Bad breakup? Not as bad as this guy.

14 Apr

Today I found a real live alcoholic.

Amanda and I were basking in the sun in the beautiful spring sunshine at Maywood pool this afternoon when three people (two girls and a guy) sauntered in.  Right off the bat we noticed that the guy was absolutely obliterated.  At first we thought he might be some poor pledge in some frat served with the task of consuming what he reported to be “a litre and a half of wine, some sorts of beer, and then swigs of warm vodka” that had been sitting in a car.  Then we thought he might just be some guy getting an embarrassingly early start to Thirsty Thursday.   However, as we continued to eaves drop we discovered that he was actually drowning his misery of a very recent breakup in an unconventional variety of alcoholic beverages.  We also learned that the guy’s name was Steve and he spoke with a slight European accent (perhaps Danish).  And boy was Steve on the rebound.

Through his beer goggles Steve was able to notice the rough outline of two figuresof Amanda and me laying by the pool nearby.  He turns to his friends (the two girls, totally sober, trying to get their tan on while babysitting Steve) to confirm his recent discovery.  The dialogue followed as such:

Steve: “I’m having some destruction of my recognition skills… are there girls over there?  To my left?

Girl 1: “Yes.”

Steve: “Two of them?”

Girl 2: “Yes, Steve.  Two girls.”

Steve: “Can I hook up with them?”

Girl 1: “Steve I don’t think you’re in any position to spit game right now.”

Amanda and I continued to mind our own business amidst Steve’s continuing efforts to get some and his two friends’ continuous apologies.  The girls told him that in order to hook up with anybody, he must first be able to stand up.  Aptly motivated, Steve struggled for a good solid minute to rise up off the lawn chair.  Once standing (moreso waivering) he let out a triumphant “Yay!”.  Now that he was up, he decided to go for a swim. 

I forgot to mention that the pool we were laying out at has yet to actually open.  In substitution for water, there is a sizeable dark green pool cover which radiates more heat than a sunburnt redhead.  This proved to be no obstacle for Steve.  The water and foliage accumulated on the top of the cover seemed to be as much of a pool as Steve needed.  He rolled onto the cover and began to splash around while his friends tried desperately to get him off of it.  Unphazed by the risk of breaking the cover or the scorching heat of the puddle he was lying in, Steve went swimming  for about five minutes.   

Unfortunately the time had come for Steve and his friends to pack up and head out and the girls finally convinced Steve to crawl back to shore.  As he climbs out of the pool (off the cover) he manages to stand up for the second time.  As he heads to the gate, he looked over to Amanda and me and for the first time since he got to the pool, we made direct eye contact.  Our first and final conversation with Steve went a little something like this:

Steve: “(to his friends) See?! There are two girls over there!   (to Amanda and me) Looking good over there! Wanna hook up???”

Girls: (whisper something to Steve)

Steve: “My friends said you’re not that cute.”

Girls: No no! We’re just trying to get him to leave!

Amanda and I: “We’re not cute.  We’re really ugly actually, it’s just your beer goggles.”

Steve: “Can I at least get some numbers?”

Amanda and I: “You can get them when you come back.”

Steve: “I’ll be back in 20 to 30 minutes! I’ll see you then.  Take your clothes off!”

And with that the girls managed to get Steve through the pool gate and into the parking lot heading towards the car.  Although the car was parked to the left of the gate, gravity took Steve way far right.  His friends dragged him back from across the parking lot and put him in the car.  That was the last Amanda and I saw of Steve that day. 

I have been slacking on my blogging lately, but I could not let Steve’s story go undocumented.  In a way I am thankful to Steve, 1) for his unparalleled entertainment and 2) for showing me what alcoholism really is, it was truly a learning experience.   I’ll be back soon with more updates from the rainy season.  Until next time, thanks for stopping by.

PS. Amanda managed to snap a photo, so if you’d like a visual to go with the story.  Here it is:

steve and friends


The Alcoholic.

22 Mar

The drought is finally over. The rainy season has officially begun. The Sober Alcoholic is out on vacation.

We spent the last week of dry season on a little business trip to Texas. This was the last meet of my college career and the last time I would swim with my family of fourth years. I can’t even find the words to say how much I love them and how dearly I will miss them in and out of the pool next year– which works out because I’m not trying to get all sentimental right now. I do, however, have plenty to say about the beginning of my fourth and final rainy season.

Ding ding, round 1: Sunday Funday.

What started off as a quiet and uneventful Sunday night also happened to end rather quietly and uneventfully, with the exception of Satchel Lady. There were very few people celebrating Sunday Funday at the bar that night. Besides Hannah, Amanda, Moores, Ricky, and myself, there were only three other groups of interest. 1) Three creepy Mexicanos trying to hit on all of us– one with a “broken heart” that only Hannah could apparently fix, 2) two townies who happened to be in the army, but posed as big shot officers, who Moores actually already outranks, and 3) Satchel Lady.

Although the first two groups did provide some entertainment, nothing compares to Satchel Lady. Okay, so the five of us were just sitting at the bar chatting with Bjorn when a man comes over and politely asks us if we’ve seen a black purse around because his friend had misplaced it. We ask him what kind of a purse it was, whether it was a regular purse or a satchel. He had no idea. Ricky yells across the bar to the lady with the missing purse and asks “IS IT A SATCHEL??” Before she could answer, the guy finds her purse and walks back over to where they were sitting. Five minutes later, this lady (a townie, probably mid 30s, with an ankle brace on her foot, completely smacked) creeps over to us sitting at the bar and confronts Anne Summer. The dialogue progressed in the following way:

Satchel lady (to Ricky): “What did you say to me??”

Ricky: “I was just asking you what kind of purse you have?”

Satchel lady: “You really need to watch what you say.”

Ricky: “I don’t understand, I was just trying to help you.. how was that offensive?”

Satchel Lady: “Can I have your number? I think we need to talk about this.”

Ricky: “No you cannot have my number, what is there to talk about?”

The rest of us: laughter.

Satchel Lady: “Oh so now this is funny?”

Amanda: “Yes I think it’s funny that you’re so upset right now.”

Me: “We’re not trying to argue with you, we just wanted to help you. We were just asking what kind of purse it was, see? We all have satchels. THIS is a satchel. What is the problem?!”

Satchel Lady: “Oh so YOU told her to say it.”

Me: “No, nobody told anybody to say anything, a satchel is a purse. How is that at all offensive?”

Satchel Lady (to Hannah): “You said something too, didn’t you!”

 Hannah: “I didn’t say one word.”

Satchel Lady (to Ricky): “You really need to get a new group of friends and watch what you say to people.”

Ricky: “He found your purse, what is your problem??”

(man friend comes over to try to get her out of the bar)

Satchel Lady: “Whatever. Have a nice night.”

Me: “Have a nice life.”

All of us: WTF??

Apparently there is something innately offensive about the word “satchel” that only this lady knows. She is prime example of the best Cville has to offer on Sunday Funday. And for the record, her purse was not a satchel.

Ding ding round 2: Monday Funday

Colt and Kyle bought my apartment a beautiful 1.75L bottle of Grey Goose to ring in the rainy season. That, mixed with Crystal Light Raspberry mix will sweep you off your feet. Or more so bring you down crashing.

The bar was once again empty and we once again found ourselves posted up at the bar. Time was moving slower than molasses in January. After some 6 dollar buckets, Irish car bombs, and gummy bears, it was only 12:30 and I was exhausted. And hungry. So Ian and I hopped over to Christians for a quick slice of pizza. Paul thought it would be really funny if I texted Ricky that I went home for the night, so I did. Ricky was not happy. In fact, when I walked back into the bar, she yells at me and “jumps” on me. We go down. HARD. My left kneecap area goes right into the ground and her head takes down the barstool. It was quite a scene. Fortunately nobody was at the bar to see it.

We slowly pick ourselves up off the ground, my knee is throbbing and Ricky’s has a sizeable bump on the back of her head. So sizeable that she finishes off her night sitting at the bar with a grocery bag of ice on her head. But no worries, Ricky was still able to spit game with the guy sitting next to her, with the bag still on her head.

Nothing says “This is a good time” like a bruised knee and a bumpy head.

As for Tuesday Funday, we are taking a break for academic purposes, but plan on returning tomorrow in full force. Tomorrow is El Puerto dinner and Boylan dance night. BRING ON THE MARGARITAS.

Bring your umbrellas, raincoats, ponchos, (non-hideous) rainboots, and whatever rain paraphernalia deemed necessary– tomorrow’s gonna be a rainy one.

Don’t store your mesh bag on the ground.

10 Mar

You know those moments in life when you wish somebody had been following you around with a video camera and caught them on tape? One of those moments happened today.

As the d-group girls gathered around to hear what Doak had in store for us for warm-up, Claire starts to take her equipment out of her bag. As she whips out her kickboard, a cockroah flies out. Claire and I both scream, and she is on top of a block faster than Doak can even realize what is going on. I run after it with her kickboard and smash it. Mark and Doak were bent over laughing, meanwhile Claire was still standing on top of the block and the cockroach was still twitching. Afraid the roach would spring back to life, we had Mark deliver the fatal stomp, and the crunch was soo appetizing.   I realize this story is a little anti-climactic and/or not really that funny.  It probably qualifies as a “you had to be there moment.”  But since there was no camera following us around, and most of you weren’t there, here’s a little picture to try to give you an idea of what it might have looked like:

may require a little imagination

After things calmed down, we swam the first 1100 yards to a 6000+ workout. Did I mention we’re less than a week out from NCAAs? Yay for taper?

Speaking of taper, the only thing harder to give up during dry season than alcohol is sweets. Hannah and I decided to cut out the ice cream, cookies, nutella, and candy the last two weeks or so of taper. Our apartment bought two massive bags of grapefruits hoping to satisfy our cravings with a healthier choice. This works just fine until Claire bakes brownies and leaves them out on the counter in the middle of one of my cravings. Hannah stayed strong, I ate like 4. But everybody knows the calories don’t count if you eat them in smaller pieces over a period of time, right? I’ll get back on the grapefruit horse tomorrow.

In other news, I’ve found an apartment to live in next year, I’ve done no school work, I partially cleaned my room, Colt won’t give up black ops for lent, and my car is still clean from yet another day’s worth of rain.

One week til the big dance, nine days til the rainy season, and one day til team dinner at Flaming Wok. Wooo Hibachi!

Happy thirsty Thursday! Stay hydrated.

Free carwashes for all.

6 Mar

For those of you on the east coast, within some vicinity of Virginia/Maryland, I hope you all enjoyed the zero visibility, windshield wipers on high, hydroplaning, traffic, and flight cancellations today– all generously provided by nature. Nothing says spring break like a monsoon to cap off an otherwise wonderful weekend.

I went back home with Hannah this weekend to take a little break from cville, enjoy her momma’s home cooking, play with her puppies, and hit up the outlet stores.

Perk number one of staying to train over spring break: PER DIEM.

The money we receive is supposed to cover the cost of food over break while the dining halls are closed. We shamelessly spent just about all of our per diem at the J. Crew outlet–but boy did we get our money’s worth. We may be hungry, but at least we’ll look good doing it. Afterwards, we had no more energy (or money) to devote to other stores after the shopathon at J. Crew. It was in our best interests anyway.

When we got to Hannah’s house, her mom made us the most delicious steak, we watched 127 hours, played with her Jack Russels, and slept in bunk beds– they just don’t make sleepovers like that anymore (for 21+ year olds, at least).

Hannah and I left her house mid-afternoon to head back to cville at the same time mother nature decided to have a good cry. I don’t know if any of you are like this, but Hannah doesn’t like to use windshield wipers– somehow she is able to see through a rain-covered windshield. I’m not one of those people who puts their wipers on high when its drizzling out, but I was just itching in the passenger seat to flip them on. When we got on 64, she eventually had to put them on full blast which should reiterate how rainy it actually was. Traffic was backed up because Virginians don’t know how to drive in inclement weather.  But on a positive note, Hannah’s car is now squeaky clean compliments of the college student’s carwash.

We love water so much that even with all this rain we got into a pool when we got back for a little shake-out swim. Then we came home, ate dinner, started Season 1 of Mad Men with Liz, and then the three of us went over to the boys’ apartment for a fantastically sober game of apples to apples.

What a jam-packed start to the end of dry season.

Yes, it is still dry season.

5 Mar

I’m a sucker for irony, and it just so happens that my last post was written exactly two weeks into dry season and exactly two weeks from now, dry season will be officially OVER.  I guess you could say my plan to keep you guys updated on all dry season activities fell through.  Perhaps it is because once school started back up, blogging simply got away from me.  Or perhaps all “fun” dry season activities ended once school started back up, giving me nothing to tell you guys about.  Either way you put it though, this dry season has been the most memorable one of them all.

After winter break I (regrettably) put little effort into maintaining social gatherings and activities like the ones I’ve mentioned in earlier posts.  Once classes started, our lives returned to the monotonous daily routine of practice, class, practice, eat, sleep– with a meet at the end of every week.  In fact, the very first weekend of second semester brought about the annual parking lot knife fight between my family and the baby blue bitties from Chapstick Hill.  Three years ago at this meet, we had the pleasure of embarrassing them in their own pool and watching them cry in disbelief.  And the beatings continued for three straight years.  This year they came to our pool packing heat, confidence, and fake tans.  At one point, they were actually winning the meet.  But nothing says thanks for playing like a sweep in the 200IM and a 1-2 punch in the last relay to seal the deal to a four-year unblemished record in the ACC.

Fast forward four weeks and move down to ATL.  Taking it back to where it all started, so began the fourth and final ACC championship of my career.  Carolina was up after day one, then us after day two, and then Carolina after day three.  They must have forgotten about the fourth day of the meet because according to them, they had the meet in the bag– we were in the HEELS HOUSE.  We didn’t know whether to vomit, be angry, or laugh– I think we did a little of each.  We also did a lot of 16 up in top 8 to their 9 on Saturday, capping the win with a dubya in the very last relay.  The silence coming from the baby blue side of the pool was almost as gratifying as holding up the new, large-and-in-charge trophy on the podium for the fourth year in a row.  Victory never tasted so sweet.

I take back my earlier comment about “fun” dry season activities coming to an end when school started.  I’m having the time of my life and the rainy season hasn’t even started yet.  It’s now spring break and tropical Charlottesville looks even more promising than last year, especially now that the muggles are gone.  I look forward to finishing up my last (official) dry season on the most entertaining note and telling you all about it.

Less than two weeks til Austin.

Stay classy (and sober).

Ronald Reagan once said

14 Jan

“All great change in America begins at the dinner table with D-group.”  

Little did you all know he was talking about the distance group of which I am a proud member of.  In honor of Reagan’s immortal words, the 13 of us came together for a family dinner at Boylan.  By day (before 10pm) Boylan functions as a pretty good burger joint and a great place to catch a game on tv.  By night, Boylan turns into a fiasco of athletes, jersey chasers, and first years (some categories may overlap), with the occasional creepy townies sprinkled in.  By day (before 10pm) the leather couches serve as a legitimate place to eat and socialize with a large group of people.  By night, these couches harbor the girl who is way more inebriated than the guy she is giving a lap dance to, the guy who “just needs a power nap”, the first year girl texting everyone in her phone book to avoid looking like a loner since she separated from her group of friends, the small group of friends sharing a pitcher catching the end of the baseball game on tv– among other folk.

We got to Boylan well before 10pm, so the couches were a safe place to sit for dinner.  Together we shared a pleasant evening over pitchers of water, burgers, and friendly conversation.  It was many d-groupers’ first time eating at Boylan– most ordered a burger because, after all, we were at a burger place.  Except Jan.  You may recall from an earlier post that Jan is Polish and therefore you should not be surprised that he ordered pork niblets as an appetizer followed by none other than a big juicy savory.. peanut butter and banana sandwich for the main course.  Well, to each d-grouper his own I guess.

The distance group is bursting at the seams with pride, yardage, comradery, and personality.  The last part of dinner served as a d-group town hall meeting where we made the final decisions for the first annual d-group tshirt.  Although I would have loved to see last year’s Dokemon shirt follow through, this shirt will make any other training group shirt wither in envy and inferiority.  It is original and represents everything that we here in the distance group are all about.  The order has been put in and once the shirts arrive I will post a picture so you can all see for yourselves. 

Overall, dinner proved to be a huge success.  The food was delicious, the company was lively, we created a tshirt, and America is changing for the better.  Reagan was right.

P.S. The next time you hear about Boylan will probably involve my experience with the drink specials I could not take my eye off of during the entire dinner.  Dry season day 14.. SEE YA.

The hour of power.

10 Jan

When you hear a phrase with the words power and hour together, you almost always think of the irresponsible binge drinking ritual involving the consumption of one shot of something every minute for an hour.  Since it’s dry season, we all know that’s not what I’m talking about.  These two words took on a whole new meaning this afternoon. 

Today I was officially cleared by the doc and returned to practice with the team after the whole concussion mishap.  Neither I nor anybody else in d-group could have forseen what Doak had coming for us.  After 2700 yards of warm up, two-turn 50s, and descending 100s we split up into IMers, guys, and girls.  Doak gives the IMers their set and comes over to us freestylers and announces that it is time for the “Hour of Power.”  Unapolagetically, he tells us we have two rounds of 1×1000, 2x500s, and 5x200s.  Straight through.  All swim. No rest between rounds.  A interval: 1:00 base, B interval: 1:03, C interval 1:05-1:06.  Let’s gooooo.

For those of you unfamiliar with swimming, this probably means nothing to you.  Perhaps it would make more sense after doing the usual power hour… probably not, but you should enjoy one anyway in celebration of today’s workout.  

I hate to talk about swimming outside of practice, but today’s challenge was just too spectacular to keep to myself.  Nothing like a 10 grand workout to ring in the tenth day of dry season.