Dorm Crawl.

It is a well established fact, and common knowledge among college students, that dorms are gross.  They are.  Really.  Honestly, sometimes it seems that dorms are actually built on the dust bunnies and urine-vomit-ramen smells that overwhelm the halls. With such a high level of "yuck" going on, it's hard to believe that anyone would even live there in the first place. So who in their right mind would go crawling through the hallways on hands and knees making the most ridiculous noises ever heard?? Me and Blondie.  Who else.

When freshman year was winding down, Blondie insisted that we do some spring cleaning. On a Friday.  Lame, right? WRONG.  This little bout of dirt-phobia brought about the discovery of several mini bottles of alcohol that we had stowed away earlier in the year.  Being the awesome good kids that we were, we had decided not to drink those little shooters before.  But after cleaning, we found that we had a fairly significant stash for two small, non-drinkers like ourselves. And it being a Friday*, we came to the mutual decision to say "fuck it" and kick those suckers back.  Except we did this at around 8pm **. And lived two doors down from our RA.  Good idea, us.  You can pretty much tell from here that the rest of the night was full of good decisions.

After some initial giddiness - and much flopping around the room on our beds and generally flinging ourselves around like mental patients and sustaining a few minor injuries from the corner of my desk and the floor  - we started to get bored.  SOoooo, like any brilliant college students, we brainstormed.

Blondie: What do you want to dooooo?!?!
Me: I don't know, maannnn.  What do you want to do??
Blondie: I don't know.  Any ideas?
Me: I donno. What is there to do?

Brilliant, I know.  But that was a better solution to things than what we decided to do next.

Blondie: I donno.  Let's call someone.
Me: Well, I kind of want to call Sig-O*** and yell at him. (insert angry face that probably looked more like I had to shit)  We kinda had a little fight earlier.
Blondie: OMG.  Let's do it.  I'll help you!  We'll yell at him!
Me: We can yell at him together!!

Cut to me calling up Sig-O, who (thankfully) didn't answer.  At the time, this just made me more mad.

Me: (as the voicemail recording kicks in) Asshole! He didn't answer!
Blondie: What the hell man!
Me:  Now we really have to scream at him!

And scream we did.  For the next five minutes we took turns spitting on my phone as we drunkenly berated him via voicemail.  Needless to say he was not pleased with either of us in the morning.  But alas, even after such an event, our quest for entertainment was not fulfilled.  Still thrilled by the excitement of our recent phone adventure, we decided to call up B to see what he was doing, but once again we were denied an answer.  Luckily, B lived within harassing distance. So, onward we went in search of glory.  Or rather, in search of B.

With balance certainly not intact, we scuttled our way out of our dorm room with arms linked in the classic drunk clutch of death.  Since we didn't want to get caught, we opted to take the stairs down the two flights to B's floor and chose to whisper instead of talk****.  We took the stairs. The STAIRS. Which we both fell down.  Which only caused us to laugh and whisper-shout at each other more than we already were.  By the time we made it to B's floor, our mental capacity for being cautious had been reached.  We opted for outright obnoxiousness instead.

Me and Blondie, in quite impressive unison: (coming out of the door to the stairwell and turning down B's hall) BBBBBBBBBBB!
Blondie: (in this crazy animal sounding voice) B!!!!!!!!
Me: (in the most ridiculous pitch and rasp I can manage) WHERE ARE YOU B!?!?!?!

By this point, we'd finally reached his door.  At which point we started pounding on it like gorillas.  Really.  Two hundred-pound girls can make way more noise than you think.

BANG BANG BANG
Blondie: B GET OUT HERE!!
Me: NoooOOOOOOOooooW!
Blondie: DOOOOOO IT!
Me: B COME OUT AND PLAY!!

Frustrated that our pleas were going unanswered, I began to try the doorknob.  It was locked.  But I kept trying, frantically hoping that B would come out and entertain us.  But I lost my battle with the handle and ended up falling down.  At which point I started banging my head on his door.  Like a weirdo. Yelling "B, where are youuuuuuu." Blondie started giggling hysterically, and eventually the door slowly opened.

Me and Blondie: (as door cracks open) BBBBBB!!!
(Cue the bewildered and slightly frightened face of B's roommate)
S: Um, B's not here. 
Me: WHaaaatttt!
Blondie: Where is he?!?!
S: I have no idea, but he went out to some party.  Call him. (shuts door with a face that says you-people-are-fucking-insane)

So, still on the floor, I began crawling down the hallway back toward the staircase, while Blondie wobbled after me, leaning heavily on the wall.  Just before we reached the staircase door, the RA for B's floor came around the corner.  Realizing my position, I had a flash of brilliance.


Me: (suddenly squinting at the floor) UGH!  Where is my freaking earring?!
RA: (not looking convinced) Are you ok?
Me: (looking up, dusty and bleary eyed.  insert smile) Yep, I'm fine.  I jussssst can't find my earring.  It dropped here somewhere.
RA: Oh.  Do you want some help?
Blondie: No! No.  We're fine. She'll find it. (insert best kindergarten smile)
RA: MM ok... (walks away)

Honestly, we couldn't have looked worse, but somehow we managed to convince ourselves that we looked sober and had fooled this RA.  Which I know we hadn't.  But he didn't seem to care. Which worked for us.  And gave us a god-complex as we headed back to our room to regroup.


Apparently God laughs like two drunk, maniacal teenage girls.


*It was also one of those rare days when Blondie didn't have a shitton of work to do.  Which was RARE.
**A notoriously boring hour.
***If you're still behind the times, Sig-O is my boyfriend.  "Sig"nificant "O"ther.  Get it?  Good. Glad we're on the same page.
***Because we decided whispering would make us appear more sober to any passersby.  Logical, I know.