So....once again I have failed you. You, my 15 loyal followers! 16 now actually - who are you, new person? Tell me at once!
I owe you all some head, ok? Deal. That reminds me, I need to go to the dentist.
As promised* (Editor's Note: clearly you've bitterly learned by now that a promise from me is like Chris Brown promising not to beat Princess Ri-Ri again), here is The First Installment of Story Time With M (Capital Letters Make Things Seem Official And Exciting!).
I'm nerv, I'm not gonna lie. I know if this one's not good you'll all leave me, just like all those imaginary friends I used to...not.....have... what? Aiight, here goes nothing:
The Scene: Third floor of an all-girls residence at one of the finest Universities in this lovely (read = cold, only fit for beavers) Country. Winter. My 21st birthday.
The Players: The Birthday Girl and her favourite ho's (aka the girls and the gays).
The Drug of Choice: Mushrooms.
A little background: My Harry-Potter-esque College was known for it's "traditions" (read: stroking men's dicks, keeping women down - fun!), one of which was the segregation of ladies and gents into separate living quarters. The boys, of course, lived in the glorious castle with the prime real estate. The wives-in-training were relegated to the hen-house around the corner. I'm convinced it used to be the servants' lair. When women were finally allowed to attend this fine College, Captain Old-Whitey in charge at the time probably figured slaves, women, what's the diff?
Bitterness aside, it was still kind of awesome having our own (lesser) space. We got to go party at The Testosterone Temple whenever we wanted (all girls were given keys to the boy res, and not vice versa, mouhahah), leave behind pools of vomit and other bodily fluids, and then return to the safe and clean haven known colloquially as "The Ranch." Good inequality-filled times.
ANYWAY, our College also had the tradition of keeping its young and nubile students on campus for as long as possible. To seduce us into staying in residence after first year, second years were allowed to choose their floor and all of the people who would reside there. This resulted in about 10 of my best girlfriends and I all living side by side on the best floor at The Ranch. Clearly, a recipe for disaster.
One final background note: our College was student-governed, meaning the students decided EVERYTHING. This meant that 90% of our money went into booze. Go team! But it also meant that we decided that we didn't need "floor dons" or whatever the eff those fun-spoiling bastards are called. The only "grown up" in the entire building (and same went for the Boy Res) was one lonely old "porter" who acted as the gate keeper into the building. Read: an old man who sat in a little glass box way down stairs at the entrance, and watched porn / fell asleep on the job.
This lack of supervision meant that basically the College was ours. We were free to smoke cigarettes and joints in our rooms and in the halls (I'm not kidding), booze whenever and wherever, bone anywhere (mmm...common room sex), etc.
And so we come to my birthday, circa...several years ago (I like to pretend I'm still 21). My b-day always landed around reading week, a.k.a. SPRING BREAK!!! That meant that a good two thirds of the building always cleared out, except of course for my faithful legion of ladies, who always stayed around to keep me company (I could never afford to go on vacay like the other trust fund babies who made up 85% of the College's population).
On this particular b-day, we opted to stay on our floor in res and just tear the place apart. Why not? No one was around, we had 10 bedrooms to choose from, and we knew we would all find our way back to our beds easily (read: by turning around). And so we did mushrooms. Lots and lots of mushrooms.
Things were going along swimmingly for the first little while. Two of my girlfriends weren't down with the magic so they stayed sober - good thing because within about 30 mins of getting high I proceeded to slice my thumb open (I was playing with a broken vase. I thought it was a toy.) and have a mini-melt down. But I was bandaged up and everything was good and trippy for the next few hours.
Fast forward to about 2 am. One of my man-friends - let's call him Tony - how can I put this... ate a bit too much? Pig. Anyway, Tony is suddenly OUT OF CONTROL. Hey, you know how when you're really high and one of your friends is going insane it's super fun to take care of them? No.
All of us spend the next two hours literally trying to lock him in one of our rooms like a caged animal. Every time we'd get him in a room, we could hear the destruction within but knew he was more safe in there than in the outside world (he kept insisting we release him into the night). Finally he would seem to tucker himself out, and we could let go of the door knob. Ten minutes of silence would pass, and we would eventually all collapse in a row in the hallway outside whatever room he was in and smoke a joint.
Just when we'd be getting high again, out of nowhere, Tony would BURST out of the room like a bat out of hell and run down the hall, limbs flailing, and we would have to tackle him again, which was no easy feat since he's about 6'2. BASTARD!!! This "routine" went on for a few hours, with him getting more and more high and us getting more and more annoyed. Finally, he seemed to REALLY be out cold, and we all piled into my room to listen to the Lion King soundtrack or something cool like that. Sweet, precious freedom.
About an hour later, one of the girls suggests we go check on our little patient to make sure he's still breathing or whatever. We're good friends like that. She goes to peek in the room, and we just here "Oh. My. God."
"What??" the rest of us shout down the hall.
"He's gone. That's what. FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Um...not cool. Happy Birthday, me! In no time, an army of about 7 girls was searching each of our rooms, wondering which one he chose to probably urinate all over. Fuck. He's not in any of them.
We decide to check the whole Ranch for our missing link. Surely, he has no idea where the front doors are in his current state, so he must be hiding somewhere close by. About 20 mins go by with of us all yelling "Tonnnyyy! Tony! Come out! This isn't funny! Where arrreee youuuu??". No Tony.
We split up into groups of 2, do another full house search. Nothing. We regroup on our floor and at this point we start freaking out. Did I mention we were all super high on mushrooms? Yeah, not the best state of mind to be in if you're going to have an extreme panic attack.
We don't know what to do. Start making calls. Has anyone at the boys' res seen him? Negative. Fuck. Finally someone has the super obvious (but not when you're on mushrooms) idea to CALL HIS CELL. Honestly. How did we not think of this 40 MINUTES AGO.
So we call his phone, and we hear it! It's ringing!!! VICTORY! Picture me holding my phone in front of me like I'm fucking panning for gold. All the girls are huddled around me so that we sort of form one shaky being. Riiiing... riiiing.... It's on this floor!!! How the fuck did we miss this?? Riiing... riiing....we're getting closer!
It leads us to this tiny bathroom just around the corner from our hallway. Yes! Not caring that we might be interrupting an epic shit or jerk off session, we burst through the door all together only to find.....
Instead, his phone is there, ringing, ON THE LEDGE OF THE OPEN WINDOW. The curtains are blowing mockingly in the gentle wind, just like in a horror movie. We're on the third floor, by the way. We all rush to the window and cram as many of our heads through it as possible and look down for our fallen hero, bracing ourselves to see his body mangled in the bushes below.
Nothing. Maybe he's a vampire??? Mushrooms tell us this is the most likely scenario.
Still, vampire or no vampire, we're freaking out. Now not only is he lost, but he is sans phone, so there's really no way to find him. Defeated and preparing ourselves for the inevitability of jail (we could see the headlines: "College Girls Lose Friend in Seedy Night of Drug Use!"), we leave the bathroom and head back to our floor.
As we solemnly shuffle back to our rooms, a few of us mutter "Tony? Tony. Tony?" one last time, knowing it's pointless.
All of us stop dead in our tracks and look at each other in utter shock.
All together: "TONY??"
WTF. We can hear him and he's SOMEWHERE IN THIS HALLWAY!
We continue this game of cat-and-mouse until we find the source of his bored voice, which is coming from the large shared washroom right in the middle of all of our bedrooms. P.S. - yes, we had already checked that bathroom. At the very beginning of our search, we ran in, screamed his name, nothing. It was huge with several sinks, toilet stalls and showers. There was also one bathtub that was hidden behind the door that no one ever used because ew - public bathtub. Tony was laying in the bathtub with the curtain drawn.
We pull back the curtain incredulously, only to find Tony half-asleep but looking up at us as if that's the most natural place in the world for him to be. Ten minutes of us screaming at him, demanding why he didn't answer for the last hour when we were desperately calling out to him, etc, ensue. He is impassive, calm, tired, still high. We're just so fucking relieved we could care less.
Finally we get him out of the tub, into one of our rooms, into bed. Why don't any of us have tranquilizers?? Whoever's room he's in sleeps in another one of the girls' rooms, and we call it a fucking night.
7:00 am. Panicked voice in the hall.
"GUYS! GET UP! WHERE'S MY FUCKING SHOE?!"
One of the girls had a 9:00 am flight out of town for a wedding! Oops. She had everything perfectly packed and ready to go before the drugs so she could just roll out of bed and roll out to the airport. But she couldn't find one of her shoes. Her brand new shoes she bought just for the wedding.
She makes all of us do a wild search of the floor, checking each of our rooms, thinking maybe we threw it somewhere in the shroom haze (clearly). At this point we also notice Tony is gone, again, but we don't give a shit. It's daylight. He can eff himself.
We don't find the shoe, and she gives up, tearfully grabbing an old pair of black pumps and rushing out the door.
The rest of us sleep till about 2 pm, and when we all wake up we head to the dining hall for lunch (forgot to mention: another tradition at said College was that we all ate in the main dining hall together, just like in H.P. Possibly the source of my obsession with wizardry, but that's a story for another day).
We're all scarfing down the nasty res food, and finally in waltzes Tony. Oh, how lovely to see you! we all say via death stare. He approaches, tail between his legs and sits down. We can't help it - everyone bursts into laughter. At least it will make for a good story.
Half way through lunch as we're filling him in on the details of his savage behaviour, he let's us know about his adventure back home early this morning. By which I mean, what he managed to piece together based on the random object he found on the floor in his room in the morning. Apparently, he thinks, he woke up in one of our rooms, super disoriented and still high, and wanting his own bed. He realized he had no shoes on and had no idea where they were. In his drug addled mind, he figured that picking up any shoe and carrying it home would be the equivalent of actually wearing shoes on his feet. Obv. And so, he grabbed Laura's new pink satin platform sling back (we still don't know how it ended up in another room...maybe we were having a shoe fight?), held it out proudly in front of him as evidence that he knew he needed shoes to go outside, marched back to the guys res and passed out. The shoe was right there on his shoe rack, sticking out like a sore thumb, with the rest of his own shoes in the morning.
In conclusion, drugs are fun.