?!?"

I bit my tongue. Hard. Not only did he again claim that we both had blonde hair, he implied that I looked like him, a ginger!! We do NOT resemble each other in the least. But there he was, for the second time that day, calling me, in essence, a ginger look-a-like.

And for the record I do not have blue eyes, they're pale green (though they were a really cool yellow, yes, yellow color in high school, but then they changed back. . .)

Now not all red-heads are gingers. To be a ginger you must posses the glowing red hair, pale clammy skin, overabundance of freckles, and generally creepiness that reflects the fact that you don't have a soul.

My school's debating society has debated on several occasions whether or not gingers should have the same civil rights as normal people.

The resolution was defeated.

There is no way I'm giving him my license now. Especially when he asks like that. He would just let it go to waste anyway. Its not like he even goes to parties now. He often puts homework ahead of going out on the weekend, I can't imagine how awkward he would be in a New York club.

Actually I can

I also don't want the kid wondering around the Big Apple with my identity. And signature.

He looses stuff constantly.

So a hint to all gingers. If you are asking a really big favor from a non-ginger. Do not compare yourselves to the person in question.

You can't complement someone by saying they don't have a soul.

Post Script: The word "blonde" for those of you not brushed up on you're blonde vocabulary, is one of the few words in the english language that still has a gender. e.g. He is blond and January Jones is also blonde.

Ahh, January Jones . . .

Party for new members

For out debating society we have a semester in which newly added member need to fill a number of requirements to become a regular member of the society.

Don't worry, it isn't hazing. But still it can be rough. You have a number of requirements to fill, including the presentation which every new member must give and pass to become a regular member at the end of the semester.

Anyway, today was our new member party. Me being on the Ways and Means Committee, had to help organize this festive event today. Which was kind of exciting for me because it is the first time I bought a Keg by myself.

It feels like a right of passage.

Though I better be reimbursed. Just saying. Its bad enough I had to put the deposit on the tap under my name, on my credit card (which my parents pay for). But, anyway, I'm writing this drunk so it might not make that much sense. Thought as I walked back I realized that I didn't have my key.

Damnit.

I never forget my key this late.

So I called my roommate. No answer. Then I call him about 3 more times. Anytime he a phone rings whiles he's trying to sleep he gets all pissy, thought usually its his phone, and then after he gets mad at me, he feels guilty and mumbles sorry before going back to sleep.

But he ignored my calls tonight.

Douche.

So I ended up walking around our building and banging on our window with my Gatorade bottle (because I'm a responsible drunk, ELECTROLYTES!!!) screaming his name, and finally, he did respond, and I got in.

Thats what you get for ignoring me.

Open the damn door. I'd do it for you!

Hydration on

So I just spent the first weekend night of the semester without going out. My roommate on the other hand spent is first weekend night of the semester out of the apartment. AND past his early bed time!!!

The Universe is trippin'

I realized today —with an upcoming hell week staring me back in the face — that maybe going out Tuesday, Thursday and Friday wasn't the best idea. Of course it's not that I regret going out, or that I wouldn't do it again if I had a chance, but again, not the best idea.

I'll be fine with my work, as I always am, so that's not a problem. I just had to spend most of my night catching up with readings etc.

My roommate on the other hand —after doing extra Accounting exercises— decided to go out because, being bid night, he knew someone who new someone who could get him into a party.

Apparently not a very hard feat on bid night.

He came back in a smiley fashion to brag about his exploits.

"I ended up going to FIVE frat parties tonight!"

"Impressive" I reply as I try to continue enjoying my night cheese

Nothing says going hard like switching between 5 different parties in a two hour span.

It takes a great deal of timing to be able to wait in line, get a beer, drink it, and then go to the next party.

I'm surprised he could stand.

(If you haven't taken notice yet *hint read the above* I love sarcastic humor)

My semi-buzzed but "stumbling" roommate then proceeded to use some outdate 90's catch phrases, and told me that it was time "to get his hydration on"

I kid you not.

He fills up his glass, drinks it, then goes into our room, closes the door for a few minutes, and then comes back out to do the process again. And again. . . and again.

. . . and again.

I'm glad he knows to drink water after "drinking" but a light buzz does not necessitate 5 full glasses of water before going to bed. It was kind of endearing though. Like watching the bird in a cuckoo clock come out its little door to chirp at every hour. . . except over and over again in rapid secession.

Hydration off.

Do SOMETHING interesting

It's Friday night. I just got back from being out. My roommate is asleep.

This wouldn't be annoying if this happened occasionally, but my roommate is ALWAYS asleep before I get home. Now, I know he doesn't have much to do, or many people to do it with. He's always desperate to do anything with anyone. I can understand this, I did this a lot my freshman year, but that does not mean that you have to go to bed early.

Watch TV, find a movie on netflix, play a videogame, I don't care. Do SOMETHING other than going to bed.

He goes to bed at the same time he does during the week. Find something more interesting to do! It's depressing. A week of school is more interesting for him than a weekend.

I remember one of the first weekends back. I helped him get into a frat party. We got booze. I leave him for as second to go meet two chicks. One for me and one for him (I choose the cuter one of course) I turn back around.

He's gone.

That was probably the most exciting weekend the poor awkward kid has had this year.

I'm glad I always have something to do and someone to do it with on Fridays, and if I had enough of that, at least I can watch Netflix. This "go to bed at 11" thing is really depressing.

Bourbon= Knowledge

I go to a University in the South. Ergo, I drink a lot of Bourbon. I never had Bourbon before I came to college, but since I joined our University's debating team, Bourbon has become my life blood.

We had our first meeting of the semester the other day, and because I had been sober all break (obviously my New Years sucked this year) I went a little overboard. Ever have half a solo cup of straight hard booze after several hours of drinking? Needless to say, I married Ms. Toilet that night.

It was a private ceremony.

As the next week unfolded, I slowly learned what happened that night. First of all, I didn't remember that I blacked out. In other words I didn't remember, that I didn't remember, or as I like to call it "College Amnesia." Then I found out that I called one of my old friends who goes to another university and with whom I had a fight with and haven't talked to since. I'm sure the voicemail message was painful and I'll never hear from her again. I'm sure I'll write about that soon, prepare yourselves. On a slightly less embarrassing note, however, I learned that Bourbon (which always deserves capitalization) gives me special abilities.

When I'm drunk I can speak LATIN.

Yes, Latin. I'm well known for speaking French when I get drunk. No big deal. I've been taking French for 3 years. What good is studying a language if you cant 't leave long grammatically incorrect voicemails on your friends' phones. But Latin? I took Latin in high school, which means I remember squat. Sure, I can recollect some basic phrases, and can translate a few simple (and short) lines if I have help, but thats it. Thats why I was dumbfounded when my Anarchist Associate, as I shall call him (yes, I know he lives in dream land) told me that I was not only speaking Latin, but speaking it INTELLIGIBLY.

I cannot do this sober.

This has lead me to the conclusion that Bourbon is magical. I don't know what it is about Bourbon that makes me find lost brain cells from my pathetic attempt to learn Latin in high school. But it did.

Bourbon is magic shit.

It has just the right amount of pretentious "I go to a prestigious University" mixed with just enough "Let's get smashed!" to be the perfect drink for a debate "Society."

I just realized by the way, that my attempt at alliteration —"Anarchist Associate"— is abbreviated "A.A." Let's step back a moment and enjoy the irony that I nicknamed the person who told me the silly shit I did when I was drunk, "A.A."Do you think my subconscious is trying to tell me something?

I'm drinking Bourbon again tomorrow night. Maybe it will enlighten me.

UPDATE: This week during interviews, I've had at least two people ask me to be on certain panels because "you speak Latin, right?'