The END (continued)

So continuing on in my tales of woe and whimsy...

While my cat was being operated on by the great Dr. Flaum, there were, of course, epic parties being thrown in my apartment. I desperately tried to keep my cool about the whole situation, and made a solid attempt at watching a movie with my boyfriend - the volume as high as it would go just so we could hear. Around 2am, I was trying to sleep, when the banging on my door began. My roommates knew that I don't party, because I had explicitly told them so when I moved in, but that definitely didn't stop them from trying to get me to. They were drunk enough to be blissfully belligerent and thought banging on my door and shouting at me was the most effective way to get my attention. Unfortunately for them, I was SO over the situation, and had invested in a nice pair of earplugs - which STILL did not manage to keep out all the noise. The banging continued, but I stayed firm in my bed, refusing to answer the door. Eventually I fell asleep, regardless of all the noise. The next morning, I awoke to a silent apartment.... very ominous and foreboding.

I got up to go in my bathroom and take a shower, and stepped in a mysterious powder-like substance... except it congealed on my foot - NASTY. This substance appeared to start at my door and expand into my hall and all the way into my bathroom, covering everything within. I vacuumed as much of the unknown substance up as I could, which wasn't much as it was very happily and firmly rooted in my carpet, linoleum, rug and towels. Finally, I had to wet down and completely destroy one of my washcloths to clean up the mess. After my shower, I went to survey the damage done to the apartment.

By this time, I knew pretty much what to expect: beer cans and bottles littering the floor and counters, something new broken, shards of glass from broken bottles and some new stains. Don't get me wrong, all of these expected things were present, but so was a nice, thick layer of the dusty stuff I found in my room... all over everything.

So here's what happened the night before, according to B1, B2 and B1's friend:

              The party was going on like normal - loads of noise, alcohol, visits from the courtesy officer, peeing off the balcony, etc. Then, while B1 and friend were out on a beer run, they noticed that the door to the first floor's fire extinguisher was ajar. Now, being the belligerent drunks they are, they decided it was a FANTASTIC idea to bring it on up to the apartment and shoot it off the balcony... FUN!! YAY!! SARCASM!!!

              They quickly tired of this, however, and decided to go ahead and hide, with the fire extinguisher in B2's bathroom and wait for someone to come in so they could attack (another brilliant idea). So one of the many people finally needed to use the facilities, and were attacked by the fire extinguisher upon arrival. I imagine that by now you have some idea what substance I found all over my room. Well, as you can predict, the attack in the bathroom was SO enjoyable, that it was high time to douse the apartment in flame retardant powder!! And that's exactly what happened.

That was about the time that they decided they missed me so much that they had to wake me up - so began the banging on my door around 2 and 3 and 4 o'clocks. When I stuck to my stubborn, non-alcoholic ways, I had to be punished... and what better way to punish your sober roommate, than to spray a fire extinguisher under her door!

Well, as charming as that story was, I was FAR too crabby at this point to find any humor at all in the situation. I explained what a total pain in the neck it was to clean up that mess, and that I believed that I deserved an apology for being treated that way. B1 had the nerve to laugh in my face for this reasonable suggestion, and laughed even harder when I told him off for doing so (you'll come to learn that B1 is the problem child). The more I thought about it, the more mad I got, and I finally decided that someone needed to be informed that there was an empty fire extinguisher on the first floor that needed to be replaced in case of emergency. I named no names, and didn't even say who I was, but just insisted that I knew that it had been used up, and needed refilling.

Eventually, it came down to the manager coming to our apartment and inquiring about said fire extinguisher's emptiness as our apartment was the known troublemaker. B1 fed her this wonderful story about how "this guy they didn't even know just showed up with it and discharged it all over the place... they couldn't stop him.. he was crazy"... Yes, I'm serious. That was the story. She told him that it was still his responsibility to pay for the refilling fee ($30.00, oh no!). He got all hacked off and threw a big fit about it, but he still had to pay for it. I must admit, I'd thought he had had a lot worse coming to him, but oh well.

After that, I'd had about enough. As you may know, patience is not a virtue I am in possession of, so I called the office and asked to be moved, or I was moving out. They told me that I wasn't ALLOWED to move out, and I said, "Oh, Really?" Seriously, how could they stop me?! Anyway, a compromise was reached and a girl who lived in another building was looking to move because her roommates didn't party enough... I know, but I'm not making this up. So about a week later, we were ready to switch apartments, but that's a story for another day.

To be continued.. again....

Also, I'm dying to make my grandma's chocolate angel food cake. It's the best thing in the entire world, and it takes SO long to make and is SO worth it in the end. You'll want to come down here just to get a slice!

I may have to make the drive home to finally move my baby down here... I just miss her SO much!!

And yes... my baby is my Kitchen Aid Artisan Series Mixer that I got from my grandma for Christmas when I was 17. I don't know what I'd do without her.... or what I AM doing without her. I'm dyin' here!! must..... make....cake....