Tumblr-stories

A couple years ago I was on vacation with my entire family and my cousin was like 11 and called himself the chosen one and started dubbing everyone like ‘chosen one #37578’ ect. And one time we got a pizza and when the pizza guy got there my cousin got this thoughtful look and said 'You. You are chosen one #2. My second in command.’ And the pizza guy looked so touched

So today I went to the gas station to get a pop but I decided I wanted an ice cream bar too so I got a snickers ice cream thing and when I went up to the counter I mumbled to myself “god I feel so fat” and the guy behind the counter heard me and was like “but you’re not fat so it’s okay. Eat all the ice cream you want, girl.” And then there was a girl behind the counter doing her makeup and the guy was like “quit doing your makeup and get to work. You look fine. Just because that guy called you ugly doesn’t mean you are. He was a douchecake. You’re a fine piece of ass, my friend.”

Gas station guy is now my inspiration to keep eating ice cream bars when I want one.

If you ever think private schools or boarding schools are sophisticated or prestige just remember that once in the 90′s the governor general of the province came to visit my school’s campus on photo day and he liked it so much that he wouldn’t leave and he photobombed all of the pictures, meanwhile his chauffeur got so upset he locked himself in the car. 

So I am sitting at my local Panera, munching on my free b-day snack and watching tv and I suddenly stopped when I started over-hearing what the employees are doing. I’m going to make a list. So far:

1. They randomly started screaming the opening song from The Lion King.

2. Some very deep discussion about Pluto. At this point, I don’t know if they meant the planet or Mickey’s dog, but I heard “he” so I’m assuming the latter.

3. One guy walked behind me going “I am an Independent Adult Human Being.”

4. Another guy back in the kitchen could be heard singing “iieeeeeyayayayayayah!”

Once in my French class I forgot a book in another classroom and my friend had a remote to the projector and I really needed that book so I asked my French teacher if I could get my book if i could turn the projector off with my mind and she was like “ya, sure” like in a smart ass way and I stared really hard at the projector and my friend cut off the projector from under his desk and the whole class started freaking out and she let me go get my book

Tumblr không phải là nơi dành cho những kẻ mồm mép tép nhảy, càng không phải chỗ của những kẻ ba hoa, không phải là nơi sẵn sàng tiếp đón những đứa băng thanh ngọc khiết.
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Tumblr nằm ở một đẳng cấp cao hơn, nơi luôn có những con người thầm lặng theo dõi và mến mộ nhau mà không cần thốt lên bất cứ một lời nào.
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Ở Tumblr, im lặng để thưởng thức là một bài học vỡ lòng mà bất cứ ai cũng nên biết, như một thứ văn hóa đã thấm sâu vào mạch máu.
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Và cũng vì thế, nên đó là nơi mà có những người dù có sống nghìn kiếp vẫn không thể nào chạm tới được.
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BÀI GỐC CỦA TUYẾT TÙNG @anhsangtim

Hãy dành 1 phút để nói về Tumblr - Xứ sở diệu kỳ tàn bạo và chốn tận cùng thế giới

Không giống như các mạng xã hội khác, Tumblr là một nơi sinh ra để tôn vinh content (nội dung), chứ không phải chính bản thân người sử dụng (creator). Đó chính là lý do vì sao Tumblr không hề có một khu vực riêng để bạn khai báo tên tuổi, trường lớp, ngày tháng năm sinh, cơ quan làm việc, học vấn, tự sự về cuộc đời… Tumblr chỉ có một chỗ duy nhất là About me để bạn có thể bộc bạch vài dòng, xem như một lời giới thiệu đơn giản về một gã bí hiểm đang ẩn nấp đằng sau vẻ ngoài trù phú của cái blog kia. Ở Tumblr không có khái niệm bạn bè, relationship, càng không có khái niệm check-in sống ảo, thậm chí, chức năng comment cũng bị hạn chế.

Và, điều thú vị là, Tumblr dù gần như là mạng xã hội mainstream duy nhất chấp nhận cho lan truyền thoải mái các nội dung liên quan đến sex, nhưng nó cũng là một trong những mạng xã hội hạn chế nhất về vấn đề tùy biến quyền riêng tư. Một thứ bạn đã post lên Tumblr thì nó buộc sẽ phải public. Không chỉ cho friends, không chỉ cho friends of friends, không chỉ cho một số người. Chỉ có 2 lựa chọn, hoặc là một mình bạn xem, hoặc là cả thế giới cùng xem. Tumblr, vì thế, là một sự thách thức đến với tâm lý người dùng của những kẻ nổi loạn. Hoặc là bước ra ánh sáng tuyệt đối, hoặc là chìm vào bóng tối tuyệt đối. Tumblr không hề đưa ra những lựa chọn trôi nổi, lửng lơ, mà nó luôn biết cách thúc đẩy mọi thứ vươn đến tận cái tầm cuối cùng của mọi sự.

Trong dòng chảy của đô thị hiện đại, Tumblr vẫn luôn ở đó, len lỏi dưới mạch ngầm của những thành phố, được mở lên vào mỗi đêm và tận hiến hết mình cho những linh hồn tăm tối sống đâu đó trên trái đất. Dù vẫn là một sản phẩm chính thống được xã hội và cộng đồng công nghệ công nhận, nhưng so với hơi thở và sức sống đạo đức tươi trẻ của đời sống thường ngày, Tumblr giống gần hơn với một loài ma quỷ chỉ sống underground và hiện hình lên mỗi khi cần thiết. Tumblr là một thứ suối nguồn nuôi dưỡng cơn ác mộng đang lớn dần trong mỗi chúng ta, nhưng nếu biết cách vượt qua cơn giông và sự khủng khiếp mà nó tạo ra, Tumblr dần rồi, sẽ trở thành một người bạn.

 Trong dòng chảy của đô thị hiện đại, Tumblr vẫn luôn ở đó, len lỏi dưới mạch ngầm của những thành phố, được mở lên vào mỗi đêm và tận hiến hết mình cho những linh hồn tăm tối sống đâu đó trên trái đất. Dù vẫn là một sản phẩm chính thống được xã hội và cộng đồng công nghệ công nhận, nhưng so với hơi thở và sức sống đạo đức tươi trẻ của đời sống thường ngày, Tumblr giống gần hơn với một loài ma quỷ chỉ sống underground và hiện hình lên mỗi khi cần thiết. Tumblr là một thứ suối nguồn nuôi dưỡng cơn ác mộng đang lớn dần trong mỗi chúng ta, nhưng nếu biết cách vượt qua cơn giông và sự khủng khiếp mà nó tạo ra, Tumblr dần rồi, sẽ trở thành một người bạn.

Mình vẫn luôn trân quý và mến trọng bất cứ ai biết dùng Tumblr, thích dùng Tumblr và sử dụng Tumblr mỗi ngày. Càng nể phục hơn nếu người đó có… follow mình. Tumblr không phải là nơi dành cho những kẻ mồm mép tép nhảy, càng không phải chỗ của những kẻ ba hoa, không phải là nơi sẵn sàng tiếp đón những đứa băng thanh ngọc khiết. Tumblr nằm ở một đẳng cấp cao hơn, nơi luôn có những con người thầm lặng theo dõi và mến mộ nhau mà không cần thốt lên bất cứ một lời nào. Ở Tumblr, im lặng để thưởng thức là một bài học vỡ lòng mà bất cứ ai cũng nên biết, như một thứ văn hóa đã thấm sâu vào mạch máu.

Và cũng vì thế, nên đó là nơi mà có những người dù có sống nghìn kiếp vẫn không thể nào chạm tới được.

So what happened in Tumblr, let it stay in Tumblr!.

my university’s always had some weird exhibitions about art or history to make us think poignantly about the purpose of our own existence but this one is probably the best one they had yet

there’s no fancy pictures or props this time, just a file cabinet by the elevators in the library, a.k.a. the place with the most traffic on the campus. just a file cabinet with a big sign taped on it saying ‘exam answers’. and in the file cabinet there’s nothing but packs and packs of red bull

There was this group of teenage boys riding the subway in front of me which always has me slightly on edge because im afraid they might get loud and rowdy but they were all intently listening to one of them very softly explain how a washing machine works and where to put the detergent and conditioner and i kid you not they where all in awe it was the purest thing

(language warning to my followers, I know I don’t post it very often, but this story is too blessed not to tell)

The building I clean for has weird crap, okay? Like, a ton of the weirdest crap. There are all sorts of things they get, promotional items, that just pop up all over the hallways and cubicles and offices and conference rooms - just wherever.

  • There’s a sumo wrestler cut-out that has a balloon for a face and apparently people throw darts at it??
  • A fake skeleton that gets dressed up and moved around a lot - currently he is sitting at an empty cubicle perusing a summer gardens fashion magazine.
  • There’s also this life-size Marilyn Monroe cardboard cutout that has been standing in one of the cubicle sets since the first night I got there. Someone has given her a bowler hat to wear. Remember this. It will be important later.

So the other night my coworker and I were trashing out all the cubicles. This takes forever. And on each floor of the building there is a copy room that sits around a corner and off to the side. Each copy room has one trash bin that we have to check and empty each night. No biggie.

Well. On this particular night, we were going through and we had finished the whole rest of the floor, so I was just following him toward the copy room, to let him get the trash and wait for him before moving on to the next floor. My coworker is a big, impressive, ex-military guy and often finishes stuff before me. Behind us, a pair of employees were still hanging out, chatting while they waited for the end of their own shift to come around.

My mind was already on the hundred and one other things that needed to be taken care of in the next three hours when right up ahead of me, as I’m rolling along around this corner, I hear a very soft and quiet

“f*cking shit”

And my coworker backpedals from the copy room door and just turns his trash bin around and starts marching in the opposite direction.

“What?” I asked “What is it?” I’m expecting some major trash issue, something awful we’re going to have to clean up.

“Just. You go. Just go look yourself.”

I’m not an idiot. I very slowly, cautiously, move forward and peer into the darkened copy room. And there I see, in the center of that dark room, in all her life-size cardboard glory:

Marilyn Monroe

I managed to say “oh” before I was collapsed on the ground cackling like a madperson while my coworker was on the other side of the floor having an ongoing heart attack.

The employees heard my laughter and asked what was going on and when it was explained (not by me, I was laughing too hard, and only in broken fragments by my coworker) they busted up and the one guy apologized in-between laughs because he’s the one who moved her in there.

And long story short that’s how my coworker almost died of fright and I spent the next hour simultaneously apologizing for finding it funny, saying “I’m just so glad it wasn’t me” and randomly convulsing into laughter again every five minutes.

He made me get the trash from the remainder of the copy centers.

I guess the moral of the story is watch out for cardboard cutouts of Marilyn Monroe in Darkened Copy Rooms.

La scatola vuota
La storia ha inizio tempo fa,
quando 1 uomo punisce sua figlia di 5 anni
per la perdita di un oggetto di valore
ed il denaro in quel periodo era poco.
Era il periodo di Natale,
la mattina successiva la bambina portò un regalo disse
“Papà è per te”. Il padre era visibilmente imbarazzato,
ma la sua arrabbiatura aumentò quando,
aprendo la scatola, vide che dentro non c'era nulla.
Disse in modo brusco: “Non lo sai che quando si fa un regalo,
si presuppone che nella scatola ci sia qualcosa?”.
La bimba lo guardò dal basso verso l'alto
e con le lacrime agli occhi disse:
“Papà,…non è vuoto. Ho messo dentro tanti baci fino a riempirlo”.
Il padre si sentì annientato.
Si inginocchiò e mise le braccia al collo della sua bimba e le chiese perdono.
Passò del tempo e una disgrazia portò via la bambina.
Per tutto il resto della sua vita,
il padre tenne sempre la scatola vicino al suo letto
e quando si sentiva scoraggiato o in difficoltà,
apriva la scatola e tirava fuori
1 bacio immaginario ricordando l'amore che la bambina ci aveva messo dentro.
TRAPPED - A Story I Wrote.

Trapped

By: —- ———

I can remember seeing the crying face of my daughter, as the men in black suits firmly grabbed me by my shoulder and pushed me into a black, mysterious car. It’s hard to believe that that moment was 15 years ago, it feels like I have been here for 30. My body has adapted to this place, my hair, a fringe of grey-white around my balding, mottled scalp. My hands have turned rough, like stones, with my every move I can hear the creak of old bones. My skin has turned pale white, I walk in a disturbing, hunched way, and I’m not sure of this, but I think you can see death, in my eyes.  My mood has adapted too, dull, vague, lonely, that’s how I feel. I know what they think of me, the doctors and nurses, I know what they think, and they’re wrong! They think that I am crazy, that I’m insane, that I need help, that I deserve to be here. How do they dare think that?! I’m sane, I’m normal, and I deserve freedom.

Every day it’s the same, the same old, sad, boring, pitiful routine. The nurses wake me up, they feed me with gallons of drugs and freeze-dried beef. Even though I have been here for a long time, I tend to forget what I do, probably because there’s never something significant I do these days. What I do remember – how could I forget – is how they, torture me.

The floor and walls in the torture room are broken, probably from a ‘’patient’’ who tried to break free. Whenever I enter the room I am hit with memories, memories of other people crying, bleeding, screaming, it’s petrifying. Whenever I start to think about how many people were tortured on that broken, grey chair, a piece of me dies. What makes me mad is the fact that the doctors say that it’s good for you. That it’s good for me?! How can they think that? How could they possibly think that sticking needles in me and shocking me is good for me?! And they call me crazy, they are the ones who are insane, they are the ones who need ‘’help’’, I don’t! I need freedom, that’s what I need. The one thing that makes me even madder is the fact that I don’t even know why I am here. Most of my life before this place has slowly faded away, probably because of all the drugs they give me.

Could you imagine how stressful and unfair that is? Being locked in a horrible place where they torture you, judge you and you don’t even know why you’re there. I’ve considered killing myself, what is there to live in this place? In fact, I have tried killing myself several times, however, those nurses, they always manage to bring me back to life. Why won’t they just let me die?! Don’t they understand how I feel? I’m sure they do, they probably know how I feel, they just want to make me mad.

My nurse escorts me back to my room, the nurse had

 short scarlet red hair, and olive green eyes. I wonder why would a person choose to work in a place like this. Just as the nurse unlocks the door to my room I hear the grey-haired doctors talk, ‘’By Monday some of the patients will be put down’’ one of them said. ‘Put down?’ do they mean, killed? The thoughts go rushing into my head ‘I can’t die here, I want to live, I want to be free’. I knew that if some people were going to be killed I was one of them. I have had so many violent outbursts and attempts of escaping, they’d be foolish not to kill me! Oh my god, but I’m not ready, I need, I just need more, this can’t be the end of me! I can’t be remembered as the crazy old man who spent the rest of his life in a horrible place.

The thought of this being the end of me is a thought my body and mind rejected, as if my mind and body couldn’t comprehend what it meant. ‘’I must escape!’’, is the thought that comes into my brain. I start thinking of all the things that could go wrong, however, I find that it is totally possible to escape. How did I not think of this before? I can escape! I will escape! I’ll escape and leave all of this mess behind, this is it, the chance of a happy life. I start thinking of how I’ll be able to escape. I know of only one exit, it’s at the end of a dark hall with rusted beige walls. My room isn’t so far away from the exit, however the doors of the exit are locked, I need a key. I have seen many nurses with a stack of keys in their pockets, maybe I could steal them. If I am doing this my plan has to be stealthy, if too many people notice they’ll call the police, and I’ll be escorted back to my room, to die.

Now I wait patiently for my plan to go into action. I’m waiting for the stars in the dark night sky to fade away. Suddenly, I hear a vague growl in my head ‘’I’ll be free’’ it says, the growl becomes louder ‘’I’ll be free’’ it says, ’’I’ll be free!’’ it screams. Yes! I will be free! I will have the freedom that I always wanted! No more doctors, no more nurses, no more disgusting people, I’ll be free. For the first time in a long time, my body fills up with happiness and excitement. I can’t believe it, after all this time, I have a chance, a chance at being free.

I look out the windows and see the dark blue clouds gather in the sky. I hear the first splatter of rain hitting the bottom of the broken window in my room. It’s the first time that I see rain since they locked me up in here. It never rains here, this place is always in dry isolation. The memories come rushing into my brain, all of these emotions start drowning my heart and senses. ‘’I remember!’’ I scream in my head. ‘’I remember!’’ I scream out loud. For a second I was happy, I finally remember why they put me in this horrendous place, however, that happiness quickly faded, as the reason why I am here isn’t joyful at all.

The house was rosewood pink and it must have been extremely old since the walls were slowly collapsing. The rain gave the house a gloomy and somewhat terrifying atmosphere. The walls in my room were gray, I was sitting in my oak wood desk as I hear the voice of a middle-aged women. ‘’I’m home!’’ the voice said. I remember slowly walking down the rusty stairs and sliding my hand across the wooden railing. I slowly turned around the corner and gazed at a middle-aged women with short, curly, dark blonde hair. She was wearing a pink sweatshirt and a pearl necklace. She was unpacking fruits from peanut brown bags. Behind me came a young teenager with light brown hair and honey eyes. ‘’Hi dad’’ said the teenagerl as she kisses my cheek. ‘’Could you cut the onions for me?’’ asked the women. I remember slowly walking up to a refrigerator and grabbing onions. After that, I opened the dark wood drawer and slowly took out a knife.

I’m not sure what was going through my head in that moment, however, I remember slowly lifting the knife and stabbing it in the neck of the middle-aged women. The women fell to the floor and blood slowly came out of the back of her neck onto the white floor of the kitchen. The teenage girl screamed as loudly as she could. ‘’What have you done?!’’ she screams at the top of her lungs. Her face morphed into an expression of fear. ‘’What have you done?!’’ she screams again. I let go of the knife in my hand, as it hits the floor the teenage girl runs up the stairs and into her bedroom. ‘’My dad killed my mom!’’ she screams into a phone. Moments later a police car and an ambulance arrives at my house. I opened my mouth but no words came out. A police officer put handcuffs on me and pushed me into a car. I remember looking out the back window and seeing the  crying, colorless face of my daughter.

After all of this years, I finally understand why I am here. This just makes me more eager to escape. I must redeem myself. When I get out of here I will live a giving and caring life, I will do my best to make everyone I meet happy. I slowly close my eyes and let sleep take over my body.

The creek of the rusty metal door wakes me up. My nurse comes into the room and hesitantly closes the metal door. She slowly walked to the metal counter and unlocked the bottom drawer and takes out what seems to be a drug in a small bottle. She injects the drug into a syringe ‘’What is that?’’ I ask. The nurse doesn’t reply. ‘’What is that?!’’ I scream with a fearful tone. This must be how they kill me. Perhaps this drug is their way to put me to sleep and then kill me!. ‘’This won’t hurt a bit’’ said the nurse as she prepares to inject the drug into my lower wrist. ‘’No!’’ I scream as I grab the syringe and punch her in the face. The nurse falls to the floor and I grab the keys in her pocket. One of the keys had a label saying ’Room 102’. ‘’This must be it!’’ I say while I insert the key into the door and slowly open it. ‘’No one is near’’ I murmur to myself as I peek outside. I open the door and run as fast as I can to the exit door. I know the door is only a couple meters away from my room but it feels like I have been running for ages.’

As I open the doors I continue running, my face and body is hit with millions of raindrops. I find peace in this rain, for the first time in a long time, I feel peaceful. ‘’I’m free!’’ I yell as I am filled with awe from the beautiful green hills and the dark blue sky. I look down and see that I am running on a stone passage. I look forward and I can see the wood houses of a small village. I admire the glowing light coming out of the windows of the houses. Every single inch of my body is filled with joy, after 15 years of pain and endless suffering, I am finally free. Suddenly, I feel an immense force on my chest. I fall to the ground and my body feels the wet stone and raindrops going down my eyes. ‘’What’s happening?’’ I murmur. Suddenly, the raindrops stop following, they disappear. I look around and see that what once a beautiful dark blue sky is now an empty white void. The green hills and wooden houses have disappeared too. ‘’This is not real’’ I murmur. I start saying it louder, ‘’This is not real’’, then I scream, ‘’This is not real!’’

The old man stood still in his bed, his eyes closed slowly as he slipped away to death’s hands . ‘’Time of death, 21:01,’’ said the doctor.  

@mbtilove​, @57dragonion​, @doodledee-doodleda​, @nikhil8877

anonymous asked:

*bangs fists on table repeatedly* TELL US THE STORY TELL US THE STORY

SO OKAY

Picture the scene. Eighth grade. Tiny baby earlgraytay- young, scrappy, hungry, and with a chip on their shoulder from being the Weird Kid who was constantly in and out of trouble.  

Tiny baby EGT has an American History teacher that we’ll call Mrs. B. Mrs. B. was very loud and very Long Islander and liked baby me for being just as nerdy about history as she was (though I think she occasionally wanted me to stop blurting out all the answers so that the other kids could learn something.) 

We did a Mock Constitutional Convention wherein every kid in the class got the part of a delegate. If you were quieter and/or needed to watch more than talk, you got an obscure delegate and could mostly watch.

If you were a blabbermouth, like me, you got Alexander Hamilton.

Originally posted by punchedthebursar

So, I was really proud of myself, because Alexander Hamilton was a big important guy who talked a lot and had a lot of opinions

My mom helped me make a terrible tiny Hamilton cosplay. I had a frilly shirt and buckle shoes and I distinctly remember putting my hair in the rattiest boy-ponytail in the history of boy ponytails.

 I spent like three days reading over all my notes and vibrating intensely, and vowed I would give, like, the best performance ever, and do all the arguing. 

Unfortunately, there was a flaw in my clever plan. 

The flaw in said clever plan was that everyone else in my class was in eigth grade. They thought history was a thing you slogged through to get an A, and no one else was as into this as I was.

So, I basically had the floor for the entire mock Convention. 

I seem to remember spending a lot of time talking about the National Bank and making compromises with imaginary opponents because our TJeffs and our John Adams and just about everyone else were wayyyyy happy to let me talk and get graded for my performance. 

tl;dr: Imagine an AU wherein Alexander Hamilton wrote the entire Constitution single-handedly because no one else showed up. 

So a few weeks ago I was in a grocery store snooping around for dinner and I walked down this aisle where this kid holding a plunger stood. He caught a glimpse of my shirt–Harry Potter spells all over it–and waved the plunger shouting “I cast a spell!”

Without hesitating I reach up and grab the wand behind my ear that I’ve had and carried around for 10 years and wave at him saying, “I cast a spell!”

The kid looks at my wand and goes, “Holy SHIT you have a real one!”

So a guy from work–who I really could not care less about–wanted to be friends on facebook. And I’m like, sure, I work with you, whatever. And it was useful when we needed to work out a trade in shifts. But then he saw I was online one day and sent me this:

Aside from his total lack of appreciation for proper grammar or punctuation, I was really not wanting to have a conversation with the guy. At all. But I also didn’t want to have to say that. So I hurriedly turned off the phone and pretended like I had just got offline and didn’t receive the message.

Except, the next day, it was still there. And I didn’t want to be rude by completely ignoring it altogether. So I sent this:

It was a while before I got a response…

He hasn’t messaged me back.

since it is that time of year again when school is out for many people, and others are graduating, I felt now was a good time to post some good ol’ “Wacky things that happened to me while I was in school” stories:

-A college roommate once fell asleep while eating a 1 pound mega-size Hershey bar, and woke up for our tabletop campaign literally 10 minutes before we were scheduled to start and staggered into the living room LITERALLY COVERED IN CHOCOLATE.

-Another college friend was sitting in a chair in the apartment, (ironically while we were gearing up for this same tabletop campaign) and laughed so hard that all four legs suddenly shot out from underneath him, across the room. He fell flat to the floor while still in the sitting position. This, of course, just made everyone laugh harder.

-We had to barricade ourselves in our rooms once because of the terrible terrible farts of my cat I adopted while in school. Somehow, the smell permeated the ENTIRE APARTMENT, it was so bad we just all fled to our rooms and shoved towels under the doors to keep the stench at bay, and had to stay there for an hour until it dissipated enough for us to finally leave our rooms.

-We once found an iphone charger that belonged to no one in the apartment, and all phone chargers of any kind were accounted for. The next day, a half-drank container of mango juice was found in a roommate’s mini-fridge, with no reasonable explanation either. One roomie was convinced someone casually broke into the apartment but didn’t take anything, I was just kinda chill with the idea of a mango-juice-drinking resident ghost.


-A friend wanted to go to midnight Rocky Horror Picture show, so we got two cars full of people and set out. I was the driver of the second car, and we just decided to follow the one in front, and not GPS the place ourselves. Somehow we ended up following the wrong car before we even got out of the subdivisions, because we ended up halfway across town before the other car realized we weren’t following them anymore and might be lost, and about that time we realized we had scared the crap out of some poor random person who we had literally followed halfway across town.

-On the same trip to Rocky Horror Picture Show, we got there and realized only then that the show had been rescheduled to next month. Friend was determined to watch it though, so I suggested going to an all-night Walmart or something to pick up a copy of it and watch at home. We ended up at the store, where I worked, a group of maybe 12 of us in full Rocky Horror getup, going all the way to the BACK of the store to the movie section. When we were checking out, I actually saw my manager, who had popped in late that night for some reason, and she saw me. Needless to say, interaction with her after that was slightly more awkward.

-Had a “White Elephant” secret santa, in which you got each other strange, surreal gifts. I got my friend an eggplant which i had lovingly glued googly eyes to, and named “mini Stefan” for him. He laughed, at least until he came home from school the next day to fresh eggplant parmigiana, and a sad, discarded pair of googly eyes staring at him on the kitchen counter…

-Was best friends with the guy who sat next to me in Orchestra, and both of us were class clowns. Somehow, this poor kid ended up being jokingly nicknamed “Crotchface”, to the point where even the TEACHER nearly said it once on roll call.

- We evacuated my entire dorm building at least 11 times within one semester because no one knew how to make popcorn without burning the heck out of it apparently. I know it was at least 11 because 11 was when I got so annoyed I started COUNTING.

- The AP History teach was known to be a terrible strickler who was incredibly hard on the essay portions of his tests, and never offered extra credit for anything…Except for that one time he said that if we helped him win the school can drive, anyone who brought in cans would get extra points on the next essay. We brought in so many cans we recreated the Iron Throne in his classroom, which he then taught from until all the cans were collected.