At Least They Were Clean

Sometimes I wake up in the morning with enough energy and time to shower, dress, and wash the soggy potato chips out of my eye. Lately, that hasn't been the case. And my mornings involve a 10 minute whirlwind of BRUSH TEETH! DEODERIZE! GRAB BACKPACK! FIND CLOTHES FIND CLOTHES WHERE ARE THE CLOTHES?!

Pieces of clothing can be neglected in a rush. My favorite is the belt.

When you wear boy jeans or pants a few sizes too big, it's more a necessity than a statement. Unless that statement is that you don't want people looking at your drawers.

Usually my pants will fall but an also baggy sweatshirt will cover any embarrassment. Or people just won't be paying attention. But not today... Oh, No.

Because today, with the disgusting nice Florida heat returning, windows were left open. And hallways were blocked. And I lack coordination. And apparently require the stability of a wall to move. So my side grazed a window.

Only moments later did I realized the whispering might be related to the breeze along my side. What's that? Are my pants drooping a bit? NO THEY ARE HALFWAY DOWN MY REAR with a fantastic view of my awesome underwear.

Your normal, black, could pass as a street statement underwear?



NO. Your most embarrassing bright-pink-with-colorful-starbursts-that-is-about-10- years-short-of-having-Days-listed-on-the-waistband underwear.

FANTASTIC.

Three Beds and a Bag of Doritos

I was completely schwasted on Saturday. No, Sunday. Morning. At 1:31 AM.

I remember the critical moment only because my stomach and liver had a lurking premonition that I wouldn't want to forget it.

I attend an undergraduate institution where there are parties every weekend that end at 2 AM. Starting at 11:45 my groove-experience had consisted of Lame and getting stuck in a tree. Climbing trees is such an A+ idea when drunk, you're invincible! You'll never (believe) you'll fall! YOU ARE A SQUIRREL. Getting down is not so great. Are you already dizzy? Is that the ground? Do you not know how to work your feet?

By a near sobering point around 1, I decided that my memory of the night would not be how much I am indeed not a squirrel. Consulting with a group of Drunken Bro's is not the best option to decide whether shots are a good idea 30 minutes before the party is over. They will say yes, especially if they too are being offered the eliquor of life.

1:31. Third consecutive shot down.

Back at the Bro's place after the music died, I was too drunk to get back to my dorm room--which was not even a 5 minute walk away. And I crashed, on some dude's couch, kitty corner to another guy also completely wasted.

Five hours later, I make it back to my dorm room. But, Holy Newton, I still wasn't able to make it back into my bedroom. Crashed on the common room couch for another 2 hours.

Make it to my bedroom. FALSE. LOFTED BEDS are your worst enemy when schwasted. That mattress needed to get down on the floor fast. Stuff flying off the sides, trying not to slip backwards. Someone needs to get this idea to the Drunken Olympics Sport Selection Committee

I was sober enough to prepare the ultimate drunken bed companion kit, however.

NOT DRAWN TO SCALE



Water
Advil
Coke Zero
Doritos - THE ULTIMATE DRUNKEN/POSTDRUNK DELICIOUSNESS
Trash Can - Convenience
Laptop - Because I wasn't moving from that spot for the next 24 hours, but someone still had to read all those webcomics.