ashley

My drunk ass had actually walked home without them, pounded on my apartment door, gotten let in by my rightfully-disgruntled roommate, and proceeded to pass out on the couch.  Apparently I puked in the toilet before passing out.  I do not remember this part.

The next morning, I schlepped back to the frat house.  I stood there, right in front of the front door.  This was a novel experience for me.  I’d never been at a frat house in broad daylight before.

A boy, presumably, of the house, asked me what I was doing. 

“I lost my keys in here last night,” I called back.  “I was seeing if I could go in and look for them?”

He opened the door and gestured for me to come in.

“Go wherever you want.”

I’d never seen a frat house post-party before.  Wandering up the stairs and through the halls, I was surrounded by hungover and still-drunk frat boys stumbling around in their socks and sandals and gym shorts, seeking out food and showers like moths to a porch light.  A few of them threw puzzled glances my way.  I’m sure they thought I was some post-bacchanalia hallucination.

I entered one room where a boy was drunkenly watching some Old Yeller-esque movie on a tiny TV in the corner of his room from his bed.

“Do you like dog movies?” he asked, voice all mumbly from grogginess and also from the fact that his face was squished against his pillow and half-buried by his blanket.

I told him I did.

He mumbled again, pleased, and asked what I was doing.  I told him I was looking for my keys.

“Sorry, I haven’t seen any keys around here.”

I didn’t doubt him.

Twenty minutes had passed.  I’d searched just about every bedroom and nuclear-waste-dump-site of a bathroom in that house.  I’d given up on ever finding my keys and was prepared to beg my roommates’ forgiveness and get a new set copied.

As I stood there in the hallway, silently bewailing my predicament, a particularly-burly frat boy approached me.

“You need help with something?”

“I lost my keys here last night and I can’t find them, I’ve looked everywhere.”

“What do they look like?  I’ll put it into the group chat.”  He was already pulling out his phone.

No one ever checks a group chat, I thought, but what the hell.  It was worth a shot.  “Um, it’s just a ring of keys.  The keychain is a pink plastic cat, though, like yea big.  Like bright pink, you can’t miss it.”

He nodded, presumably typing this description faithfully into the group chat.

“Alright, I sent the message out.  Good luck.”

And with that, he turned and left.

A few moments later, I heard a distant thundering.  It was coming from upstairs, and it was getting louder and louder.  One assumes that how I felt in that moment was how Simba felt seeing the wildebeest stampede through the ravine as a horde of large young men all thundered down the stairs, making a beeling for me.

“Someone tell the girl!” One of them shouted, faceless in the mob.  “Girl!  Hey, GIRL!!!  We found your keys, girl!!!”

They circled around me.  I hadn’t felt that small since I was maybe eleven years old.  One of them split himself off from the crowd.

“Are these -” he pulled out a ring of keys from his pocket, “your keys?”

And lo, there was the distinctive bright millennial pink cat keychain dangling off the ring.

“Yes,” I whispered.  “Oh my god, yes.”

“EYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!”

The cheer went up.

i have a degree in physics

Anyone who uses the term mansplaining has not seen a group of guys talk to each other because anything a guy brings up, another guy will come in and tell him how to do it right

Men and women just think differently in that way and it’s hard when those two ideas clash because women tend to congratulate tend to give emotional support when it comes to anything someone else does. While men try to help logically and help with previous knowledge that they have which sometimes works out but sometimes doesn’t make sense.

But it’s really annoying to see a bunch of women being mean to guys getting super excited and wanting to helping people in their own way and being demonized for it

for basically being men

Anyway, my story–or my parents’ story, rather.  Couple years ago my dad is buying a new Harley.  My mom is with him because a) agreeing on major purchasing decisions is just something you do in a healthy marriage and b) she’s a retired financial planner and she knows her way around money big time.  So they’re going over the financing, and this dick of a salesman is trying to treat my dad like his best bro and basically acting like Mom doesn’t exist.  Even when she’s asking a question or offering a comment, he’s directing all the answers at dad and dismissing her entirely.  Dad is getting pissed off (and would have walked out on the sale if Mom hadn’t indicated this asshole wasn’t worth it) until finally she turns to him and asks “Well, what do you think?”

And my dad just looks at her and says “You’ve been handling our finances for forty years.  I don’t give a fuck what he thinks.”

me: my dude we just woke up!! It’s time for wakefulness and doing things and Productivity