Tag Archive: college


Well. I’ve been sitting here for 51 minutes trying to think of something to say.

I finally came up with this:

This picture is pretty much an excellent way to sum up a night that Megan and I will never forget, and a night that Rob will never remember. Because he was blackout drunk and crawled through East Lansing trying to get home after we decided it was totally fine for him to leave by himself while we hung out with the complete strangers we found.

And by found, I mean that I flagged down some random Escalade, jumped inside and told Rob and Megan it was totally fine and to get the fuck in the car, and GO GO GO!!

Yeah. Really safe.

A complete blur. And shady as fuck.

We had been drunk for a while and looking for something to do in East Lansing after the MSU vs OSU game. (Can I just tell you how much I love game day?! SO MUCH!)  We were hanging out near Harpers when we decided that we should go to my friend’s apartment because she was having people over. We would hang out for a little bit and go to the bars later, because oh, yeah, it was still light out and too early to be as drunk as we were.

The only thing was that we needed a way to get to my friend’s apartment, which was hella far away.  Instead of calling a cab or even trying to call a friend who could drive, I just decided to flag some vehicle down. Like I’m in NYC or something, trying to hail a taxi. Who am I?

So, yeah, I flag down this white Escalade, which is filled with three or four (I can’t remember) guys.  They stopped and, for some reason, let me hop in.  For some reason, Rob and Megan followed after me and away we went to my friend’s apartment.

Talk about poor life choice. And awkward city.

Shenanigans.

Anyway, I can’t remember what happened, like the exact events of the evening. I do remember Rob, Megan and I going into my friend’s bathroom and all three of us peeing in there. At the same time. Not okay.

I also remember one of the boys changing his pants in a parking lot.

And I remember drunk-dialing my dad.

We also went to one of the bars in East Lansing for a while and danced our faces off. That was when we let Rob walk himself home despite the fact that he couldn’t see.

There’s also a memory of Megan peeing outside, in public. Twice.

We also walked all the way back to my apartment and kept Erica up until, like, 7am.  I made two of the boys watch High School Musical because I didn’t want to have sex with either of them.

The best part was that after all of the shenanigans and staying up until 8am with a strange man I had met just by jumping in his vehicle, I had to go to a staff meeting at work.  I showed up, all disheveled and loopy from a lack of sleep and super hungover.

Megan and I always reminisce on the shitshow that night turned out to be.  Generally, I just consider myself on the up and up as long as I’m not hopping in vehicles filled with strange men I don’t know.  And when I’m not pounding 100 proof shots of Captain Morgan.

We also try to embrace the whole no man left behind mentality.

Unless it’s Seneca- we usually let her go wherever she wants.

Or Leah- but that was one time, and had I been aware enough to be a part of the decision, I never would have let her wander East Lansing by herself during St. Patrick’s Day weekend. That was not my fault. And things worked out… kinda. She found her way home eventually.

There is no other day that I wish more than anything that I was still in college than on St. Patrick’s Day.

I mean, most days I wish I was still in college, and I think it’s retarded that we were all dying to graduate when we were already in the part of our lives that truly is the best part. Even more retarded is that I didn’t drag out my time in college longer than the four years I was already there.

I mean, where else is it completely acceptable to literally drink all day?  I don’t just mean day drinking, tailgate style.  I mean waking up and pounding a jello shot or two and head to work only to get out at noon and immediately start drinking to catch up to where everyone else is.

A household divided: pepsi vs coke. What’s your pref??

One very important concept I learned in college is playing catch-up. Don’t do it.  Poor. Life. Choice.

Luckily, I had really good friends who reminded me to slow the fuck down and pace myself. A good friend and roommate who looked out for me and made me pb&j sandwiches (on more occasions than one) so I would have consumed something other than caffeine and alcohol when we started drinking.

Lunch of champions/functioning alcoholics!

It’s not appropriate for me to spend the entire day wasted, take a nap at 6pm and wake up an hour later to continue consuming more alcohol than is recommended by the government.  It’s not appropriate to continually lose misplace my ID and debit card only to find it in a different pair of jeans because I had forgotten I had changed pants at the last minute (I would). It’s not appropriate to drunkenly sext frat boys. Nor is it appropriate to try to steal some poor man’s golden retriever (Erica! Okay, it was mostly me.).

Oh, Mandy…!

It’s not appropriate to disappear for extended periods of time with said frat boy under the guise of “washing my hands.” It didn’t matter that Erica knew I wasn’t washing my hands.  No one washes their hands that often, or for more than 20 seconds. Or for, like, 40 minutes at a time.

Whatever.  I never said I was a good liar.

None of that is appropriate.  Anymore.

Because I’m not in college. Anymore.

Because I’m old.

I hope everyone had a safe and very happy St. Patrick’s Day!

I spent mine lunching with a member of the tripod, shopping for new makeup, hitting up the library, doing homework and now I’m going to a Sugarland Concert!

Not too shabby! 🙂

So, I went out on the town with a couple girlfriends last weekend. It was the first time I did something social on the weekend in a month. I’m not kidding.

Oh, except for the weekend before, when the two other legs of the tripod came to my house and we stayed in and watched movies in our jammies.

Anyway.

For this night out, I made jello shots. It was the first time since junior year of college that I had anything to do with jello shots. I think a few years apart did some good. I wasn’t as irresponsible this time as I was when I was 20 years old. Well, irresponsible in the sense that I didn’t black out and throw up for two days.  There was no blacking out nor was there vomit this time. Just other… less-than-wise decisions were made.

I’m putting last Saturday night in the win column.

It seems that the only things I can successfully create in the kitchen are alcohol-related.

Without further ado…

ZOMG Yum!

  • 6 ounces of Jello (the big box!)
  • 16 ounces boiling water
  • 6 ounces cold water
  • 10 ounces alcohol

I used Bacardi Razz, obviously, to go with my raspberry jello but you can use whatever flavor jello and kind of alcohol you like!

The first thing I did was boil some water. I didn’t watch the pot the whole time, though, because we all know a watched pot never boils. (hahaha)

Then I poured the boiling water into a big measuring cup.

Next, I dissolved the jello dust into the boiling water.

Once the jello was completely dissolved, I poured in the cold water and my alcohol of choice.

PRETTY!!!

While the water was boiling, I set up the little cups the mixture was going to be going into.

I used the smallest little Dixie cups I could find. I put them in a cake pan type thingy to keep them all in one place and to cut down on the mess I was inevitably going to make.

I filled each cup a little less than half-full.

Told you I’m a mess-maker.

It was after this that I realized that using a ladle would be way easier.

This proved to be much easier. And less messy.

Once all of this alcoholic liquid was poured (or ladled) into the tiny cups, I was done! It was time to refrigerate those little babies.

pretty!!!!

I didn’t remember to get (attractive) pictures of them when we were consuming them. I did, however, manage to snipe a pic of Chiefy for you. He has a weird thing happening with his eyes, so we can pretend that it’s because he’s drunk/hungover even though it was mostly that I woke him up from a little catnap because he looked too cute for words all curled up on his blankie.

how cute is he!?!? Crazy eyes and all!

Two weeks ago, I asked someone to show me how to use my financial calculator.

I bought (and when I say “I,” I mean my mom bought me) said financial calculator four years ago. For my accounting class. Which I bombed.

Maybe if I would have known how to use my calculator I wouldn’t have sucked so hard at Accounting 201 at Michigan State. Or, maybe if I went to class when I wasn’t hungover and counting down the minutes until I got to leave I would have done marginally well. Or, maybe if I wouldn’t have taken those two pulls (I have a very low tolerance for alcohol, read: I’m what one would call a “lightweight”) from a bottle of Bacardi before the final I would have passed. There were probably many factors contributing to my lack of success.

Anyway, I finally know how to use a few of the functions on this financial calculator. Good news, considering I’m taking a finance class right now.

This boy (man?) who taught me how to use my calculator was someone who has been in at least two of my other classes but to whom I have never spoken. Tonight, we conversed even more. And not about how to use my calculator.

We talked about Jersey Shore.

It just brings people together.

I kind of love that about that show. It’s appalling and terrible for society. Every time I watch it, I always just wonder, is this real life?! And it never ceases to amaze me that those people are real. Despite knowing it adds no real value to society and probably makes me dumber when I watch it, I can’t stop. I am in it. It’s like I know better but keep making poor life choices. I’m like those idiot drug addicts on Intervention who keep doing dumb shit that is bad for them. The show cracks my shit up. I laugh out loud every single time I see an episode.

It sucked me in and won’t let me go!

Another thing that sucked me in? Pretty Little Liars on ABC Family.

What the fuck is that show? Seriously.

I read the first four books and then bailed because I decided I’m not a slutty 14-year-old, and the show had already started and I figured that was good enough. But then I stopped watching the show because I was always doing something else when it was on and it was just too much work to have to keep up online.

Here’s the thing though, I watched the season premiere this January and decided I would commit myself to it. Idiot. Because now I’m still doing something else when it comes on and that means I have to catch up online, which is exactly what happened last time! So today, I thought to myself, Self, it’s okay to not catch up on Pretty Little Liars. It’s okay to bail again. Just give it up. Let it go. It’s okay.

I felt good about this decision.

Until right now, when I saw a preview for next week’s Pretty Little Liars. It made me wanna watch it real bad. So I guess that’s that. I’m gonna make that effort to watch it.

Gosh, my life is so rough.

Ps. Betcha didn’t see Pretty Little Liars coming from the talk about my financial calculator. Yeah, that’s just how my brain works.

“wet my pants” “ten years old”

What?

That was a search term that led someone to my blog.

I scanned through the rolodex in my head of topics I’ve written about on my blog. Wetting my pants is not something I remember writing about.

This makes me wonder why “wet my pants” has led someone to my blog.

That does remind me, though, of a couple unfortunate moments of incontinence.

Like that time me and my cousin, who is eleven years older than I am, decided it would be a great idea to run around my childhood neighborhood like ninnys and deface my neighbors’ Christmas decorations. We made all the reindeer on our street mount each other. We were a block away from my house and we had been laughing really, really hard. I went to run back towards home after messing around with another set of reindeer. Then I felt like I couldn’t hold it. So I hid behind a tree and told Angie to stop making me laugh. But then I really couldn’t hold it anymore. My kegels were doing all they could and it didn’t measure up to how badly I had to pee.

I was a freshman in college.

The most recent, and probably most embarrassing, moment was when Rob, Leah, Megan and I traveled to Chicago for Leah’s birthday my senior year of college.

That was the same weekend trip that I forgot to pack pants.

So our first full day in Chicago, we went shopping and I bought some jeans from H&M. We had a glorious day.

That night, we all got dressed and ready to go and Megan realized she lost her ID. Probably on our trip to buy alcohol. But it was lost nonetheless. So she didn’t even get to go out with us to celebrate Le Le’s  birthday.

Rob, Leah and I did, though, and we had a good time.

Rob had a good time until he had to rally Leah and I into the cab for the ride home by himself. She and I were kind of out of control and when we were close to our stopping point, Rob called Megan in for back-up.

Megan met us at the corner and I was a gigglebox.

While Rob was trying to get Leah to stop digging in the trashcan on the corner of the road and shouting at nothing in particular with a Cyndi Lauper accent, Megan was trying to talk me out of the snow bank I felt into. But once again, laughter got the best of me. And Megan kept telling me that the mysterious hickey on my neck was not a bruise, like I had been calling it (because, let’s get real, how old are we?! Sure, drunken PDA in a bar is tacky but we aren’t in middle school anymore. Hickeys are not acceptable- ever). We were laughing so hard, and every time I tried to explain that a snowball had hit my neck in the same spots a few times causing me to bruise, Megan replied, “That’s not a bruise, homie” and it made me laugh really, really hard.

And that’s when I wet my brand new pants in a snow bank on the street in Chicago.

There ya go, search engines and random internet searchers. You go right ahead and search for “wet my pants” and I’ll be happy to share those stories with you.

I’m a grump-monster when it comes to being woken up.

With that said, please know that I am fully aware that it’s a dick-move that I enjoy waking other people up when they are sleeping. I really enjoy scaring the hell out of my mom when she’s zonked out. I also enjoy drunk dialing my friends at 4am, knowing full well that they are fast asleep.

Once upon a time, Erica slept on the floor of the dorm room I shared with Sarah.

Erica had been sick and needed to rest. Erica’s roommate had been unsympathetic to her need to sleep in a dark, quiet place.  Her roommate was probably still bitter that we had completely trashed their dorm room one night she been gone and we had been drunk. We also apparently used her special blanket and eaten some of her crackers. Bitch held a grudge.

Nevertheless, Er took up residence on our floor and we stayed in and watched movies and went to bed early. It was lovely.

But sometime after all of us had fallen asleep, there suddenly was a lot of commotion.

I’m not sure what happened because I tried to sleep my way through it. I recall an obnoxious amount of light being turned on and I remember Sarah’s scared voice asking what to do when someone was in the need of contacting 911.

Erica was having trouble breathing. Asthma attack? Panic attack? Even now, I’m not too sure what happened.

I recall throwing LP over my face and trying to block out the light.

Even when Sarah asked me to call 911 while she tried to keep Erica from freaking the fuck out because she was like a thousand degrees and having trouble breathing, I whined and told her I didn’t know how to do it.

No one was particularly pleased with me nor were they grateful we were friends.

Next thing I know, ALL of the lights in our tiny square room were on and there were a couple (is that right??) of EMTs taking Erica’s blood pressure (or something?) and making sure she wasn’t going to die or anything.

As soon as it was over, I went back to sleep like it never happened.

I’m an asshole.

I generally disagree with people dressing their pets like they are little children or dolls.

I just think it’s unnecessary. And it’s not very nice, because, you know, the animals probably hate it.

I mean, tried to put socks on my dog one time. As much as I loved how hilarious it was to watch him try to walk, he hated it.

And another time I put a shirt on him.He peed on the shirt.

But this was the truth: each time I tried to dress him like a little person, he was not amused.

Except when I did this:

Okay, so he didn't really mind the dress.... But he totally slobered allllll over that soccer ball.

And there’s this:

This pic is adorbzzzz

Seriously,he’s not even the tiniest bit bothered by that life-jacket! In fact, he looks goooood.

My point is, generally, when I see animals wearing clothes, I feel sad for them. They have no control over it. Their owner wills for them to wear clothes and it just has to happen. Sad Face. I always just want to be like, No no no! Take that biker jacket off your cat! Take that sweater off your West Highland Terrier!

But then I saw this. I stumbled upon it when I was bored on my computer and multi-tasking (read: watching The West Wing).

All KINDS of amazing

You must visit this site to understand how spectacular this truly is.

Watch the video. I’m telling you. It’s worth it.

That is all.

It was never really a mystery to us why it seemed like our entire floor in the dorms in college hated us.

Sarah and I lived in the room at the very end of the hallway. Our perfect square of a room was the gathering place every Thursday night to watch The OC and later Grey’s Anatomy. Our room was the meeting place of the whole group of us for those three or four nights a week we went out to parties. And later, our sophomore year of college, our room was next door to two of our good friends, whose room would blare with the latest Justin Timberlake song or One Republic’s “Apologize” before it was cool and overplayed on the radio.

We did dumb shit, like dress up like the some cracked out version of the Spice Girls and sing really, really loudly after 2 in the morning. You know, when the whiners on our floor were sleeping, and had been since 11 pm.

As a group, we’re loud. I mean, I scream and screech a lot, I laugh loudly, and I shout when I’m happy or excited. Multiply that by at least four and you’ve got my core group of friends in college. And we were together constantly.

Add in the fact that we lived in an all-girls dorm. In the really, really old dorms. As in, I lived in the same dormitory my grandmother lived in. The same dormitory my mother lived in. It’s old. We also lived in the dorm mostly populated by the college of music kids. They’re all artsy and hipster-y and obviously too smart and better than us to get loud and crazy all the fucking time, like we did. The best part about our dorm is that it was the closet to the street with all the bars on it. And it was relatively close to a lot of the off-campus housing and greek life. (And let’s get real: I loved me some fraternity parties before I was of the legal drinking age.)

I think this photo adequately demonstrates the potential Le Le and I have when it comes to getting crazy. lolz (Ps. Le, does that headband look familiar? bahaha)

My point is, our floor hated us.

We were constantly hushed and asked nicely to be quiet. And when all else failed, we were told on. When we realized that the RA’s were about to come bust us, we’d quickly finish the shot glass full of five o’clock vodka on Leah’s or my desk, turn the music off, grab our coats and fly out the door.

I mean, we didn’t want to get written up. Again. Or have to pour our alcohol down the bathroom sink. Again.

Even when we weren’t drinking (illegally) in the dorms, we were loud. And probably really, really obnoxious. I’ll leave you with this one memory I have, a memory that really reinforced the fact that everyone on our floor just did not get me, or my friends.

You know how in college dorms there are all kinds of random-ass signs for random-ass shit? Like, sign up for ballroom dancing in one of the rooms by the cafeteria, or do you need a tutor for some really hard singing class you’re taking? Well, I can’t remember why we decided to make a sign but one night we did, and we hung it on the walls all over our hallway, and all of the doors to the bathrooms, and the mirrors, and the door to the stairs.

It was a nice sign. It didn’t ask anyone to donate their first born to some demonic cult or require anyone to spend any money on anything. It was just a nice little sign to remind people to have a good day and to provide a little pick-me-up. Sometimes people just need that. Classes are hard. It’s really hard to walk fifty feet to a building across a nice little field to go sing for a couple hours a day. And it gets cold in Michigan.  And sometimes blowing off class on a Friday to play Ultimate Frisbee in Adam’s Field is just really… hard. So we posted our sign to let people know we cared.

Our sign was not appreciated. When we woke up the next morning, every single sign had been torn down and thrown away.

The people on our floor were dicks. And they hated us.

Due to poor planning on my part, I don’t have anything today.

I was feeling uninspired last night when I tried to write, so I decided I’d wait until today to do it, like normal. But today, I was busy. And then when I had time to write, I didn’t feel the creative thoughts rolling around in my noggin. Then I forgot it it was Tuesday once I got home from class tonight. And now it’s technically almost Wednesday, and I’ve got nothing.

So, with that said, I’m sorry.

I’m sorry I’m such a terrible blogger.

I’m sorry to have let you down.

But, on the plus side, here’s this:

This gets me every single time.

Oh, on second thought, I did discover something today:

After a long, long time of forgetting it existed, I fell in love with Fergie’s album from 2006. Again.

And after a long, long time of not hearing “Fergalicious” I found out I can do the tiny little rap-like breakdown she does in the middle of the song. Flawless. Like a pro. I’m practically Fergie I’m so good at it.

You’re jealous.

I know.

I mean, I remember when I was an idiot and 19 years old and Sar and Erica and I would practice it, trying to figure out what she was saying and then working on being able to say it just like her. I remember being really happy with myself after I taught myself how to do it. I may have even called my boyfriend at the time and behaved like a ninny, all excited and ready to display this newfound talent. But I also remember he was not as impressed with this skill as I was.

Maybe that’s why he’s not my boyfriend now.

While we were in Philadelphia this weekend, I was reminded of something I love.

Something I simply cannot get enough of.

Something I wish I could constantly have in my life.

Something that just doesn’t get old.

Rob, a friend from college who now is all fancy and lives in New York City, met up with Erica and I in Philadelphia. He is the reason I am going through withdrawal. On two counts. Rude.

Robby & I after graduation! Go Green!

First of all, I hate him for making me love him and then leaving to go live a fancy life so far away.

Second, I hate him for reminding me of my love of Play by Givenchy and Justin Timberlake. It’s like THE BEST SMELL EVER. For men.

Robby wears Play. And I smelled him last weekend and fell in love all over again. (With him. And with Play.)

I remember clear as day the first time I smelled it. I shit you not. It’s, like, locked in my memory. I was flipping through Cosmo like MONTHS ago.

(Side note: I would just like to say that yes, I do subscribe to Cosmo. But it should also be noted that Drew usually got to it before I did. And sometimes Sully. Yes, Drew, you can be embarrassed that I announced it on my blog. Because the viewership has increased since I started it in June. And your secrets just keep spilling out of me. LAHV YEW!! That totally just reminded me of Mean Girls . You know, the part where all the girls are in the gym doing trust falls? And Karen apologizes to Gretchen for laughing at her for the time she got diarrhea at Barnes & Noble, and that she was sorry for repeating the story in front of everyone right then. Omg. That movie is genius. I love you, Tina Fey.)

Anyway.

Gosh, my ADD really needs to chill out.

Okay. I was “reading” Cosmo and all of a sudden it was like BAM!! HELLO BEST SMELL EVER!!! So you can bet your bottom dollar that I ripped open that tiny little flap of paper to sniff the tester page of this fragrance.  And when I looked to see what it was that I had pressed against my face, I saw Justin Timberlake. DOUBLE WIN!

LOOK AT HIM. HOT. AS. HELL.

This stuff is like catnip to me.

I smell it and just… want to breathe more than normal.

I cannot describe to you what it smells like, nor can I explain to you the degree to which I love this smell. It’s just amazing. And if I smelled it in real life, I would probably be embarrassed by my response to it.

It’s that good.

And every time Rob would walk by after he put it on, I just followed behind him sniffing the air he left.

Cannot. Get. Enough.

So, pretty much, I’m obsessed again.

Thanks a lot, Rob. Oh, and you too, Justin Timberlake. You just had to go ahead and render me completely out of my mind at the smell of the sexiest man-smell ever.

Oh, I doubt I need to make this disclaimer but, um, I haven’t been compensated in any way to plug this product. It just smells really, really good. And when I was cleaning up my closet and saw all of my perfumes, I thought of the one smell I wished I could smell at any given moment.

I need a boyfriend. So he can wear this. And I can behave like a cat that was recently given catnip. Or something??

Cats are funny.

lolz

 

While we were in Philadelphia this weekend, I was reminded of something I love.

Something I simply cannot get enough of.

Something I wish I could constantly have in my life.

Something that just doesn’t get old.

Rob, a friend from college who now is all fancy and lives in New York City, met up with Erica and I in Philadelphia. He is the reason I am going through withdrawal. On two counts. Rude.