Vending Machine Woes

So I'm sitting in school today (Saturday) half-heartedly making note cards for my Property final and reminiscing about yesterday's shenanigans, when I realize how unbelievably thirsty I am.  While the ten beers and two mixed drinks from last night have led to a surprisingly hangover-free morning, the remnants of last night's drinking binge has manifested itself in today's unquenchable thirst.

I decide to wander down  the hall to the vending machines. I ponder my choice of beverage for a good ten minutes or so, and narrow down my options to a Glacier Freeze Gatorade or a Vitamin Water.  Since I've already drunk 1 Gatorade already this morning, I decide that the water would be a more prudent choice. Also, drinking something infused with vitamins makes me feel healthy and in a way, counteracts the damage done to my body from drinking a case of beer and smoking a pack of cigarettes.  So I swipe my credit card and hit A3. The drink is nudged forward, and then... NOTHING. 

It is stuck in the machine.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" I yell as I dramatically collapse against the machine, my arms wrapped around it in an awkward embrace.

The study group next to me peers around the corner; curious.

"My drink... it's... Stuck!!" 

They don't care. They just want me to shut up. Well I won't. This drink must come out. Are the vending machine Gods not watching over me today??? Do they not see my parched lips and unbridled thirst? 

I start heaving myself against the machine.  Trick of the trade. Unfortunately, the machine is in a hallway, so I can't get much of a running start. My mind flashes back to an email that was sent out by administration a few weeks ago, warning students not to bang on the machines when the drinks are stuck. I look up. Am I on camera?? Probably. But I'm soooo sooo thirsty. Taped onto the vending machine is a disclaimer, presumably in response to the number of drinks that get stuck in these machines. It reads:  "In the event that your beverage gets stuck, please go down to the school cafe and fill out a Reimbursement Form". 

2 Problems:  it is Saturday and  the school store is closed, and THEY DON'T SELL VITAMIN WATER.

Despite my best efforts, the drink is still in the machine. I had to give up. The reason the drink is stuck in the first place is due to a complete and utter design defect. The glass on the face of the machine needs to be pushed out 1-2 inches, because the drinks don't have enough room to fall down.  I must find who manufactured these faulty contraptions, and write to them immediately. If your sole job is to make vending machines, shouldn't it me of the utmost importance to determine whether the dimensions are correct for proper vending?? 

Out of spite, I refuse to put any more money into ANY of the machines in this school today. I will have to nurse what is left (about 2 sips) of my Zephyrhills water bottle for the next four hours.

Awkward Hookup Story # 1

I've had more than my fair share of embarrassing fleeting encounters with random guys in my younger, sluttier days. Before I knew the high risks of contracting an STD, and was not privy to the information that you could kill an unborn foetus with a swift kick to the uterus. Now I am older and wiser, but look back on this time in my life with just a bit of nostalgia.

I have decided to tell this series of "Awkward Hookups" one at a time, and sporadically, in a half-hearted attempt to somehow diffuse my promiscuity. And with the hopes that some young gent may still be interested afterwards (Inquire within).

One night a few years ago, I was stumbling back to my college apt. in the wee hours of the morning. I had been at a friend's house in the neighborhood and, despite advice to the contrary from my friends, assumed I would be able to make it home alright (it was approximately a 3 minute walk). At the home stretch, I spotted a neighbor of mine, standing on his porch smoking a cigarette. Well, everybody is a friend when you're wasted at 4am, so I (not so gracefully) ventured over to say hello.

Lets just say this: he gave me a cigarette... one thing led to another, and before I knew it I was in his bedroom. I tried to justify my being there in a number of ways:

• He was generous! (gave me a cigarette)
• Smart! (in college)
• Attractive! (he's not smaller than me; I'm just wearing heels).

However, as soon as my shirt was off, I already regretted being there. Oh, what I would have given to be in my nice, big bed... alone. However, I was already past the point of no return- read: pants on the floor, I didn't want to be a rude house guest (he invited me in), and he seemed kind of into it ( I could have replaced my own body with a pool flotation device and he wouldn't have known the difference).

Morning came; and as the daylight always tends to do, brought feelings of remorse. What is it about the darkness that makes me think I am hot/not slutty/ want a random hookup??

It was early and I wanted to leave, preferably without having to wake "him" (name still unknown) from his alcohol-induced state. Unfortunately, this posed a bevy of problems.

All I was wearing was a sock and a gold hoop earring. With the dark eyeliner smudged under my eyes, I'd say that I looked something akin to Johnny Depp in Pirates of the Caribbean.

Ughhhhhhh, where the fuck are my clothes?? Pan right: more horror- you are not even attractiveeeee. God, I suck. This was not my low point, however.

I was trying to quietly navigate down the side of his bed looking for stray items of clothing while still covering myself with his sheet (is there any point to being modest in the morning??) when there was a loud rap at the door.

Girl: "Bryyyyyyyyyyan" (presumably unknown male next to me)

Bryan: Audible groan.

Girl: "Bryyyyyyan, are you in there?"

Bryan bolts up with a look of horror on his face.

Me: Who is that?

Bryan: My girlfriend.

!?!?!?!?!

So Bryan starts freaking out. "I need you to climb out the window", he says.

Me: "What, no way".

Bryan: "Please, please", he begged. "She can't see you".

The girl is still knocking but he has silenced her with a story about a bad hangover and a promise of Belgian Waffles.

At this point, what I should have done was told him to go fuck himself, walked out his bedroom door, through the living room, and outside. However, the thought of marching through the living room in nothing but a hoop earring and a sock in front of god knows who (remember, these are my neighbors) sounded worse than the alternative.

Me: Oh my goddddd, I can't believe I'm doing this.

Bryan: Thank You, like, seriously.

Me: I feel like fucking Joey Potter.

Bryan: She is going to break up with meeeee.

Me: Where is the ladder?

Bryan: What? We're on the first floor (obviously not a Dawson's Creek fan).

With as much self-dignity as I could muster, I tumbled out the window and landed in the bushes. I had managed to find my jeans and tank top under his bed. It was broad daylight on a Saturday morning and I just wanted as few people to see me as possible. I didn't even have house keys, so I ended up having to sit outside and wait for my roommates for 2 hours. Needless to say, I spent the rest of the semester avoiding Bryan at all costs. I'm pretty sure that his girlfriend never found out, because I saw them together a bunch of times.

April 15

Today is tax day. This means nothing to me, because I don't do my own taxes and my yearly income hovers somewhere around the $900 mark. However, on my way to school today I heard that Dunkin' Donuts is giving away a FREE donut with the purchase of any hot coffee for today only. Now, while I won't be there, I urge my fellow readers to go. Not necessarily to get a free donut, but to observe on the type of people who are getting free donuts. I would like to know whether my Donut Theory holds true regardless of whether the donuts are being sold or given away.

Donut Theory

I am convinced that there are only two, narrowly defined classes of people that can get away with eating donuts.
1. Very Fat People
2. Very Skinny People.

Now, I tend to fall somewhere in the middle and thus, am banned, by my own stringent standards, from eating donuts.

The other day my theory was severely tested. I woke up on Saturday morning, hungover, and in need of a ride to my car. I called Law School Friend # 1, who promised she would be there within minutes. True to her word, she arrived shortly thereafter. In the car I expressed my strong desire for a Dunkin' Donuts ham egg and cheese bagel, and an iced coffee.

"Ohhhh, you're going to Dunkin Donuts. Could you do me a huge favor, and get me a Boston Cream?? I'll give you the money for it".

First of all, I hate donuts and would never order one for myself. But this is not the issue. The issue is that I am neither fat enough nor skinny enough to buy a donut. If I was morbidly obese it would be acceptable. Donuts, along with acrylic nails, would be one of my only true forms of pleasure. On the other hand, if I were thin as a rail, then it really wouldn't matter how many donuts I was eating.

"Oh my god, pleeeeeeeeeeease don't make me do this", I begged.

"Why, what's the big deal"?? She just didn't get it, because she falls into class #2 of acceptable donut-eaters, (the skinny kind).

If I were to order a donut, (in addition to my already substantial order) I would be subjecting myself to unnecessary criticism from both the DD employee and the other customers in line. While I am not fat, I am certainly not skinny enough to unself-consciously order a donut without the people in line thinking , "wow that girl does not need to be eating donuts". If she wasn't such a good friend, I would have undoubtedly refused this request. Unfortunately, I knew how much she wanted the donut and didn't have the heart to say no.

I was worrying about the donut order all the way up to the register. And, as always tends to happen to me, the only other customer in line was a hot 20-something male. Just my luck. So I put in my order (sans donut).

"Is there anything else I can get you today"? Asked the male behind the counter.

"Ummmmmmmm". (Now what I was planning to do was take out a piece of paper out of my pocket and pretend that I was reading off of a list, so that it would definitely look like I was getting donuts for somebody else. Unfortunately, this trick doesn't really fly when the "list" consists of only one item"). My other alternative was to say:

"Yeah, I'm going to need a Boston Cream please". By using the term "need", you are implying that the item is not for yourself. It works in many contexts. For example, "I am going to need 5 lamb shanks", or "I am going to need 4 cans of eggshell white paint". Both phrases connote the idea that the said item is not for yourself, but for somebody else, or perhaps the greater good.

Instead, I just turned red with embarrassment and said nothing. He repeated his question. I glanced over at the hottie next to me, who seemed completely disinterested in my order at this point.

"Yeah, actuallyyyyyyy", I was almost whispering at this point. "Could I get a Boston Cream?"

"I'm sorry, could you speak up"??

"A Boston Cream", I hissed. My blood pressure at this point was just about off the charts.

It was at this moment that the guy next to me turned and gave me a FULL BODY SIZE-UP of my figure. I swear to God. Judgment!

I grabbed the donut, the bagel and the coffee, and made a run for it. My stress level had caused me to squash the donut with my trembling, nervous hands; and by the time it found its way to LSF #1 it looked like a big sugary mess. She didn't care though. She loves donuts. The whole experience has only served to reaffirm my belief; that I cannot, and never will be able to eat donuts.

I'm a Failure.

So you know that old saying, "I gave up drinking, smoking, and having sex, and it was the worst 5 minutes of my life"? I find this quote to be very applicable to my life at the moment. Well, besides the fact that I have been in the thralls of an eight month dry spell and am not emotionally ready to give up smoking. So okay, I guess this quote only applies to me in the context of drinking.

You may or may not know that last weekend, I made a pact with myself to give up drinking until finals were over, (mid-May). Well that lasted a day and a half; a pathetic run even with my track record. It was a bad idea and one that I should have known better than to think I could accomplish. On Monday evening, I went out to dinner with the best intentions of drinking water and eating a salad.

Somewhere between asking for a table at the bar and requesting to see a drink menu I got derailed, ending up consuming two double-tall vodka tonics and mauling down some (delicious) steak quesadillas.

My critical error was in my choice of venue; Chilli's. Its close proximity to my front door and all day two-for-one drinks makes it a red flag for the slippery slope to falling off the wagon. Not to mention the fact that the wait staff are real pushers when it comes to ordering doubles. They like promoting the double drinks because a) they are more expensive and lead to a higher tab and b) theoretically, the customer drinking the double tall is going to drink more slowly than if drinking a single, thus creating less work for the waiter/waitress. This doesn't always seem to be the case; however.

The waitress comes to the table and I put in my drink order; vodka tonic with a lime.

"Would you like to make that a double"? she asks.

"A double?!?" I shout, incredulously. (keep in mind it is Monday, finals are looming, and I have only just decided to jump back on the liquor train).

"Yes", she began patiently. "A double is when we put two shots in the glass instead of bringing you two normal drinks one at a time".

"I know what a double is", you moron. I wasn't raised by wolves. "Fine fine, bring me a double" I barked. She was testing my patience.

Long story short, I finished my first "double" in about 2.2 seconds, and beckoned her back to the table before she could scamper off into the Chilli's waiter abyss.

Bottom Line: Chilli's has sneaky sales tactics and I can't say no to alcohol.

If You Like This..

If you find this blog entertaining at all, then add it to your favorites because if you're already here, you probably got the link off of my facebook profile.

I can't keep that link up on facebook for privacy reasons (namely my mom) and I am preparing to do a series of stories on awkward hookups, so I really would prefer to not have the link on my profile.

If You're Gonna Run a Red Light, Don't Cut Off a Cop While Doing It

My last post reminded me of something that happened to me the other week.

I wish I could say that this is about some random idiot-driver, but, unfortunately it is about my idiot-self.

The stoplight to make a left turn into my apartment complex takes an eternity. While I don't know how many minutes it lasts exactly, I know some things I have done while sitting there, like... eat an entire bag of pistachios, listen to two songs on the radio, get harassed by my father about my dire financial situation, and send a string of harassing text messages to an unnamed recipient.

On the average, I would say that I run this red light about 50% of the time. And when I say "run" the light, I don't mean that the light was changing from yellow to red and I speed through at the last second. I mean that I sit for about 20 seconds or so in contemplation deciding if
a) I care if the car behind me will think I'm a total asshole (bc usually it is one of my neighbors) and
b) If there is any chance somebody in a position of authority will see me.

The reason that I run this light at all is because there are rarely any cars coming in the other direction. Ideally, this would be the perfect spot for a flashing red arrow. Some days I will just sit, with no cars coming in either direction, like a scene out of the Truman show.

On this particular day of my traffic violation, I was in somewhat of a hurry because I was about to embark upon a three hour journey, and just wanted to drop some stuff of at my house. I sat there for a minute or so, then decided to gun it. There was only one car coming in the other direction, and it was pretty far away. Plus, what were the chances of it being a cop?? High, I guess. Because the second after I made the turn, I saw my fatal error.

"FUUUUUUUUUUUUCK" I yelled out. I thought I was in the clear, though, because (and I'm not sure why) I have always believed that there is some sort of "home base" immunity which would entirely preclude me from liability. I don't know why I have ever thought this. I guess you just rarely see people getting pulled over in their own driveways. So I speed through my neighborhood, thinking that if I can pull in and park the cop won't be sure which car is mine and I can deny ever being in it at all. (the R.Kelly sex video comes to mind at this point) Wrong. Sure enough, as I am about to pull into my PPS (prime parking spot) the cop flies in like a bat out of hell, lights blaring. So yeah, I got pulled over directly in front of my apartment.

All I could do was laugh at my own stupidity.

Cop: Didn't see me there, did ya?

Me: Uhhhhh nope, guess not!" (would I have done that if I had?)

Cop: Are you in a rush to get somewhere?

Now, this would have been the perfect chance to use the old "shit my pants" trick that everybody talks about but nobody ever really uses. I just didn't have the balls.

Me: Well, I mean, I'm kind of in a rush. See, I have to drive to Tallahassee today to pick up my sister...

Cop: (cuts me off) License and registration please.

I have never gotten a ticket before, and for some reason just knew I wouldn't on this day either. It is not due to my overwhelming charm (some say I'm actually not charming at all) but for some reason I always get the impression that cops think I look like I don't have enough money to afford the ticket, and will end up subjecting them to more problems than if they didn't give me one in the first place.

My instincts were correct. He returned to my car, saying that I was getting off with a warning. I stopped listening after that because I was so thrilled. All I heard were snippets of him talking about an urgent 911 call, a $180 dollar fine, and how by running the red light I had fucked up the light cycle for everybody else.

Undercover Cop Cars

Is it just me, or are there a multitude of Constitutional rights being violated by allowing cops to patrol in undercover vehicles?? There is something inherently wrong with an undercover cop driving a brand new champagne colored Jeep Cherokee which one moment is just another car on the road, and the next is lit up with blue and red lights like the inside of fucking Studio 54. Imagine how pissed of you would be getting pulled over by one of these cars? My hometown is famous for this. I always feel sorry for the poor sucker that is taking a field sobriety test in front of a cop driving a Mini-Cooper. I refuse to pull over for anything less than a government issued, law-enforcement vehicle.

If the cops are so intent on going stealth mode, at least put them in something that slightly resembles the classic Crown Victoria. Like a Lincoln. Or a Mercury. Not a white Mustang Convertible. I'm sorry, but when I see this car on the road, I automatically assume that it's occupied by a high-school cheerleader giving road-head to her boyfriend; not the deputy sheriff issuing speeding tickets.

I think that this practice should be banned. It is sneaky and malicious; not to mention the fact that the police force seem to do a good enough job with their overstaffed fat-ass employees driving around in marked vehicles without throwing us for a loop with this bullshit. When I get pulled over, I would like to know that it is at least legit. I mean, can I put lights on the inside of my dumpy Civic and start making citizens arrests? I sure as hell know that I've seen some shit going down in cars before that should not be legal. Like the time I saw a girl blowing lines off the dash at a stop sign. Lets call in the undercovers on this one, boys!

Hey, That's Not a Backpack!

There is an odd trend which is sweeping my law school at the moment. Whether it is specific to my school in particular, my geographic location, (Florida is hot and your shoulders get sweaty?), or the upper echelons of academia in general is yet to be known. Students, and more than a slight minority, are using suitcases as backpacks. Suitcases! Like the kind that comes off of the conveyor belt at LAX when you are on a two week vacation. I am honestly baffled every single day when I enter school, as to what practical purpose a suitcase serves as transportation for you books and laptop. What happened to the good old classic two-shoulder backpack?? There is a reason that it has been around for so long. Because it works! You don't see people going around looking for an alternative to forks and plates. Why fuck up a good thing?

First of all, the suitcase is entirely impractical. Sure, it has wheels and an extendable handle which is convenient for long walks (ie Terminal A to baggage claim). But my school is by no means large, extends vertically rather than horizontally, and the most one can walk is about 20 paces before reaching an elevator, or some other folly which causes the suitcase holder to have to readjust their stance/grip on the handle.

What really kills me is watching people with suitcases take the stairs in the library. Our library is three floors, without elevators, so it is entirely impossible to avoid them. And, since the suitcase-holders tend to be more studious than the rest (or are just fooling us all) they tend to flock in disproportionately higher numbers to the library. When ascending or descending the stairs, the student wielding the suitcase essentially has two options:

1. Lift up the suitcase like a small child and carry it up/down the stairs.

2. Tote it behind you as it clunks painfully down the stairs and causes a ruckus.

Obviously, option #2 is the more popular option. If you are so lazy that you have to wheel around 3 books, then you're sure as hell not going to defeat the purpose by physically carrying the suitcase up the stairs.

Secondly, WHAT THE FUCK IS IN YOUR CASE?? I mean, who are you trying to fool? We all take the same classes. We all have 5 books, give or take, and maybe a laptop. The school is equipped with an unnecessary amount of lockers for this purpose; and this purpose only. The only reason I could possibly foresee bringing a suitcase at the school is if you were planning to have a sleepover in the library. And who the fuck is going to do that??

For once, I would like to see somebody with a suitcase actually using it for its intended purpose. How about bringing a change of clothes? Wear a suit to school, decide spontaneously (or not, because you already planned ahead) to change into gym clothes because you are being choked by your lapel. Maybe even smuggle some around some Mexican immigrants (just be sure to leave a few inches unzipped for air). I bet you could fit at least 3 small children or two malnourished men in there.

Or maybe you could bring a picnic. But not just a normal picnic, a feast! Like the Last Supper! You could open up your suitcase and inside would be a portable Coleman stove and a Panini maker. That's where it's at. It would be the veritable travelling cafe, and you'd certainly be the talk of the school.

Until I hear an argument to the contrary, I will continue to find the suitcase/backpack utterly absurd.

Pact With Myself

I am giving up drinking. At least until my law school exams are over, which falls somewhere around May 14. I came to this decision this morning, as I lay hungover in my bed eating a McDonald's breakfast hash brown and spilling water all over myself because I was too lazy to lift my head to take a sip. I had a transcendental moment, in which I saw myself from outside my own body, and realized what a poor sight it was.

I have never stuck to anything in my life, so this should be a real challenge. Obviously, I will be notably absent from the bar scene for the next five weeks. I lack the will power entirely to sit at the bar sipping on water while my friends get ridiculously drunk. I will likely remain holed up in my apartment on Friday and Saturday nights, but I think it will be a good time for self-reflection and growth (read: watching reality tv and facebook stalking).

Giving up drinking also serves a three-fold purpose:

• I will be cutting out on my "going out" expenditures, which at the current time grossly outweigh all other living costs.
• I will be able to focus more on school, or at least wake up without a hangover.
• I will be able to start losing weight for my optimum summer beach bod. (8 Jack and Cokes racks up an absurd amount of calories).

This is my goal. Don't try and lure me out with promises of gratuitous late-night sex and shenanigans. Drinks on me on May 15th.

Do Guys Like Sloppy Drunks?

Fine, fine. I already know the answer to this question. I have sabotaged many potential relationships with my reckless drinking habit. It's not a problem, per se. But it's not exactly endearing, either. Luckily, I think I have enough redeeming qualities to overshadow this aspect of my lifestyle.

Anyway, last night was rather interesting. I was at a local bar with friends for "a few drinks" (read: it was ladies night and hence free alcohol) when I went outside to make a phone call. The details of what occurred next are hazy; and all that I know is what I have been told by others. One of my friends was sitting in the bar unsure of my whereabouts when she received a call from my phone. It was a cop. He had found me semi-passed out in the bushes. She thought it was a joke. He said that if she didn't come outside right that minute he was going to "take me down to the station". I apparently was saying that all cops are pussies. He wasn't amused. My friend dragged me into a cab. When we got back to my apartment, I refused to get out of the taxi because I thought it was comfortable and wanted to sleep in it. The meter was still running.

I woke up covered in mulch and it is still all over my bed.

Is This Deranged??

Sometimes I do or think things that may or may not be completely psychotic. Maybe you can be the judge.

I like to visualize my own funeral when I'm going to sleep at night because it makes me cry and I can fall asleep faster. This is something that I have done for years. It began innocently enough, where I would just picture the manner in which I died, who would come to my funeral, etc. It has now evolved into a full blown funeral procession that I have orchestrated right down to the slide show and music.

Sometimes I am concerned that not enough people would be able to show up. I have lived in a lot of different places and it would be hard to find a central location to hold my memorial. Ideally, I would like people to be lining up outside, but this would only happen if my parents gave everyone enough notice to take work off (what is the standard protocol for missing work for funerals?, and do airlines sell discounted tickets for this sort of thing?) I would like my sister to say something, opening with a quote from a known author or poet. Then, to add an element of spontaneity, one of my friends would randomly stand and tell a funny story about me. People would laugh and cry at the same time (killer combination). Another friend would feel compelled to stand and give their piece.

The real piece de theatre of the whole funeral would be the slide show. I basically know what pictures I want to include. Obviously it would be chronological- baby pictures up until present day. I would like to state for the record that any photographs from my freshmen year of college should be omitted. Nobody likes a fat girl, even in death.

There are two songs that I want to be played in conjunction with the slide show. I will be emailing them to my sister shortly. The first is Joseph Arthur's "In the Sun". It will be a real tear-jerker; trust me. If anybody is still dry eyed after this song has played then they must have metal appendages and robot brains. This song is 4 minutes and 12 seconds long. At the 4 minute mark, I would like the second song to start playing over the first; creating a seamless transition. If anybody is skilled in audio mixing, let me know. Your services may be needed upon my death. The second song will be Dido's "Here With Me", although this is still tentative.

I am going to hover above the funeral and watch it proceed. I'm looking forward to see who turns up. For the record- no-shows will be haunted in their sleep.

I don't do this that often- probably no more than once a week. If you can relate to this then maybe we could be friends.