Pizza and Pringles Being Part of the Foreplay

I hate to do this. I mean, I really hate to do this, but I've sat staring at this blank computer screen for quite some time now and I've realized that I just have to do this. I have to begin this post...with a cliche. WAIT! Please don't go just yet. Please don't go back to facebook and read the mindblowing news people must share with the rest of the world. I know, I know you must need to know that Kayla is "about to do her hair" and that Louise "is so over him" but you must bear with me for just this second. Please don't go just yet. Please do not go to Yahoo to discover that what's "Trending Now" is that Kim Kardashian has crashed a bachelor party and that J.Lo partied on her b-day. I know it's huge news that a pop star from the 90s actually did go into town on her very own birthday, what a shock this must be to all of us, but please. Let it wait. Kim and Jennifer will both still be trending once you're done reading this. Actually, they probably won't, but I'm sure something just as crucial to Earth's survival will be available for you to read and use up valuable memory space with. Remember what your mom and dad got you for your 8th birthday? Oh? You don't? Well do you remember what look Katy Perry just recently sported? Oh, the Smurfette look, huh? Blonde with a blue dress? Oh yeah? Well, I think that's wonderful. Really. I'm actually glad to know that you replaced your memory space that had initially been reserved for the love your parents gave you when you were a child and instead now stores the color of clothing that was once worn by the woman who wrote, "I wanna see your peacock-cock-cock, your peacock-cock-cock."

(Apparently it's okay to say the words "cock cock cock" as long as you say "pea" in front of them.)

(Yeah, okay, I may or may not have purchased that song on iTunes.)

(Okay, I did. I did purchase that song on iTunes.)

(Look, it's catchy. I'm not against catchy things, I just wish I didn't waste my memory with such.)

(I've reached a line of honesty that I was not planning on crossing. I need to either tell a huge lie now or move on with my post. I'll choose the latter.)

The cliche is this: Things really do change. There. I said it. Damn straight, I said it. I. SAID IT. And now that I've said it, a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. Somehow I now feel free to quote any damn cliche I want!

LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL!

HAVE NO REGRETS!

YOU PUT YOUR RIGHT FOOT IN, YOU PUT YOUR RIGHT FOOT OUT, YOU DO THE HANKY PANKY AND YOU TURN YOURSELF AROUND, AND THAT'S WHAT IT'S ALL ABOUT!

Ahhh...life. Who knew that doing the hanky panky was really what it's all about? But today I'm not here to talk about beauty, or regrets, or feet. I'm here to talk about how things really. Do. Change.

I'm about to embark on my third year of college. This isn't really saying much, at the rate I'm goin' I'll be in college for another 30 years, but at least I'll have 33 years of experience on how to know a toupee when you see one. While I'm looking forward to what this year will bring, I already know two things: 1) it will be nothing like I expect it to be, and 2) it will be nothing like the past two years. I know these two facts because ever since I graduated high school, not one year has been remotely similar to the one that follows. And while that's exciting---

I can't go on like this. "While I'm looking forward to what this year will bring?" WHAT THE HELL AM I SAYING. WHAT THE HELL KIND OF ENGLISH PAPER IS THIS BULLSHIT. Enough, I say! Enough! You wanna know the truth? You wanna know the real god damn truth? IT'S FUCKING TERRIFYING, THAT'S WHAT IT IS! And you wanna know why? Because I am notorious for changing things! I AM the cliche, baby! I'm the changer of the change, the keeper of the keys, the bopper of the BopIt! I'M the one who pissed on The Dude's carpet, I'M the one who got Michael to drink from the wine bottle of blood, I'M the one who impregnated Rosemary, I'M the one who released Casanova Frankenstein to reunite with The Disco Boys!

...And that is exactly why I have no idea what I should expect from this next year. (Besides the end of the world, of course, but that's just Plan B.) (B as in Bullshit.) (B as in the world will end when there are flying cars and never-ending cigarettes and vending machines with prescription pills in them instead of candy and food that tells you when you should stop eating it.) (B as in the world will end when you can listen to your iPod in your iHouse with your iCar and you're going an an iVacation to some new iCountry with your iMom and iDad.)

In order to make this year a stark contrast from its predecessors, which is bound to happen nonetheless, I've decided to BRIEFLY revisit my past in hopes that by publicly humiliating myself, I will eliminate all chances of these occurrences ever making a comeback.

Freshmen Year of College

Closest Analogy: Being in a coma for 6 months only to wake up and find yourself lying in your own shit wondering what the hell happened.

I woke up one morning to find the shirt I had been wearing the night before was gone. It's an odd way to start the morning, really. Waking up and wondering who the hell removed your shirt while you were sleeping. As you can imagine, this didn't put me in the best of moods, for I had already began my day with two concerns: one, who the fuck took off my shirt and two, what the hell would I wear today. That shirt still had a good 6 straight days of use left in it before I'd be forced to add it to my collection of Clothes I Will Never Wash Until I Go Home for Christmas Break.

I then step out of bed and hear a subtle crunchhhhhh beneath my feet. I look down at the carpet only to discover that someone has sprinkled Pringles all over the floor surrounding my bed. Pringles, people. All over my floor. In bits and pieces. That's right, not even whole Pringles. Not even Pringles to salvage. I guess they mean it when they say that once you pop, the fun don't stop. The fun doesn't even stop when you have no Pringles left. You then start taking off people's clothes without even having the decency to put them in a place where they can be easily spotted.

WHO THE FUCK STOLE MY SHIRT.

So at eleven in the morning, covered in Pringles and shirtless, I'm thinking one thing: Pizzaaaaaaa. Of course, this has nothing to do with whoever broke into my dorm the evening before, I just happen to be very hungry, so I decide that I can't get to the bottom of this without a decent breakfast. Luckily, I had an entire pizza saved from the night before still left in my fridge. Pizzaaaaaaa.

I get out of bed. Pizzaaaaaa.

I put on a shirt. Pizzaaaaaa.

I walk to the fridge. Pizzaaaaaa.

I open it and see the box. Pizzaaaaaa.

I take out the box. Pizzaaaaaa.

I open the box. No pizzaaaaaa.

WHO THE FUCK ATE MY ENTIRE PIZZA.

Of course, I immediately run to the bathroom. Alright, that was a total lie. Hopefully you figured that out yourself, because who the hell runs to the toilet in search of missing food? I mean, I guess there could be evidence there...nevermind. That's disgusting. The truth of the matter is, I don't remember exactly what I did immediately after discovering the empty pizza box, besides throwing it on the floor in anger, but somehow I ended up in the bathroom. Probably to take a piss. LOOK IT DOESN'T MATTER. Point is, I wound up in the god damn bathroom and found my god damn shirt in the god damn sink. The sink. MY shirt. In the sink. The SINK. SINKKKKKK. (I do apologize. "Sink" just sounds very odd when you type it over and over again like that, so I was compelled to continue doing so.) And you wanna know what else was in the sink? Puke. And in the sink beside the sink? (Two sinks: a luxury I had almost forgotten...) More puke. Missing shirt. Missing pizza. Shirt found. Puke being the accomplice. So you know what I'm beginning to think?

WHO THE FUCK PUKED IN BOTH MY SINKS.

That's what I'm beginning to think.

I grab my phone to call someone, and see that SOMEONE has made MULTIPLE calls from my phone the night before, as well as TEXTED random ass people in my Contacts list asking them how they are.

WHO THE FUCK STOLE MY IDENTITY.

Slowly, I begin to piece the story together...I was out last night. I was drinking. I walked home with a group of people, and then I decided it was time for me to go to bed. I said good night. I got in bed. And at some point while I was sleeping, some drunk-ass-mother-fucker came into my dorm, raided my fridge because they were hungry, found an entire pizza, ate the whole thing in hopes of sobering up, then, found a can of Pringles, snuck into my room, walked in circles around my bed munching on the Pringles in such a barbaric manner that crumbs of Pringles were falling out of their mouth left and right, sat on my bed to admire my golden curls of Truth and Honor, started to feel sick, couldn't find a towel to stifle their upcoming-upchuck with, saw that I was wearing a shirt, took off my shirt while I was passed out, put it to their mouth and started puking, ran to the bathroom, had no time to make it to the toilet, puked in one sink until it was completely full, then finished the job in the other sink and dropped my shirt in along with it and ran. But not before grabbing my phone and texting a shit ton of people pretending to be me.

It's either that or I was molested in my sleep with Pringles and pizza being part of the foreplay, but that's just way too far fetched.

I immediately run outside to tell the world.

"SOMEONE TOOK OFF MY SHIRT!"

"Wow. Congratulations. Keep that stuff to yourself. Not all of us are that lucky."

"NO, NO! NOT LIKE THAT! THEY TOOK IT OFF AND RAN AWAY!"

"Well that's something to make a girl feel incredibly insecure."

"NO, NO! I MEAN THEY TOOK OFF MY SHIRT AND THEN PUKED!"

"Man, Natasha...I'm really sorry...you are a wonderful girl and no boy should make you feel that bad about your body."

"NO NO NO! THEN THEY MADE CALLS FROM MY PHONE TO A BUNCH OF PEOPLE!"

"Good god....they saw you with your shirt off, puked, then started calling a bunch of people to tell them about it?"

"NO NO NO! I MEAN THEY WERE EATING THE PRINGLES BEFORE THEY TOOK OFF MY SHIRT!"

"Alright...I....uh....okay you lost me."

"THEY ATE MY PIZZA, ATE MY PRINGLES, SPILLED PRINGLES EVERYWHERE, TOOK OFF MY SHIRT, PUKED IN IT, PUKED IN BOTH MY SINKS, THEN LEFT MY SHIRT AND RAN!"

"When did this happen?"

"Last night! I said good night to you guys, went to bed, then woke up this morning to find my shirt and my pizza GONE. You know what...I bet it was that Luke kid. Oh my god. It was. That guy was sketchy as shit. IT WAS THAT FUCKIN' LUKE KID."

"You think Luke ate your pizza and puked on your shirt?"

"YES! WHO ELSE COULD IT BE?"

"But he left before you even went to bed."

"No he didn't! He was still out here drinking when I said good night!"

"Yeah, the first time. But not the second time."

"What do you mean the second time?"

"You know, you said good night then came back out a few minutes later to hang out some more."

"...what?"

"Yessssss, Natashaaaaaa. Come on, when you tripped over the doormat?"

"What?"

"And you were like, "WHERE'S MY PHONE WHERE'S MY PHONE I CAN'T FIND MY FUCKING PHONE" and I was like, "It's in your hand." And then you started laughing. Remember?"

"What?"

"It was probably that eighth of vodka you were drinking straight from the bottle."

"WHAT?!"

"I told you that was a bad idea and you were just like, "I drink this shit like water, breh!"

"No no no....we were drinking beer last night."

"Yeah, then you said you were going to bed but then you came back outside and drank that entire thing of vodka."

"No. No. No. No. No."

"Oh my god, do you really not remember?"

"THAT DIDN'T HAPPEN!"

"Oh my god...you blacked out!"

"What?"

"You blacked out! YOU were the one who ate your pizza!"

"NO I WAS NOT. IT WAS THAT FUCKING LUKE KID."

"YOU were the one who went to bed eating Pringles and then spilled the rest of the can all over your floor when you passed out!"

"I DON'T EVEN EAT PRINGLES!"

"YOU were the one who started puking, ran to the bathroom, took off your shirt because it was covered in puke, then went back to bed! I mean who else would puke on your shirt, Natasha? And who else wouldn't have the decency to not clean up their mess?"

"THAT FUCKING LUKE KID, THAT'S WHO!"

"Who else would text people from your phone asking them how they've been, Natasha."

"Oh shit."

"Oh yeah."

"Oh shit."

"OH yeah."

"That's never happened to me before!"

"Well it has now."

"I...I...I ATE AN ENTIRE PIZZA."

"That's a lot of food."

"THAT'S DISGUSTING."

"Don't worry about it. Hey, wanna get some liquor tonight?"

"Are you kidding me? I drink that shit like water, breh!"

And that was the first semester of my freshman year.

Sophomore Year of College

Closest Analogy: Being the only survivor of a zombie apocalypse.

"Hey, Natasha, wanna hang out when you get out of class?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I have to study."

"How about after that?"

"No."

And that's all there is to say about that.

I've admitted to myself that I live in extremes, and why that is, I'm not sure. It's probably some psychological response to problems I can't face like, Why does hair grow on every other one of my toes? Or, why do my bottom eyelids sporadically twitch inwards? Or, why was Hugh Jackman impotent in my dream last night? These things I can only answer by living in extremes. Which isn't even my final answer, because like I said before, things really do change. (Which hopefully applies to my next dream involving Hugh Jackman.)