“Fuck Hoes, Suck Ni**a Dick”

15th July 2010; Orientation day. As soon as I stepped foot on Chant territory and took in the breathtaking sight of historic architecture and landscape that was flooded with over ecstatic young Americans, I knew it was just a matter of time before I found myself in some crazy shit. I was definitely not in Germany anymore. I was overwhelmed, nervous and straight up petrified. I never lived in the US and had to proceed with caution. It was only day two in America for me and I had survived so far, so caution was good. That day was a pretty serious one for me.

I was on a mission. A mission to get a college degree, pursue the American dream, and focus on my next step in life: TBD. Having graduated twice in a row, with both a German and American diploma under my belt, I knew I was superior in maturity. These kids, didn’t realize social life can come later. One doesn’t bury himself in debt to be social. If I wanted to be social I would have gone into the escorting business and at least make a check while I’m at it, or something like that. I also didn’t know how to talk to people. But why do that when I could sit on this bench under this tree, at this ice-cream social, near the volleyball court. I could not fathom what fun and games had to do with making it in the world.

In German school, the last 2 years were spent preparing us for a world that only rewards the serious and goal oriented. Even some of my high school teachers stressed that the social life of college is a trap that leads to failure. Ain’t nobody got time for that at all. As I waited, all in my lonesome, in the hot humid outdoors, watching these over ecstatic young adults scramble around showcasing their outgoing personalities to each other, I thought to myself whether these people are for real or not. Never had I attended a mixer event where people were so lively and nondiscriminatory about whom they spoke to. An introduction and maybe mentioning where one is from is a given. But the exchange of numbers and invitations to homes within 7 minutes of knowing each other was pretty crazy to me.

Reggie was the first person I came in contact with. I met him as soon as classes began. I noticed him on the bus the very first day (not that he’s a very noticeable person for the right reasons). Whether from experience or observation from the outside in, we all know that one kid who clearly was the loser, on the outside, that you would go out of your own way for, simply to oppress him or her and make sure they never have the feeling they’re worth anything. That’s what I thought about him when I took a moment to make note of my surroundings. Dark clothing, tighter than a boa constrictor killing its prey. Wrist bands in all the colors of the rainbow snatched tightly to his hairy forearms. The most silly bandz I’d ever seen. And the inability to lift his Jackson Five coiffed head from gazing at his Chucks that clearly were off brand. Not to mentions his ‘xxx’ sized cardigan.  There are no words for his thick black square-framed glasses that were no doubt meant to compliment the creeper ‘stache across his face. He was not much of a talker. In fact I don’t remember him ever speaking at all. He was that guy that you would never see… but he was always there. Hence his nick-name “Creeper Reggie”.

After our 8am class, I hurried to my next one, which was acting. Coincidentally Reggie was a part of that class too, as well as a few other classes. We were bound to get to know each other, so maybe I could bring him out of his shell as a dear friend of mine did for me just the year before, during senior year of American high school. Then, once again, I’d have a fellow bad bitch!

August 18, 2010. The first day of acting class and all I can remember was standing in a circle staring at other aspiring actors. The class ended with plenty of people crying after having revealed their pains and sufferings, and all I could think of was how weak the American mind must be. Of course it was sad, but speaking from experience, abuse in the family, parent’s divorce and being afraid of the dark is not that serious, if one’s alive and well, and all of that is in the past. After class everyone who was free decided to get lunch together. I, however, for some reason failed to get that memo. I was in the Commons sitting by myself, getting ready to go to town on this food, when I suddenly heard my name. I immediately whipped my head in the direction from which my name was called, only to see the faces of the people that were in my acting class gesturing for me to come and sit with them. I was surprised that they’d remembered me and knew my name, and I proceeded to sit with them, as we had class together anyway and were bound to know each other at some point in the semester. So there I was sitting at the table with Omri, Kamille, Dexter and Reggie.

Omri I remembered from this “meet the faculty” meeting during orientation. She was the only woman of color, in the vast sea of white. So it was just a matter of time before she would find her way to me, because I knew I wasn’t going to pursue her. I never really grew up feeling the whole “black power solidarity” thing. I never grew up around blacks period, other than my family. I mostly heard about blacks getting shot or arrested in the news. I remember attending the optional minority mixer that was mandatory for black students. I’m sure it was meant to make us feel more comfortable and at home at Coastal Carolina University. In order for someone to feel that way, it does make sense to have the targeted demographic exposed to others of its kind, right? But omg. I, like, never felt so much like a fish out of water like I did in that moment! There was nothing about the situation that felt safe, familiar or comfortable to me.I barely understood the language these people were speaking! I must say, however, this Omri girl was pretty close to what I was familiar with as far as speech and mannerisms go. While having lunch, this massive beautiful black goddess, with the height of a mighty giraffe grazing the African terrain, explained to us how she’s a girl that’s all about equality and diversity. Every other thing out of her mouth was the word “diversity” and how much she loved it. If there was someone in the closet, she wanted to be the one to encourage them to come out. Not just to close friends and family, but to the fuckin’ public. If someone was considering suicide, she wanted to be the reason they changed their mind. If you were drunk as fuck, Omri would be the one to ensure you don’t get snatched up and raped, or drown in your own vomit.

Eating lunch, we found that one thing we all had in common, apart from us all being dramatic arts majors and having a class together, was that we were BAs as opposed to BFAs. Even though BFA was a new degree program in the Theatre department and the faculty said that there really was no difference between the two programs, Hunny,  it was blatantly obvious that there was a whole motherfuckin’ capital “F” of a difference, and that the BAs clearly weren’t talented enough to deserve that “F”. The other difference was that we took separate classes from the BFAs. My whole acting class was nothing but BAs. You know how in the days of Nazi Germany Jews were slowly and subtly getting increasingly prejudiced against? Like, at first surreptitiously, but then increasingly openly? That was how I felt about the department’s view towards BAs, which was depressing. I was very excited to showcase my talents, but once I learned of the two degree programs through the oh-so-reliable grapevine, it put a damper on my motivation to even try.  We spent our afternoon talking for hours about how jealous we were, justifying our place in the department and coming to the conclusion that the department was just not ready for such a diverse demographic group of individuals like ourselves. I really enjoyed the talk we had. I was able to get to know them in a way that did not occur at the ice cream social. We shared common goals, feelings classes and grudges, and began to make it a habit of meeting up to eat after classes.

Over the course of a fall semester our friendship had grown so deeply that we decided to take it to the next level in the spring:      Getting FUCKED UP!

Being underage and all, I thought it would be difficult to come by alcohol. Having come from Germany, where it was legal to buy beer and wine at 16 and the hard stuff at 18, it seemed like a bit of a setback coming to the US for me, as far as alcohol goes. It was like 5thgrade all over again, where I had to find that one sketchy person with no morals who’d be willing to buy me my shit.

Thank god for Dexter. As a black man of the stereotypical type, he had connections to all the ‘Dawgs’, ‘Bruthahs’ and ‘Ni**as’. Like Omri, I remember Dexter from the orientation days as well. But I really didn’t start to take notice of him until that first day of acting class, where he absolutely stood out from the rest of the guys. He was the only other black guy. In addition to that, every part of his body was built and bulging. His arms, chest, legs, lips, ass, crotch; truly a perfect sculpted work of chocolate man art. His deep resonant manly voice, a panty dropper. And it really did not matter what he said, I couldn’t understand him half the time anyway. Like the people at the minority mixer, Dexter spoke what I refer to as “black language“, as in the dialect and slang they use. I just could not wrap my ears around this slang. I remember sitting in the shuttle bus when a black guy approached me and asked me something. I couldn’t figure out what he was saying and asked him to repeat himself. Each time I asked him to repeat himself, I got a little more flustered and scared. I could see the frustration on his face building as well. I desperately began to seek outside help without having to turn my body away from him to ask someone “do you know what the fuck he’s saying?”, because I was pretty sure he would find this to be rude of me. And the last thing I wanted was an angry black man up in my grill. Growing up, I only heard of death stories on the news and I remember my mother telling me to never get a person mad in the States or they will kill me. Especially a black man! She told me a story of a man who shot another man to death for stepping on his shoes. With stories such as these burnt into my mind, I went about the situation accordingly: with caution. Unsuccessful in my short lived pursuit of help, I had to end it all by yelling “I’M SORRY I DON’T SPEAK *muffled voice* black.” with a little nervous cackle to follow. That was the only one of two times I publicly lost my poised composure out of nervousness and fear. The other time was at a McDonalds when I tried ordering a chicken burger, which apparently does not exist in the States.

That was also when I realized all McDonalds aren’t the same. In any case, in due time Dexter became more understandable. He was known as “the straight black guy” of the group.  The great thing about Dexter providing our alcohol was that he only demanded a list of our drink preferences and the attention of Kamille every now and then.  And she had no problem with that. As a matter of fact she took great pride in being a sexual tease to this African American black man. Dry hand jobs, tits to his face, teaseful booty poppin’; as long as she was allowed to keep it PG. She had a boyfriend to stay faithful to after all.

What I learned about Kamille was that if you are looking for a night out, full of gossip, blacking out and no fucks given for whoever might get hurt in the process, she’s your bitch! This lively breath of fresh Native American air can quickly turn your colors of the wind into a hallucinating trip on Molly. Outspoken, goal oriented and with Dexter’s balls in hand, she, along with her coincidental long time best friend Alex, would lead us all from party to party. To this day I don’t know how she pulled it off. There’s just something about being a girl in a testosterone dense environment that I can’t quite wrap my head around. We would show up at a party we couldn’t possibly have been invited to, the girls would just walk right on in and us guys (usually Reggie and I) would follow. And if any dude would give Reggie and I (of all people) a problem, mother Omri would block them off with her juicy all nurturing racks hanging from her chest, while Kamille convinces the guys over a Four Loko, a staple beverage, that we were no harm. Either that, or “I can’t possibly have a good time without my gays!” as Alex would yell in her euphoric state of mind.

Alex didn’t enter my circle of friends until spring semester of freshman year but, we learned of each other’s existence during first semester in this mandatory freshman class called “First year experience” or for short, the “WTF!?!?” class. She strutted through the door, 8am on the dot, in a wardrobe fit for a night out, and then sat right next to me. She was the epitome of Party Blonde Barbie: pink lips, blonde rays of sunlight perfectly teased and arranged on top of her crown, cheeks red as the rose, eye shadow black as Dexter, and her skin orange as an Oompa Loompa. She was everything you would expect of a typical blonde. At least once every class she would attempt conversation with the professor to prove her intelligence and that she was paying attention, while the rest of the class deemed the participation of this southern belle as unnecessary and punishable by slander. Understanding as I was, I knew all she was doing was taking the advice of our dull peer leader, which was to kiss our professor’s ass (of which she had in abundance, might I add). I always looked forward to when the Barbie would have something to say, not because I was as engaged in class as she was, but because I knew as soon as she would open her mouth, I could look around the class room and see all the death stares and listen for shit that was spoken about her. God, was I entertained! She definitely knew how to bring a class to life. Because we sat so close to each other, I always felt obligated to say something to her, but I never really was the “first move” type. Little did I know, my first move in getting to know her would be ravenously making out with her on a cat-piss infested couch, while a video camera captured every ounce of saliva we swapped, with a room full of people to bear witness of this occurrence as well. As it turns out, I was destined to be friends with her.

Freshman and sophomore year, my friends and I kept partying and drinking pretty simple. We discovered each other’s’ drinking limits and tested how far we can surpass it before the puke and crash would set in. As a seasoned drinker with my fair share of passing and/or blacking out, puking and peeing on people in public and coming-to in ditches, it wasn’t hard to figure this out. Reggie was not a drinker at all. He just couldn’t stand the taste. But, he would provide the hottest tunes from the likes of Ke$ha and Mother Monster herself, Lady Gaga. Of course as the sober one, he would take us on late night McDonald’s or Waffle House runs. Sometimes, however, I felt as though my fellow bad bitch in the making would get taken advantage of, and Omri, as the caring person she was, would back me up when trying to make sure he was not feeling pressured to do the things that were asked of him. There was a time when I too felt the need to please people to be cool. In German school, 6th grade, I was the kid with the American gum that I would get from the military base. Gum was the next cool thing after cigarettes, so it was a big deal to have it. First, I gave out a few pieces to be nice, but then I found myself bringing family packs to school every day, but never having a piece for myself. I bought more and more gum, but I wasn’t making more and more friends. Once I realized this, I stopped bringing gum to school. I went back to being ignored, but I felt better about knowing I wasn’t anyone’s bubble gum bitch.

It was the end of sophomore year when everyone was starting to go their own way anyway. Omri decided that Coastal was not for her anymore, Dexter changed his major and started to have more and more frat obligations, while Kamille was ready for a change of scenery and decided that she wanted to transfer to USC, where she was given the opportunity to pursue the things she was not able to in the Theatre department of coastal. Alex wanted to seem smarter.

We’ve built a strong and trusting relationship on a foundation of parties and drama in and out of the classroom. In honor of that, we simply had to party all together just one last time. Over the past two years I’ve grown to like everyone I surrounded myself with. They accepted me for who I was, were patient with me when I did not understand their American figures of speech and when I would drunkenly speak to them in German. Even though they had no idea what I was saying, they would talk back. Drinking has always been my bonding method of choice, but with my friends, I wanted to take our method of bonding up just a notch. Take it to the next level. College is the best place to experiment anyway and after 20 years of giving it a bit of thought I finally decided I will have my first weed.

Most of my friends, as in everyone but Reggie, had some experience with weed and they all had quite lovely stories to tell. Omri also had a few negative ones, but that was beside the point, that’s not what we were there for. Our goal was the ultimate party experience ever. It wasn’t hard to come by weed. We had yet another friend, Kat, who was kicked out of campus housing for weed. She then went on to live with her dealer. He had a bit of a crush on her, so she had had him whipped to a certain extent. Whipped enough to let us smoke all of his weed for free! Reggie and Omri decided to wait in the car while Alex, Kamille and I went into the apartment of the drug lord. Since it was my first time, Kat placed this massive green bong in front of me and told me to put my face in the top of the hole and inhale when she says. Considering the fact that I was about to inhale this mind altering substance in a sketchy dark neighborhood in the house of a drug lord with lesbian bodyguards as roommates, I was quite calm. I’ve come a long way since freshman year. It did not take long before it was time to head out to Might As Well, the trashiest of all clubs. All freshmen and creeps went there, because barely anyone gets ID’d and no one has any self-value. In regards to the night’s events, going to Might As Well was an appropriate choice.

We stood outside the drug lord’s house thanking him for his weed, when it just came upon me to grab him by his testicles and juggle them around for a bit. This of course was not taken lightly. I remember muffled voices of yelling and screaming and my body being tugged from one side to the other, when I suddenly heard Alex’s voice that said “ok now Justin, we’re gonna run now. Grab my hand.” She lead me to the great Might As Well. It looked so much bigger and brighter when I was high, as though I was standing at the doors to bumpkin heaven. The girls, being as female as they were, had no issue entering the building, Reggie got in as well. As for me and myself, it was the most daunting of tasks. When prompted for identification I reached around to my ass pocket grabbed my wallet whipped out my id and handed it to the bouncer, who asked me to do it again. So, I reached around to my ass pocket grabbed my wallet whipped out my id and handed it to the bouncer, who asked me to do it again. So, I reached around to my ass pocket grabbed my wallet whipped out my id and handed it to the bouncer, who asked me to do it again.  Then I finally got inside. Thanks to Alex for coming to get me.

In the club everything was going well.  Kamille was poppin’ that ass on me, while Alex was so kind as to hold me in place. Omri and Reggie were on the side lines being observant as they usually were. Dexter also managed to get out of some of his frat things to show up. We were all together, Ke$ha was playing and the moment could not have been any better for me to take that time to drop and do my best breakdancing moves on the grimy mold reeking floor for a minute or two. I felt so awesome and everyone in the club was cheering me on. When I got back up Kamille asked me to go with her to the bathroom. When she took my hand I knew something was wrong. I noticed that I did not immediately feel her touch when she grabbed me. There was quite a bit of delay. As I was walking through the club I would randomly touch a person and timed how long it took for the feeling of the touch to register. Soon I came to the conclusion that I had superpowers. I had the ability to touch people and delay when they got the feeling of being touched. I took advantage of my power by grabbing all the tits and balls in the vicinity. No one noticed. And feeling quite content with myself, I left the club.

Riri know wuts up

That is how it all played out in my head, but I was high and drunk like a mother fuck. After leaving the drug lord’s I was unable to get into might as well because I stood in front of the bouncer convulsing to myself. Alex, however, convinced him that I was harmless and that she would take care of me. In the club, while we all were dancing, I fell to the floor and had yet another seizure like experience.

And when I recovered I went on to sexually molest anyone that came near me, resulting in getting kicked out of the club.

There I was. A drunk and drugged Justin, running up the highway trying to go home and away from the flying triplet police officers, when I got a phone call from Reggie asking where I was. I didn’t know, but I did notice a giant deity who came to me in the form of a bear with a yellow helmet, who prophesied to me to prevent forest fires. Minutes later a car came swooping by and I was immediately grabbed and pulled into it by this strong Amazonian goddess who happened to be no other than Omri.  Thank god. We were all together again. Everyone chanted in the car and praised me for my actions at might as well. After getting dropped off by Reggie, Omri saw me to bed, to sleep off my high.

I never thought that my life would come to that. Looking back on freshman year, I cannot imagine what I was thinking when I thought that I would shun away anyone who would give me the light of day and live in the fear of getting shanked by a black man. One can’t be so serious all the time or else some pretty amazing opportunities and memories could be missed out on, it will only be your fault and more depressingly, you may not get a second chance. My second chance was given to me when I came to the states. And I was so close to fucking it up again. Be yourself, live a little, stand out, don’t follow the crowd! Or, like my friends and I always say: “Fuck Hoes, Suck Ni**a Dick!”

 

Thanks for reading!

 

 

Advertisements

Hunny, tell me 'bout it!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: