I think cutting back on the tankedness and living past 55 is a hell of a lot happier than being sauced every night of the week.
So with that in mind: College Kids R Stupid!
Reposted from some other thread.
First semester of my (second) freshman year, right around superhappy limbo week (the week between the end of classes, and the actual start of finals. AKA the week where all the girls go nucking futs cos they're going home for a month and can't be a sleazebag there) Anyway, limbo week. It's a Friday night so the dorms are practically empty, I am the only person in my hall still there, and a few of my girlfriends are (ostensibly) the only ones left in their hall, RA's included. Natch, the idea is to "take the edge off", and remain that way while we cram for finals in subjects we dont' understand. Anyway... we break out the beer. Then the wine. Then the Cap'n. Two hours later the edge is most certianly gone, I can't feel my face, we are having fire extinguisher fights in the shower with the water running, and (name withheld) decides she needs to puke. Instead of heading for a toilet, she goes into the kitchen, flips the microwave over, and pukes her guts out. I think this is a laugh riot, I lived in a different hall at the time so it wasn't *my* shit getting broken. Well someone (it certianly wasn't me :roll: ) got the idea to *turn on the microwave* and leave. That was a fun fire drill. Half-naked. In the snow. With my crit issues in modern justice professor being the incident command officer.
When I moved into Keegan three semesters later they still hadn't replaced the microwave... And then there was the night before Claremont when I ate shit I shouldn't have, drank far too much, got very well acquainted with the saabmaab bathroom floor, and drove like an idiot the next day in hopes it'd make my head stop buzzing. So see... it happens to the best of us. (And, apparently, the worst of us too.)
