So, I went to the alumni meeting of Cleo, the literary society that I joined in college. Somehow I ended up being elected secretary. It’s like people think that I can uh… ummm…uh…. ummm… write. Yeah, that’s it. I write… uh…. good.
My responsibilities will include putting together an alumni database (our current one is hopelessly out of date) and creating a newsletter.
Is it really, really sad that I am totally looking forward to it? Please don’t answer that question. I have fragile feelings.
I love Cleo. It was the only reason I didn’t transfer out of Trinity after my first semester. Most of my closest friends are Cleos. Some of my fondest memories are of the craziness that we perpetrated in the House. Most of my non-memories took place their too. 😉 I’m looking forward to giving something back to the place that has given me so much.
Ok, I got the sappiness out of the way. I can get back to bitching.
So, I’m old. I know that I’m only twenty-five, but (trust me), I’m old. Old. I might have stayed up until almost three in the morning on Saturday night, but I paid for it the next day. I didn’t drink or smoke anything on Saturday night, but I still felt hung-over. Part of this might be the fact that I slept extremely fitfully that night. You want to know why? Because I caught two people having sex in the room that I was supposed to sleep in that night.
Did you get that? There. Were. People. Having. Sex. In. My. Room.
Gahhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Ok, it wasn’t my room. It was just a bedroom that nobody is renting this semester. As such, I didn’t have much of a claim on it. I did, however, have the reasonable expectation that nobody would bump uglies on the bed that I would be sleeping on. I mean, seriously come on. Those jackasses threw my stuff on the floor so that they could do the horizontal cha-cha on my mattress. Have you ever slept on a bare mattress that you know that people had just had sex on? It’s disconcerting, to say the least. I put a blanket on top of it, but it was still a little creepy.
Damn kids these days. I would shake my fist at them. But, you know, the arthritis.
I’m happy to report that it was not Cleo members who defiled my place of rest. They were just some random assholes who didn’t think about other people’s property before jumping each other’s bones. I yelled at them “Hey! You’re not supposed to be in there!” but they just laughed at me.
Nobody respects their elders anymore.
