For Max and I it didn't take long for the wings to take effect. I made my first pitstop at the Hangar, and the deposit I left was not a pleasant one. As we waited for the bus, the wing curse struck Max. All the colour left his face and for the 5 minute ride, his personality left him as well. We met Lee-Roy at Stackers and Max made a bee-line for the john. Being a shitty American bar, there was only one toilet, a fact that conspired against my wing curse. After Max finished his job we exchanged nods as I was again summonsed to the restroom.
 |
| Conchord, over 4pds of boneless chicken. |
The first pitcher was there to restore fluids, but Max and I started off cautiously at first. Michael and John were occupying themselves with rifling through the Karaoke list, knowing that in a few hours time there was a good chance they'd be singing. The Bud Light girls came by and offered us a chance to enter some competitions. Better still, they gave us lei's to wear, telling everyone in the bar that we were getting suitably drunk. As predicted, there was another bathroom break, but my love for wings saw past these issues.
The banter flowed with the pitchers and before we knew it the karaoke had started. "Three words that sum up our generation, Sex on Fire," said Max underwhelming while the host butchered 2008's most overplayed song. We didn't win the Bud Lite cruise, but Max managed a free t-shirt. Not wanting to feel left out, John had nominated "Mike & Lewis" to sing Men At Work's Down Under, in the hope of getting some more terrible beer merch.
We didn't get the merch, but they didn't turn off the microphone this time so that's an improvement. We bailed from Stackers and went next door to Monkey Bar. It was Amanda of Essex's birthday too and even though the club was getting ready to close, it's an ideal place for causing some mischief.
John had become fluent in grinding and demonstrated this to all on show. Max and I just flailed while Michael was presumably off somewhere slurring his speech.
When we left the club we all missed the bus. John and I went for a walk down the street and passed a girl who had her dress pulled up to reveal everything. As John told them, "girls don't do that where we come from," the girls fired back calling us arseholes. "We're not arsehole, we're Australian!" was John's reply and they instantly changed their mind about us. Ollie, the Northern-Englander swung by and successfully took his chances with a girl in a tiara. It was his smoothest move all night, as seconds after another girl walked by and he yelled "I've seen you piss!". Apparently it was true, and it was a good way to end the night.
Two night's later I was pestered by some persuasive texting by Max to head to Sunset. I grabbed my beers I purchased on an earlier skate and headed from one end of campus to the other. As soon as I walked in the door I had my arse grabbed. I looked to my left and there was a topless girl grinding the hell out of another on the couch. For once, Sunset was living up to its reputation.
There was body shots in the background, and I was ordered to have a shot of vodka (that costs $12 for 1.75ltrs) from a girl's ridiculous chest. Instantly the night was crazy. Max hopped up on a table and began dancing. His shirt flew off, and not long after he managed the same feat on the girl dancing next to him. When the song finished, he picked her up over his shoulder, jumped off the table and toyed around for a bit. Michael began dancing to dub-step, bouncing all over the living room carpet.
Some girl started complaining about a conversation she had just had about immigration. Given we were immigrants, it seemed fair to start chanting the word. John turned it into a chant of 'build a fence' before one girl decided it was time for her to leave. We managed to convince her to drive us into town, and as we were leaving, Murph - a ridiculously drunk 20-year-old - jumped into the boot of the Volvo station wagon. "I don't know where I'm going, but I'm down," were his final words before we left for Amherst centre.
Max and I headed straight for Stackers, ordering a pitcher right away. On our trip from the car to the bar - a distance of 20 metres - we had managed to lose everyone else. We downed our pitcher quickly, and headed around Amherst looking for people. Again we settled for Monkey Bar, running into a group of fellow international students who were frequenting the place illegally. They were Zoombaing, whatever that is, so Max and I did our best to join in. Again, we flailed, but too quickly the ugly lights came on.
We made it to the bus-stop, and on the bus I began talking to a girl who was one of the Bud Lite girls from the night before. Samie was lovely enough to invite me to her place for tea, though when we arrived it quickly turned into white russians and interfering with her rom-mates personal life.
My head is sore, my body is tired and it's not even the long-weekend yet. This American college scene is beginning to live up to its reputation.
***Song
Paul Demspey - We'll Never Work In This This Town Again.
Here is the new Paul Dempsey song. He's playing Boston the night before Bob Dylan, and i'd love to go there and see him again. I'm hoping he remembers our last conversation about playing Buffalo Tom.
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