Nothing in life is a guarantee. Not your mother’s love. Not tomorrow. Not even another hook up with a once bang buddy. The night before one Thanksgiving break in college the banging gods delivered a perfectly timed Puerto Rican gift. All of my friends had already bussed/flown/driven home for the break. A bit buzzed in my dorm I posted this status update:
“Countdown to Drunksgiving. Who wants to keep me company before my flight tomorrow?”
Included a picture of me holding an Old Style with a sad paper turkey the RAs put on all of our doors taped to my shirt.
Ladies. COME. AT. ME.
But one actually did.
She lived in another dorm complex a few blocks down. I thought campus was deserted. I guess flying back to Puerto Rico for a four days wasn’t worth the expense.
I invite her over. All I have to offer is a half-killed bottle of Wild Turkey (pretty festive, right?) and a GameCube controller. We decided a Mario Kart drinking game was the next logical step. Since she was the guest she dictated the rules.
1. Victor takes a victory shot
2. Loser takes a loser shot
Those two rules generated their own third unwritten rule: all players have drunken sex. There are no true losers in Double Dash.
After the break we were cordial. An occasional smile and an even more occasional polite conversation. It became apparent that the banging gods meant for this to be a one-time deal.
Flash forward to the postgraduate present. After moving to a new city the internet informed me I lived near Mario Kart girl. It’d been 2 years since we’d last had one of our polite conversations.
Thankfully the banging gods were still watching over me. I’d been using DOWN for a couple of weeks, but never thought to “Get Down” Mario Kart girl; in my mind she resided at an unbangable 1000 miles east. Now at just 20 miles away why wouldn’t I?
When the Bang notification popped up I froze. I didn’t mentally prep for the instance of Mario Kart girl wanting to meet up again. I didn’t think she even remember me! WHAT DO I SAY TO HER?! “Hello, this application on my phone device informs me that you too want to partake in getting down. Perhaps we should meet up at the nearest local watering hole?” FUCK NO.
Thankfully she was a bit more ballsy:
“Hey it’s been a while! We should have a rematch…i’ve definitly had more time 2 train. Should be an even race this time : )”
It was a carbon copy of the last encounter. A bit more nostalgic. Updating each other on mutual friend’s recent engagements, new jobs, post college lulls, etc.
Then the racing and drinking commenced. We didn’t make it through a full race before we had to throw down our controllers.
I like to think Mario definitely approved.