Dorm Crawl: Part Deux

If you thought the story ended there, then you were wrong.  Very wrong.  That would have been too easy.  And less gross.  But you'll see what I mean.

About an hour after we finally made it back to your room - the process of which included much clamoring and the discovery of our incredible ability to fall up stairs - B called us back. Apparently his roommate had filled him in on our earlier escapades.

B: (in his typical slow drunk voice that makes him sound just a little creepy) Heeeey!  Where are you guys?
Us: B! We're in our room, jerk! Wecametoseeyouandyouweren'tthere!  Whyyyyyyyy?!
B: I was out at this party, but I'm back now. Come down!
Us: Ugh, fine.

So, we dragged our drunk asses back down the stairs* and back to B's door.  Or at least, Blondie made it to the door. Halfway down the hall, my legs declared their secession from the governance of my brain and I found myself on the floor.  Again. In classic fashion, I proceeded to crawl to B's door and sat there like a puppy while Blondie knocked and giggled uncontrollably.  B, unfazed by the picture before him when he oped the door, helped me into a chair in his room while convincing us to imbibe a pretty pink concoction he'd made.  At which point I was handed this awesome silver mug loaded with glowing ice cubes.  I kid you not.  Glowing. Ice. Cubes. Yessssss.

Needless to say I didn't want to share my hoard, and ended up clutching the cup for dear life as I drank the night away.  Great idea.  Meanwhile, Blondie continued to flop around the futon** we were sitting on, periodically making ridiculous gestures and letting out dramatic sighs.  This was going great for her, until B produces yet another cup of glowing cubes. Cue excited squeal and leap off the futon. Insert my hysterical laughter as she smacked her head on the loft bed frame above us and fell back on to the bed.  I'm an awesome friend, I know.

Soon after that, Ice Cream Dude showed up.  Drunk as we were, we could still tell that this guy was trashed.  And Blondie started giving me concerned looks.  Drunk and eating a bowl of ice cream isn't really a good idea.  Especially when you eat it as fast as this guy did.  Because it comes back up just as fast. 

*Everyone in the room happily chattering.  Ice Cream Dude suddenly stands up and looks around after appearing to have passed out in a chair.*
B: Hey man welcome ba-
ICD: H- BLAH!!!  (barfs strawberry pink ice cream all over the carpet.  Wipes mouth, and sits back down)  Ah.
*See: shocked faces from everyone in the room.  We haven't even gotten to the disgust yet.*
B: Dude.
S: Really, man?
Blondie: Ugh.
Me: (because this is a completely normal reaction...not) We need to clean that up before it stains.

Yep. While everyone else was busy processing the absolute gross factor of what had just happened, drunk me dropped to the floor (where else would I be, really) and reached for the paper towels.  Mmmm, barf.  Turns out that when presented with the sight of barf, my natural lean or clean instinct kicks in.  And it talks to me. "Hmm, someone should clean that. Why is no one cleaning that? It should be cleaned. It must be cleaned. Must clean. Clean! CLEAN NOW!"  So I spend the next ten minutes picking up handfuls of barf and spraying Windex (another good idea, I know) on the carpet.  Which B then decided to roll up and send home to his mom to clean.  That poor woman.

Good choices, gang.  Good choices.

*which really was quite a process, you have no idea.
**loft. beds. are. dangerous.