Find this gem from the beginning of the semester:
Who does this belong to? I walked in on him pissing in my bathroom. Then he passed out on our couch…one of the many strangers encountered in GOK
As always, I was looking fabulous with unwashed hair in a conventional messy bun, my brown slippers, and white fluffy robe. I decided to go shower at 2am, though the glean on my hair did me well for the unwashed rugged look. And as always, the Lax girls were having a huge rager upstairs. Though I am always too shy to go up and face the chaos that trickles down our walls, Heather claimed she almost went up (kudos to her). Of course, they were obnoxiously loud so I decided to visit the porch for some eavesdropping entertainment or at least, see someone pee on the wall that our windows so luckily face. To my disappointment, I wasn’t able to eavesdrop. Me, in all my late night beauty, had real company although I would’ve chosen the snide remarks I usually make in my head when I overhear the drunken convos of lax girls. I opened the porch door to face a drunk, toe headed, American flag sweatshirt wearing college boy who greeted me calmly with a “hello.” We will call him America (though I hope that isn’t a valid representation of our country’s men)
My response was well formulated: “Ugh…”
I look out of the porch and see yet another male figure scaling our wall, close to the white bars which serves as shit as a barrier from the outside world. We will call him Creeper 2.
I made sure to sound definite in my next response: “Ugh. I think you have the wrong house?”
America turned to Creeper 2 and with all his intelligence, he said, “she said we have the wrong house. Shit man, did we climb up the wrong house!?”
Creeper 2 replied in a creeper 2 way saying, “she’s messing with us. Do you recognize her? What’s her name?” To which his friend only replied “erm… no.”
Shortly after, Creeper 2 disappeared before our friendship could truly bloom. I turned to America and told him I would let him walk out our front door to which he showered me with… “shit’s” and “im so sorry.”
I gave him the grand tour of our stairs to nowhere and showed him out our front door, waving goodbye. With regrets, I did see him again, on the corner getting bodos in the same attire he wore that night. Classic (said in the way Justin Timberlake says in the SNL skits).
That was the end of the eavesdropping segment of the night, besides hearing drunkards peeing off our porch by my window. Oh wait — I lied, I also heard disturbingly loud sex above me – DISTURBINGLY LOUD! So I played I Just Had Sex as loud as my puter would go and I was left with peace… for another half an hour, before it started up again. *If you can’t tell, Timberlake is alive in my heart again after his recent SNL reappearance.
Last honorable mention goes to the troops of drunk guys who kept knocking on our front door saying “is it over?” again and again because the lack of turned on lights and shitty pop music were not indicators enough to Leave Apt A the Fuck Alone! And me, now showered but in the same robe, answering and directing them the right way, only for them to try to start a convo about, yes, my robe. All the while Heather slept soundly in her bed, not a creature was stirring not even a mouse (because we killed it).
Over and Out
For those who enjoy extra protein in their food, you will love to know we have roaches crawlin’ around the sacred stones of O’K and probably in any open containers within our pantry. While Callie was helpful as always with her alarming screams pointing it out but refusing to touch it, it is I who took the large sacrifice of killing the two roaches. One roach remains taped on a piece of paper lying around as a future threat to Heather is she does not comply to any of Olivia’s requests ;). The other, well, of the three parts that were left after the cutting knife made its mark, were left in the kitchen, hopefully staying down the drain. But who can know for certain, they’re the most apt survivors. Beyonce would be jealous.
As killed before break, but surely posted afterwards.
– Yours, OB