One Time. Every Time.

Since Monday is the best day for birthday parties, on Monday I find myself at Kellen Abel’s house celebrating Charles Dupont’s birthday via a “Bad Beer, Good Beer” draft which is probably mostly exciting to gamers. The concept is as follows:

• Everyone brings one bad beer and one good beer (the winner for worst beer was Chelada, a mixture of Budweiser and Clamato juice – that’s right, the worst beer wasn’t kosher)
• People are randomly assigned bad beers
• Everyone chugs their bad beers
• Ordered by who finished chugging their bad beer first, each player chooses a good beer to drink.

By virtue of finishing 4th (out of 22) I get a delicious looking bottle of Lindeman’s, decide to save it for later, and fittingly forget to bring it home with me after spending the rest of the evening drinking Keystone Light.

But the story happens after the beer drinking, and during the Super Smash Brothers Brawl playing which I was watching until I discover a gold leotard lying on the floor of Kellen’s room and, naturally, decide to put it on. This leads to several important moments:

In a moment almost adorable in its homoerotic loyalty, Greg Champoux, Eric Reasoner, and Brian Wong decide to watch me strip and dress myself in a gold leotard, and then make fun of me when I take off my socks. Socks with a leotard? Biiiiiiiiiiitch, Please.

In a moment almost legendary in its disgustingness, I decide to block the Super Smash Brothers TV by doing lunges in front of it while wearing the gold leotard. Don’t worry, I was wearing underwear underneath. Also, I was wearing women’s underwear over the leotard. Photographic evidence can be found, but not here.

In a moment that sounds more awesome that it actually was, gold leotard Charles motivated one, then two, then about half of the party goers to strip down to their underwear. The reason this is less awesome than it sounds is because the party was mostly populated by magic the gathering players. The following characteristics are commonly associated with magic the gathering players:

• Overweight
• Male
• Smelly

At some point, the following phrase is uttered by Brian Wong:

“Charles, you need to do some crunches or something, you’ve got some flab.”


I’ve always considered myself in pretty good shape, and I still do, and my jokes about getting fat are mostly premature self-encouragement to not go on an ill-advised fudge crusade, but here was an individual who in all seriousness was pointing at my unclothed stomach (the halter top part of the gold leotard had hence drooped around my waste) and pointing out flaws. When it’s from me I can convince myself I’m crazy, but when another person unsarcastically makes fun of my weight, well, that’s the first time it’s happened, so I can’t speak to a common result. Let’s just say it was jarring.

I have recently been dating a girl who often complains that she’s getting a little pudgy, and I make fun of her because it’s a dumb thing to complain about, but there’s something about getting naked in front of a bunch of people, some friends, some strangers, that really makes you feel self conscious. Who knew.

I’m trying to find a way to connect this event to some sort of larger life lesson, but all I’m coming to is this: I wasn’t terrified. And I don’t know if that’s a bad thing or a good thing.


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