Spring Break Stories Pt. 2

Day 6:

Sexy Hat.


On Wednesday I had a wonderful surprise visit from some of my best friends form high school. It was awesome!

D and I had been washing dishes in the basement when they showed up. Damon, Panda and Nick arrived first; Michael came later.

I was so excited.

There were hugs for Panda and jumping around and tasting Nick's hot chocolate and putting stuff on Damon's head. Might have been a wood chip.

Damon: "I now have the sexiest hat."
Nick: "Wait. I'm not on your head."

So, Panda and I picked up Damon and carried him sideways surfboard style over to our long and fluffy  couch so Nick could take his proper place on the top of Damon's head.

Damon did eventually get his sexy hat.

Duct Tape.


You know, I'm not sure how much to say about this except that after we'd sat down for a while a caught up a bit, we got a roll of duct-tape and started ripping hair out of D's arm. I even brought over green duct-tape to make it a little better since it was his favorite color. It wasn't as sticky. Sad.

D took it like a man.

He has now been fully initiated into the group.

Spring Break Stories. Pt. 1

I broke my right hand.

Not really, that was a total lie. My friend Krystal threw an empty box at it and it hurt quite a bit. I ended up pulling a stuffed animal over my face so Mom had me wear a brace.

The weird thing is that I'm fairly certain it was the same brace I wore when I actually did break my right hand a little over a decade ago. I like putting it that way because it makes me sound old.

It's also a little weird this keeps happening since I'm left-handed. I suppose this is a good thing, though, since I need that hand to write and stuff.

There was no reason for that. It's pretty. Enjoy it.

Let's see, shall I tell you some funny stuff? Yes. Alright, then.

Day One:

Turbulence.

If you've watched the news at all, you'd know about the huge series of tornadoes that struck the United States. Pretty harsh stuff. Either you heard about it, witnessed it, know someone who did, or were affected by it yourself.

But I bet you didn't fly through it.

Luckily for me, though I have a horrendous fear of heights, I love to fly. I guess I just really trust pilots to know exactly what they are doing. The way I figure it, if it was that risky, it wouldn't be done. I'm also not afraid of turbulence, but I'd never experienced it to this extent before.

The flight attendant had just finished her explanation on the safety regulations and I was chatting with my flight buddy. He was an older gentlemen, probably late-forties, glasses, blonde longish hair. Kinda looked like a computer programmer from the late seventies. We had been discussing how the storm had his wife stranded at work, so he might not have a ride from the airport in Louisville when the pilot said, "We may have some slight turbulence due t the weather over the Louisville area today; I will warn you before that happens."

They always say that. So the plane might bounce a little, it's all good.

The plane ride went smoothly for the first thirty-or-so minutes, and my new friend and I were glancing out of the passenger window enjoying the contrast between the dark storm clouds and the brightness of the sun. It really was quite pretty.

Me: "Whoa, look at that! That looks pretty nasty right over there...I'm glad we're flying right towards it."

Computer Programmer-man: "I know. Look at the contrast it creates, though. I love to fly; pictures would never do this justice."

We then had a short conversation about photography while this wonderfully cheerful flight attendant passed out our drinks.

Me: "I love that woman, she seems so pleasant and happy. She must love her job."

Computer Programmer-man: "Yep. She must. That's the secret of a happy life, you know. Finding something you truly enjoy. She looks like she belongs up here."

About five minutes later this same woman was meandering down the aisle collecting trash with a garbage bag when this announcement came over the intercom in a somewhat strained tone: "It looks like we'll be having our turbulence in a few moments, make sure your seat belts are fastened."

She quickened her pace.

Now, my friend and I were seated about three seats up from the back of the plane, and this poor woman was maybe about two seats ahead of when suddenly the plane felt like it plummeted for a moment. She actually was lifted into the air almost to the roof. Somehow she landed back on her feet, somewhat shaken. She shook her head once and went to continue when the plane bounced a second time, more severely. She dropped to the ground as the violent tremors continued, trying to hold onto seats and passengers. She looked terrified.

When the shaking slowed a little, she dropped her bag and began to desperately crawl down the aisle yelling, "Keep your trash! Keep your trash!"

What were my friend and I doing the entire time this was going on? Putting our hands in the air, of course. It was like a violent roller coaster. I just figure if I died, I died. Might as well enjoy the fun while it's enjoyable. I obviously survived, so it's all good.

I remember looking behind me to see if she had successfully made it to her destination. That woman had strapped herself in in every way seemingly possible. If that plane went down, she was going down secured.

Her eyes were huge. I couldn't help but laugh.

I have hooters in my room.

Not the food. Also, not the hot girls with the large breasts and tight shirts, either.

Roommate and I weren't so blessed, haha.

I just realized there's like ten owls in here. Stuffed or cut out or some other artsy material. I kinda want a real one. Owls are my favorite.

This might be gross, but when you were in school did you ever dissect an owl pellet? That was probably the highlight of my elementary school years. I had an entire mouse and half a bird in mine, which was much better than my friend who only had the lower half of a mole. Can you buy those online?

I want to do that again; judge me all you want.

D showers faster then I do.

I guess that goes without saying, though, since I'm a girl.

Haven't even dried my hair. Then again, it's about a bajillion miles long so it would take forever and I'm going to take him to work today at two.

I'm going to fix up his present today. I'd tell you what it is, but he can read this.

I'm so excited to be home. Finaaaally. I missed my family.

Also, my brother Paul is home and that's super awesome, too. We're going to hang out together after I drop D off and pick up a few things from the store.

My dad has a few days off, too. I love my dad. Best dad ever.

And mom.

And brother.

And boyfriend.

I don't really have a story this time, but there's some really good chicken soup in our fridge so you should be pretty jealous.

BBQ wings apparently don't cure diseases.

It was a long shot to begin with.

The huge pile of bones is a little disgusting, too. In a weird way, I'm proud of them.

Roommate hasn't been eating; I think she has a stomach bug of some sort, which is really sad since we both get to fly home tomorrow for a week. Isn't that exciting? I even get to see D again which is something I definitely hadn't anticipated. I believe tackling is in order, here.

Anyways, I broke into my secret funds and bought us about $30 worth of Dominos wings. I usually don't eat a day before my flight because I have a tendency to get nauseated on planes. Tomato juice helps, though. Lucky me.

I'm stuffed.

There's still about eight wings. Will I eat them? Well, actually probably not. I was hoping she wasn't feeling well due to a lack of food, and I know wings aren't the healthiest things in the world, but we're college kids and it's about the only thing you can get after eight when you have a gluten allergy like Roommate.

She still feels sick, but she's asleep. That's good.

Also, a ghost keeps opening the dryer before it is done and an hours worth of laundry has taken well over three. I still have one more load, too. Friggin' laundry ghosts.

I know there's supposedly one in main hall but there shouldn't be one in the girls' dorms. And, since it must be a female ghost seeing as men are not allowed on the second floor, you'd think it would be courteous enough to help with the laundry. You know, fold it or something.

It also could be the girl that lives two doors down who is angry because I've monopolized the one washer and dryer we have on our end of the hall for the past six hours.

I like my ghost theory better.

Roommate is good at inducing unreasonably comical hysteria.

Sounds kinda weird, doesn't it?

Oh, man. I had an awful night last night. Now that I am awake, it's ridiculous. All my fears combined into one moment of pure, exhausted panic. No really expects to be trapped in a small confined space with irrational thoughts of their imminent demise, but let's not get carried away here.

If you've read my blog, you've probably figured out I'm a full-time college student living in a small one-room dorm with my one of my best friends. Both of these things pretty much equal being overly tired at least some, if not most, of the time. I had also woken up from a coma-like state not ten minutes before the incident, and was not fully awake.

However, I don't think the excuse of being tired excuses my actions well enough.

You should also know that I'm embarrassingly ticklish or this might not make much sense. It still probably won't.

Now, we have three beds in our room. [One used to belong to a prior roommate who dropped out of school because she was secretly married to an Arabic man and couldn't tell her family. That was a stressful time since her brother lives on campus and we had to frequently cover for her absences while she'd fly to Texas to chill with her husband. You're welcome for the useless information.] They have all been pushed together in a highly unintelligent fashion into one giant bed so we have room to stretch out while still being comfortably distanced while we sleep. I say unintelligent because they are arranged in such a way that the SIDE of the bed is against the wall. The other side is about a foot from my desk in the center of the room. This means we have to awkwardly clamber over our headboard whenever we need to get in it.

Now, I'm on my end of the bed near the desk, and Roommate is situated in her spot against the wall. I don't remember all of the events leading up to the climax of this story, but I'm pretty sure as we were talking I threw a pillow in her direction and hit her in the face. She decided to retaliate.

I was pretty sure being tickled was on the menu for the next hour so I panicked, squealed, slid off my end of the bed and crawled underneath it to escape.

I don't know why I thought that would save me.

So, I slide back under the 600 mile stretch from my end of the bed to hers while she pokes her head down to look underneath. I had just missed her reach by about two millimeters.

Roommate: What are you doing?

Me: -more squealing in fear and laughter-

Roommate: There's no way out, now. You're stuck.

At this point I looked more closely at the slots on the frames of the headboards. There was no way I was going to fit. I couldn't escape.  My only hope was that she'd figure I was a big enough idiot to be content with her laughter and not follow me.

Roommate: Do you really think this is going to stop me?

I vaguely remember a desperate consideration to try and get out through the bars.

I remember screaming a lot.

I remember trying to tell her to get away.

I don't remember when it stopped being funny.

I do remember my panic escalating.

I remember crying.

I remember her laughter as she slowly inched towards me bit by bit.

I remember the combined fears of tight spaces, asian horror movies and suspense creeping up on me.

I shut my eyes for a few seconds in panic, still screaming and babbling, as the tears flowed down my face. It was dark, and she didn't realize the amount of psychological trauma she was delivering.

I remember opening my eyes to see she had gotten a little bit closer.

At that moment, my mental state completely snapped. Whatever little bit there was left at that point.

And this:

Turned into this:

So I punched her in the face.

I still haven't completely decided how bad I feel about that. She, however, felt awful after she convinced me to come out from under the bed and could see the damage she had wreaked on my sanity.

I may never be the same again.