We decided to get in the mood by blaring gangster rap such as Lil Wayne and Dead Prez and dancing around like hyped up hooligans. We had the music a-blasting. Really. It was reverberating through the walls into other peoples’ personal spaces. Cole shows up, and we continue the act. Suddenly, Cole says, “I think that’s a cop outside your apartment.” Our glass double patio doors allow anyone outside to see anything and everything inside our apartment, and sure enough, there was a police car. I grabbed the jug of vodka (in plain sight of the cop outside) and stashed it in the pantry. There’s a knock on the door. Amy answers it. It’s a policeman. The cop informs us that there had been a reported noise complaint, and that it was finals week, so could we please keep it down. We apologized and he left.
I love the irony of that situation. Of all the nights we’ve been taking beer bongs by the dozen, pumping tunes like it’s Lalapalooza, and screaming like assholes at the top of our lungs, not once have we ever gotten in trouble for it. Then, the night that we PRETEND to be drinking, the police come. Ha. I love it.
I just found a note that I made on Sunday night, 12:34 a.m. that says “Key under fridge.” For starters, I know for a fact that I was hammered at that time. Next, a similar thing happened to me once before. After getting completely smashed at Emily Shanks’ house, I vomited on myself and blacked out. The next morning, I could not find my keys ANYwhere. I searched every nook and cranny, but no luck. My car was consequently stuck at her house, and my mom had to come get me. Two days passed. Then, suddenly an alarm on my cell phone went off. The message? “Keys and alcohol under plant.”
Peculiar. I return to the house and check outside in the bushes and in shrubs. Nothing. Mallory comes over and lets me in. I check the upstairs and the living room. Squat. Then I roam around downstairs in one final effort to find my keys. Suddenly I spot an artificial yucca plant. I dash over. To my surprise, there were my keys, plus a half a jug of vodka, just like my message told me. I was elated. I later discovered that Courtney Dennis had hidden my belongings so that no one would steal them, and had put a reminder on my phone so I wouldn’t forget. Unfortunately it didn’t go off until 72 hours later, but at least I found them in the end.
This fridge key thing, I have no idea. None.
Why do people insist on talking like fags? I just saw a wall post that ended with “Lovers uuu =]”. Lovers you? Really? Happy mother’s day, I lovers you mom. Where did you learn to speak? I demand to know. Apparently you learned your vocabulary from a Furby and no one ever corrected you. I just don’t understand. Why sound like a degenerate when you don’t have to? Idiots.
Well, I suppose I’ll continue studying for finals. F!!!! I hate studying. I don’t do it. It’s not something I do. Oh well. Summer is so close. I can taste it in all it’s dirty, dewey, tanning oil tastiness.
“If you are pregnant or nursing, tequila is not for you. However for individuals who would not mind being pregnant, tequila can be very effective.”