My junior year in college I lived in a house with eleven of my teammates. Yep, you read that right - 11. This house exuded craziness. How crazy? Well, try these on:
1. After a week straight of partying, to kick off the new year, of course, a few cops stopped by to regulate the madness. After a short conversation, one of the cops got the number of my roommate (who he started dating) and the other cop started to party with everyone. From that point on we had constant back up and no reports of disturbances were ever responded to.
2. Another roommate of mine decided each night she was drunk she would steal something. Consequently, by Christmas break we had a deck full of bar stools, rocking chairs from our neighbors, signs and plants.
3. At least once a week a night of fun turned into a night of "gooning out." For those of you not blessed with the opportunity to go to school with meat heads, "gooning out" entails getting blitzed and then destroying everything in sight. Therefore, each week we had either a bench (that had been stolen the week before) thrown through our door, a couch thrown out onto the road or a window just bashed in. There's nothing more fun that hearing the sound of broken glass and then the yell from a barbarian. Man, I miss college.
Okay, enough down memory lane. The reason I bring up these memories is because I thought, at 32, living in an apartment with my husband would be much simpler than it was in college, but I was wrong. For the past week I feel like I've been trapped in a bad time warp.
For example, on Monday some idiot, at 2 in the morning, started throwing glass bottles onto the road outside my apartment. Now as if this wasn't bad enough, I then got to hear cars go over the glass, stop, yell at the guy to stop, him yell back and then more glass thrown. (Now that I think about it, I wonder if I went to college with this guy. It's just so hard to cut the gooning habit.)
On Tuesday, and I'm not kidding, some lady was heard screaming, "Help, Help!" in an alley just outside my apartment. We then all got to sit in our beds and listen to her run, scream some more for help and then go silent. To be honest, after being awoken the second night in a row, I don't know what bothered me more, her being potentially killed outside my apartment, or the fact that some neighbor across the street kept yelling, "Are you there? I called the cops. Are you there? Hello." Lady, no one answered. Not our chair, not our problem.
And lastly, after being awoken up by some muscle car that just couldn't turn over (thank heavens the person tried ten times) I heard the familiar laughter and stumbling of a drunk chick outside my apartment. I listened to them for awhile and prayed they would move on, but it continued. Finally, I got out of bed and looked through the window just in time to see one of them attempting to go number uno in our bushes. That was it. Immediately, I went into college Kate mode (this means I either call the cops on my own house, or head out to the situation to yell at anyone I can find) - I chose the latter. So, there I was, old Duke t-shirt, pajama pants and hair everywhere, ready to fight, but as I rounded the corner to our lobby I found three drunk chicks, one clueless guy and a naked girl. Yeah, a naked girl. All of them looked at me, and immediately said, "Oh sorry, it's a batchelorette party and she, pointing to the naked one, had to go swimming in the ocean." I was completely dumbfounded. So, all I said was, "Oh, congrats. Well, night." Night? Congrats? Have I really been out of college that long that I couldn't come up with at least a decent lecture or raised voice? How about a disapproving face? Nothing. All those years of training and now look at me. Pathetic.
*The picture is what I should have done.