The Farmingdale Trip: Part 3 (The Finale...I hope)

I've gotten sick of writing this recap bullshit, honestly, I have better things to do, and the fact is no one reads this shit anyone, but I'm going to do this recap regardless.

I don't actually know where I end in the previous installment, but we'll start with Marc and I arriving at Theresa's party on Saturday Night. Basically, we're there and we know three people. Theresa, Gina and Lauren (very briefly). There is beer pong played, and this night JD sucked at Beer Pong. I couldn't hit a cup to save my life, and Marc couldn't hit a cup to save himself from the utter humiliation. I hit most cups, Marc hit a few, but basically we got our asses handed to us.

Now, the fact of the matter is, I do not suck at Beer Pong. In all actuality I'm pretty damn good at Beer Pong, I've beaten my brother "The Barry Bonds" of Beer Pong on more than one occasion, but that Saturday I was borderline gimp. Tossing that ball around, I felt like a complete jerkoff, three inch wide cups with an inch wide ball. Christ.

Anyway, to move on, the Party was Theresa's it was for her birthday which happened to be last Monday. Marc, however, began to get utterly obliterated. He was tanked by the time he left, and to be honest, I don't remember what time that was. He was hitting on everyone, this girl Charlie (whom had the palest legs I've ever seen) and Theresa's friend Lauren, not only that, but he hit on Gina too. Now, I say "Hit on" in a very relative way. Hitting on someone is an art, and Marc is not nearly and artist. If you could count slurring antagonist things at people, hitting on someone, then Marc was definitely doing that. Marc will probably be pissed at me for writing this, but there was a moment where everyone was saying that "Marc is going to fuck " and he would giddishly smile and give a half-hearted wave. The object of Marc's offection that night was not a woman, however, it was Jose Cuervo's signature blend of Tequila.

The night was over, people were packing shit up, and there was this ass clown who I'll call Fatrick, because I don't remember his name, but he reminded me of the nerded guy on The Class from CBS last year. He had this whiny, and apparently wants Theresa. He came up to me and asked me if I was with Theresa, whereas I aptly responded yes. He went on to say that he is friendly with everyone and that I shouldn't take what he does seriously. I said "Alright, man" and walked away. I spent the night at Theresa's house, and the next morning I find out that this Fatrick fucktard was asking all kinds of questions to Theresa's brother about me, here, and us. And basically, her brother wanted to hit the kid, but he didn't. Oh well.

After an awesome breakfast, I split, because I feel like total shit. I know I got some people sick while I was home and I apologize. I drive around with Marc or whatever to do lunch, and try and find out of if I can buy this Dwight Gooden auto jersey, but the guy had just sold it. Fuck. Anyway, prior to that, I bought a signed Canseco ball, and a Superbowl 25 vintage helmet. Whatever.

That day pretty much ends in blur for me, because I was feeling like total ass. I don't know if I was the change in temperature, or something, but Christ, it's carried over to PA. I brought this shitty LI plague back with me, and I still wake up feeling like shit every morning. I'm sure it has something to do with Marc's house being a trillion degrees every night, while my house (at current time is somewhere between 55-70 degrees. It might be Marc's room that doesn't get circulation, but who the Eff knows. All I know, is that after the first night I felt like I woke up swimming a marathon. A marathon of sweat.

I know I left some shit out, but fuck it. I can't even remember back that far.