Busted!

It's been a busy few days for me. I usually keep a solid distance between myself and any party scene, and I've been involved with about four gatherings this weekend. I guess it was only a matter of time before trouble came a knockin'.

Friday, I went out for a walk with my friends, Jessie and Erin, when we happened upon some of their acquaintances. Erin split at this point, but Jessie and I teamed up with her friends (both female. the names escape me...) and rented a movie: Shaolin Dolemite. It's a marriage of kung fu and blaxploitation, which basically comes out to poor taste.

A female ninja, dressed in inconspicuous lavender, beats a man across the face with her breasts. And that's just in the first half hour.

Anyway, I got to meet those two friends of Jessie's, who have welcomed me into their suite anytime. I also have a terrible movie that I can reference at will. But the night wasn't over. I found myself in the apartment of a guy named Taylor, and I finally got to formally meet the student with the waxy handlebar moustache. His name is Justin. We all partook, and then parted.

Saturday passed by quickly, until dinner. I took my lonely meal up to the room (nobody was around. 8 PM on a Saturday and it's a ghost town!), and I got online. A friend of mine asked me if I wanted to eat with her (on the other side of campus), but, being the good soul that I am, I drove my food over to her adjacent eatery. From there, we met up with some folks off-campus, then went to this party called "Fire and Ice". It was one room of a small apartment, packed to the walls with people. Heat was blasting out the front door. In the words of faire Claire, "Too much fire, and not enough ice". We left quickly, and I didn't even get a drink.

Then on to the KWUR party, where most of the good liquor was gone. In desperation, I poured a shot and a half of gin into a diet pepsi, and it was just barely drinkable. Chaz called me, drunk and looking to get drunker or maybe stoned. I tell him I might skip out of the party for him, and that I'd call him back. In my attempt to leave, faire Claire stopped me and I smoked her out instead. 15 minutes after we finish, the cops show up. I decide to play it cool, until some jerk gets on the PA and starts chanting "Fuck the Police," at which point I decided to distance myself. I found my way home, and went to sleep.

Then, tonight, Chaz finally laid his hands on me. "Dude, let's get baked," he said to me. "Need the reefer," was another gem. So I agreed, and Chaz took me over to the suite of a couple of his friends (uhhh, John, Roy, Brody) and we go out behind Danforth. I whip out my piece, Brody whips out his, and we start a good circle. Michelle (my piece) smokes hard and fast, so we finished my bowl before Brody's. This is a good time to say that I HATE the spot behind Danforth. It's totally out in the open, and WUPD checks back there every 15 minutes, and we really shouldn't have smoked two bowls. So, by the time we finished Michelle, I'm ready to get the hell out of dodge, so I put her away and said goodbye, then split.

Apparently, the cops stopped the rest of them as they left. They reeked of reefer, were in possession, and had a piece on them. They got taken into the station, and Chaz called me as soon as they got out.

I'm told I'm no longer welcome with Brody's crew. They think I fucked them over.

Truth be told, I know why they got busted; Brody never named his piece, and that is terrible luck. He should have known better. Fuckin' amateur.

So that's my weekend, so far. I can't see myself doing anything on Labor Day. I've done so much as it is. Gotta have a little downtime for the brain-cells.

Poor Chaz. I hope he isn't mad at me.

-Alan