Jungle Juice

Jungle Juice:
the generic name for a clear, high proof alcohol (typically Everclear) and a cheap red fruit punch, like bargain brand High-C.
In this case, it was two different kinds of red Fanta, and something vile and 95 proof that my roommate (Donna Ward!) bought from the Iper Co-op.
It was a little strong, I won't lie.
I was a little drunk.

My roommate (Donna Ward!) clams that this is because she (Donna Ward!) mixed the drnk for me herself.
I prefer to think that it was the paper parasol she put in it.
Or maybe it was the other 4 glasses of alcohol I consumed Tuesday evening...
Either way, I need to start a new facebook group. I'll call it - I Get Drunk On Tuesday Nights.
- I don't know why I consistently think that it's a good idea.
No - That's a lie. I know exactly why I think it's a good idea...


So it started with a glass of Cupinero after personal training (cheers Grotowski!), and then a sip of Frangelico after dinner, and just a nip of dessert wine - to settle the meal. And then when you show up at a party and someone offers you Everclear and starts pouring the Fanta... it would be impolite to refuse.
So to make a long story short, had my fifth glass at dinner with Ben, who kept company while he ate his late plate since he was so kind as to do the same for me when I returned from London, and, sure it struck me even then as not the best idea, but what's a little jug wine between friends am I right?
So it was that I had what was, in my opinion, rather a lovely conversation before ending the evening in the hallway, with Little bear, reading Baudrilliard in my pajamas, and finding him far more comprehensible with a bit of alcohol in my system. (I would recommend the article, though - "The Finest Consumer Object: The Body" - which is about how our bodes have become commodities, because we have learned to view them as the vessel through which salvation is possible (whereas it used to be the soul) and consequently, we begin to invest in them, both monetarily and physiologically, which leads him the brilliant term "managed narcissism", and also to some interesting thoughts on the movement from the idea of the body as the center of desire and fantasy (both internal, personal) to the body as something which is capable of an appearance of eroticism (external, the appearance of desire or desirability). And, you know, how women particularly are pressured into the cult of beauty, and the idea of salvation through attainable perfection, which, of course, is not actually attainable, and which simply objectifies the feminine body and alienate the woman from her corporeal self... I could go on, but no one here seemed to care, and I doubt you do either. In class, we watched an (admittedly interesting) documentary about women in person (if you're thinking Pam Grier in The Big Doll House, you are sorely and most unfortunately mistaken), and everyone was relievedly vocal in their relief over not having to talk about Baudrilliard's babble.)
And even as I slipped under my double down comforter, my roommate (Donna Ward!) rolled around in the hallway, caught in the fading thrall of the jungle juice and the green glow of the Uscita Sengnale.