Ch. 1: The Morning After

Well here I am. In my “office”. Vigilantly typing away. The walls are bland, and empty, which is great and all if you like working in what sounds like a cave. Each type of the key rings with an echo. I think for a moment about how I need to hang some pictures in here. The echo can be quite distracting as all you really have to keep you occupied is your thoughts. I finish typing my last sentence and top it off with a period. I read it aloud to make sure all is well.

“Getting dumped ranks somewhere in between watching your family get murdered and finding out you’re sterile. That was 3 years of my life I will never get back. You know how much strange I could have been getting? I mean seriously. Knee deep in coed awesomeness. I…”

“For the love of Christ!” my roommate Steve screams from his bedroom. He adds, “It’s bad enough you’re going to flood my FaceBook inbox to tell me you updated your lame ass LiveJournal – I don’t need a fucking live reading of it.”

Steve is Asian, but only in the physical sense. He’s what many Asian purists would call “watered down.” Coming to America at an early age and being raised around a bunch of white kids will do that to you.

“And one more thing asshole. If you’re going to blog from the bathroom, shut the fucking door,” he yells as he walks by making sure to not make eye contact.

“Yeah, but if I shut the door I lose my internet connection…And I do my best work in…” but before I can even finish he’s already grabbing the handle and slamming the bathroom door.

There goes my signal. I need to get a new router

I walk into Steve’s room. He’s sitting at his computer scanning for porn. He knows I’m there and doesn’t even attempt to minimize his browser, let alone cover up.

“What, no Asian porn?” I ask him.

“Get the fuck out of here. You know I hate that shit,” he responds. Another thing about Steve. He is not attracted to his fellow Asians. At all. Ever.

“Oh yeah and thanks for fucking up my signal, ass,” I tell him as I put my hand on the top of his head and pat his hair down. I turn to walk out and as I do I tell him, “And for the record, I didn’t wash my hands.”

“#1 go fuck yourself,” he says as he runs his hands through his hair, pulling his hand away to examine it for any “debris” before asking, “#2 what you going to do about your dad?”

“Uh,” I say, somewhat puzzled by his query. Hesistantly I go on, “By the looks of my cell phone he’s called no less than 8 times. However, It’s far too early and I am far too hungover to be talking to him.”

“You realize it’s like 1 in the afternoon, right? And besides you’re going to have to do a little bit more than just go through the motions of talking to him on the phone while you play video games,” as if to hint at something I should be picking up on.

My mind begins to spin as I ask, “The fuck are you talking about?”

Steve goes on to say, “He’s here.”

“Like here, here?” I frantically ask. My mind races. This is not good. This has all sorts of negative potential. Before Steve can even answer, I hear it from out on the patio.

A cough. The kind of cough that comes from smoking almost 2 packs of cigarettes a day and drinking enough alcohol to poison a small animal, or for more visual evidence, Steve.

“Fuck. Could the weekend have started in any shittier sort of way?” I rhetorically ask.

I peek out Steve’s door, which gives me a clear shot of the patio.There like an apparition is my father, reading the paper, drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes.  I draw in a deep breathe and say to myself out loud, “Let’s get this out of the way now,” as if to psyche myself up.

When all you’re taking is 2 online classes there is no weekday. Unless you have a job, which I also don’t have.  Right before reaching the patio’s sliding glass door. My sister Kristin’s door opens. Yeah, living with your sibling is a great idea if you’re into constantly fighting and having to clean up vomit.  Out walks a bean pole of a man. My friend Chad. He’s what a praying mantis would like if it was human. Long lanky arms, and skinny as a cancer patient. I’m not sure if he’s capable of biting off heads, but you never know these days.

“Hey dude,” Chad says as he begins to make his exit. As funny as it would be for my father to see him leaving my sister’s room I can’t leave her out to dry like this. Besides she’ll owe me one.

“Uh, Chad. My dad is right outside on the patio…” and before I can finish my sentence Chad is Army crawling on the ground. Clinging to the floor for all his life. As if he was trying to sneak past an enemy platoon. Only death by firing would be quick and painless compared to anything my father would do.  As he gets past the patio slider Chad nods to me and says, “Good looking out bro.”

That is right before he slammed the front door on his way out, which startles my father causing him to turn around.  I throw on my best fake smile, as if to show some form of excitement. I guarantee you it’s extremely hard to feign excitement when you’re this hungover.

Beer pong.

Flip cup.

Asshole.

That’s just to name a few. If it’s a drinking game you can bet your ass we played it. I might not always remember it, but we probably played it. At least that’s what the pictures online the next morning suggest.

All those games are great and fun ways to get fucked up. Even better when your body can keep up. But so is the quandary of getting older. When you’re a freshmen you can’t drink that much, and if you do you get sick. Finally when your tolerance is high enough your body just can’t hang. It’s like reaching sexual enlightenment, but only to find out that your dick can’t get hard anymore.

As I’m opening the slider I scan the living room. The only way I can describe it is a cross between a crime scene and a sex den. The couch’s pull out bed is open. “Comfortably” sleeping 4 guys and 3 girls. How the support beams haven’t broken is beyond me. The love seat is oozing with so much love as there are 2 girls, 1 guy, and a stain that I’m hoping is sour cream. To top it off the room is scattered with beer bottles, some broken, and red solo cups – the staple of any college party.

“This is gonna suck,” I tell myself as I reach for the handle and slide the door open….

To be continued…