TCH Avoids Prison Time. Go Me.

I am sorry it has been over a week since I have written anything but you have to understand that I have had a very busy schedule of doing nothing all day. And I recently have been watching all the episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and I had to find out if Buffy beds or slays Angel, the sexy vampire. (f.y.i she does BOTH because this show is awesome.) So as you can see, my mind has been on a lot of important things.

Ok so I got myself in a real pickle recently. It all started like so many girl's problems start: at a frat party. Don't get me wrong, I don't hate myself enough to go pick up guys at frat parties and I haven't really been to any since my freshman year of college when bad ideas are encouraged. But every now and then I amble on over to University of Memphis where my little brother is president of his fraternity and drink some of their shitty beer.

First off, the dynamic between my little brother and I must be explained. There is no other dynamic like the older sister/little brother relationship. He is only one year younger than me and my mom says ever since I was born I picked on him. And this assuredly continued through his acne phase and his years as the president of both the band and quiz bowl team. In high school when I got in trouble for getting caught drinking at a field party I convinced my mom he was gay to get out of it. And when I was like 9, Little Brother tripped and got caught upside down in the banister of the stairs and he cried and begged for me to help him before he fell down the stairs backwards which could have killed him. So instead of helping him, I filmed it. The best part is when he landed on his face. But the one thing we had in common is we both like good movies, good books, and more importantly we love getting wasted and whoring ourselves out. So when I show up this is just what he is doing. I was already drunk and it was already late because there weren't too many people left at the party so Little Brother had to hit on a fat chick. But then they started arguing about the movie "Titanic" and he said it was one of the best movies of the past twenty years, and she said it was corny. So he said she was an idiot who had no knowledge of the cinematic arts or anything about love or poetry and she would just end up married to another fat guy in a trailer and they would regale each other on how great the Wayans brothers movies are. Then he passed out like a bitch.

Since I was wasted and felt like staying out I followed a couple of his friends to this bar down the street. They all thought it was so random and cool that I would go with a bunch of people I didn't know two blocks to a bar I'd never been to. What the hell kind of college experience were they having that they thought doing this was so cool? My freshman year of college me and some girls got a ride to our dorms from two old guys in a van for a beer - making bad decisions is just what you are suppose to do at this time in your life. Their shit was obviously weak. One of the guys that came was really cute and nice to me. He said his name was Roland and he was a about to go to grad school at U. of M. He was Hawaiian and in Tommy's fraternity and when we got to the bar the bouncer checked his I.D. and said Happy Birthday and he told me he was turning 23 tomorrow. So I bought him a drink, this bar had Heineken (my fav), he wanted to get me one, but I insisted that I get it since his birthday was tomorrow.

I usually go to yuppie bars and hangout with people in a higher income bracket, but nothing beats a college bar. You can show up in pajamas and there is always vomit on the floor. Thing is, I was used to going to college bars at UT, where I was always one of the less pretty girls. At any SEC school on any given night 90% of the female crowd is made up of the most popular girls from their high school, 30% of which were homecoming queens, and at least one or two girls who had actually been in the Miss America pageant. It wasn't so bad for me. After all the guys realized they would never get anywhere with these girls and just wasted $100 on buying them vodka cranberries they come over to my table after I finish my jack and cokes. All it takes it some late night Krystals and a ride to get to go home with me. I compromised. But lucky for me this was a University of Memphis bar, so most of the girls were ugly and looked like guests on Jerry Springer. So combining that with my award winning personality, I was a huge hit at the bar. I told them stories about my little brother or Tweak, as they call him because he has Turret Syndrome and "jerks" all the time. He might be a Frat President now, but I told them how he got detention for doing a pole dance in the cafeteria and how he told our Sunday school teacher his favorite movie was "Heathers" when he was 10 so she made him go to therapy. Everyone's favorite story was the time he got mad at me for hitting him with a mop so he took his gun and chased me around the house and threatened to shoot me when where like 12. Oh, for those of you who don't live in a red state, everyone has a gun and shit like this happens all the time. My frigging gynecologist has a gun. After all this embarrassment, Roland and I left and since I couldn't drive I stayed the night at his house. When I am over there and we are wasted one thing leads to another and blah, blah, blah. (And don't say, "Hey, TCH, you left out the best part!" because that isn't true, I mentioned that I had a Heineken.)

So I get Roland's number and I tell him Happy BIrthday the next morning and I go about my way. Later that day I have to go give Little Brother some stuff from Mom and since I knew they would be doing something for Roland's birthday, I thought it would be fun to go back to his house and party some. I go over there and Little Brother is outside trying to make a bum quit sleeping on the sidewalk. Something I am used to seeing in Memphis. Then he sees me.

Little Brother: Hey, bitch. I heard you went out with my friends last night after I passed out.
TCH: Yeah, it was fun. I had to stay at your friend's Roland's house. He seemed nice, is he?
Little Brother: Oh yeah, he is great. He is in the house right now. I thought it would be nice if we took him out since we are really trying to recruit him in our frat.
TCH: Why are you trying to recruit a grad student?
Little Brother: Ha. He isn't a grad student. He is an incoming freshman.
TCH: What? Isn't he turning like 23 today?
Little Brother: Hell no, dummy, that kid just turned 18.

wait for it.
wait for it.
wait for it.

FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK.

I immediately went into the house and grabbed Roland off to the side.
TCH: You lied to me. You are 18!
ROLAND: Well, I just wanted you to like me.
TCH: How did you get in the bar? And buy beer?
ROLAND: They let in 18 year olds. And you bought your own beer. Don't you remember?
TCH: Maybe. (maybe not)

I just left and went home to think about why I suck then I realized if he was 17 and I was 24 then that is illegal. I immediately called my friend Goldilocks because she is in law school and responsible and will one day get me out of a lot of trouble.

GOLDILOCKS: It says in Tennessee law that it is okay as long as there is a five year age difference and it consensual. You are definitely more than five years older than him. And it is a felony. (she starts laughing) You committed a felony.
TCH: You know, this is not the best time for you to get a sense of humor, you bitch.
GOLDILOCKS: Whatever. This is hilarious. You have to email everyone.
TCH: No way. This is bad, even for me. I really need to make better decisions with my life.
GOLDILOCKS: What time was it when you got back to his house?
TCH: I don't know. The bar closed. It was like 3 A.M.
GOLDILOCKS: Well then, he was 18. It was after midnight.
TCH: OH man, you are right. He WAS 18 after midnight. Man you got me out on a loophole even though I did something bad. You are gonna make a great lawyer.

Thus, TCH cannot be imprisoned and can now freely roam the streets of Memphis. But next time, I am checking an I.D.