Fat, drunk and stupid is no way to go through life, son...

...on second thought, maybe it is!

Well, here it is, Thursday and closing in on another weekend. For some reason today I have been busier than a one-armed paper hanger and I don’t like it. I enjoy the more peaceful, tranquil work days where I get to lounge more. I have the overwhelming urge to drink myself into a vegetative state over the weekend, yet responsibilities loom overhead, so I doubt that will happen. Damn you, adulthood! Damn you straight to hell.

All this deep thought was brought on by the fact that Spring Break is coming up very soon.
Ahh, what thoughts and visions those two little words conjure up! Spring Break – where good looks are beneficial to hooking up - yet still optional; where you can’t swing a dead cat without hitting a drunken frat guy with a coral choker necklace; where thongs and beer bongs and pot and sex with strangers is the norm. If not the norm, it is at least an accepted practice. It is like living a girls Gone Wild Video. Why? Because that is where they tape that crap!

Spring Break - that early spring, rite of passage, where all your cares and inhibitions and even your skivvies are left at home. Where alcohol is the Soup D’Jour, those in t-shirts are overdressed, and Trojan stock goes through the roof. Mexico, Arizona, Myrtle Beach, Florida – hell, even Put-In-Bay – it doesn’t matter. You don’t need a lot of money or even good looks; just access to a lot of alcamahol (thanks, Steph, for letting me use your phrase), a floor to sleep on or car to sleep in, and directions to the nearest White Castle.

To have fun on Spring Break is almost a given, so long as you don’t get rohypnol in your Red-headed Slut (the kind of drink, that is), you vomit just enough to avoid hospitalization, you are incarcerated, or your hook-up partner(s) manage(s) to locate your real identity and proceed to stalk you.

I live vicariously though MTV during this time of year, for you see, I never managed to go to Spring Break when I was in college, particularly due to my lack of testicles. I did manage to go to New Orleans several years AFTER graduation and it was crazed, but still I wish I took a “college Spring Break” trip.

I so wish me and some buddies had driven through the night, drinking a palate’s worth of Pabst Blue Ribbon or The Beast and hanging out with wild college girls with questionable morals.

Please, in this time of national partying, have a heart and remember your ol’ buddy Barry who missed out on all the fun back in the day by telling me some of your stories!