The Lex Luthor

Abe: I call this drink “The Lex Luthor!”

Me: Why? Because it’s bad? Haha!

Abe: No! Because you gon’ get so drunk off this shit I’ll be able to shave your ass bald and you STILL won’t wake up!

I don’t even remember what was in that drink. I remember that we had a lot of them, and that it was sweet. Like Abe.

Abe and the Ion Machine.PNG
Abe is the only black dude in the photo (second from the left). Not only is this kid a sweetheart, but he’s also incredibly smart. This is a picture of him and his team working on a machine that can image and treat cancer with ion beams.

Kelsey’s List

My sister Kelsey is a very pretty woman. She also has a heart of gold. There should be a fucking Disney princess made for her. I was shocked the first time I heard her say a girl from our sorority, Allie, was a “mean bitch.” I can’t blame Kelsey though; I think Allie is a shit-stained coochy rash, but whatever.

The point I’m trying to make is Kelsey is pretty damned perfect, at least in my book. It takes a lot to put up with my shit, and she’s been there for me through it all. I love her and would kill a fair amount of people to keep her safe.

 

Isn’t she gorgeous? Don’t mind the weird-looking fuck in the foreground.

All that said, she’s never had a boyfriend. During one of our day drinking sessions (we went through some shit with our sorority that ultimately caused us to petition to go alum early, and we drank when things were particularly bad), I asked her what she wanted in a guy. I was curious if she was just super picky. She listed only three things:

  1. He has to be nice.
  2. He has to like her.
  3. He can’t be a “raper.”

That’s it. As the night progressed I kinda picked up on why she didn’t pay too much attention to men. I saw why she feels more comfortable drinking when there are only women present, and I try my best to accommodate her (she’s usually designated driver, and I have no qualm with that).

Anyhow, we have the same birthday (February 11th) and I have every intention of spending the day or weekend with her. I’m gonna see if she wants to party with the crew team and the sorority sisters we like.

Fuck Allie, that coochy rash.


 

An update. Fuckin’ A.

A New Vice

I went out with my sister Timi last night. I’m pretty damned broke right now, so I took an adult-sized sippy cup of wine out to the bars. I drank most of it in the car, so we drove with the windows down. Minorities in a decent car in Baltimore get pulled over for the stupidest shit; the last thing we needed was for someone to smell the wine radiating from my cup and face.

Despite my pauper status, I managed to purchase a couple shots of tequila and swindle a few from guys with thick wallets. How attention-hungry these men must be to pay for a fleeting glance and a slight touch on the arm. Shit. I’m not even that pretty and I certainly didn’t suit up: I wore jeans, a geeky genetics shirt, and running shoes. The nice thing about Timi is she doesn’t judge and she won’t leave me alone at a bar…unless if there’s dancing. She let me rake in all of the drinks.

I can’t remember the last time I felt so inebriated. I do enjoy my alcohol, but I typically ride the buzz and stay coherent, particularly when I’m hosting in my apartment. Last night I lost connection with the world. I didn’t care about anything as long as I had a glass of liquid courage in my hand. It was just me and the glass, and I liked that.

I need a new thing to be absorbed into. I talked it over with my brother, Alex.


So yeah… No more drinking for the time being.

Bilbo Baggins vs Darth Vader

I just don’t think I’m ready for the adventure that is Jessica Fizz.

In conclusion, I think I suck at dating.

Or maybe I just need to chill with Bilbo fucking Baggins.

I’m glad my sister Timi is coming out for a visit from West Virginia.

She won’t give up on drinking until I do. Maybe we can go dance at a club after I’m piss drunk.

Gin

I’m drinking it. I feel good. My teammate’s boyfriend, Sydney, is the bartender. He’s taking care of my mental health. Who needs a fucking shrink? 

Chris, my ex, is texting me. He smells blood in the water. My blood. He says he can come over. I’m about to hand my phone over to Justin so I don’t make any regrettable decisions, but first: “So how’re things with Bethany?” Drunk Jess has arrived.

The haze is kicking in. The good numbness that makes me think all is well, makes me feel nothing. All suggestions sound like Nobel Prize-winning innovations. I’ve placed my fate in the hands of Sydney, Justin, and Megan. 

Please put me to bed. In a flower bed… That means bury me in the ground. 

There’s a lady who teaches an aerial arts class. Her name is Morgana. I think she likes me. She told me I should sleep with the 27 year old virgin from OkCupid. I told her he’s probably not a virgin and just found the holy grail to getting women to do the kinkiest shit in bed on the first date in an attempt to corrupt him. Clever Will. 

I’m done. I won’t be ready for a new person in my life for a bit. Rebounds are unfair to the other person. I need time to hurt and heal. 

Let the healing begin. Sydney has placed another gin and ginger in front of me.

Moving and Other News

My parents are coming to America pretty damned soon (about two weeks). I’m sorta stoked. It’ll be nice to have my folks close by in case shit hits the fan, but man…that’s a little too close for comfort. THEY COULD POP IN AND VISIT IN A FEW HOURS’ TIME! What if they announce themselves when I have a dude over?! Mum will probably try to kill the guy; Pops’ll high five me…and then help Mum commit murder. That’s what’ll happen… I’ve only seen one dude survive that shit, and he didn’t even meet the broskis.

I Skyped with the rents, and Mama Fizz is already talking about flying me out to Louisville on weekends for afternoon tea and stuff~ And by “tea” I mean “tequila.” That lady can put it away. I will never be as good at drinking as my parents. Even during my Old Mission Days they could’ve drunk me under the table. I’m convinced they have bionic livers.

Sad news: I think they’re gonna give my doggy Socks to one of my father’s coworkers. She’s an old dog now, and Mum isn’t sure if the place they’re moving to will allow pets. I wanna cry. Socks has been a companion for about ten years. What if she dies of a broken heart? Eh, at least she won’t be eaten. Silver linings, silver linings…

Aaaaaaand I told the parents about my appointment for this Tuesday about the cancer.

Yeah… I think they’re freakin’, but they’re masters of waiting until the fat lady sings. I think my father took it harder because we almost lost Mum to a similar cancer about twelve years back. It probably took him to some dark times.

Jecca, you may have already done this because you’re my daughter, but don’t try to drown your worries in booze; they’re equipped with flotation devices. Get it checked out, and we’ll see you on the flip side. Love you, scrackle head foo’.