Tag Archives: Wesley

Box it up.

Friday night began with Chinese food for dinner and a trip to the liquor store, where Crystal and I quickly decided to purchase a small bottle of Jaeger. After a few shots of Jaeger back home, Crystal, Trevor, and I set out to play beer pong. Ethan joined in on Trevor’s team and they squared off with Crystal and I. We lost, but it was incredibly close. Aaron and a few of his friends jumped in to play after we were finished, but they chose to play with shots of vodka instead of beer. Needless to say, things got a little crazy.

Someone picked up a pair of boxing gloves in the living room and it was quickly decided that there needed to be a boxing match on the front lawn. Everyone ran downstairs to watch what was about to unfold. Shirts came off and gloves went on as Ethan and Aaron began to fight. They ran at each other, punching and rolling around on the lawn, the grass sticking to their panting, sweaty bodies. After an abrupt end, Renae picked up the gloves and began to fight with another close house friend, Carrie.

By the time that all ended, it was still early, so Crystal and I took a few more shots and played another game of beer pong.  Around then, Nala finally came home. She took a shot with us, made a drink, and after hearing the guitar in Ethan and Wesley’s room, we got up and followed the sound. Ethan and Wesley weren’t there, but Carrie was, strumming on the guitar to herself in the closet. We didn’t know where she had gone after the fight, but we were glad to find her! Then Joel made his way into the room, and picked up the guitar and began to play and sing with charisma that defines his unmistakable character. He played and taught me a few chords before I left for the bathroom, only to find that someone had locked themselves in there. I came back to tell Crystal, who retrieved the key and went to unlock it. We opened the door to find Young Wesley making out with a girl against the sink.

“Well, that’s awkward!” Crystal said to them, just loud enough to muffle the sloppy kissing noises emanating from the room.

A few minutes after we returned to the guitar playing in Ethan and Wesley’s room, Wesley and the girl walked in. Everyone looked at each other uncomfortably before we all stood up and walked out of the room at the same time, perhaps making it more awkward for Young Wesley. We laughed as we closed the door behind us, and headed to the living room.

With the risk of sounding way too cliché, little did we know the weekend was just beginning…Yes, that is what it looks like

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Young Wesley’s Birthday Rager

Friday night, our house saw possibly one of the biggest ragers to happen here this year. It was Young Wesley’s birthday party, and it was quite the celebration. Tons of people (some friends, but mostly friends of friends and randoms) showed up at the house ready to party. We got Wesley a bottle of cake flavored vodka and melted candles to the top, then lighted it while everyone sang him happy birthday. Wesley’s friend also got a DJ to play on our balcony, complete with lasers. The DJ (who was absolutely terrible) blew a fuse after the first half an hour he played, and then came storming into the garage telling us we didn’t know how to work our own circuit breaker.

The party raged on as people climbed onto our kitchen counters to dance. Randoms continued to flow in and the DJ continued to suck. His set up was so bad that people kept tripping over his cords and cutting the music every ten minutes. When the midnight rolled around and the DJ didn’t stop playing, Nala told him to shut it off so that we wouldn’t get another noise violation. He had agreed earlier to turn off the music on time, but once it actually came time to do so, he didn’t follow through. It took a little bit of angry convincing on Nala’s part to get him to quit, but then the crowd cheered for more. After a few minutes, the DJ turned it back on, and promptly got an earful from Nala. Finally, he stopped, but continued to act like a jerk on his way out, pushing and shoving us as he took his gear to the door.

A lack of music didn’t stop people from partying, but they did begin to get unruly. A couple of small fights broke out on the stairs as the rest of the party clamored to get a glimpse of it. Then another girl followed by a small posse, ran up the stairs claiming that she was called to someone to fight there. She yelled repeatedly that the other girl must be too scared to face her before Travis kicked her and the other angry drunks out.

Inevitably, our house was trashed after all of this. Every bathroom had broken glass on the counters. Red cups and little were strewn about, but that was nothing compared to the vomit on the windowsill of the upstairs bathroom. We even found hot pink lipstick marks all over the shower — as if some drunken girl decided it would be a good idea to kiss the definitely dirty shower walls. The next morning, I opened the door to the downstairs bathroom only to discover our flowers had been pulled out of their vase and thrown on the shower floor, along with gobs of hair gel all over. I heard later that people deliberately tried to destroy everything bathroom in our house, but I have no idea why.


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So long, winter.

As winter quarter comes to a close with finals week, I’m left astounded at how fast it went.

It was another great weekend under our house’s metaphorical belt. Everyone was excited for our housemate from last quarter, Jones, to come visit on his way down the coast. Friday night consisted of a ridiculous rager, one that was incredibly fun to be sober at. Tons of randoms showed up at the house, even after our makeshift bouncer locked the door repeatedly. Most of the first fifteen guests were friends of Wesley’s — including the DJ. Others stated they knew Travis as they walked in the door, some of them, unfortunately, said this to Travis’ face — oblivious to who Travis was. Nonetheless, the house filled with drunk bodies as the music played on. People danced and screamed (and twisted and shouted), they drank and smoked until some couldn’t take a hint — relentlessly making passes at uninterested individuals. Others were more lucky, as evidenced by the dirtiest of dirty dancing. But as the midnight noise curfew drew close, Trevor received texts from our next door neighbors threatening to call the cops. In order to prevent the house from getting another expensive noise violation ticket, a group of unknown people employed the fail-proof party ending tactic of shutting down the power to the house the power magically went out, saving us just in time.

As can be expected on a typical Friday night, there was some nudity. Travis of course lost all of his clothes far too quickly and danced around the living room, most of the time too close to Crystal Rainee for comfort. At some point, Jones, Ethan, Aaron, and Wesley felt the unbearable need to pull down their pants as well and moon who was left at the party. Everyone agreed that it just had to be done.

St. Patrick’s day consisted of the boys building a huge fort out of the couches, sheets, and beer game tables in the living room. The put a sign up in attempts to keep the girls out of their “pirate ship”. Pirate jargon could be heard throughout the house and from across the street at Dane’s house all day (I never really understood why the made the jump from Irish to pirate). Jameson and Bailey’s were passed around that evening, and Flogging Molly and Dropkick Murphys dominated the airwaves. I had been looking forward to some festive cocktails and green beer, but with strep throat and a heavy dose of antibiotics, I abstained.

Alright, that’s enough procrastinating for me. Back to studying for finals!


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Steep Competition…

So last night I received word that another blog about this house was created — written by Ethan, Wesley, and Travis.

Wesley and Ethan came down to the garage to announce that I had some competition. Ethan tried to persuade me that their blog would have a more honest (perhaps more shit-talking) perspective.

Thanks to Ethan for the video of Travis and the neighbor, Dane, dancing like nobody’s watching on the mansquare.

And just in case you couldn’t quite picture Travis playing snappa in a speedo, as discussed a couple of posts ago, here’s a visual for you. Thanks to Travis for posting it!

Bring it on! (The competition that is…)

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Buddha Bowls and the Funk.

This last weekend was a typical one here in our home. With the celebration of Nala’s 21st birthday on Wednesday (and Thursday, and some on Friday too) the weekend was was anything but dull.

Wednesday night we had dinner at a local vegetarian restaurant where we exchanged glances at the waitress calling us all goddesses. Thursday night we went downtown to the bars and clubs and took it all in. After some free bottle service, a couple too-expensive drinks, and watching the random hook-ups around us, we called it a night a little after 1:00am.

Friday and Saturday night were typical…consisting of parties mostly dominated by Travis and Wesley’s much younger friends. Travis would not stop peeing off of the balcony…he had already done it twice in an hour and was attempting to expose himself for a third time before I pushed him into the nearest bathroom. Later on, he drunkenly learned different martial arts moves from the Albertson’s sushi guy, who had somehow made it to our house to party. Apparently, Ethan and a few other house members are quite the regulars there. After enjoying some good conversation on the balcony and in the living room, much of the remaining partiers left for Freebirds. All except for Wesley of course, who I saw later on the couch asleep with a random girl (He  lamented the fact that he had fallen asleep, but at least the whole experience took his mind off of his other girl problems).

Givers and Takers playing in Dog Shit Park!

Today was a fairly laidback day…minus the fact that Travis was, for the third time this week, playing snappa in the front yard in a too-tight speedo. We woke up this morning to the smell of fresh bagels and onions — a few friends were making a ton of their newly invented “Buddha Bowls” for the crowd at the festival in the park across the street from our house. Our house was full of people enjoying mushroom feta and barbeque chicken in hollowed out bagels until the late afternoon. A few of us walked over to the festival enjoyed one of the favorite local bands, Givers and Takers. After a fantastic set, a funky DJ came on, and the rest of the festival consisted of dancing in the sun.

Minus the confrontations between Renae and Travis over his incessant party hosting, and poor Renae getting her ipod and money stolen from her, the craziness of the house seemed to stay at it’s normal level. We’ll see how next weekend goes with St. Patrick’s Day, another great excuse to drink too much. But with finals right around the corner, many of us are hoping it will be a mellow two weeks!

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ER Trips….on the reg.

Last night Ethan went to the hospital with food poisoning, unbeknownst to most of the house. At around midnight, Brandon and I went to go pick Ethan up from the emergency room. When we arrived, Ethan was still sick as a dog and getting IV fluids, so he wasn’t quite ready to leave. Brandon and I proceeded to talk about medicine, Judaism, heaven and hell, and more, while Ethan rested in between the nurses poking and prodding him. When he started to feel better, we left the hospital, Brandon joking with the staff on our way out.

We got into Ethan’s car, and Brandon began to drive. It wasn’t long until there was a cop behind us and we began to get the feeling that we were about to be pulled over. Ethan remembered he had a tail light out, and we figured that being in a jeep that pulled to the right wouldn’t sit well with a cop at 2:00 in the morning in a college town.

Sure, enough, the sheriff flipped on his lights, and we pulled over to the side. He came around to the driver’s side and asked where we were coming from.

“The hospital,” we all said in unison.

The officer had made his judgement, and immediately decided we weren’t up to any trouble. He asked why we were at the hospital.

” Food poisoning,” Ethan blurted in a mumbling, sedated tone. The officer noted the pink hospital basin at his feet, and the blankets he was wrapped in, and dismissed the suddenness and dryness of his answer.

The sheriff asked for Brandon’s license and the registration and insurance for the car, as usual. Brandon fumbled around in Ethan’s glove box, and pulled out a stack of crumpled papers. He sighed deeply as he set them in his lap and begin to sort through them, and the officer patiently shined his flashlight onto the stack.

“Is this it?”

“Nope, that’s 2006,” the officer chuckled.

“Hmm…this? No, 2009….2006, 2008, 2011….”

Brandon waded through the papers until he finally came upon the 2012 registration. He handed it to the cop, but he stood waiting still. Then Brandon began to go back through the stack looking for proof of insurance. But it was nowhere to be found.

The officer explained that it was unlawful, but gave us a break. He let us go after Ethan promised to fix his taillight, throw out his old registration, and keep the proof of insurance in the car.

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This whole ER experience reminded me of the last time I took Ethan to the ER, all too early in the morning.

It was 2:00 am the last day of Fall quarter finals. I was exhausted from taking my last test, but a few of us went out anyways. After a fun-filled evening of freestyle rapping, T.V. smashing, beer shotgunning, and exploding fireplaces, we headed home. It was cold so I rushed to my garage to turn on my space heater, and Wesley, Ethan, and Sienna followed.

After a few minutes, Ethan began to get tired. He laid down on my bed, which rolled slightly on the cement it sat on. As he drifted off to sleep, Wesley sat down beside him. Laughing, he mimed slapping Ethan. Then he pulled his arm back, and slapped Ethan’s ass. Startled, Ethan sat up, turned around, and slapped Wesley in the face. Wesley retaliated, and soon they were rolling around on the bed, which was, in itself, rolling around on the ground. It rolled out from underneath them, and they both tumbled to the cement floor, brushing the fiberglass insulation on the garage door. Ethan hit his head. Hard. He came up bleeding from his lip and disoriented. He was holding his head, and in drunken pain.

As the only one who was sober, and Ethan still in pain a half an hour later, when he decided he wanted to go the emergency room, I was the one to drive.

“Can we stop at Jack in the Box on the way??” Wesley asked, drunkenly laughing as we walked to the car, bleeding Ethan in tow.

Everyone climbed in the car and we drove off, speeding to the hospital. Wesley tried to turn up the radio multiple times, and I turned it back down multiple times.

When we got to the ER, I signed Ethan in, and they took him back right away, but not before we had a chance to say hi to the two blonde guys with broken fingers, who we had coincidentally seen partying at our house earlier that night. The triage nurse asked what was going on in town, and mentioned that he’d already seen five head injuries that night.

They ran tests and kept a close eye on Ethan until 5:00am, when they finally sent him home with a simple but serious concussion diagnosis. I went straight to bed when we got back to the house, in disbelief of all that had happened that night…and I’m not even telling the whole story!

Poor Ethan sure does seem to have some bad luck when it comes to needing to visit the ER.

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When most of the house is away…the rest will play…

One of the biggest day parties just ended here at our house. With most of the house gone, and only the most notorious partiers home, the house was filled with random drunks and blasting dub-step.

With at least a hundred people filling the house and overflowing onto the roof (how they managed to get up there as intoxicated as they were, who knows), things were bound to get messy. What started as few housemates making margaritas and listening to mariachi turned into a full blown day rager, complete with a DJ. Inevitably, somebody got hurt. But luckily, there just so happened to be an EMT partying in the house, who was able to clean up the gushing gash on Young Wesley’s foot.

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