Sadly, it's still all Greek to me

So my job hunting has been quite unsuccessful, and I therefore decided to fill my downtime with some Greek classes.

I mean, it wouldn’t hurt to learn something other than “I fuck your village” and “Your donkey is better looking than your wife.” Let’s be serious, a girl needs some everyday terms too, like, “I’ll take one in every color,” and “Do these come with five inch heels?”

So for eight glorious weeks, I attended Greek classes with three Germans, an English couple, and a girl from Mexico. Needless to say, our group comprised of a wonderful and invigorating expanse of cultures, (professional drinkers), languages, (“Prost!” “Cheers!” “Salud!” and “Bottom’s up!”), ideas, (“Hey, why don’t we have a drink after class?”) and ways of life (“But it’s only 12:00 in the afternoon.” “Well, okay. Let’s wait a few minutes.”).

I must say, I was rather successful in the class and performed exceptionally well compared to the others. (I out-drank two out of three Germans, the Mexican girl, and occasionally went head-to-head with the English woman).

It’s really amazing how people (alcoholics) from such different reaches can come together for a few hours a week and connect (drink all day) and work with each other to learn how to get by (get each other home drunk in the middle of the day without being arrested for public disorderliness).

I can’t wait for Level II Greek to begin in September. I feel the class will present a whole slew of new and exciting challenges (Shots? Drinking games? Strip poker?). Ahhh, the possibilities are endless, and my future looks bright (bleary).

Clearly Related

So yesterday, I get a phone call at 10:30 a.m. my time from my baby sister, which means it’s 3:30 a.m. her time, on a school night.

I answer, and I all hear is, “I’m a crazy bitch. A CRAZY BEEE’ATCH!” Obviously, this is going to be a good story.

Apparently, her boyfriend of a year and a half decided to stand her up at the movies, and instead picked up four random girls from the street and proceeded to play beer-pong with them and his roommates.

Needless to say, this did not go over well. And so, my little angel might have accidentally let the air out of his tires. Knowing he had to go to work the next day. Um, and also knowing he doesn’t have a spare. Oops.

My girlfriend asked me what’s the worst thing I ever did to a guy, and since there are so many examples, I chose the one I happened to remember off the top of my head.

One night, a few years ago, an old boyfriend, his cousin and his wife and I were out for a night on the town. Driving my car back to Long Island from the City around 4 in the morning, with his cousins in the back seat, my boyfriend decided to take issue with the fact that I was polite to someone who tried to pick me up that night. And proceeded to call me a WHORE repeatedly.

Last time I checked, politely refusing the offer of a drink from a guy that doesn’t know I’m at the bar with my boyfriend is not what I consider whorish behavior. If I had given the guy a blow-job in the bathroom, then we’d have something to debate.

But since my boyfriend was quite adamant that I was, in fact, a whore for being nice, I waited until we were in a suitably dangerous, industrial part of Queens before I convinced him to pull my car over and let me drive.

Once he was out of the car, I jumped over to the driver’s side, locked the doors, and drove away. His cousin’s wife started screaming immediately, so I threw them out of the car a block later, and then proceeded home.

Of course, they managed to get back, even though they were about half an hour from his car. Can’t win them all.

It’s good to know that insanity in this family is genetic. It’s important to have special moments and memories in order to bond with your siblings. It’s what separates us from the animals.