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…you use your ID card to cut up your drugs when you’re in a pickle…
The day after a party is always an interesting one.
You sit around with your friends, recapping all of the funny, stupid, annoying, and awful moments of previous hours before, and depending on how drunk you got, you learn new things about yourself, like who exactly you grinded on and your hidden talent of dancing on slippery countertops. There was another gathering at Travis’s mom’s apartment…yes, Round Two. Interestingly enough, the girl Trav hooked up with last night and her friends weren’t invited this time. Call me crazy, but I think everyone realized that she wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, but more like a butter knife. Last night’s party was no exception, except I couldn’t enjoy myself. I wasn’t my usual fun self. I guess it had to do with the fact that we drank stale Four Loko and played Beer Pong, or maybe it was just too much to handle, but I just couldn’t deal.
In the beginning, everything was Gucci. It was a small gathering of 15 people, most I didn’t know but was getting to know, teaching those less knowledgeable how to play Beer Pong, Travis flashing his well sculpted abs at me to make a point of “beer not making people fat”, and everyone enjoying the atmosphere. Then 12:35 rolled around. Throngs of people bombarded through the door, some not even students at NYU, and majority unbeknown to the host of the party…seriously. Travis passed out cold, his house being left unprotected and with his careless friends flocking in and out, texting everyone in the greater Lower Manhattan area, the small gathering that I was enjoying quickly spiraled into a full-on house party. There had to be at least twenty people at one point. I don’t do so well in crowds, leaving me to choke up and make awkward small talk with people who are shitfaced out of their minds and won’t remember your name, but will remember your face later.
The guys were on a ravenous prowl for pretty, young drunk things to grope and dance on to a poorly selected dubstep song and the girls were spilling all over themselves, coming up with reasons to cuddle next to Travis, who was about as useful as a corpse last night, as he lay motionless on his fancy ass bed. At one point in the evening, there were three girls from our floor sitting in a circle around Travis’s body, eating chips over him, like he was a fucking table or something. Daniela and I had enough.
We decided that at 2:45 we would start shutting things down and help clean up Travis’s once pristine apartment. The funny thing about friends is that you don’t know you have them until a moment of peril. Daniela and I stuck it out, with the help of Dave and Liz, washing dishes and picking up trash, while Travis’s so-called friends, refused to pick up claiming “that’s not why I’m here.” I never felt such disgust with someone before in my entire life. That’s not true. I hated the way Jared and I fell out after we broke up. It made me wonder all day, since birds of a feather flock together and if Travis associates with these guys, does that mean he’s just as bad?
I ran into him twice today. Once when Daniela and I were going out for a second. We stopped and chatted for a bit, learning that Travis woke up after the party and did some “awful shit” as he put it, but wouldn’t elaborate on it. He also discovered cigarette burns in the sofa and learned that some girl threw up on his rug and that we were the ones who cleaned it up (well, actually it was his suitemate Jason). He thanked us, but I started to see him in a different light. He was some guy who knew he could get any girl he wanted and used it to his full advantage. I wonder if he even called Athena. I could be wrong, they could talk all the time, but I highly doubt it. He became some guy who didn’t give a fuck a little too much. Some things you actually have to care about, like your parents’ private property. He became some guy who didn’t let anyone in, not someone with guarded secrets that you had to earn with time, but someone who refused to let anyone past the brick wall. Before, he was a wisp of steam, white and scentless, innocent in my eyes. Now, he still is a wisp, but now he was a wisp of cigarette smoke, vulgar and damaging, a scent that lingered on your fingertips and in you shirt. And who needs secondhand smoke?
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Today I saw Cole Sprouse. In fact he actually asked me a question. I was a little shocked but not because my sister watches his show on TV. You hear all the time about celebs that attend NYU but until you see one yourself, it’s just a thought. Once you actually meet them, however, it becomes so real. They are just like me. He was so down to earth, well the few seconds we talked he seemed d2e, and trying so desperately to be normal. It was refreshing in a shocking way.
word to my flag, Hurricane Irene.
I’ve got this, hurricane, it’s everyone else who hasn’t live through hurricanes every year you have to deal with.
I think the president of my school is the most interesting man in the world.
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