A Relatively Estrogen-Free Weekend.
I say relatively because Sarah had to show up and douse our raging inferno of testosterone. I mean it in an endearing way when I call her a snitch-bitch ho.
So, yes, I have a penchant for the hyperbolic, histrionic, and homoerotic, but I do not exagerrate much when I say that last weekend was probaby the least stressful I've had in many months, probably since orientation. As you diligent readers would know, I spent it in Seoul celebrating Ryan Park's acceptance to Harvard Law. Along for the ride was the ever-charming Jonah Popp and aforesaid estrogen recepticle made some notable guest appearances.
That's right... 4 people... 4 god damn people. No itinerary, no pressure, no dietary preferences. Considering last time I went to Seoul I somehow by default became the one coordinating 40 people in no less than 5 different groups all concentrating on a single backalley bar, the raw freedom from needing to care about anything except conversation and immediate volume of alcohol in my mouth was intoxicating, literally and... well, literally.
And with that said, we didn't do all that much. Except for Friday night, of course, when we went from Black Label in the room to 1.5 liter beers at a bar called Oktoberfest to quik-stop kimbap to passing out dozens of used scratch tickets we found on the street to random koreans to punching a cab's window and having the driver get out and harass me (sorry bro, don't speak Korean, see ya) to the hookah bar where we seriously creeped out the very cute waitress we remembered from last time to doing a three-man synchronized Irish step dance down the street and seriously, seriously fucking up my ankle to the club where we rocked out until 5am, not helping my ankle at all, to street food where we convinced some chump we all went to Harvard (read: we lied to bring ourselves up to Ryan's level) and he started stroking my head out of deference to my awesome, awesome brainpower.
That was pretty much the gist of the night. That and when we played Marco Polo with a blind prostitute working at a massage parlor on the way home. How did she even know that game? I had no idea Marco Polo's fame was so globally recognized.
My ankle hurts like a motherfucker.
So, yes, I have a penchant for the hyperbolic, histrionic, and homoerotic, but I do not exagerrate much when I say that last weekend was probaby the least stressful I've had in many months, probably since orientation. As you diligent readers would know, I spent it in Seoul celebrating Ryan Park's acceptance to Harvard Law. Along for the ride was the ever-charming Jonah Popp and aforesaid estrogen recepticle made some notable guest appearances.
That's right... 4 people... 4 god damn people. No itinerary, no pressure, no dietary preferences. Considering last time I went to Seoul I somehow by default became the one coordinating 40 people in no less than 5 different groups all concentrating on a single backalley bar, the raw freedom from needing to care about anything except conversation and immediate volume of alcohol in my mouth was intoxicating, literally and... well, literally.
And with that said, we didn't do all that much. Except for Friday night, of course, when we went from Black Label in the room to 1.5 liter beers at a bar called Oktoberfest to quik-stop kimbap to passing out dozens of used scratch tickets we found on the street to random koreans to punching a cab's window and having the driver get out and harass me (sorry bro, don't speak Korean, see ya) to the hookah bar where we seriously creeped out the very cute waitress we remembered from last time to doing a three-man synchronized Irish step dance down the street and seriously, seriously fucking up my ankle to the club where we rocked out until 5am, not helping my ankle at all, to street food where we convinced some chump we all went to Harvard (read: we lied to bring ourselves up to Ryan's level) and he started stroking my head out of deference to my awesome, awesome brainpower.
That was pretty much the gist of the night. That and when we played Marco Polo with a blind prostitute working at a massage parlor on the way home. How did she even know that game? I had no idea Marco Polo's fame was so globally recognized.
My ankle hurts like a motherfucker.
posted by Uzura at 1:16 AM
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