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2005-05-11 06:36:48 (link)
Don't Worry, it Happens to A Lot of Guys
Lou was rolling down the stairs with chocolate syrup running down the crack of his boxers. He was moving in diagonals, shirtless and with only one sock to show for the excursion. In fact, he could only find one shoe for going out.
M.A. was wearing his suit. Mind you, it was 8 A.M., and we were on our way to Bennett’s on the Park for some breakfast and porn. M.A. was wearing his suit because he had pissed his bed the night before on the last of his clean clothes. He too was moving diagonally.
A.R. was in better shape, having no condiments down his pants, nor the shame of urinating all over himself the night previous. However, he was loudly complaining that his lung was collapsed. Apparently the stripper (the three were attendees at a bachelor party) was a little rough on A.R. and left plenty of belt welts on his chest. A.R. was the most excited about this trip to Smut and Eggs, as he crowned himself an expert on both breakfast and pornography.
These are some of my friends. These are why I miss Madison.
I was in town for Mifflin, the greatest party ever known to man. “Better than that house party freshman year, when I made out with that total hottie?,” you ask. Yes, better than that party. And by the way, she wasn’t hot. She was a 46 year-old bar skank who stumbled into the basement to find a place to crash after spending 12 hours at the Echo Tap. Mifflin party consists of two dozen houses with multiple kegs and enough debauchery to make Caligula blush. I promised Joanis that I’d recount Mifflin, but here’s the thing. I was drunk before Mifflin, I got drunker at Mifflin and I got even drunker after Mifflin. I don’t remember a damn thing, save for running into KVJ and throwing my Taco Bell cup (I needed drunk food at 11 A.M.) to the ground in disgust.
I have also been consumed by my high school reunion. Unlike many, I loved my high school and left with no regrets about the experience. However, my St. Thomas Military Academy experience and my Wisconsin-Madison experience were slightly different. For starters, I didn’t drink in high school. I didn’t write in high school. And I didn’t leave threatening messages to Steven Spielberg in high school either (I swear, The Terminal was my fucking idea! Mine!). And a five-year reunion gently reminded me that I was not the same, razor-sharp youth that left for Madison and came back an oft-convicted crackwhore who break dances for cash. If anything, the reunion reinforced my opinion that Minnesota is not my home anymore. Although I have made the annoying habit of passing out in my parents’ basement in Eagan, Minnesota for the past year.
It's just a matter of experience. When you're home, every day is like the previous one. You wake up, you work, you eat dinner at the same place and you find the same group of friends to hang out. Anywhere else, one's routine is determined by making one choice which leads to variables in experiences. But a glance at the hungover, half-dressed buddies who’ll attend a porn-and-pancakes establishment with me are a reminder of everything that I'm not experiencing. My hometown friends and I don't think about doing these thing because they're not the same things we did when we were younger. It's not a shame, it's just...different.
Everyone out there has their own "Madison", a place where every day guarantees to be different than the next. For some, that "Madison" is where they grew up, where they went to high school and where they want to live for the rest of their lives. For others, their "Madison" is out there somewhere, waiting to be discovered.
And this is depressing, looking at your hometown friends and family and constantly wishing you were somewhere else. I guess that’s another reason why I’ve been a bit reluctant. I’m trying to spend as much time out and about before I make the move in July. So if I’m a bit inconsistent, I apologize. But it’ll get better. Hopefully.
by Mike Jones
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