All I want to do is eat my cheezy bread.

When I was a freshman at IU I went the random roommate route. It's a risky thing to do. Luckily, my roommate and suitemates, as long with a few others I met the first week of school, became my best friends in college, and continue to be now. My roommate, who we will refer to as Swan, and I were instant best friends. The suitemates, who we will call Dilo and Peter (I'll explain why the name Peter later), I took a little while to grow on. In fact I remember being really drunk at a party a few months into the semester, falling to my knees and laying my head in Dilo's lap only for her to rub my head and say "I like you. I really didn't think I would." This was news to me, but it seemed to turn out in my favor so I went with it. Peter has recently told me she was prepared to hate me when she met me. I'm glad it all worked out in the end.

While I intend to explain everyone in more detail in the future, right now, you just need knowledge of the fact they exist.

Sophomore year, after lots of consideration and parents saying we had to, we were spending another year in the dorms. They probably thought it was safer, but really we just had easier access to each other, and since this time we went to an upperclassman dorm, alcohol. Not that we had a problem with finding alcohol freshman year. 

One night, after normal debaucherous activity ensued, we decided the only way to continue on would be to consume pizza. So we ordered said pizza, probably accompanied by the sophomore year staple of cheesy bread from Mad Mushroom, but that's neither here nor there. We waited for what felt like the appropriate amount of time, then went downstairs to wait the rest of the time because we were drunk and antsy. I'm pretty sure our entire college career we had absolutely no concept of time.

For some reason, both dorms we lived in were in the shape of an X and had all sorts of secret hallways to explore, so I of course broke off from the group to wander aimlessly. I was always disappearing and coming back with random things. One tequila fueled night freshman year I appeared with a full size ladder. I wasn't able to explain where I had found it, but we took pictures with it, and I took it back to wherever it came from. 

This time I was in some random hall in the basement when I found it. The most amazing discovery my fermented self could behold: the giant 4 1/2' tall 6' long wooden 'Welcome to Eigenmann' sign. During welcome week, all the dorms have these huge signs out front to help poor little freshmen find their way.  This thing was outrageously big and heavy. Probably so people won't steal it.

It had to be mine. 

I decide to drag it along with me for the rest of my journey. So here I am, five foot four and stumbling along with this ginormous sign. How did I not immediately run into anyone who would make me stop? Well  two RA's are assigned to the entire 14 floors of the dorm on weekends. Not that the ones that are around can't help, they just don't have to be there. They are able to gallivant freely.  On this particular night our normal boy floor RA was also the weekend RA.  We had co-ed floors so we had a guy and girl RA. We knew it was his shift this weekend because right before we headed down to find nourishment a random, confused boy bleeding from his head ran by our room and down the stairs. Soon followed our RA, whose walkie talkie was going crazy, who asked us if we saw a random confused bleeding boy.  Things were going well for him that night.

I wish I could say our knowledge of his other distractions was the reason we did the things we did without worrying about getting caught, but it wasn't. We had mostly forgotten all about the random bleeding man by the time we got to the main floor.

Anyways, I continue wandering the basement with my new favorite thing, and when I get to the middle common area DiLo, Peter, and Swan are coming down the stairs toward me with the pizza and possible cheesy bread.  It's possible other people were with them/us this evening, but I can't recall for certain.  Their reactions all move seamlessly and simultaneously from: 'thank god we found you' to 'we have pizza' to 'what the fuck is that thing you are dragging around and where did you get it,' and finally to 'the thing you have is amazing how do we keep it forever?'

We decide the best way to keep it forever is to take it on the elevator to one of our rooms on the 11th floor.

The elevator is big, but the sign is bigger. We decide this isn't a good enough reason for it to not be in the elevator.  We spend 5 minutes (could be 1, could be 30, remember, no concept of time) with the elevator trying to shut on us to get this thing in the elevator, all sorts of angles, attempted brute force, the works. We are convinced if we keep trying there will be a way. Also, how the hell do they get this thing in and out of the building?!

Then suddenly, Peter, as loud as she can starts yelling "abort! abort!" which causes us all to stare at her with confusion as we continue trying to jam this thing into the elevator. Then we see our RA. This slightly overweight not very muscular man somehow rips the sign out of our hands and out of the corner of the elevator we had wedged it into in one fail swoop, I'm pretty sure only using one hand.

It was amazing. Like when a man picks up a car to save a baby. Or seeing a unicorn. 

Anyways, the fact that he knew us did not help things at all. We all stood with our backs pressed against the back of the elevator while he stands in the doorway outright yelling at us.  He can't believe it is his floor that is pulling this shit, he never found the poor bleeding boy, we knew there was shit going down what is our problem? We are scared, because we have never seen more than the normal annoyed face and occasional crappy comment from him.

Well, Dilo wasn't scared.

This is when Dilo, completely straight faced and serious says "but we didn't do anything." Not sarcastically, but wholeheartedly. She had actually forgotten that we stole the sign and were trying to shove it into the elevator. She just wanted this dude to stop being a jerk so we could go eat our pizza and possible cheesy bread.

This stuns angry RA into silence, and makes Swan, Peter and I laugh uncontrollably. Dilo is just annoyed with us because she doesn't know what's so funny, and this guy is being a dick. The RA tells us to go to our rooms and don't let him see us again or we will probably get kicked out of the dorm or some other threat of equal proportions.

So we do, and the next day the RA comes and apologizes for being so mean He isn't well liked and can't have the entire floor hating him, so when he reprimanded us, whether it was deserved or not, he usually apologized after.

A month later we get a knock on the door. Apparently, the Welcome to Eigenmann sign has been stolen, and they want to know if we have it.  We sadly tell them we do not but asked if they could let us know how the person did it when they are found.

I couldn't find a picture of  the real Eigenmann sign. Probably because it was stolen.

GPS-gate, an update.

So, because inquiring minds want to know (read: no one, but everyone at my dad's house is asleep and I am bored) I decided to update my faithful follower(s) on what happened after I left the smallest Starbucks in the world.

I got to the 90 mile long road between me and Chicago, turned off the GPS to conserve batteries. I turned it back on near Merrillville aka near where I need to know what is about to go down.  It told me to take a road I am pretty sure I've never taken to go to Chicago before. Since I was 6 I have taken the same route to get to my dad's house in Chicago, more often than not with said dad.

I am skeptical.

I ask GPS #2 The Backup what it thinks. It says listen to GPS #1.

I drive 5-7 more miles ignoring both GPSii (plurals with i are so much cooler than s so we are doing that now) expecting it to recalibrate, but it keeps telling me to turn around.

I do.

I am now en-route to the Skyway, though not aware it is the Skyway. For those of you unfamiliar with Chicagoland, Skyway is expensive as balls. Anyways, I am skeptical, but who am I to question 2 GPSii made by 2 different companies? Besides, thanks to previous incidences on my way to dad's house that could only be fixed by beer I am the proud owner of an I-pass. The tolls are no match for me.

After a while GPS #1 tells me the truth--I am on the Skyway. I panic. The Skyway is what, a million dollars a car? Oh look! An exit...into Gary, fuck it, Gary isn't a million dollars, I'll deal with it.

I check the map app on my phone, then call my dad while exiting the Skyway into Gary (so many things wrong there). The map app on the phone says 'bitch, get off the Skyway, that shit's expensive.' Immediately I call my dad. It goes like this:

Dad: *dad joke*

Me: Dad, GPS made me go on the Skyway, but it was an accident. I'm in Gary now.

Dad: Leave Gary, why didn't you call me?

Me: I was being a grown up. And GPS #2 The Backup backed up GPS $1. I'm over being a grown up now. My phone called me a stupid bitch.

Dad: Are you out of Gary? And do you still have your I-pass? PS we need to check if that is still registered to me.

Me: What?!

Dad: It's fine, we will figure it out later.

Me: ...

Dad: Are you out of Gary?

Me: Skyway is expensive. But so far I-pass is working at least.

Dad: It is $3.

Me: Skyway it is.

So I get back on the Skyway, only going in the wrong direction. So I go even further out of my way, and turn around. Then, while the GPS #1 is laughing at me, it decides it is tired and completely abandons me in my time of need.

I look to GPS #2 The Backup for help--it's tired too. It was a long trip. My phone still thinks I'm a bitch. Luckily, the road Skyway turns into can take me through the city and to where I know what the fuck is going on. So I finally get to where I know what the fuck is going on, and I turn the wrong way.

Eventually I did get to my dad's, only to remember I forgot his birthday present, at the liquor store. I was going to get beer from a local brewery from my town that he inquired about while helping me move. Oops. He assures me it's the thought that counts.  I tell him I almost ran into famous rap star 50 Cent with my car. I'm not positive about this, but a Cadillac in front of me with a license plate that says 'G UNIT' decided to go from 70 to slamming on the brakes because it's fun, causing me to fishtail. Sounds like 50 Cent to me, he seems like a nice guy, but not a great driver.

As usual, thanks to Chicago driving shenanigans, I need a beer.

...And from this point on I will forever be known as the Tomato Caper...

I am bad at dating. Really bad. Mostly because I don't really take it seriously, or care that much about or for it. It is uncomfortable and weird, and how does anyone know how to act? One day I will find someone who is as laid back as I am about the situation and everything will work out and I will end up in a real relationship because we were having too much fun to worry about the weird stuff. And we will still be two completely separate people. None of that two become one bullshit, it doesn't make sense and sounds terrible. *and tangent over. sorry, kids* But, until then, I am what I am. I spend most my life in the grey area between friends with benefits and dating. I am comfortable there. It is my home, as well as a place for many-a awkward stories.

 And if there is one thing I've learned it is that awkward stories cannot be kept to myself. Like Christmas cheer, awkwardness is best when told loud enough for all to hear.

 And, since there is no better place to start than the middle, I will start with a first date fiasco from when I was 20. I would also like to add the disclaimer for when in this or future stories you ask yourself 'why would that possibly be her next move': when in doubt, I just make things really awkward. Sometimes on purpose, sometimes it just happens. Awkwardness amuses me, and when all is lost I figure it may as well be funny.

On that note-when I was 20 I went on a date with a boy that everyone told me not to go on a date with. Not only did everyone who we mutually know tell me to not date him, they gave me specific reasons as to why he is a terrible person I should never go near. So, as any sane girl would do, I made a date with him immediately. I needed this man in my life. None of this is really important, for this specific story, but he was around for a few months, and was as terrible of a person as all foretold, so there are inevitably more stories to come.

The date was a normal date. Dinner, awkward get to know you conversation, realizing everyone who actually knows this man is wrong, he can't be a terrible person, he is so charming. After dinner we went to meet his friends at a bar for a drink, which I thought was amazing, as I was 20 and had snuck into a bar all of two times before this. (I can't believe the old 'I didn't bring my ID, it's on my counter, would you like me to take the 20 minute trek home to get it? Because I totally will.' excuse worked. Summertime in a college town, they probably needed the business.)

I was cool as a cucumber.

Boy's friends: "Hi, nice to meet you. How are you?" 

Me: (not 10 feet from the bouncer) "OMG I'M IN A BAR AND I'M ONLY 20! THIS IS SO COOL!" 

Boy's friends: *awkward looks in bouncer's direction* 

Me: "AHHAHAHAHAHAAH OH YAH, I FORGOT! IT IS MY BIRTHDAY. I AM SO SILLY." all probably entirely over enunciated and I was undoubtedly staring directly at the bouncer.

Boy: "Yeah. Ok. How about I get us some beer?"

This is where everything went wrong.

See, someone suggested a friendly chugging contest. The problem? I can chug faster than you. Faster than everyone, except for my friend's fiance who beat me by a half a second. Turns out charming men who are bad for you, and their friends, don't like getting beaten at things like chugging contests. While they all had a half beer left when I was done they were convinced it was a fluke. Girls don't beat them in things. We had to try again. And again, and again. I don't know how many times.

I know most people would have either politely declined or lost on purpose, but not me. One reason is because I had some face to save after the I'm 20 and in a bar debacle. Another is my pride. I am not very good at many things. Because of this I am this weird competitive hybrid of usually a great sport and not competetive at all until there is a slight chance I may actually win at which point I get so hyper-competitive that everyone gets really confused and probably a little weirded out. This is one case where I am always good. So I am always hyper-competitive.

So after a day of being nervous about a date and probably not eating a lot, and throwing the equivalent to a medium body of water of beer into my body in about 10 minutes, I was freshman girl at a frat party during welcome week drunk, only on a first date in front of his friends. At least they respected my mad skills. 

From this point on the story is comprised of hear-say, a few hazy moments of memory in a sea of what i like to call 'blacked the fuck out and classy', and the story boy told me after the classic moment of asking your date what exactly happened on your first date.

After an unknown amount of time at the bar, the boy and I--and anywhere from one to all of his friends from the bar--go to his house. I am pretty sure I picked up a British accent somewhere on the way home, but this was before Britney and Madonna did the same so it wasn't weird. We get home, apparently continue to drink, because nothing says successful first date like alcohol poisoning. I spill on myself and ask for a new shirt, I assume politely since the Brits are polite people.

Boy brings me a shirt. I put on shirt. Don't like shirt. Demand a sandwich.

Boy orders sandwich. Gives me water. I clearly need water.

I pour water on myself because I want a different shirt. I assume I thought slyly, boy assures me I basically looked him in the eye and dumped it on myself.

Boy gets me new shirt. I don't like new shirt. Pour water on new shirt. This happens at least one more time. 

Sandwich gets to boy's house, he gives me sandwich and tells me to go pick a shirt I want. I go to his room, sandwich in hand. I come out of his room in a shirt I like, suspiciously sans sandwich. I was only in the room for less than a minute, I didn't eat it.

Boy asks where my sandwich is. I ask 'what sandwich' and get another beer. Boy looks for sandwich. Sandwich is never found. There are, however, tomatoes in the hallway. This is the only evidence there ever was a sandwich. I am quickly deemed 'tomato caper.'

The next morning I wake up nose to nose with him on his couch, wearing only the shirt that was apparently suitable enough for the British royalty in my blood that can be found in the bottom of a bottle. I freak out, and this is the one and only time in my life, I had to ask if I slept with him. 

He laughed so hard I fell off the couch.

I guess after I embodied my new non British persona of tomato caper, we quickly found tomato caper's weakness is an inability to hold booze, because I got sick. Massive amounts of sick. I asked for a toothbrush, brushed said teeth, and then fell asleep before I was completely on the couch. It is unclear if I was trying to get onto the couch with him, or just hug him, but tomato caper sleeps where tomato caper falls.

I should have known something was wrong with him when he both seemed legitimately amused with me and dated me for 4 months after this.

4 days later he called to tell me the sandwich was found. One bite taken out, open faced, in the middle of a pile of clean laundry in a laundry basket. Tomato caper is an asshole.

Let the blogging begin!

Alright.

Time to start my blog.

Why is it time to start my blog? Because I have not one, but 2 functioning GPSes that have just been randomly given to me in the last month, yet they are both dead because my car decided it absolutely cannot charge things anymore. I have no idea where I am. For some reason the lighter thingy has enough energy to make the chords light up to indicate that they work, but not enough to actually make things work.

Tricky bastard.

So, I am at the world's smallest Starbucks on Black Friday, sitting at the bar right next to where they are making lattes because this is where the only plug in the building happens to be located. With my GPSes (sp? You know what, I don't care) plugged into my computer.  That's right, both GPSes. I feel like a hoarder. But better a hoarder than a confused ginger lost in downtown Chicago with dead GPSes.

My computer needs plugged in because its battery also has stopped working. Nothing I have is allowed to be charged. So now not only am I the weird girl with sweatpants on and a million dead electronics all around me that are plugged into each other, but I am also front and center basically touching the poor baristas who are exhausted from all the shoppers AND annoyed that I am taking up all the counter space in the building.

To people who don't know me, this may sound extreme. To people that do know me this sort of thing is expected. In fact, this isn't even a relatively interesting situation.

Life is confusing, and I have yet to figure out how to properly work it. My instructions never came. I am incredibly resourceful, but only because I need to be to survive. In the same way that I have the reflexes of a wild cat. I can catch anything that falls without trying. Not because I am awesome, but because I am clumsy and uncoordinated and have no depth perception to speak of. So if I didn't develop amazing reflexes, I would have no things. And I like things. 

Well now that I am hopped up on enough caffeine to appease the baristas who I am basically on top of, what else can I say convince you reading my blog will turn out to be what is missing in your life? I have candy in my rickety van! 

Ok, I don't. I don't have candy. Or a van. 

Well, how about I stop while I'm ahead. The baristas look hungry anyways, so I should probably go. Because I'm not sure what species of the animal kingdom baristas belong to, or if they are friendly veggies or carnivores. I should know, because at my second job I actually am a barista, but I don't.

Alright, off i go. I will follow this with a post about an awkward hookup or something of the like.

Happy Black Friday!