You Deserve a Drink: Boozy Misadventures and Tales of Debauchery by Mamrie Hart Read Free Book Online

graduate. I’ll take your classes, try my best, make really fun projects, and always have cigarettes waiting. Just don’t fail me. Please?”
    With that Jacques took another long drag on his cig (the French are
so
dramatic), put his backpack on, and said, “See you on Thursday,” and walked away. Just like that.
    Cut to later in the semester. Jacques was writing some shit I didn’t understand on the board, while I was in a different world tallying what ingredients I needed to pick up for the aphrodisiac Chinese cooking class at Topless Tuesday that afternoon. We were three months into the club, and it had circled back to being my day to lead the activity. There were about twenty people coming that day, so that would mean . . . three gallons of lychee martini? Do lychees make you want to hump stuff? I was snapped out of my thoughts by Jacques’ voice.
    “Again, next Thursday, please come in with a two-hundred-word paper, in French, telling me the plot of your favorite movie.”
    A two-hundred-word paper
in French
? I didn’t know two hundred words total, let alone how to put them together in some semblance of order. Walking outside, I let him know that I probably would be cranking out some sort of video or other alternative project because this assignment wasn’t going to happen. That’s when he said it:
    “Mamrie, I’m still surprised you’re so bad at French. After all, youhave so much in common with the culture. You love to smoke, you’re always eating cheese in class, clearly hygiene isn’t a huge priority.” I nodded. “And from what I hear, you have no problem with nudity.”
    Fuck a duck, he knew.
    I stared at him in disbelief, cheese tumbling out of my mouth and hitting the brick walkway.
    “It’s a small campus, Mamrie. Word spreads.” Then he casually put out his smoke and walked away.
    Wait a sec. Small campus?
Small campus?
University of North Carolina–Chapel Hill had thirty thousand undergrads alone. Talk of Topless Tuesday was making its way around campus quicker than herpes in the southwest dorms.
    I decided we needed to institute some professionalism in this club. We couldn’t have randoms showing up and storming our meetings, or have professors gossiping about it. Yes, I understand
professionalism
is a strange word to hear from someone who at the previous Topless Tuesday wore unicorn stickers as pasties while singing Fleetwood Mac’s “The Chain” on the karaoke machine. That isn’t the point. The point is this was my moment. The club I dreamed of having for all those years was finally happening—and I wanted to make sure it was the best ever.
    Melissa and I got down to business. We usually had around fifteen regular attendees at our TTs (which sounds like “titties” when you say it, and although I would like to claim that brilliance, I am just now realizing it ten years later). First, we needed to make their membership more official.
    I knew that when the sororities on our campus invited new members to join, it would take place on Bid Day. As soon as pledges got their bouquet of balloons or Tri-Delt monogrammed hoodie left on their dorm-room door, they would run screaming to the quad like they’d just taken down a pony keg of Red Bull and vodka. * But we weren’t a sorority! We were the antisorority, in a way. Iknow this isn’t the case with all of them, but you so often hear those horror stories of sororities that openly discuss girls’ looks when choosing whom to let in. *
    I know Kelsey H. isn’t the smartest—I’ve actually seen her eat a fake apple—but have you seen her abs? They are amaze. She’s in!
    Mary Catherine is seriously at least four pounds overweight, but her dad does own the largest Sea-Doo company in the Southeast. She’s in!
    Topless Tuesday, on the other hand, celebrated all looks and body types. The only mixer we needed was ginger ale for our bourbon. So on our “bid day,” we decided to take a classier approach. Melissa and I dressed up in