THE 30-DAY SONG CHALLENGE Day 02 - Your least favorite song

Day 02 - Your least favorite song

I'm a desk jockey from roughly 8am to roughly 4pm most Monday-Fridays. The on again, off again nature of my work leaves me with a lot of spare time in front of a computer. Now I guess, technically, I could use that time to study my maths or something and become...I don't know, good at my job? But in reality, mostly I just play on the internets.

Anyone in this same boat will probably agree with my selection for Least Favorite Song.

Don't you fucking hate that? Not only is it an annoying song, but it's such a tired meme. There is nothing worse than when your great aunt Lilly, or whoever, finally discovers email and hears about this new thing that all the kids are doing...in 2007! You open yet another one of her ridiculous "Obama is Nazi Muslim" chain letters only to find that you got Roll'd son! Getting pwned by a n00b with a Rick Roll in 2010 is embarrassing to a guy so jaded by the interwebs that he giggles at 2girls1cup! And it's also infuriating because it's such a shitty troll.

I actually just reread that last paragraph and I feel pretty nerdy right now...nerdy and l33t suckuhs!

THE 30-DAY SONG CHALLENGE Day 01 - Your Favorite Song

Day 01 - Your Favorite Song

This is the most annoying question anyone could ever ask me..."what is your favorite song." What are the boundaries? Rock? Alternative? Hip-Hop? Rap? Pop? Country? Blues? "There are far too many songs and genres and sub genres and generations to possibly distill down into one definitive favorite song," I would say! Ask me what my favorite chill wave song of the last five minutes or my favorite classic rock anthem, but my favorite song of all time? Surely you jest.

But going on that rant would mean that I would have to cop out on the very first post of this endeavor...and then I would be a failure.

This one may require the most explanation of them all...not because you give a shit, but because I guess I have to convince myself. This is the guy who at age 12 (or was it 11) walked into Wal-Mart with 30 bucks and purchased his first CD's (Boyz II Men, II; Guns and Roses, Appetite For Destruction; and Pearl Jam, Ten). I am just as musically confused, check that, eclectic now.

Ok, so favorite song. Favorite songs must have a story. Luckily, mine does, and the story goes a little something like this:

One Thursday early in the spring of my junior year of high school, my parents went out of town leaving me home alone. The next morning, rather than go to school, I was to be on a bus headed north to Tuscaloosa for a yearbook competition. The bus was to leave the parking lot at 5 am and using typical high school logic, Thursday became the new Friday and on Fridays we drink. Therefore, I called my friend Hunter and we proceeded to kill about a case of Natty Lite whilst playing Gin Rummy (I liked to combine the nerdy with the hardcore back in HS).

Really, the rummy was cause I was just nervously waiting on a girl. This particular girl would be the inspiration for lots of songs and stories to come, but back then she was just a friend. This "friend" and I had been pushing that label hard...to the breaking point, if you will, for weeks. This Thursday night before the yearbook trip was where I intended to push it to the brink. She was coming from a tennis tournament in Dothan...she was expecting to get in late and had told her parents she was staying at a friend's house. She never made it to that friend's house. She came to mine instead. So here I am, 17 years old, 8 or 9 natural lite courage boosters in, and my super duper high school crush is taking a shower in my bathroom! Just through that door! Hormones man...ain't they a kick in the pants?

I was going absolutely bat shit crazy by the time she came back into my room, hair wet...smelling all good and girly from the shampoo she brought with her. She crawled into bed beside me to, ya know, get some sleep before we had to be awake and on the bus.

Push the line: spooning.

Push the line: playing with her hair!

Push the line: tickling, leading to her breathless on top of me!!!

Aaaaannnnd FAIL!

Rejected.

She got up, went downstairs...it was time to go.

We boarded the school bus in the still dark morning and sat beside one another as we pulled out of town. Somewhere in the murky dark of Highway 55 north, we managed to get horizontal for the briefest of moments. And finally Zap!! Almost just as I had planned we had our first, bumpy, sloppy makeout! It. was. glorious.

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The weekend continued on a crazy trajectory, but everything else that happened, (tornados, bus breaking down, getting lost on a college campus, getting kicked out of Wal-Mart) while all somewhat worthy of full stories themselves, paled in comparison to that moment!

"But wait !" you say, "what in the hell does this have to do with your favorite song?"

Well that weekend I began another journey. On the way home from Tuscaloosa, the illustrious KevDan (more to come on him later) was playing his guitar in the back of the bus. An insidiously infectious melody grabbed hold of me and drew me in like a Siren's song. He had some lyrics...I added more. He had a melody...I sang a harmony. By the time we got back to the high school, we had the entire yearbook staff singing along with us. That song was called Touche'. It grew to epic high school proportions. KevDan and I started a band...we recorded a cd...we got the song played on Dothan's WKMX...we played house parties... the Cheerleaders did a pep rally dance to it...freshmen hung around my locker to get an autographed copy! I was a high school rock star.

Now you might think it's cheesy that I would pick one of my own songs as my favorite, but honestly, it's mostly KevDan's song, and by damnit, I love it! Every time I hear it, it takes me back to that ridiculous weekend, and all the great things about high school...it's like a musical yearbook. Not only that, but it embodies the very first time I felt the rush of being in a band, something I still yearn for today. So in a way, it's not only my favorite song, it's a genesis as well.

Luckily, we put up a myspace page for Steal Daylight (yes that was the ridiculous name of our ridiculous high school band) as a joke a few years ago cause there is no way there is a youtube video of this gem.

Lauren did it, so I will too! anything to get me writing again!

THE 30-DAY SONG CHALLENGE

Day 01 - Your favorite song
Day 02 - Your least favorite song
Day 03 - A song that makes you happy
Day 04 - A song that makes you sad
Day 05 - A song that reminds you of someone
Day 06 - A song that reminds of you of somewhere
Day 07 - A song that reminds you of a certain event
Day 08 - A song that you know all the words to
Day 09 - A song that you can dance to
Day 10 - A song that makes you fall asleep
Day 11 - A song from your favorite band
Day 12 - A song from a band you hate
Day 13 - A song that is a guilty pleasure
Day 14 - A song that no one would expect you to love
Day 15 - A song that describes you
Day 16 - A song that you used to love but now hate
Day 17 - A song that you hear often on the radio
Day 18 - A song that you wish you heard on the radio
Day 19 - A song from your favorite album
Day 20 - A song that you listen to when you’re angry
Day 21 - A song that you listen to when you’re happy
Day 22 - A song that you listen to when you’re sad
Day 23 - A song that you want to play at your wedding
Day 24 - A song that you want to play at your funeral
Day 25 - A song that makes you laugh
Day 26 - A song that you can play on an instrument
Day 27 - A song that you wish you could play
Day 28 - A song that makes you feel guilty
Day 29 - A song from your childhood
Day 30 - Your favorite song at this time last year

"The Tunnel of Love"

There's a three foot section of concrete pipe resting in the back corner of the old elementary school's playground. Looking back on it, I'm not sure if it was an actual piece of sandbox equipment, or just leftover construction material that childhood imaginations co-opted into the playscape. It's rough hewn and hard as a rock. It hardly seems likely that it would pass muster with parental groups these days, but it's there, and whatever its original intended purpose was, when I was a kid, that relatively huge hunk of concrete existed solely to scare the living shit out of me.

To the boys of my school, it was known simply and ominously as "The Tunnel of Love." I had seen, one by one, my friends cornered and taken inside by the opposite sex. The girls lurked nearby in packs waiting for one of us to leave the safety of our own group. You could never let your guard down...ever. Chasing an errant kickball or stumbling around dizzy drunk from a hard spin on the merry-go-round might have spelled your doom. We knew this: If given the power of numbers, the girls would pounce. Then they would drag their prey, kicking and screaming inside the tunnel. Once they had you, resistance was futile.

-"Why don't the teachers stop this?" we would wonder aloud.

In our heads, we were at the center of some massively diabolical plot. We weren't sure of the ultimate goal, but we knew it involved the tunnel. Each time someone would emerge from the pipe, woozy and disoriented, they would be inundated with questions.

-"What happened?"

-"I got kissed... they held me down and they kissed me."

-"What was it like?"

-"Gross."

-"And?"

-"Terrible."

-"AND?!?!"

-"I don't want to talk about it anymore."

That they were all lying, I only realized in hindsight. Every boy came out of that tunnel spouting the same line, "It was gross. It was terrible." I had no idea what kissing was like so at the time, I believed every word. I can see now, every boy had the same thought, "How can I get a head start on doing that again." And so the competition was on.

That was the very moment they got us. That was they very second they turned us against one another. Those little bitches! They forced us into a trap from which we had no defense! Before the tunnel, no one gave two shits what the hell Kimberly Mitchell was up to . The intense game of foursquare was WAY more important. Rules had to be made, someone was going to be king square! Me! Me! Me! Please...let it be me. Afterward though, Kimberly (and every other girl for that matter) was never too far from our minds, and the games only reached that fever pitch when there was an audience...

An audience of girls...

Girls to be kissed.

I watched in muted horror as my friends were taken. I mourned the loss of their independence (or rather the beginning of their codependence). Yet before long, I just wanted to join their club. As the weeks ticked by and the warm September breezes gave way to November's wintery chill, my crowd of "innocents" dwindled. The more adventurous of us had long since been through their metamorphoses and a clear line of the "haves" and the "have nots" began to develop between us. The badge of honor that the craftier, more careful or more cunning among us had worn signifying "Tunnel of Love virginity", tarnished into a leprous stigma.

My fear of being drawn into the tunnel was gradually supplanted by a fear of not being chosen to be attacked at all. My head swam with my first inklings of self doubt. Why haven't they come after me yet? Is there something wrong with me? They got Scottie, he's fatter than me. They got Brad, he's got wicked buck teeth! What the hell girls? What does a fella have to do to be subjected to your ire? My curiosity eventually began to pull me closer to the "danger zone." With each week I became more brazen.

Finally, in early spring my day came.

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Our minds are, at best, imperfect cameras. Some moments from our past blur or merge and some simply fade away altogether. Almost all the recesses up to and after this one form a long, muddled impression rather than a vivid photograph. This play period however, is seared singularly into my mind. I remember it now like it happened yesterday, and I probably always will.

Recess began at 10 am. In southern Alabama, an early April 10 am hangs moistly on the precipice of the day. That day, my day, the last dew drops still clung to the freshly mown field adjacent to the sandy lot that served as the playground. The sun, still shaking off its orange morning gown, hinted at its full summer power, but for now, the northerly wind was holding its heat at bay. I lumbered across the field pondering the water accumulating on my new tennis shoes. Each droplet remained for a moment on top of my foot, fighting to push through the brand new synthetic leather. I watched as the tactile strength of each tiny drop finally gave way and either buried itself into a small damp puddle or streamed off the side, returning to the grass from which it came. I also thought of the tanning I would receive if I ruined my new shoes so I skirted the edges of the field to avoid the tallest of the grass. Thus lost in thought, I didn't feel a bit of trepidation as I swayed a little too close to the pipe on my way to the basketball courts.

The first sign of danger was Jessie Joyner. She came from out of nowhere to block my path. If I had made a run for it then, I would have been safe. If I had bolted as soon as she said hello, I would have had time to get out of there. But Jessie was my friend and she wanted to talk about the upcoming t-ball season (Jessie always wanted to talk about t-ball).

-"Looking forward to it?"

-"I guess...I haven't really thought about it.

-"Cool. Which team are you on?"

-"The Rockets, the yellow team."

-"Sucks, I'm on the Jets, the orange team. My dad's the coach. Who was coaching you?"

-"Billy's dad I think...I'm not sure."

-"Cool, should be fun..."

The last pause was pregnant. She shuffled her feet and looked quickly to my right and left then back down to her feet. To her credit, up till then she played her part like a pro. I didn't even notice she was just stalling till they had me. Suddenly, the notorious blonde trio, Kellie, Kali, and Katherine, had flanked me and cut off my retreat. Kellie and Katherine had my arms, Kali was pushing from behind. As I struggle against my captors I caught Jessie's eye. She looked on helplessly...almost apologetically, as the other girls guided me toward my demise. Fight or flight reflexes took over, but the harder I fought, the tighter their grips became and my pre-pubescent arms were simply no match for the three of them. By the time we reached the mouth of "the tunnel," it was clear that no help was coming and my fate was sealed. I went in quietly. Once inside, the same girls held my wrists and ankles and we waited.

Then SHE came in.

SHE was Summer Sanderson.

Summer was boisterous and bossy, not a tom boy, but certainly not a priss. She was the undisputed ruler of the girls' clan. She was dressed to the T's that day, wearing red overalls and keds. Her socks that had hearts on them. The blue OshKosh B' Gosh logo loomed gigantic as she hovered inches from my face. I had heard the stories...she was always the initiator of the kisses. I saw my short life flash before my eyes. This was it, my time had come. I was terrified! I had turned her into a monster in my head. She was the creature from the black lagoon, Freddy Kruger and Jason Voorhees all rolled into one. In her lips was the physical manifestation of all of my burgeoning fear of the unknown.

I fought...I fought hard. I had wanted this? Had I been crazy? Who would want this? The tight space and superior leverage of my captors made my attempts at escape laughable. Quickly and without the least bit of hesitation Summer Sanderson swooped down upon me. I was kissed...sloppily, lavishly. Her lips were wet. Mine were pursed tightly. She assaulted my face. It was everything the guys had said it would be...

-It was GROSS...

-It was TERRIBLE...

But they all left one part out...They left the absolute most important part out!

-It.

-Was.

-AMAZING!

I blacked out. From shock? suffocation? relief? bliss? Who knows, but when I came to, I was alone in the cool shade of the tunnel. The sounds of my classmates seemed very far away. I stumbled out into the light. Was the sun higher in the sky or just brighter? How much time had passed? Come to think of it, the grass did seem a little greener too...wait, was it lavender I smelled? Had I ever even noticed the smell of lavender before? What's lavender? The haze stayed with me as I returned to the fold. I exchanged furtive glances with my assailants but other than a few giggles, they didn't say a word. I didn't dare. That day the foursquare ball seemed to move a little slower, less urgent. That day and every day after it, really.

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Sitting on that same piece of pipe today, in the middle of the crumbling relics of my childhood, I marvel at how much bigger it had seemed back then. Had I really been that much smaller? Or did the pipe shrink? In elementary, it had seemed massive, cavernous even. Have I really grown that much? I don't feel that much different? In fact, in a way, I never really left the playground. Even now, nearly 20 years later, all my romantic interactions have had the makings of schoolyard crushes.

Sure, wit and softer touches may have replaced the name calling and charlie horses (most of the time), but the complex and subtle "adult" rules of engagement I have come to expect these days from books and movies have never seemed to fit. Relationships based on mutual trust and understanding still elude me...they are merely fantasy. In my reality, I am forever on the playground...eight years old...scared to death...staring down the barrel of the tunnel of love.

Some Things Never Change

So most of these entry's have been from years ago. I like to have a little perspective on most of my misdeeds...tell the stories a few times to get the bugs out...fill in the blanks with some funny shit if necessary...smooth over the rough edges and make sure there's not too much egg on my face...you know, the usual.

Sometimes however, there comes a story that needs to be written down immediately. Sometimes a series of events occurs that is so inexplicable; so insane that it needs to be emblazoned on a page quickly before logic and reason seep into the fabric of the tale and distort it's sheer, unimaginable awesomeness.

Saturday marked the beginning of the 2009 College Football Season, and with it ushered in the Gene Chizik Era of Auburn Football. I am a big time Auburn fan and as such, could not miss the inaugural event. Thus, I journeyed back to my Alma Mater for the game. It has been said that one can never truly go home again. I totally agree, but...
You can damn sure try!

Saturday morning 9 am: After an evening that ended rather uneventfully, but nonetheless with a Super Club stamp and empty Styrofoam boxes that once contained Willies Wings and Stuff, I was awoken to the sound of a chorus of rabid Bamers and Hoakies led by none other than the coach himself, Mr. Lee Corso. Gameday was back! I quietly re-hydrated while Kirk and the boys broke it all down for me, patiently waiting for a sliver of news about my Tigers...none would come (turns out we're not supposed to be that good...not really news).

Saturday morning 11 am: Shower

Saturday morning 11:30 am: Arrive at the ole frat house and drop off my car, shoot the shit with some former acquaintances from a past life (while drinking their beer), pack up my booze and head across campus to meet my friend "Stormy." (hint: She's a weather girl)

Noon: Toomer's Lemonade meet Jim Beam...Jim Beam-Toomers Lemonade...good. Now that we're all acquainted, let's move down the esophagus to the belly where you will make me feel stronger, wittier and generally more attractive and capable. Thanks.

Noon: Liquor Check: 1-0.75liter bottle of Jim Beam
1o-Jim Beam Minni's

Noon-2pm: Stormy and I stroll leisurely through our old stomping grounds admiring the "progress" and lamenting our lack of collegiate eligibility. We finish the Toomer's and move to coke. We pick up two more friends. We'll call them Girl A and Boy B more on that later.

2:30 pm: Go to Momma G's on Thatch to watch the Georgia Game. I get a 32oz Coors light...I become moderately intoxicated.

At this point a little more explanation about the group is necessary. Stormy and I went to school together, I think of her as one of my best friends from college. I came down to Auburn to see her. However, she is more interested in making babies with Boy B (or at least practicing). Double however, she has also promised Girl A a super fantastic good time in Auburn...

Solution? Send Girl A off with an increasingly drunk ME and hope for the best.

Elegant solution? I think not.

4:30 pm: Head with Girl A to Tiger Walk. Try to remain coherent and charming despite the booze...I'm always playing the ambassador(it didn't hurt that she was pretty attractive). But I can tell that my antics are growing a little tiresome for her.

I'm not really worried about it.

Then I realize that the only reason that I wouldn't be worried about it was if I was too drunk. I decide to sober up a little.

5:30 pm: Enter Jorden-Hair Stadium with 8 Jim Beam Minni's. Operation "sober up" is a complete and total failure.

6pm-9:30 pm: Lucky for Girl A, Auburn played well...really well. Even QB "We Todd," as in "I'm Sofa King We Todd Did," looked good. This slowed my drunken "march" (I mean ramble) over the edge into oblivion considerably. In fact, when the game concluded, there were still two Minni's left.

9:31 pm: Both extra Minni's go in my drink as we walk to the bar.

9:45pm: Meet up with my host for the weekend, Jeff.

Jeff doesn't get a funny nickname.

10:30 pm: Stormy informs us that she will be retiring to a hotel room in Montgomery with Boy B. Girl A, sensing an imminent loss of control from yours truly, makes a wise decision to head back that way as well. That leaves me and Jeff with my friend Jim (Beam) to sort the rest of the night out.

Midnight: Bars are a bust. Jeff and I stumble into and out of several. I decide it's time to go home.

My car is at the fraternity house.

Sunday Morning 12:30 am: Arrive at the fraternity house and go use the bathroom before leaving. While there, a younger member who clearly doesn't study his composites starts to give me the stink eye for being in the house. What might have turned into an ugly little shouting match back in the day, ends with him offering me and Jeff a warm Keystone light and him showing me around my old home.

Maybe I have matured...

1 am: I am walking out the door when my tour guide introduces me to a kid from my hometown, when I left for college he was in middle school (we'll call him Andy Frat), now he's an officer in my old fraternity...my my my how the world does continue to turn.

4:00 am: Yep. That's right. It's 4:30 am and I'm still on the porch at the fraternity house. The only people awake are me, Jeff, my little brother (a senior in HS being rushed) and Andy Frat...and about 10 coke heads from the bottom hall. We have consumed every last drop of booze at the house. Seriously, we are all choking down some lime flavored monstrosity when it becomes apparent we are going to need more beer.

I have definitely NOT matured...

4:30 am: After finding most of the gas stations in town closed, we venture to Jeff's house where there is a case of bud light in the fridge...probably glowing with a heavenly aura. I am driving Andy Frat's Land Rover...poorly. I am speeding (15mph over the limit) down Glenn (that's a big no no you non-Auburnites) in front of the fucking Police Station.

Basically I shot a man in Reno...just to watch him die.

I see that cop pull a Uey and I know it is all over but the crying. I pull over and start to stitch my asshole together with binder's twine...I'm going to jail.

Finding a kind of zen that must only be possible from total absence of hope, I calmly explain to my passengers that I will not be accompanying them back to Jeff's and instructing them to please alert the proper individuals and try to set bail for me as soon as one of them is sober enough not to be arrested during the process. I explain that I will do my best to keep them from joining me in the slammer.

Mr. Copper Man comes to the window and we exchange pleasantries and discuss my stupidity. He asks me if I've been drinking. I respond, "Yes sir, I had a few before the game but I'm fine to drive now. I'm just taking my little brother and his friends home."

He looks at the passenger seat and sees Andy Frat sprawled out in youthful defiance, still wearing his White J. A. Banks button down, orange and blue frat edition striped tie, green KD pin, Khakis and Clark's Wallabies. He then glances in the back to see Jeff and my little bro, looking scared shitless and quite young.

He takes my ID and goes to his car, trying to decide just how full of shit I am. (hint: it's at least this much)

He reapproaches. "Son, why don't you come back 'round here and holler at me?"
Seriously, ver betum...I'm gonna be taken to jail by a complete redneck fucktard.

-"yes sir"

We get back behind the Land Rover and that's where I put on a show like I have never done before...seriously, I am not a strong man, physically or emotionally...I cried during the opening credits of Titanic and here I was facing a felony DUI charge and I was cool as a cucumber....NOT!

I was shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. I remained in good spirits though. I figured, hell if I was going to jail anyway, might as well not look like a super douche on the police car video right?

I go through a series of field sobriety tests...and I MAKE THEM MY BITCH! Now maybe it was that the situation scared me sober, maybe it was the Wii Yoga I've been doing for the past 6 months, maybe, just maybe it was the Tiger T-shirt I got from the same company that makes these wolf shirts, but I nailed those tests. I could have walked a tightrope if he'd asked me to. I counted to twenty better than I ever did in elementary school. I stood on one leg like I'd been raised by flamingos...in a word, I PASSED!

Count it folks, SIXTEEN straight hours of drinking and I fucked a field sobriety test in the ass! Fuck that! I bent it over and did it without grease! The cop was pretty sure he was gonna get to slap some bracelets on me but no sir. He begrudgingly let me go with a speeding ticket. I drove us back to Jeff's house and proceeded to drink myself into oblivion...hey, I'd earned it.

Sunday Morning 9 am: Finally, bed time. What a long strange trip it's been.

My Waiting Game

Fast forward to senior year...I've finally moved out of the fraternity house and into a duplex with two of my pledge brothers, Don Marco and Dr. Studyman. These guys were on totally opposite ends of the pledge class (general business vs. pre med; 4am drinking vs. 4am cramming; pussy slayer vs. pussy tamer; etc...), but they were both good friends of mine. Don Marco and I were dating roommates and I was Dr. Studyman's go-to guy on the few weekends that he would get out and blow off steam. I thought it was perfect, living in the middle of two extremes...Sounds like the start of a sit-com right?

When we arrived on campus in early August (it was a ritual to get to school early and do fratlaps during sorority rush week), we were informed that our duplex would not be ready until late September. We had two options:

1) we could move into another fully furnished (finished) apartment in a different subdivision or
2) we could stay at the Heart of Auburn Motel in the extended stay units until ours was done.


We chose option 2...

Really though, how could we not. Free rent, free cable, free maid service, not to mention the reality company gave each of us $50 a week for food even though we had a full kitchen in the suite. But the real kicker for those of you not familiar with the area, was that it was stumbling distance from the bar and even closer than that to Taco Bell. It was like doing Panama City in Auburn.


All that freedom must have gone to our heads because within two weeks of moving into the hotel, Don Marco had severed ties with his half of our roommate duo...I was soon to follow. Every night was a nonstop party. Our hotel room became an even better pre-party locale than the fraternity house due in equal parts to the closer proximity to the bars and to the Bohemian sense of revelry that encapsulated the place. We had other similarly displaced collegians all around us so no one to complained about noise and everyone was spending their "food stipends" on booze. On several occasions there were instances of near death due to someone almost falling over the balcony railings or getting run down in the under-lit parking lot...in short, it really was like spring break in August. Even Dr. Studyman put down the books and got into the action.

One morning in the midst of a hungover haze, Don Marco looks over at me and says, "Colin, this is our senior year, we have to raise the bar." Sounds like the start of a National Lampoon's movie right? Well to be fair, Don Marco bore a surprising resemblance to Bluto...a fact we accentuated by framing a six foot poster of Jim Belushi chugging Jack Daniels in his 'College' sweat shirt and displaying it prominently in the front room.

"Raise the bar?" I inquired. "How do you propose we go about doing that?"

I expected half-hearted, hungover cliches. What I got was a full on corporate board room presentation. He cleared the coffee table and laid out charts and maps to aid his multi-point pitch about exactly how we would go about "raising the bar." He even insisted that I wake up Dr. S and that we all be in on this project together. It was very "Stand By Me." In his plan, every night we went out, we would play a new game. Each game was intended to get someone (if not all of us) laid. If someone got laid then they...you guessed it, "raised the bar." If the bar was not raised all week, something would have to be done...usually a fat chick. :) We came up with a whole host of games over that year which I won't go into in detail at the moment, but our favorite; our Thursday night, backs against the wall, go-to play was what we liked to call...the waiting game.

Everyone knows at the college keg party there are lots of different types of people...that sweet, sweet draft nectar tends to soften the beefs of many different herds and much like the Serengeti, they flock to the silver watering hole to get their liquid refreshment. The waiting game makes you the alligator. All party long while the jocks and the popped collar, super fratos strut around crowing and cawing for the attention of the "be there to be seen" girls, you just bide your time. Sip the beer, scan the periphery, have a couple of drunken debates with the politicos....all the time waiting. Soon the crowd will thin. The strutters will take their show to the bar to see and be seen, and the serious drunks will make themselves known. At this point look around again. Targets will emerge. There will probably be two types of girls left. The girlfriends (DANGER WILL ROBINSON, DANGER!!) and the chronically low self esteem girls (the weak and wounded if you will). These girls have such a low opinion of themselves (rightly or wrongly, I've seen it both ways) that they think that the only way guys will be interested in them is if they are really wasted. So in a sense, they are predatory too...looking for that drunky drunk guy. Look for the Sad Sally in the corner and bring her a beer...or three. Offer her a ride home, then you are home free.

And thus are the general rules of the waiting game.

I told you all that to tell you this:

It was the end of our first week of raising the bar and I had yet to raise it at all...not even just a little bit.
Both of the others had some success earlier in the week and I was determined not be the weak link in our house. On a mission, I ventured out that night to a pledge keg and informed all interested parties that I was a sophomore. I waited, I sipped, I had random conversations, I waited some more...A second keg was bought....I repeated the process. Finally, around 3am, I had my mark. Unfortunately I was a little more drunk than I had intended to be. I stumbled over and offered a beer, it was accepted. We had a drunk convo and then I offered a ride home, it was accepted.

Meanwhile...back at the Heart of Auburn, my roommates were plotting against me...

The suite only had two rooms, each with two double beds. The rule was anyone bringing home a shacker got the alone room and the others would share...simple enough. Since I was anticipating bringing home a girl, they were in the other room, but these two Chatty Cathys couldn't sleep so they thought it would be a great idea to fuck with me when I got home.

Here's what happened:

Don Marco went to the front desk and informed them that one of our keys had been stolen and we didn't feel safe...they came and re-keyed the door.

1) About this time Random Keg Girl and I are headed to her house...by way of the Heart of Auburn. She starts to get a little freaked out when I slip up at tell her that I'm in fact a senior not a sophomore (gotta keep that story straight...idiot!).
2) She starts to get really freaked out when I pull into the Heart of Auburn Motel rather than some apartment complex like a normal college student.
3) I have just hastily and probably not very clearly explained to her our convoluted living situation, when I realize that my key doesn't work (strike three if your counting).

Perplexed, I just start beating on the door. No one answers. I call Don Marco...
-"Hello?" he answers with feigned sleepiness
-"Marco, I need you to unlock the door for me...my key's not working."
-"Did you raise the bar?"
-"Bout to if you get your dego wop ass out here and open this mother fucking door!"

My racial slurs and curse words don't even have time to register in Random Keg Girl's brain because in the next instant, Marco flings the door wide open. He is standing there ass naked with a tube sock over his Johnson. "Welcome to Casa De Bauchery!" he booms. Remember Bluto? Yeah...naked...He looks like he's wearing a sweater...covered in hair...like an unkempt Italian black bear.

At this point I wasn't going to even offer up an excuse. I was merely counting it as a loss and already working on a way to get Don Marco back, but to my total shock, she seemed unfazed...in fact, I think that might have been the moment that she was like, "Ok, these guys are just stupid frat boys...not psycho killers." We walked right past an equally stunned Don Marco and went into the empty bedroom...

And that dear friends, is how Colin raised the bar...the first time.

Fratlaps

What you need:

1 4x4 pick-up truck (preferably a z71 but an F-series will work in a pinch)
? cases of cheep beer depending on number of people and itchiness of your vaginas (natty, hi life, beast...none of that pussy pbr shit)
1 lawn chair (per person)
Fraternity letters affixed to the rear window of said pick-up truck

what you will do:
-Load up as many as can fit into the bed of the pick-up.
-Drive around the sorority dorms during rush week as the new freshmen (fresh meat!) walks around from dorm to dorm in their Sunday best.
-Blast bad generic country music.
-Yell horribly offensive things at said girls.
-Inform them of parties (in your pants and otherwise).
...
...
...
profit!