The party scar

When I was a Sophemore in college, I lived in a big four story house with 14 roommates, one was a drug dealer in the basement we called monkey man, another was a 50 year old coke fiend with a penchant for homeless girls, and yet another was a schizophrenic in the attic who we discovered had been collecting pee in jars. I love talking about this period of my life if for nothing more than the great stories.

Cornish College of the Arts always had a big blowout party at the end of each year that may have been considered the Graduation Party, but everyone really ended up going, not just the Seniors. When you live in a really big house with several people who go to the same school, the choice of venue for throwing a big party becomes instantly clear: We would be throwing the Party that year! Preperations were easy, lock a few doors to bedrooms, warn the other inhabitants, buy some liquor and open the door. My friend Jen Morrell and I began drinking around 5 pm that day, and it would be another good 10-12 hours before my face would hit the pillow.

Let me describe my friend Jen.... imagine a short pretty girl from Alaska with long red hair and a trenchcoat down to her toes that she wore every single day. Now I want you to imagine a 6'3" white guy walking arm in arm with her and sharing a cup of basically just Vodka.... We wandered from room to room, floor to floor, chatting up a storm and laughing our way through the place. When the midnight hour appraoched we were in the kitchen mixing some more drinks for people when the kitchen counter collapsed under the weight of an idiotic lighting designer who thought he could be a stripper for the night. Sadly, there went half the liquor supply.

When Jen and I returned to the basement for a bit of mingling, we both managed to fall to the ground in quick succession blacking out, coming to and seeing carpet in front of our face, and realizing we both had not spilled a drop. We were pros at this apparently. So much laughing ensued as we tried to get back to our feet, I realized the night was drawing to a close. Around five AM I walked into my room, locked the door behind me, took off all my clothes, and then stared down my narrow room at my bed......spinning in a soft haze on the other side of the room. I took a few steps, giggled to myself as I was never one to get the spins, and then started to think how funny it would be if I chose to lean into it as I ran toward my bed..... Next thing I knew I was falling. I came to a stop with a bang, snap and a thud at the foot of my bed. OUCH! This must really hurt, I thought, thankfull I couldn't feel a thing. I reached my hand around feeling my back where there seemed to be some sort of wet spot..... my hand returned for inspection covered in blood. I laughed, crawled up on my bed and fell asleep lying on my back. I didn't realize at the time but I had snapped the corner of my desk off with that fall, melamine coated desks against bare skin are never a pleasant combo.

The next morning...... The. Worst. Hangover. Ever...... I never want to feel that bad again. I remembered my stupidity, saw dried blood and kind of started to freak. I promptly sat up in bed. When you rip off a scab that has fused your body to the bed you are lying in, I discovered you really can screech like a little girl whose dolly has just been thrown into the chipper shredder. I hit the bathroom and inspected the gash. The worst of it had fused back together thankfully, but I really should have gotten stitches that day. The place was a disaster.... puke on carpets covered with plates, potted plants broken in heaps, glass pushed into a sticky pile in the corner after the counter snapped..... a few bodies passed out here and there.... Me with a new gash turning quickly into the scar it is now, and the pounding of my head that would not subside for another 4 days..... Ahhh undergrad!