I keep getting far too drunk in this country, I expect a sudden and unpleasant halt to the festivities in the next to near future. I was so drunk it stopped being fun, again, not good.
Drinking rum in the shower and vodka on the BART before a pitcher of evil in the student bar. The quote of the night came early on (Rua points towards the Coy and M) “ye, I live with those two cunts”.
Ham eyed I staggered into the frat party which had brought us to Berkley in the first place, got in the door and fell asleep on the couch. I knew the lads there from school, they’re sound but I’m never too keen to meet people from school-there’s always too many clingers and muppets. Anyway, they showed the girls around the house upstairs while I came to and dissapeared(must’ve been a big house!). Which is where things started to get strange.
Drunk and weary I crumbled into the street, searching for redemption or relief-whichever came first. I was too fucked to deal with people so I wandered until I sobered up and befriended a Russian and a Greek. The Russian promised a party with loads of pretty girls(as all Russians seem to do) and away we went. We walked and walked and talked and waffled and descended on more than one occasion into drunken revelations.
There were these old hippies sitting on the street, proper hippies-guys of woodstock age with no remaining grasp of reality. We stopped to hang out with them, smoke a few rollies, and the revelations went into overdrive. We solved all the worlds problems on that streetcorner, in some of the most unviable ways concievable. When it comes down to it, I’d much rather be guilty of over-simplification than over-complication.
The Russian was anxious to get moving on account of ‘this bitch I wanna get with”-he was wearing a wife beater at the time, it cracked me up inside. We left the hippies and continued on what was turning out to be quite an epic journey.
Anxious as he was to reach our destination the Russian seemed be lost and unsure if there was even a party to go to. The Greek took his leave, I perseveared-more because I needed somewhere to sleep than anything else. After over an hour walking(which is fucking ludicrous because Berkley is tiny) we got to the house. The Russian scores the host on the doorstep, I can’t believe I didn’t see it coming. I hit the road again, it was about 5am and the need for somewhere to crash was becoming an emergency.
I found my way into Dreads and Steads block(which is supposed to have really “tight” security) without even realising I was in there. I then proceeded to get very lucky.
The Irish abroad take care of each other like no other group in the world. I sauntered up to this houseparty(having emerged from the stumble of a few hours earlier, a bit like early man standing upright for the first time) and started chatting. The gaff was full and everyone was going to sleep but this lad from Wexford set me up with a couch in a gym hall-no joke! He opened up the lock for me and advised me not to get caught. Sound as a Pound. I stayed there until I heard someone opening the door at the far end, about 10am, and snuck out the back. Still drunk all the way home to Ingleside.
Newsworthy but not neccessarily that much fun.
