This past semester was a bigger pain in my ass than the dementia-ridden old man in the middle of the intersection not sure of why he's in a car in the first place or where his wife is (even though she had died 15 years ago). Was that too specific? Welcome to atheistjustin.com
Anyway, to relieve the anxiety of being Vice President of a Fraternity, working 3 jobs, taking 16 credits, reading more books in a week than the average human reads in a lifetime, and dealing with my chronic laziness and semi-alcoholism, I decided it would be a good idea to host New Years Eve.
As you may recall, if you're a frequent reader, last year I attended one of the most baller New Years of all time. There was literally a Champagne Fountain. And I don't mean that poor people term where theres a bunch of glasses stacked on top of each other and someone pours a bottle on top to let it flow to the rest- no, no. I mean, this was an actual fountain that continuously poured out champagne.
I was inebriated by 10:59 while wearing a pocket square.
Fun side note- while at this shin dig, I tried getting it in with some girl I met, only to lose to a man who would eventually come out as gay. If you're reading this, hey RJ.
But, this year there was no baller shindig and so I decided to throw a banger at my off-campus house.
This was a terrible idea.
To put it simply, the word had gotten out that this was a thing. And though I anticipated some people coming, it turned out to be a lot of motherfucking drunk people in my house. I would argue that at the height of the evening, there were at least 200 people in my house.
Who was there watching everything? Who was checking people at the door? Who was making sure nobody got too drunk and died? Who is my real father?
I was the only one.
I began the night sipping on a little Jameson. Yes, I am a functioning alcoholic, but as long as I'm in college, nobody cares. Anyway, I was about 2 glasses deep when people finally started pouring in. I lit up a Romeo & Juliet (a cigar for you children), and began asking people who they were and who they were with.
My initial plan was to do this for an hour or so and then have fun time.
This did not go according to plan.
There was a sea of people- a mass of drunk college kids all trying to swarm into my house. My house. The place I pay rent and electricity for. The place where I take my sacred shits. The place I go to make macaroni and cheese while drunk.
Eventually this got out of hand to the point where I knew I wouldn't be consuming ANY alcohol until the night was over.
So there I am, in this alleyway checking to see who the hell is coming into my house. One of my buddies brought 20 people, literally 20 people, and 1 of them decided, "Hey, this guy looks really stressed out- like there's 200 human beings in the place where he keeps glass objects and nobody is helping him. Maybe I should assist."
To that sweet boy, I thank you dearly as he was one of the only people legitimately helping with the situation. Including him, the only true support I received was from my long-dicked amigo Alfred. Ti voglio bene, Alfredo.
So here I am. Checking all these people: "who are you? who are you with? how many? Your dress looks nice. Why do you smell like shit? Guys pee outside, girls pee inside. My dad should have pulled out."
On top of that, every 15 minutes I would go in and check to see if someone was puking- and usually there was. I counted about 3 different women all throwing up. In addition to the ladies that couldn't quite handle their alcohol, I must have calmed down 5-6 different intoxicated men all of whom were trying to break people and things.
Finally, the ball drops and I got to enjoy about 9 seconds of remembering that this isn't a horrible nightmare but actually the last day of 2016.
After spending 5 minutes with people I have never seen before in my life in my living room, I went back outside to watch the flow of humans and also make sure I didn't get arrested.
While heading back to my position, I noticed the neighbors all crowded together in their back yard. What could this be?
My neighbors are hispanics- most likely not US Citizens- but they are nice from what I can tell. Perhaps they are doing some Mexican ritual for the New Year. Maybe they're just standing together, enjoying the crisp air and enjoying the solemnity of beginning a year with a fresh start.
The God damn Mexicans set off fireworks.
Motherfucking cocksucking ball draining whore fucking shit bird on a Jew. Fuck.
There are explosions in the air, lights all around, drunk people screaming. My buddy comes up to me, very drunk, and screams "EVERYBODY SHOULD GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE NOW. THERE ARE DEFINITELY GOING TO BE COPS HERE."
I thought for a second and realized that I had not seen a single police vehicle pass down my street this whole evening. However, considering there were just loud explosions, it seemed likely that New Brunswick's finest would come to my area and see 200 drunk people in my house. Ultimately, this would not be a good situation for me.
So, following his advice, I told everyone to kindly go fuck themselves and get out of my house.
I cut the music off and very nicely told everyone to leave.
There were so many motherfucking people in my house that it took AN ENTIRE HOUR AND THIRTY MINUTES for everyone to leave.
One girl lost her phone- another lost her ID- many lost their dignity. Guys couldn't find their friends. Girls couldn't find their shoes. It was a train wreck and it had only been going on for an hour and a half.
By the time everybody cleared out I was dead. I was so drained from constantly checking up on people that I felt like I had just been gang banged. In many ways, I was.
I remembered that I still had 1 last cigar left so I grabbed it, pulled up a chair on my porch, poured myself another glass of Jameson, and sat there watching the cars move like a divorced 56-year old man.
It was the greatest New Years ever.
A few minutes later, some guy came out of the alleyway beside my house and told me that he had been in the attic while everyone was leaving. What was he doing in my attic? Oh, you know, the usual: having sex with a random woman.
I didn't know him or her. All I knew is that the carpet upstairs would be sticky and this guy's name was Brad.
He sat and talked to me for about a half an hour until stumbling away down the streets and, to this day, probably has no idea who I am or where he was at 2:35 AM on January 1st 2017- but I know I do.
Anyway, Spring semester begins in just a week- and as you can imagine it will be some time until my next post.
But, as soon as I have the time, energy, and the story to tell, I will.
I will leave you now with a picture of Dog, the Bounty Hunter.
Spring Break Bod 2017.