Lindsay Lohan nights, Amplifier vibrators and Fractures

20 Feb

I know I have been missing for a while, and most people who read my blog are from college so they/you know why. I have been having a pretty crock-of-turds kind of week, and for once its not because of my continuing battle with depression and the making of life decisions. Oh no, this is about actual physical problems. I left my phone at a parlor which thankfully did not overcharge me for a trim. Then I went to Liquids to party it up in my fifth year, you know, as one does. And as one does, I discovered that the amplifier on the floor is akin to a vibrator if one leans against it just so. Having said that, its not a very good vibrator; but beggars of sex toys cannot be choosers of sex toys. Next, I tripped over a hookah pipe at Liquids. I don’t even smoke hookah – my lungs are more precious to me than my liver. And clearly, my foot is even less precious to me than my liver because despite knowing in the en-liquored corners of my brain that something was very, very wrong with said foot, I got back up on that horse, adjusted myself against the amplifier for a while and danced/ hopped around for at least an hour. I also met a bunch of white people, and was VERY social with them. I apparently have a winning personality when I’m drunk with other drunk people. Some of them wanted my number and I gave it up, but I’m pretty sure I gave them a mixture of my Delhi and Hyderabad numbers. On the way back I puked all over the driver’s shoes, very considerately sparing the ballet flats my friend had loaned me for the night. There was also a drunken apology to S, who was taking care of me.


The next morning I woke up to a swollen foot, memories of vibrating amplifiers, unmentionable deeds of a pornographic nature and a queasy stomach. I hopped on over to S’s room, informed her of the minor predicament I was in and eventually got to the closest hospital, which like all hospitals seems to take a special interest in the billing process. I got a shot of painkiller on the bum from a smirking nurse and dozed off for a while. I woke up thinking of silver linings – the Orthopedic doctor was there and was more of a fox than I am used to with Indian doctors. Not George Clooney in ER; but a respectable, graying at the ears, trim body, tight butt, speaks without a vagina killing gult accent kind of hot. He asked me how I got the fracture and I said I fell. When? Last Night.

You didn’t feel pain last night?

…….. I was drinking. So I just went to sleep.

Ah. Smiles

Nearly swoons

My niece parties a lot in London. She’s studying to be a Doctor.



Getting ready for application of plaster

So, what’s your favorite drink?

Errrrr…. Alcoholic?

Alcohol, yes.

Err… I’m not sure. Beer?



Not cocktails?

 I like cocktails, but yeah – beer. Stupid, stupid Billy. Why didn’t you say whisky? You won’t sound like a college party freak.

I mix a few good cocktails.

Oh, Mister Doctor! Do you now? Won’t you make me one some time? I bet you can shake a drink really well. Make me a screwdriver, and then you can screw my BEEP BEEP.

Oh. Cool.


As is obvious, I was keeping it cool, sounding like a vaguely interested, mature beyond my years sophisticate. One who happens to have been caught in a web of circumstances that led me to being drunk off my ass, proposition people, use industrial grade vibrators and get a broken foot. I will be going back to Mister Doctor some time this weekend, and hopefully, the hair on my plastered leg will not have become too gruesome for human (hot doctor) eyes; although I have been informed that that is an inevitability. When people ask how I got injured, I reply with “I partied too hard” – a joke that is apparently worthy of being repeated on my batch google group.

However its not all laughter and medical marijuana. Having a fracture is pretty depressing. Yes, I’m a bit depressed, what else is new? Well, what’s new is that now when I cry people have to know about it because I can’t keep my door locked in case I need help. Also, when I do go to the bathroom to try and discreetly wipe snot off my face, I end up being utterly conspicuous. Whatte fail. Further, tears or the threat of tears, come on every time I realize that I can’t move from one building to the other without someone helping me out, such as moments after my friends turn up at lunch, rescuing me from having to depend on the kindness of batch-mates to escort me back to the library. I don’t like being immobile. If this experience teaches anyone anything, let it be that people who have to start living the rest of their lives in wheelchairs should be closely monitored for depression and suicidal tendencies. I don’t have either and that is owed entirely to the fact that I’ll be fine in four weeks. On the other hand, I guess its not a total bummer to know that practically anyone you know will be kind to you once you’re in a wheelchair.

So overall, the week has not been too good. I forgot to mention that my laptop conked off so I’m writing this in one of the systems in the library. As I say to my friends, everything about me but for me loins has been pitcher of piss. Me loins are having it alright. Which usually would not be a bad thing, but given the fact that that the erotic device in my room cannot be used properly because I really don’t want to fuck up my leg even further and miss out on Goa, its not as amazing as it would otherwise be. I should perhaps stop advertising my sex life on the internet. Duly noted and probably ignored, says Future Self.

So there you have it. That was this week. Well, this past weekend. Given that all of that happened, I’m letting myself off for not writing anything in a while. I was entirely stupid and drunk, but at least I didn’t get thrown out of the club or get into trouble with the police. Again. Silver linings, people. Me and Bradley Cooper are going to go bye-bye into the sunset.

–       Billy


P.S. – if any of my students read this, please know that given my crabby state of mind, I will not be tolerating people who don’t pay attention, don’t read, smile too much, have no hair, have too much hair, make smart comments, make no comments, or wear blue jeans. So watch out, whores of the education system, the cast has taken over my personality and you will not escape the wrath of an irritable, immobile and frustrated fifth year who has never exercised power over juniors in all her three and a half years as a senior. Fuck you, and your little brains too.

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Posted by on February 20, 2013 in Bakchodi, Random


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