Rice is in Houston, which surprised me because it has a good reputation, and I didn't think schools in Texas had good reputations. I thought schools in Texas had reputations that dealt only with their football skillz and the size of their cheerleading squad, but not Rice! I've only heard good things about Rice.

I live in Austin, Texas, but I am also an internationally renowned writer. This past weekend, my celebrity friend Dakota and I received an invitation to attend a little shindig at KTRU, the Rice radio station, so we hopped in my little flippy car and drove a few hours down to our lovely host's house.

Her name is Abi. She is a pop sensation.

I am normally very hesitant to associate myself with college radio types. They are very pretentious. I suppose that I am also very pretentious, but pretentious + pretentious = trouble, and you know that I hate trouble! Don't you? You know that! Stop lying! So, I was hesitant, but Abi promised us drunken revelry, and drunken revelry + trouble = fun, so I could not resist.

We arrived.

The plan was, we made margaritas and went to the radio station where they had put a couch in the middle of a dark field. We put the margaritas on the table.

Then, the plan was, we had a bunch of glow in the dark bocce balls, and we were going to play radioactive bocce in the dark field with the margaritas. There were 8 bocce balls and perhaps 14 people. However, 6 of them were too pretentious to play glow-in-the-dark bocce in the middle of a dark field, so there was not a problem.

We played one round of bocce. I drank a margarita. We decided that normal bocce was not exciting enough and decided to play ultra bocce. This involved throwing the balls as far as we possibly could.

In game two, I threw one of my balls, and as it hit the ground, the light went out. The crowd boo-ed. Then, I threw my other ball which smashed into my first ball, turning it back on. The crowd cheered. I failed to mention that I am also an internationally renowned bocce player. Once, in New York, I won a teeshirt for my bocce skills.

I played bocce until one of the balls, which were plastic, exploded. When this happened, I decided to drink more margaritas.

At some point, a girl named Sarah arrived. At the moment of Sarah's arrival, I was finishing my fourth or fifth margarita. Dakota was talking to Sarah, so I decided that I would also talk to Sarah. I believe the extent of the conversation was:

BB: Hello, I am very famous. I was in a magazine in New Zealand!

S: Oh? Why is that?

BB (internal monologue): Oh no! She is showing far too much interest in me already! I feel threatened! Run! Run!

BB: Ask Dakota!

S: What?

BB: RUN! RUN!

And I ran. Oh, I ran! And then, I peed on a tree.

After a little while, when I had decided that Dakota would have had enough time to explain my fame to this Sarah person, I returned to the conversation. Most of the people from KTRU had already left and there was still a lot of margarita left.

Dakota and Abi and Sarah and I sat on the damp grass. We have so much margarita, I said. We should drink it all!

But we have no cups, said Sarah.

We can all use mine, I said.

I filled my cup and passed it to Sarah. She drank deeply of the sweet sweet Agave nectar. She then passed it to Abi, who refused. And Dakota, he had his very own drink.

This is how things happen at parties -- strange coincidences lump people together, and they end up romping nakedly in the bathtub of a small apartment because the roommate is sleeping in the bedroom.

So Sarah drank deeply, and I drank deeply, and then Sarah drank deeply. At first, she tried to force Abi to drink with us, but Abi was determined to not become inebriated, as she was the only person with a car. Sarah drank deeply again of the oh so delicious alcoholic beverage.

And then I drank.

And then she drank.

And then, although I was in the middle of discussing with Dakota our policy of tree-peeing, Sarah, a DJ for KTRU, rubbed my head.

I was threatened. My muscles tensed, my breathing became erratic. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. What is she doing? What is happening? Can I get out of this? HAS IT ALREADY GONE TOO FAR?

I decided that it was a fluke. Surely, she was confused and drunk and had mistaken my head for some sort of biting insect, or perhaps a friendly neighborhood dog.

We continued drinking. Eventually, we drank the pitchers of margaritas. Abi decided that it would be a good idea to go home.

Sarah came to the car with us. Sarah got in the car. I sat in the middle. Sarah sat on the left. Dakota sat on the right. I put my arms on the back of the seat in what I thought was a very non-sexual and friendly way.

Dakota did not touch me.

Sarah took my hand in her hand and rubbed my fingers. Again, my heart raced, my muscles tensed, and I began sweating profusely from my forehead, armpits, and genitals.

Sarah was trying to seduce me! I was certain of it! The head rub! The hand rub! Surely, there will be more rubbing, and then I will be in terrible trouble because of certain extenuating circumstances involving my undying love and passion for a girl who lives in New Zealand, and the fact that Sarah is not said girl. Also, I am not the type to have a one night stand, or any type of stand that does not involve a more long term and committed relationship.

And so, we arrived at Sarah's dorm room, and Dakota got out of the car, and I got out of the car, and Sarah got out of the car, and instead of following her up to her room, as she surely wanted me to do, I knocked Dakota to the ground and had my way with his fine, manly form.

Abi watched silently and in horror from the car.

The moral of the story is, if you are a famous writer, women will throw themselves at you even if you talk about peeing, talk incessantly about your beloved Kiwi, and exhibit homosexual tendancies.







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