There was that one Freshman girl on my floor at University. You know the one. She came from a very conservative family. The kind of family that enforced a curfew up until her graduation. Threatened to kick her out of the house for “going out with boys.” Freaked out to learn that she wanted to go to school a whole four hundred miles away.
You know the girl. She called home dutifully for awhile. Every night at 7:00 she was there, hogging the downstairs phone emitting platitudes like “No, mother. No. I promise. No. I’ve been really good.”
But the environment catches up with her. Sure, she swore not to let “the influence of evil” get to her. She made it all about the opportunity to advance herself. To be the one who “accomplished something” in the family. But, by week six, only a few short class cycles after orientation, someone brings a big box of wine upstairs and the game is up.
The sad tale continues, after the jump.
She resisted at first. That wasn’t her thing. And the other girls nodded in solidarity and support. “We really respect that, totally respect that,” they chimed together as they sipped some alienesque pinkish sludge from their glasses. Wind chimed. Out of sync. Different tones all scattered randomly. All trying to talk on top of each other, abortively stopping to be “polite” and not interrupt but unable to hold the fiction of egalitarianism for long (especially after several glasses of “Peach Blush.”) But it wasn’t another hour after that when the alcohol, that sweet, noxious boxed version thereof, took hold and they began to taunt, and tease. You didn’t care, because that guy you’d been crushing on for weeks was talking to you. You looked the other way because that lecture on the perils of peer pressure was not convenient to remember at the time. Plus, you were kind of getting sick from the “Sun Peak Peach” you couldn’t stop drinking.
Who could be unhappy, aside from the lead weight in your stomach? It was the celebration after the first home game victory, after all. Everyone spoke as a single voice. What could go wrong? The team was going to the state championships, for sure. And the crew team was great this year. She starts to drink. And she has a lot of catching up to do. After that first intoxicating, firewall breaking sip, she starts to drink with a vengeance.
There is a lot of buoyancy. She floats up quickly at first. Her system unused to the riotous peer pressure. It goes swimmingly. She’s one of the gals. Then, the inflection point.
Usually, in naive drinkers, its about the eighth cup of forfeited, boxed wine. It only takes her six. But, then, she’s drinking out of the big, red plastic Solo cups. So that’s not surprising. You don’t drink it like milk, sweetheart. Or do you?
The night has been trending down since after the first hour. But now it tailspins. With smoke emerging from the left engine. She’s singing too loudly. She dances, poorly, and in the middle of formerly merging couples. She is making a scene. Then, she staggers, is almost caught by the one almost sober guy in the room, before tilting the other way and ending up on the floor, thankfully, in a sitting position.
Someone pulls her over to the couch. She languishes there, mid-party, for awhile, teetering back and forth and mumbling to herself, but it doesn’t last. Those desperate words that freeze the room and terrify the hosts, “I think I’m going to be sick.” It’s the last hour of the party. Things go badly from there. The vomit is peach pink. And it’s everywhere. On the couch. On the floor. On the generous guy. On her. Someone suggests an ambulance. “No way!” is the answer. And take a bust for underage drinking? I think not. Put her outside. It’s not that cold!
Everyone pawns her off on the most boring and least intoxicated couple in the room. They try to salvage things in the last ten minutes. She vomits on them too. Everyone is happy to see her go. Sad but true. What a crash.
That’s ok! If she comes back Saturday, we’ll taunt her into drinking once more. She’s one of the girls now.
> 5 lines, didn’t read.
WTF? Where is the pic of the GIRL?
Tomorrow evening?
Let’s say nine. You name the place.
First to wonder if this is funny
Outstanding, per usual.
Fell off faster than a blind roofer.
EP, your analysis is, I guess, passable… but your stories suck. And clearly are somewhat-based on your life.
“And clearly are somewhat-based on your life.”
Duh. I watched her crater. Looked just like the SPX.
“Story” was meh, full marks for excellent punctuation though.
7 here: didja get puked on? what “role” did you play?
“7 here: didja get puked on? what “role” did you play?”
I suspect, that deep down in the bitter past that is yours to own, some less than excessive school memory will connect you quite directly with the scene I have sketched. If it is distasteful to you, either your own role in its proxy was immediately obvious and painfully familiar, or you were long this morning. Either way, my tale is only a reflection of your own. Ponder that as you reverse and go short.
wow all that foreplay…
Also, since when is a PE girl so fascinated with the machinations of day traders?
#2 HAHAHAHAH!!!
test
Wait. Which one is Paulson in this story?
pls do not let ep try and be funny again…can we leave that to bess (and im sure her college stories/memories much hotter!!) and fake reporting to ep?? vote now here for change at db!!
Also, since when is a PE girl so fascinated with the machinations of day traders?
@ 13 because the only way to trade this market is by day or intra week.
you forget the part about the two guys that take her to the stairwell, put some vaseline on her vagina and then make her a woman
Merry Christmas, you sons of bitches
@17 Come on – she’s a different kind of funny. Snarky, dark humor that is a welcome addition to the Levin repertoire of lobster claws, Gasbagarino and egrets.
I knew a girl at college who was a pretty blonde with big boobs and she was going to save herself for her husband as they say. Everyone tried to hit it over time and was rebuffed. Then a handsome student from Colombia became part of our group…(he shall remain namless because he is now a well known Colombian gov’t official)….and within a week our heroine was on the pill and banging him like a screen door in a hurricane. When asked about her “changing” so fast she replied that “my heart has a different view than I do.” I don’t think it was her heart. Anyway it was a quick fling and I doubt if they keep up with each other anymore.
Here, the lesson ends.
@19
“the only way to trade this market”
does something strike you as idiotic about what you just said? take your time.
is that a thinkorswim chart?
and why the hell is it set on Chicago time?
I’d trade this market for a pack of marlboro lights, two rolls of toilet paper, 3 40 watt lightbulbs, and a cold can of sparks (azul, but of course).
Elwood: It’s 106 miles to Chicago, we got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, it’s dark, and we’re wearing sunglasses.
Jake: Hit it.
hogs the phone downstairs?
how effin old are you, did you go to college in the 60s? i wouldn’t expect someone that old to have such vivid memories of it.
she works for Citadel now, dumbass.
nice one ep
read ya tomorrow
hope she was wearing a skirt. i’d grab the lube and put it in her.
Doesn’t it end with Bess getting groped after she passes out on the couch by some guy named Clayton?
EP – I’m usually very critical of these post of yours that read like this but I was hooked on this…bravo it was funny ass shit and the right amount of snark.
Interesting how MSM didn’t make the tanking of the market a big deal because “IT’S A NEW DAY IN AMERICA!”…vomit on that.
But yeah, #2 is right – no pic? How about an edit with a picture of some random throwing up for effect? C’mon….
#9 is gay
When was Bess named EIC?
#9 is gay
7 here: this vindication is a little… sad, EP. Given the level of invective directed towards you when you meander off with these ‘short stories’, one wonders why my benign comments elicited such a response from you. Perhaps I struck a chord? Or, in EP parlance, “deep down, in the bitter swamp that rests between your legs, a camel’s back buckled under the weight of one too many straw”? ;)
Kindly refrain from guinea-pigging us with your writing. And your language betrays a desire to… sound like a blueblood, or speak in received pronunciation.
I honestly do not understand this particular posting’s, although well written, place on a financial blog. Can someone enlighten me?
The Other Guy From Delaware
“downstairs phone”
What kind of barbaric school has phones in hallways and stairways and such?
I heard Horror stories about Brown, but nothing THAT grotesque!
“‘downstairs phone’
What kind of barbaric school has phones in hallways and stairways and such?
I heard Horror stories about Brown, but nothing THAT grotesque!”
I think you forget the girl who could not afford a line in her closet of a room. Who had to haunt the common area to be ranted at by her parents. You know who I mean. The girl who the university took pity on and admitted to show that, yes, grades and smarts were enough. That last names meant zero.
Funny, there was only one of her on in your dorm though.
“And your language betrays a desire to… sound like a blueblood, or speak in received pronunciation.”
Having been cursed with RP for years, I am quite happy to be free of that particular malady, thank you.
ep,
Crabs in a bucket – keep it up.
I was cursed with genital warts once for years, ep, so I know what you mean. You think “wow, god has endowed me with this unique gift” only to learn maybe it’s not as prestigious as you imagined.
But yeah, we had that girl. My favorite kind, always at war with herself: A constant battle between the idea that she holds the world to be and the peril of reality.
When does the older frat guy come in and sodomize her?
Jeez. Just get out the lid and candles and she’ll go to “freshen up” and return in panties and a wifebeater asking you where you keep the lube. How difficult can it be?
@42…funny but just wrong.
State Championship?
“downstairs phone” made me remember that it wasnt too long ago that cell phones were exotic. One of the first I saw was the size of a car battery, had an extendable antenna and was on someones table at the old Brother Jimmy’s – 75/First, now a Duane Reade. I’m thinking 1995, given the person I was with at the time. The guy chatting on it was sort of annoying in a Wharton undergrad kind of way.
My dorm at the Prep boarding school I graduated from in the mid 80′s had a bank of phones down stairs in the lobby and a walk in or two for privacy conversations…
Years later during a visit, I noticed they installed phones in each room, allowing room to room calls for couples. We never had anything like that, outside of sneaking into the girls dorm itself.
I was once put on social with the whole girls dorm, but that is a different story.
~SEG
@7 good job keeping EP on her toes.
sign on and get a calling card here.we need some more lucid folk
#42, the frat guy is likely Gas Bag. He opportunistically wanders in after she has already thrown up, tells everyone the situation is fluid yet under control, and proceeds to pick her up, walk her outside and call RATigan and say “That’s what I got, bitch!”
palin?
@48, Our dorms were a lot of fun, I was busted for jumping out of the upper decks, but that is another story…
We had idiots who used their closet doors as wall plugs in the common showers, and with a lot of duck tape, they turned the showers into a giant swimming pool…
Dumb fucks should have at least done it in the area where no one lived under them. These flocker’s build their pool above the Resident Dean’s home, on the first floor.
Said Dean, an ex parole officer for LA County, was living under this new water pool, in a stick based dorm structure…
Needless to say the Dean knew before the pool was full that dip-shits were loose in his dorm.
Peace,
~SEG
However, it must be said, he never caught me, he did once require me to sign out at what ever hour it was that I was sneaking out, gentleman’s rules, in case I was injured.
However he never audited my signature trail. I was never caught behind the girls dorm, no matter what the rumors say.
in rehab they teach you yogo
SEG, you sound like a senior citizen, are you an old pervert trailing DB for punani or are you just a really boring guy?
And one time, at band camp, I stuck my flute in my pussy…
~SEG – StupidEquityGay
too trying to be funny; didn’t read
at this point, I’d like to know EP’s background, other than her intimation that she’s a VP or above at a PE shop… cognitive dissonance ensues when one tries to square her claims with her writing. Her analysis smacks of Associate-level growth equity, possible recently laid-off… was she a diversity hire by a woman partner at a small shop? reader’s deserve to know if this is the case (btw, I’ve gladly worked for numerous women ‘pimps’ here- think Bess Weatherman- so no, I’m not a misogynist…)
This will allow me to leave her articles earlier with a “too whipper-snappery, didn’t read…”
I go to college
That makes me so cool
I live in a dorm
And show off by the pool
I join the right clubs
Just to make an impression
I block out thinking
It won’t get me ahead
My ambition in life
Is to look good on paper
All I want is a slot
In some big corporation
John Belushi’s my hero
I lampoon and I ape him
My news of the world
Comes from Sports Illustrated
I’m proud of my trophies
Like my empty beer cans
Stacked in rows up the wall
To impress all my friends
No, I’m not here to learn
I just want to get drunk
And major in business
And be taught how to fuck
Win! Win!
I always play to win
Wanna fit in like a cog
In the faceless machine
(chorus)
I’m a terminal terminal terminal preppie
Terminal terminal terminal preppie
Terminal terminal terminal terminal
Terminal terminal terminal terminal
I want a wife with tits
Who just smiles all the time
In my centerfold world
Filled with Springsteen and wine
Some day I’ll have power
Some day I’ll have boats
A tract in some suburb
With Thanksgivings to host
(chorus)
I’m a terminal terminal terminal preppie
Terminal terminal terminal preppie
Terminal terminal terminal preppie
@ SEG – I liked your story. Ignore the haters, their jealous.
SEG: I second #58.
#58 here, annoying… I meant “they’re” not “their”.
“at this point, I’d like to know EP’s background, other than her intimation that she’s a VP or above at a PE shop… cognitive dissonance ensues when one tries to square her claims with her writing. Her analysis smacks of Associate-level growth equity, possible recently laid-off… was she a diversity hire by a woman partner at a small shop? reader’s deserve to know if this is the case”
Just so you know, I was an SVP at Kaupthing Bank before I came to DB. Stick that in your Associate-level growth equity pipe and smoke it. (HAH!)
is wine meant to be “forfeited” or fortified?
why the f would you advertise as having been an SVP at Kaupthing? and, frankly, associate at TCV sounds better than being part of the Landsbanki/Glitnir/Kaupthing crowd…
at least it’s established that a) you’re a limey that tried to fleece funky island people, and perhaps got fired at even that, and b) you and RP? in jones-ing for class, you are acting quite classless…