(Maybe if the father was around, we wouldn’t be in this situation. I blame the system. And Penn State. Because when in doubt, blame Penn State.)
So it’s finally March and I’m hoping that the crippling darkness and cold will pass so I can once again emerge from my cave and rejoin humanity. Although I hope humanity gets hit in the head with a frying pan and gets out of this alternate state wherein they care about stupid shit.
Like the color of a goddamn dress. And 99.9% of what happens on Facebook.
Also, someone out there tricked me into seeing child pornography. The kid found my phone number somehow and snapchatted me a picture of his penis. Which begs the question…
DO I SEEM LIKE THE KIND OF PERSON YOU CAN SEND PICTURES OF YOUR DICK TO?!?!?!
(I pray the answer is “no”.)
Especially penises who are under 18. So if any of you jokers out there think you should, be advised: I will kill you. Because I refuse to be an “accidental felon”. If there is any crime to commit, it shall be my own choice. To paraphrase Eleanor Roosevelt, no one can make you a criminal without your consent.
In other news, Pennsylvania is an unfortunate place to live. Don’t come here. I totally got shafted trying to VOLUNTEER for Tom Wolf’s inaugural ceremony because I’m not a registered Democrat. I literally wasn’t allowed to volunteer because I’m a Republican. How much bullshit is that?!
A lot of bullshit. Is the answer to that question.
Plus, I’m buried in homework and almost out of oxygen. Because college is terrible.
But on the bright side, Pennsylvania has finally privatized the sale of liquor and stuff, so now I don’t have to go to the stupid state store which is always closed. And Spring Break starts on the 8th, so I’ll finally have some time to write on here again and possibly clean out my thousands of unread emails.
Anyways, thanks for hanging in there while I viciously neglected you all. Hopefully circumstance doesn’t kill me and I reclaim my life soon. The other night, I got super drunk and bought $40 worth of nail polish and a Wallflowers CD on Amazon. Be careful out there.
(“In the criminal justice system, the people are represented by two separate yet equally important groups. The police who investigate crime and the district attorneys who prosecute the offenders. These are their stories…”)
Hello everyone! Welcome back to Funny Blog Friday! I totally forgot to write this post yesterday due to excessive napping and forgetfulness, so I’m kind of slapping together something quick before time runs out. Please visit all the FBF bloggers because they’re awesome and some of them are giving away more prizes (plus, you all know you need a laugh).
This story, dear friends, stays in the realm of themes of my recent posts: exes, alcohol, trouble of all kinds, Alanna (the heroine of our tale) rising above moral depravity and, as usual, taking the high road. Before I tell the harrowing story of how I got my very first underage drinking, I’d like to point out that everything I say may or may not be factual, so if you’re a cop, keep walking. There’s nothing to read here.
Our Tale Begins On The Eve Of Labor Day Weekend, 2012…
‘Twas Friday, August 31st. A warm day, though not too hot for jeans. I had just moved into my college dorm only a week prior. My school was stupid and put me in the freshman dorms even though I was a sophomore, so I shared a room with a nice young girl who was really religious and had Jesus stuff all over. That weekend, she was going home to visit her family so I thought it would be a good idea to invite my then-boyfriend over to stay for the holiday. How very wrong I was…
Zach and I had the entire weekend planned: we’d chill Friday night around campus, go to the local farmer’s market on Saturday (which my father actually had a surprise for us instead), and basically just lie around watching tv after sitting on a bench making fun of the runners and skateboarders on Sunday. A relaxing weekend for a couple who usually never got a chance for relaxation due to our constant and almost compulsive need to cause trouble.
Friday afternoon, we were at Zach’s father’s house, arriving just as they left for their annual Labor Day weekend trip to their cabin somewhere in Pennsylvania. We (actually, I) immediately broke into the lock on their keg fridge, and we proceeded to fill empty water bottles with beer. After a few hours of drinking beer, watching tv, and looking through his father’s and step mother’s things just for random laughs and being nosy, we packed up the rest of our beer and headed back to my campus. It was awesome. Almost nobody was there and we finished the beer while cranking Lil’ Wayne and manically dancing in my dorm room.
I should have known something was wrong when we went downstairs to smoke a cigarette and Zach tried sliding down the railing, but fell right over the side and busted his ass on the ground. Everyone who was hanging out in the common room totally saw it and rushed over to be all, “Is he okay?!?!” As Zach cracked up laughing and hobbled down the remaining stairs, I said, “Yeah, he’s fine. You kids never saw this.” And ran out before the R.A. who wanted me dead (sort of) saw us being drunk.
Earlier that week, I made friends with a group of Engineering majors who lived in one of the adjacent dorms (which were basically apartments) and since they were mostly all over 21, I’d hang with them and drink. I got the foolish idea that maybe my new friends (all of whom were guys, by the way) would get along with Zach and we’d all have a nice time. Plus, I wanted to drink more, so ya know, win-win. Or so I thought…
The second Zach and I arrived at my friends’ dorm, he started giving offensive nicknames to them. My Marine friend was “Jarhead”. My friend whose parents were from Germany was “Germany”. (Some of them I can’t repeat and others I can’t remember. I was drinking, too.) When “Germany” arrived, he had some vanilla-flavored rum and Cherry Coke which he made into a drink he was proud of. Zach’s first words to him were, “Your drink really matches your sandals.”
(What a dick.)
Basically, Zach embarrassed the shit out of me in front of all my new friends, acting like a total asshole and telling them some extremely private things. He even downed like half of a half-gallon of Evan Williams which belonged to “Germany”. (The next morning, my one friend texted me that everyone agreed they didn’t want Zach to come back because of his behavior.) So once things officially got out of control that night, I tried to make him act as sober as possible for the 100-yard walk back to my building. Everything seemed fine. (Especially after we smoked a joint in the shower. Not like “in” the shower, but in the part of the bathroom with the shower because it has a vent and you can turn the water up really hot so… blah blah, etc.) Then we fall asleep. In my mind, the giant “Mission Accomplished” banner was flying beautifully.
I stirred from my sweet slumber from fists pounding on my door and loud voices from the hallway yelled at me to, “Open up!” The clock on my bedside table read 5:11 and Zach was nowhere to be seen. I said, “Alright, alright! I’m coming!” already annoyed that someone would dare wake me up at this unholiest of times. (I’m a really deep sleeper and I tend to punch people who try to wake me up.)
I opened the door to see a campus “police officer” (air quotes and sarcastic tone) and the Residential Life Coordinator (whatever that is) standing before me. If I gave any attitude, it’s because it was 5 o’clock on a Saturday morning and I hadn’t done anything wrong.
“Do you know Zach ____? He says he’s a guest of yours.”
“Yes…” What in the fuck could he have possibly done this time?! I thought to myself.
“We caught him running around campus naked and appearing to be intoxicated. He’s currently being held in the jail cell until his parents arrive. He says his clothing is here?”
(WHAT A DICK.)
I composed myself and got his clothes to give to the “police officer”.
“Wait, like jail? At the station downtown?”
“No, the campus headquarters [lol, “headquarters”] has a holding cell.”
So he’s in pretend prison? But I didn’t say that outloud because then this asshole started asking me questions.
“Was Zach drinking this evening?”
It’s morning, dickhead. “Yes.”
“May we come inside to check your room?”
“Do you have a warrant?”
“No, we don’t need one. Campus policy.” (LIES LIES LIES LIES. They TOTALLY need a warrant, but that’s a story for another time.)
They come inside and ask me stupid shit and this guy’s acting like he’s a real cop or something, and SURPRISE! He doesn’t find any evidence of drugs or alcohol.
“Were you drinking as well?”
“Let me smell your breath.” (Hey, kids: this is 100% illegal. If a cop ever asks you this question, bring up the 4th Amendment and send his pig-ass packing. #themoreyouknow)
“Uhh… no, I just woke up.” (He then MAKES me do it. Then he coerces me into telling him I drank which is also totally illegal.)
“I just had some beer.”
“Oh really?” maniacally laughing. “Doesn’t smell like you just drank ‘some beer’. That beer have rubbing alcohol in it?” Laughs again. I consider what murder would do to my transcript. “Well, I’m charging you for underage drinking. This is a copy of your citation. You’ll get a letter telling you when to be in court, I suggest A.R.D. Have a nice weekend.”
So there’s the story of how I got my first and only law violation because my ex ran around my college naked. (He got locked out to go to the bathroom and thought that the giant blue emergency lights were telephones.) I also missed the phone call Saturday morning from my dad who had planned to fly me and my cousins to a Phillies game in Atlanta at Turner-freakin’-Stadium. I don’t know what the moral here is, people, but college is stupid and Penn State can eat it. The end.
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