Archive for the 'disaster' Category

One Fire. One Flood. One Apartment.

During our weekend of bad haircuts, puppy sitting (once again!) and grocery shopping with people who don’t wear pants we also managed to top it off with a fire and a flood.I guess I should take this as advice for later in life:

Flood Insurance- Check.

Fire Insurance- Check

The fire wasn’t a disaster. Just hilarious. A little after tearing up during Kanye West’s performance and picking up our jaws (in a good way) after Tina Turner and Beyonce’s performance at the Grammy’s we snuck in a little remote fire. Just to spice things up a bit.

But seriously…

Sally caught the DVD remote on fire.

How does this happen, one would ask?

It’s simple really.

1. Pick up remote.

2. Place directly on top of candle flame

3. Say outloud, “What is that smell?”

4. Look to find your DVD remote in flames on your coffee table

Exhibit A:

img_5931.jpgAwesome. So now that the fire is out of the way, let us move onto the flood, shall we?

We shall.

Monday morning when we were all in classes Emily was getting ready for work when..

The fire alarms went off, water came bursting out of all of the East Wing’s (yes, we pretend to have wings in our little apartment!) light fixtures and sprinklers into their rooms, bathroom and our living room. By the time the apartment complex figured out the problem there were three inches of water in our living room.

Jealous?

We live on the third floor.

So all that water leaked down to each floor below us, but they are doing fine. Lucky them. We aren’t.

Last night we had two dehumidifiers running and a small fan.

Tonight we have two HUGE commercial carpet drying fans humming away in the living room. My room had to be turned into the “Fun Zone” where we had dinner and made Valentine’s cards.

Our living room smells DISGUSTING.

But at least the carpet is kind of drying. We have been wearing “houseshoes” aka our rainboots and all-terrain slippers all around this joint, which makes things not so comfy or relaxing at our humble abode.

The lack of customer service at this apartment complex is astounding. I would get into it but it’s just me ranting and raving over things we need to do our best to get over and through. And we will prevail.

Until then we will continue to use the “Fun Zone” as our living room, grow to love wearing our rainboots in the APT, and try not to get sick from the smell of mold and whatever else is in and underneath this carpet. WOOF.

On top of it all I have this Suri Cruise style going on. And here is the picture for all you people who just need to see it….ehhhhh.

img_5928.jpg

Hope you enjoy the new ring and the America’s Next Top Model ala Apt 134 pose!

I don’t have the Suri bangs, I have flattened it out and I do love the color…but its still boy short. And if you saw it when the Abby Salon girl did it you would have laughed. My roommates did.

As of now if I don’t wear make-up or earrings I could pass as a baby (Suri) or a little boy.

Believe me.

But it’s just hair. It will grow.

Just hurry up hairs.

My car isn’t in my driveway.

I woke up this morning in my comfy bed butt-ass naked with a towel on my head.

(How was that for an opening line? )

What the hell did I do last night?

Last night was Erin’s 22nd birthday. So, to celebrate we went to see Juno (hilarious, btw)  and then we went to this fabulous restaurant in Mystic, AZU. It was a night to celebrate Erin and was designed to be filled with delicious desserts and very expensive drinks, because we love her and we like to feel classy and chic on our minimum wage working- college girl budgets. We started with a shot.  Thanks waiter…all his idea. Then that was followed by a martini for each of us. Followed by dessert. Followed by 3 more martini’s and two more shots. Which was then followed by the biggest tab I have ever had to pay in my life. Fabulous. I’m probably going to be sick just from writing that….

And we weren’t done. We then made our way down to the Irish pub. I believe I had a cider here…this is where it apparently hits me and hits me hard. We ran into a high school friend at the pub, which was nice. I remember at one point singing Stevie Wonder’s version of “Happy Birthday” and impressing the older people at the pub with the fact that I knew it. Go me. I am so thoroughly embarrassed for myself.

Do I remember walking to Megan’s car? Nope. Not at all. (and don’t worry, Megan was our DD)  Do I remember how I got into my house last night? Nope. Not at all. Do I remember sticking my head out of Megan’s window to puke? Ehhhhh. Yes. Do I remember taking a shower and being in a lot of dumb drunken pain—and crying for my mom? Ehhhh. Yes. Vaguely.

So this morning at 8 a.m. I received two texts from Mifflin: “WAKE UP RIGHT NOW” Ehhhhhhhhhhhh, I’m hurting so bad what could he want?  Apparently I called him 3,444 times and sent him blank texts. Awesome. At least some of might was coming back to me at this point…mostly the fact that I needed to put on some clothes…

I looked in the bathroom. Clothes everywhere. Bra in the shower. Water still running, a little bit. Al Gore and Leo would be pissed, please don’t tell them.

Clearly, I am a disaster.

I head downstairs for water and to shove a slice of bread down my throat, a savior in these kinds of situations. I explained my “story” or lack there of to my mom. She laughed at me, made sure I had a DD…oh, mom… and told me to go back to sleep. Yes, ma’am.

Back into bed. I told Mifflin to wake me up at 10, he called I explained what I could/ apologized for being an annoying drunk, he laughed and said I didn’t drink that much (No Mifflin, I drank too much, don’t do that kids– it’s 8 p.m. and I am still in pain) and then called Megan.

Megan informed me that they brought me into my house. Through the back door. Apparently we couldn’t open the garage door. After checking my cell phone I realize why…I “called” my garage door in an attempt to open it. Yes, I dialed the code to open the garage door on my cell phone. Ehhhhhhhhhhh. LB. Clearly that wasn’t going to work out.

Megan also told me that she drove our high school friend home…he lives in the next town over…I totally missed that event.  She also let me know that my car was still at Erin’s. I DIDN’T EVEN KNOW WHERE MY CAR WAS. I just figured it was in the driveway. It was not.

Ehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

I have yet to pick the Vdub up. I should get on that.

I hope you had a much classier weekend.

I am really debating erasing this post now…ehhhh please don’t judge me! Maybe this will get some of you to share your worst/best hangover stories…maybe?!

Once again, lesson (s) learned.

Oh no she didn’t.

I can’t believe I haven’t told you all about THIS yet.

I worked all weekend. It sucked. So what did I do to retaliate? I went out. Every. Single. Night.

BOO-YA work. Boo-ya.

Well, Friday was the very successful Christmas party. And just act like you don’t know where I was Saturday, with DJ Killa Kaos at Lulu’s of course! (I love that guy).

And let me tell you, it took a lot to get me out that night. I had to be at work at 9 the next morning and was surviving on 4 hours of sleep, a party and a whole work day, but you only have one senior year so…after changing my mind three times I was out.

It is fair to say I am a creature of habit when it comes to going out. I really should start giving other fine establishments a chance so I took the chance to do so on Saturday to pregame and to watch the Volleyball game. We went to Tony’s Big Easy, known around here as The Big Sleazy. It was OK. Nothing compared to my Lulu’s.

At least that’s what I thought.

Turns out I should have just stayed Sleazy that night.

After the win we headed over to Lulu’s. Dollar drink night, so all was going well. I was double fisting my vodka tonics and actually found a seat. We sat down and started people watching when…

an ENTIRE tray of shots was dumped on me.

Dumbass shot girl got bumped into so now I have about a dozen red, sticky shots all over me and my furry purse (not a good look, imagine a wet, sticky kitten), gray straight-leg jeans (which means you could see every single red shot) and my very cute black booties.

I was so mad. No, I was irate.

I got a free drink.

Did I mention it was dollar drink night?

Thanks, hoe. Really.

I understand that it wasn’t completely shot girl’s fault. Wrong time, wrong place for LB. BUT…isn’t there some kind of customer service?! She’s a girl. She HAD to have understood how much her mistake sucked for me.

She asked me what I wanted her to do.

I wanted a new outfit.

…but I understood that wasn’t possible. I explained I live off campus and would have to take a taxi home to change.

Still, nada.

No love from Lulu.

So what did I do? Paid $20 bucks for a taxi ride (there and back + tip, because I am that baller working retail for $7.15/hour). But before I left I told the bouncer what was up. And upon my return I told him he would be getting me the round of drinks I had purchased but couldn’t drink.

So needless to say I am not at all impressed with Lulu’s reaction to the red-est, stickiest disaster of 2007.

If DJ Killa Kaos knew about it, I’m sure he would have stepped up and helped a girl out.

Sailor Girl Has Nothing On Me

Honestly.

That chick has nothing on me.

I couldn’t write about her and then not share some of my classy college moments as well. We, here in Happy Valley, go hard or go home (this usually involves a slice of canyon pizza, drunken bus ride or the infamous walk-of-shame displayed by our very own Sailor Girl).

So, in a weird way I can understand her…although I pick good friends who will drive me home in the morning OR would allow me to borrow some sweatpants and a sweatshirt—yes, girlfriend there are ways to make your walk of shame easier and slightly less embarrassing. (Read the comments from my last post to get a great and very embarrassing story of my Aunt’s!)

I am no walk-of-shame professional. However, I am the queen of really bad and ridiculously embarrassing hangover stories. Look, I am not a fan of puke stories by any means but over the years that is how I have come to embarrass myself best.

Freshman year my parents came up for a make-shift parents weekend. Saturday night of this weekend I decided to go out after they went back to the hotel. Do I remember what went down that night?! Nope. But I am pretty sure I had a great time by the way I felt the next morning. My parents came by to take me out to breakfast and hang out before they headed back home but could I eat breakfast? Nope. That wasn’t going to happen. And good thing I didn’t because while shopping for Penn State gear I had to make a pit stop with my dad IN FRONT of Old State Clothing or whatever its called (the one with the big Lion doors that ROAR when you enter, you know, you know!). In a desperate search for a garbage can I puked in front of my dad, shoppers, employees and COLLEGE (FREAKING) AVENUE. Let’s keep in mind I was a freshman—I was classy from the very beginning. There is no better way to say goodbye to your parents your first semester of freshman year and make them feel proud to have raised such a responsible young adult. Good thing my parents know how to laugh. At me. While still taking care of me. Thanks guys!

Then…

Junior year I woke up excited to go Christmas tree shopping with my roommates and Sally’s family for our apartment. I also woke up hung over. The only thing I wanted: a milkshake. I had chocolate milk instead and started to feel better. Sally’s family came over to pick us up in the Suburban and head out on our Christmas tree adventure. We arrived at our first destination. At that point I needed some serious AIR. After walking around in the fresh PA air I was feeling soooo soooo soooo much better. Or so I thought. I rode shot- gun with Sally’s dad and we headed to a Christmas tree farm. This was going to be a 10 minute drive. About 5 minutes in I started to get hot and cracked the window. Then I had to make a decision. Puke in your purse OR attempt to roll down the window and hang your head outside the car. I did not have time for either option. How about I puke everywhere instead? Great plan…mission accomplished. Chocolate milk. That’s all I can say about that. So we end up pulling over and I have to strip down and sit in the back of the car while everyone else shops for Christmas trees wrapped in a blanket with the worst migraine and without pants.

You better be laughing right now.

So there are my two very unattractive very “collegiate” stories. I just couldn’t take it all out on walk-of-shame girl, we’ve all been there.

And if you haven’t, you are missing out.

Even if you end up without pants in front of your roommate’s family the story (someday) will totally be worth it.

Oh, NO!

This is not my real post for the day but an issue has to be addressed.

I just checked out my Google Searches and this is how someone found my blog:

“fanny packs + bride & Groom”

AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

All I can say is if you (fanny pack + bride & Groom searcher) are reading this blog know that you should not wear a fanny pack to your wedding. Please, don’t do it. Need fanny pack-less wedding tips? Please visit Molly’s blog.

That one scared me.

I will not be responsible for bridal fanny packs.