Bible Study

Me and JB and RCR used to euphemistically refer to our highschool parties as "Bible Study" out of sheer absurdity. No offense is meant to the pious, we just thought it was funny. It usually involved herb and beer and failed attempts at making out and/or sex. Well I partied with RCR this weekend in DC and it was full on Bible Study, old school style. There was an unsuccessful attempt at sex even.

Before I regale you with another enthralling chapter of "TLS sets a bad example" I want to tell the story of one of the all time funniest things I have ever seen because I'm randomly thinking about it. I mean, this can double me over with laughter to this day and it's been damn fucking 10 years since it happened.

So it's highschool and we're in my basement (JB and TR, plus others) killing time, waiting for the weed guy to call. It's Friday afternoon to late afternoon and it's getting so late we're losing faith that shit's going to go down at all. We're 17 for god's sake. Your herb connection isn't so reliable at that age. We know this and we aren't happy. Some of us are angrier than others. TR is the most vocal dissident (he REALLY loves his herb). To relieve tension we're about to start hacking outside (I'm not permitting the hackysack in the house so I'm pushing it out the back door) when we get the call. The call! It's the weed!

It's a few hours late, but TR's been stressing all day about this bag. Anyone anywhere near him all day has heard all about every detail involving picking it up. 100% of his energy has been put into securing this bag for the weekend. He's naturally going to be extremely excited to finally get it. The ceilings in my old basement are really low and TR is 6ft tall.

He opens the cordless flip-phone thing we had (too early for cell phones) and as soon as he hears the voice on the other end he knows it's golden. He quickly wraps up the conversation and snaps shut the phone.

"We're getting weed!! We're getting weed!!" he gleefully exclaims, grin pasted on his face, as he involuntarily leaps for joy, smashing his head into the low part of my basement ceiling, rendering himself unconscious. The room is stunned into silence as we watch him collapse to the floor. A second later we're almost crying this is so funny (I'm nothing if not a good friend). Once we get ahold of ourselves we slap his face for a bit and he recovers. Groggy, he asks what happened and we fill him in as we pull him to his feet. A few, "Dude, I can't believe you just fucking did that" exchanges are made as we stand around, the laughter tapering off to titters to sighs. Soon the business at hand is reintroduced.

"That's right, we're getting a bag!!" he shouts as he does the exact same thing again. He jumped headfirst into my ceiling and knocked himself out for a second time. I'm lucky I'm not peeing my pants at this point, I'm laughing so hard. It hurts. If the first time was funny, this is friggin' hysterical. That is one of the only times I was truly rolling on the floor laughing at anything. Later on my garage door bounced off his head, sprawling him out spreadeagle on the driveway, but that's another story.

So not to get too far off topic, let's go back to DC this weekend. I fly in Thursday night and RCR picks me up. We go back to the pad, I meet the gf Greenpeace, and we go out drinking to one of RCR's haunts and get shitty drunk (the Toledo Lounge, for those keeping score). RCR and I recite as many The Holy Grail lines as we can remember. RCR and Greenpeace are jealous of this tall thin blonde girl and spend alot of time obsessing over her. RCR's gf is beautiful and cool. I run into her as I'm exiting the men's room and sarcastically ask her what's up and who she's here with tonight. It's all in good fun. She grins and plays along with my drunk ass, god bless her. RCR is too upset about some guy offering him coins for a smoke to notice (thank god the guy didn't have his collar erect). For future reference, don't ever offer RCR money for a smoke. Just ask for one.

We go home, pass out, and Greenpeace takes off to Jersey Friday morning at the same time RCR goes to work (noonish). I am totally passed out on the couch for the vast majority of the day. RCR's place is very conducive to blocking out all natural light. Sometime after 4 I order a pizza and wings and it's not so hot. The bluecheese packet they give me contains only very runny rancid cheese. Yum.

I kill the day nursing a hangover by watching nature documentaries (I can't get enough of wolves and ants) and playing RCR's Xbox. It's pretty cool I guess, nothing awesome. I find a little mini work phone book of RCR's and leave the following inscription inside the back cover, "I had a wonderful time sweetie. Call me! 202-PEE-HUNG -Chet" This entertains me for a good 20 minutes.

A friend of RCR's comes over and we head out for more Adam's Morgan fun. This time we go to Pharmacy Bar. There's a hot older blonde lady at the end of the bar who is obviously by herself. I'm a stupid pansy so I talk to this guy on the left who is obviously tripping on something, I'm guessing acid. Nice guy, but I quickly grow bored with him and resolve to talk to RCR. Afterall, it was he whom I came to see (let's hope that's proper grammar). So long story short, I steal RCR's barstool the first time he goes to the bathroom and start talking to Blondie and basically ignore RCR and his friend for about 30 minutes. Classy, yes.

Turns out Pharmacy is owned by Latvians and her parents are straight from and that's why she likes this bar. One of my good friends from Chicago is a Latvian (The Crazy Latvian) and I'm milking this for all it's worth. It's worth enough to get her to come home with us. The Logan Scribe picked up an actual girl! A hot one! She's 37 but we don't care!

Back at RCR's pad we play CDs and smoke what little herb is left in the house. I'm going to go ahead and say it, RCR's friend is a chatterbox. Good luck getting a word in edgewise. He and Blondie are chatting up a storm about god knows what while RCR and I have a side conversation about The Driveby Truckers and other things. Finally RCR faceplants on his bed and it's just me, Chatterbox, and Blondie.

Don't get me wrong, I like CB. He's a funny personable guy with alot of great stories. But I have a hot unattached Latvian on the couch who keeps begging me to play Pink Floyd for her. Chatterbox is engaged (the wedding invitation is on RCR's fridge). He could, ya know, go somewhere else for awhile or something, and I wouldn't exactly mind. I don't know what else to do so I drink more. And more. Surprisingly, this isn't the best plan. Finally CB passes out on RCR's bedroom floor, leaving me and Blondie alone in the living room. Yes!

But at 5:30am I am literally on the verge of losing consciousness. I know I should sit by her and so on, but I just keep talking to her instead (she's an interesting woman so this is easy). She sees my sleepiness and calls a cab. I suck. I mean, either I'm a douchebag or I'm a total gentleman. "Total gentleman" sounds like code for "sucker". I know damn well girls want to get brought somewhere and ravaged, expecially by guys ten years their younger. Afterall, everyone knows nice guys finish last. Apparently I'm just not as able to pull the trigger as I used to be. Oh well. Dangit.

Saturday we get up and watch football and Aqua Teen Hunger Force until we go out. This time we go to the Blackcat, what RCR calls "the" hipster bar of DC. It's hipster all right. Got that in spades. We drink and then leave because it's not so fun. We go back to Toledo Lounge where RCR is a regular and our tab is 9 bucks for 5 beers and two tall redbull and vodkas. The Logan Scribe makes a mental note to become a regular at the nearest bar to his house back in Chicago.

We stay up obscenely late watching Futurama DVDs and discuss all the topics you'd expect old best friends to cover in a late night of drinking (I'm not going into details). This is what the trip is all about, people. It's these moments that make it worthwhile. I don't get to see RCR as much as I'd like (or JB for that matter). We sleep, then he takes me to the airport Sunday morning (4:30pm) for my return flight. I read my book and at some point notice a cute blonde girl walk past to go to the bathroom (that may seem like an irrelevant fact now, but you never know, it may be useful information later).

After landing I train it back to my house, picking up beer and liquor on the way. The Corona is for The Roommate. I fucked him over when I formatted his harddrive and I feel like shit about it and beer gratis is the best way us guys know how to smooth things over. Also, vodka.

I had it all planned out. Really I did. I came home Sunday night so I would have Monday to recover and get stuff accomplished. Nuh uh. Nuthin' doing. I get back and it takes an iota of effort for The Roommate and Pouty to get me to go out with them to a local club. I'm not a club person at all, but it looks like fun and it's not like I don't know what to expect.

I'm making remarkable progress with these Polish girls at the club who inform me they're not really attached to the bf's they have with them. These guys are having NONE of me but I just don't give a shit. Two hot girls grinding you from either side will do that to a man. Satan himself is going to have to skewer my entrails and force feed them to me to ruin this moment. Ursula digs me and that's all I care about right now (she's smokin' hot). I'm dancing like there's ass in my pants, and I have the shirt to prove it. We're bumping and grinding and laughing, all under the dismayed gaze of douchbag fake bf's who lurch about nearby, no doubt snarling demonlike utterances and exuding some foul excretion or another (I'm just assuming).

I daresay me and the girls are full on straight up cavorting. I forget their names about 100 times and they're cracking up. The girls love me. I am doing well for myself, better than usual. I can't believe my good fortune. Confronted with such a windfall, I naturally start thinking I must be the shit or something (I mean really, it took long enough for everyone else to catch on to what I knew already). I naively take off to take a leak and get drinks. One of the girls, the one who likes me more than the other (and is hotter, I might add), grabs my arm and pleads with me not to go. I am completely retarded and don't grasp what's going on. "I'll be right back!" I say reassuringly. Of course, douchbag fake bf's relocate the group or leave the club (not sure which) as soon as I'm gone. I never see them again. Well, shit. Your dumbass didn't even get a number. Etch another notch on The Logan Scribe's "dropped ball" belt.

I go to find my friends. I abandoned TR and Pouty a couple hours earlier, accusing them of being a "sausage fest". The Roommate has been in this little cubby hole next to the DJ booth that he gets to hang out in because he's buddies with The Friend (The Friend works in the DJ booth). TR is clearly the most fucked up person in the club - or maybe it's just my perception of him. Some big name DJ is spinning so security is abnormally tight behind the DJ booth. I'm not certain, but I get the feeling that The Roommate is jealous of my perfect hair. That he's jealous of my shirt goes without saying.

As I'm doing my best to act like I belong in the restricted area, I recognize the cute blonde girl from the plane. She looks like she's under 21, but I guess not. I ask her if she was on the DC to O'Hare flight and we laugh about it. She's cool but her bf gets very defensive and sort of gets in my face, saying she's with him. Hey Captain Confidence, I'm just talking to her. Lighten up whydontcha? The other guy in their group looks like her brother and he's nicer. I say something about how when a cute girl walks by, I notice it. It's an instinctive thing, ya know?

The girl and the brother take this as a compliment, as they should. The bf says, and I quote, "That sounds like you owe them free drinks", indicating he wants me to buy his gf and her brother drinks. I laugh directly into his face, my only regret being that I didn't launch a globule of spittle right into his eye. He storms off towards the bar, obviously frustrated. What a douchebag! Why are all these guys such douchebags? I am about the least threatening guy you're going to come across. There's Jello tougher than me out there. Bring the stress level down a few notches, Chief.

I work my way into the cubby hole claimed by The Roommate and dance. There is most definitely ass in my pants. There's ass in all our pants in fact. TR's continuing to go nuts like he has all night. They say you gotta dance like no one's looking and that's what I'm doing. Except everytime I turn around I see this huge cluster of people trying to get as close to the DJ booth as possible, right behind the velvet rope that's touching my butt. Like I said, some famous DJ is spinning and everyone wants to get as close as possible. Random people are tapping our shoulders, swearing they're supposed to be with us in the cubby hole because they know so and so. Finally I just start ignoring them completely (if I don't concentrate on shaking my ass, who will?). One of the bouncers choked some kid and shoved him out of the area behind the booth. Our cubby hole was spared the clear out due to TR's friend in the booth. That's cool. We like The Friend.

Once home we drink and talk all night. Much fun is made at each others' expenses, as usual. No one is spared. The lone girl in our group leads her bf on a wee hours of the morning tampon run. They have to walk pretty far to find something open. He must really love her. They're a cool couple and I leave the door open for them to come over again. We like good friends.

The couple passes out in the basement and me, TR, Pouty, and Cubsfan go out to toss the football. Cubsfan gets his name because he got his ass beat the other weekend for mouthing off to a Sox fan. Cubsfan swears he didn't provoke the attack. He says, "All I did was run up to him when his shirt fell off and started slapping his belly saying 'Pink belly! Pink belly!'" Broken collarbone, arm in sling, etc. Cubsfan is wearing this blue bandana on his wrist for some reason. We're not sure if that's why, but we blame that for why this very sketchy looking car full of homies kept slowly driving past us and parking nearby, staring us down. Me and Pouty are stupid and don't notice it at all, but TR and Cubsfan are all over it and we leave after they make a third U-turn and slowly drive by, staring us down. Not good, people. Not good at all. (UPDATE: later on I find out it was actually a lone ese with a cellphone pasted to his face, my apologies to the homies)

There is a significant amount of gang activity near our part of the city, though it gets much MUCH worse in other parts. The Roommate got boxed in by three cars the other week driving home from work, escaping by throttling around the lead car before the side one could close him in. He clearly noticed the lead car using hand signals out his window. There's a group of teenagers selling dope down the road all the time (no, I don't know what they're selling and I'd rather not find out). Hookers all over TR's drive to work. I don't see this stuff so much because I get right on the interstate and don't see much in the ways of surface streets on my way to work, but I think you get the idea.

On Monday The Roommate and Cubsfan put down damn near a fifth of vodka, shot for shot throughout the day. I am impressed with this showing, though I recuse myself. A few weeks ago The Crazy Latvian brought presents for me, TR, and Pouty from his recent trip to Niagra Falls. He's always bringing us funny knickknack stuff from touristy spots. I have a set of Las Vegas coasters, for instance. Anyway, he gave Pouty an inflatable Maid of the Mist that has been subsequently accosted by The Roommate. I wondered what was going to happen with this inflatable boat thing. What happened is TR doesn't go anywhere without this boat tucked securely under his arm. He cradles it like a baby. He passed out briefly on Monday with his door open, literally spooning the boat. Leg overtop of it and everything. I am not making this up. Cubsfan and I got alot of amusement out of watching TR cuddle up with it in his sleep, probably more than we should have.

Me, The Roommate, and Cubsfan get Chinese food. We eat it. The end.