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bitchy_merlinWhat is this madness? There was a lack of obsessive whiny blogging over the past 24 hours on this journal. Was Sarah actually out on a Saturday night?!
Yes she was!
It was called the Flunge. It was a fencing event. It was fucking awesome.
We started the night off in front of Leonard Dining Hall (sounds weird calling it that - usually it's just the caf). I'm sure the diners must have enjoyed the lovely strip show we gave them as we were hustled out of our clothing and into our swimsuits. Thank God for the foresight to wear mine under my clothes - yay limited nudity. Then, we donned our sous plastrons and gloves and proceeded to form a line. The upper year fencers were jostling and crowding around us, shouting in what shall henceforth be known as the FREC voice: the deep, growly yell that the FRECs use to talk to their frosh. It was probably slightly terrifying, but I was too busy concentrating on footwork to notice. Because yeah, that's right, we had to go from Leonard to the pier in en garde. Oh my God, my thighs! They burrrrnnnnnnnn.
So thus we went (onwards, lusty gentlemen!). As a side note, Jimmy, one of the upper year fencers - really nice guy - was there. Holy crap, can that man yell! I didn't even recognize him at first cause I've never seen him like that.
At any rate, we got to the pier and just kind of stood around shivering and freezing our asses off for a bit. And then - The Flunge. Foilists went first because "foilists always go first". Specifically, we lined up on the pier and jumped one at a time into Lake Ontario. In the middle of October. At night. "Fuck my lifeeeeee!" I screamed as I threw myself off the pier and plunged into the dark water. I hit the surface and entered the water, swallowing a lovely mouthful as I did so. (Mmm, pollution.) There was a moment of panic as I kicked toward the surface, not seeming to move. But I finally broke the surface and was able to breathe - hurrah - and flail in the general direction of the ladder. Shit, when I got out, I was so cold that I literally couldn't feel my legs (though considering how the wind had picked up, maybe that was actually a blessing in disguise). We huddled around for a bit, numb and shaking - and in my case, swearing like a mofo - as we tried to find our clothes and watched the other fencers hurl themselves into the dark as well. Dean, another experienced foilist, was hanging around and being nice to us (especially Jenna, who was having a rough time), offering us towels and jackets and the like. That kind of warmed my heart. Thanks, Dean. :)
So then Jenna and I hoofed it back to res to change into dry clothes, and headed over to Matt's house. We entered right in the middle of an admittedly well-done rendition of Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody. Then Matt, having somehow sensed the presence of newbies, called us over to the center of the room to "challenge" us. The shots were port mixed with Limoncello, and were actually quite good. It went something like this:
Matt: A CHALLENGE HAS BEEN ISSUED! I'LL BE YOUR FOIL, SIR!
Jenna and I: *mumublemumble*... no, you mock me
Matt: I swear by my hand
Jenna and I: Come, my lord
Matt: ONE *drinks*
Jenna and I: No...? *drink*
Matt: JUDGMENT!
Matt... did a lot of shots. And a lot of other drinks. He also managed to change clothes at some point during the night, though buggered if I know how or why.
Anyway, I sat on the couch with Jenna and Safia and lots of other fencers (who are all working towards attaining GQMF status), and did what drunks do best. We drank. And talked, between refills. But mostly drank. Michelle, the women's foil captain, was very nice and kept offering Jenna and I drinks. The shots were nice, the Malibu was ok, and the energizing beer whatever-the-fuck was just plain disgusting.
Over the course of the night, I talked to Christian and a little bit with Craig, though I don't actually remember what I said, so I hope it didn't sound as dumb as I think it did. I get really stupid when I'm inebriated. Really stupid. I talk and laugh a lot. Walking up the stairs was a challenge, let me tell you. I don't remember much of the night really, except Christian telling me I needed to stop apologizing for things and start saying "fuck you" instead. I might try it on him next practice. (Haha, if I even make it to practice this week, goddamn midterms.)
We headed out around one, but not before I made the typical drunken mistake of "Shit! Guys we can't leave! I don't know where my keys are!". I rushed back inside and started digging frantically through the pile of clothes at the door. A girl came up to me and was all "what are you looking for, hun?" "My keys," I replied, distraught. "I don't know where they are." She reached around my neck and pulled out my lanyard, where the keys were dangling. I felt like a giant doofus. I still feel like a giant doofus, but I'm comforting myself with the hope that most people there were too drunk to really remember much about the night anyway.
And that was my first drinking experience at university. I lost my swim shorts at Matt's, or on the pier somewhere. I am saddened by their loss, but it was a fantastic night. The parts I remember, that is. Ahem. Yes.
In the same vein, Halloween weekend is going to suck donkey balls, because I'm ninety percent sure my floor will be having some type of party, and by "my floor" I mean the tight-knit group of people whose existence makes me feel miserable, even though they are all corteous when we pass in the halls. But that's a post for another time. Like, after midterms.
Another post for this time, though, is my dance instructor/teacher/whatever. Let's call her Bri. She's blonde and upbeat and energetic, and her beginner hip hop class kind of makes my life in all possible ways. I have kind of a crush on her for this. I don't really know. I approve so much of her if that makes sense. The baggy clothes she wears to class, the way she teaches, just everything. Even the way she walks across the floor makes sunbeams shoot through my stomach. Ridiculous, right? Thought so.
Anyway, psyc100 won't study for itself, so I've got to go take more notes. (Wow, I sound like I'm signing off an msn conversation or something.) Toodles.
Yes she was!
It was called the Flunge. It was a fencing event. It was fucking awesome.
We started the night off in front of Leonard Dining Hall (sounds weird calling it that - usually it's just the caf). I'm sure the diners must have enjoyed the lovely strip show we gave them as we were hustled out of our clothing and into our swimsuits. Thank God for the foresight to wear mine under my clothes - yay limited nudity. Then, we donned our sous plastrons and gloves and proceeded to form a line. The upper year fencers were jostling and crowding around us, shouting in what shall henceforth be known as the FREC voice: the deep, growly yell that the FRECs use to talk to their frosh. It was probably slightly terrifying, but I was too busy concentrating on footwork to notice. Because yeah, that's right, we had to go from Leonard to the pier in en garde. Oh my God, my thighs! They burrrrnnnnnnnn.
So thus we went (onwards, lusty gentlemen!). As a side note, Jimmy, one of the upper year fencers - really nice guy - was there. Holy crap, can that man yell! I didn't even recognize him at first cause I've never seen him like that.
At any rate, we got to the pier and just kind of stood around shivering and freezing our asses off for a bit. And then - The Flunge. Foilists went first because "foilists always go first". Specifically, we lined up on the pier and jumped one at a time into Lake Ontario. In the middle of October. At night. "Fuck my lifeeeeee!" I screamed as I threw myself off the pier and plunged into the dark water. I hit the surface and entered the water, swallowing a lovely mouthful as I did so. (Mmm, pollution.) There was a moment of panic as I kicked toward the surface, not seeming to move. But I finally broke the surface and was able to breathe - hurrah - and flail in the general direction of the ladder. Shit, when I got out, I was so cold that I literally couldn't feel my legs (though considering how the wind had picked up, maybe that was actually a blessing in disguise). We huddled around for a bit, numb and shaking - and in my case, swearing like a mofo - as we tried to find our clothes and watched the other fencers hurl themselves into the dark as well. Dean, another experienced foilist, was hanging around and being nice to us (especially Jenna, who was having a rough time), offering us towels and jackets and the like. That kind of warmed my heart. Thanks, Dean. :)
So then Jenna and I hoofed it back to res to change into dry clothes, and headed over to Matt's house. We entered right in the middle of an admittedly well-done rendition of Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody. Then Matt, having somehow sensed the presence of newbies, called us over to the center of the room to "challenge" us. The shots were port mixed with Limoncello, and were actually quite good. It went something like this:
Matt: A CHALLENGE HAS BEEN ISSUED! I'LL BE YOUR FOIL, SIR!
Jenna and I: *mumublemumble*... no, you mock me
Matt: I swear by my hand
Jenna and I: Come, my lord
Matt: ONE *drinks*
Jenna and I: No...? *drink*
Matt: JUDGMENT!
Matt... did a lot of shots. And a lot of other drinks. He also managed to change clothes at some point during the night, though buggered if I know how or why.
Anyway, I sat on the couch with Jenna and Safia and lots of other fencers (who are all working towards attaining GQMF status), and did what drunks do best. We drank. And talked, between refills. But mostly drank. Michelle, the women's foil captain, was very nice and kept offering Jenna and I drinks. The shots were nice, the Malibu was ok, and the energizing beer whatever-the-fuck was just plain disgusting.
Over the course of the night, I talked to Christian and a little bit with Craig, though I don't actually remember what I said, so I hope it didn't sound as dumb as I think it did. I get really stupid when I'm inebriated. Really stupid. I talk and laugh a lot. Walking up the stairs was a challenge, let me tell you. I don't remember much of the night really, except Christian telling me I needed to stop apologizing for things and start saying "fuck you" instead. I might try it on him next practice. (Haha, if I even make it to practice this week, goddamn midterms.)
We headed out around one, but not before I made the typical drunken mistake of "Shit! Guys we can't leave! I don't know where my keys are!". I rushed back inside and started digging frantically through the pile of clothes at the door. A girl came up to me and was all "what are you looking for, hun?" "My keys," I replied, distraught. "I don't know where they are." She reached around my neck and pulled out my lanyard, where the keys were dangling. I felt like a giant doofus. I still feel like a giant doofus, but I'm comforting myself with the hope that most people there were too drunk to really remember much about the night anyway.
And that was my first drinking experience at university. I lost my swim shorts at Matt's, or on the pier somewhere. I am saddened by their loss, but it was a fantastic night. The parts I remember, that is. Ahem. Yes.
In the same vein, Halloween weekend is going to suck donkey balls, because I'm ninety percent sure my floor will be having some type of party, and by "my floor" I mean the tight-knit group of people whose existence makes me feel miserable, even though they are all corteous when we pass in the halls. But that's a post for another time. Like, after midterms.
Another post for this time, though, is my dance instructor/teacher/whatever. Let's call her Bri. She's blonde and upbeat and energetic, and her beginner hip hop class kind of makes my life in all possible ways. I have kind of a crush on her for this. I don't really know. I approve so much of her if that makes sense. The baggy clothes she wears to class, the way she teaches, just everything. Even the way she walks across the floor makes sunbeams shoot through my stomach. Ridiculous, right? Thought so.
Anyway, psyc100 won't study for itself, so I've got to go take more notes. (Wow, I sound like I'm signing off an msn conversation or something.) Toodles.
