And I’ve proved my point

I’m so bad at this blogging thing. Diligence has never been a strong suit of mine.

Dorms are the worst.  Maybe I’m a little jaded after this weekend, but you have to admit, if you’ve ever lived in one, by the end of the year for sure the costs definitely outweigh the benefits.

Let me prove my point.  I got home today from Omaha, after being dropped off by my lovely future mother in law (this story I will explain in a minute).  I needed to use the bathroom which is only about 2 feet from my door.  I stepped into the hall and kind of grimaced a little at the slight stench in the hallway (not uncommon for the boys’ floor..but c’mon girls.  We’re girls.  We don’t smell that bad!)  I proceded into our nasty salmon colored common bathroom and discovered the source of the foul scent.  There was a note on the mirror in dry erase marker reading “whoever used the 3rd stall needs to plunge/flush the remains.  Thank you.”  Oh that’s disgusting.  Then I actually made my way to the stalls, and noticed a lovely little spot of puke on the floor of the first stall.  Apparently it’s hard to aim your face at a giant bowl.  Anyway, I carefully avoided the third stall and quickly used the 2nd one–all the while covering my nose because the smell was just that bad.

Now.  Let me tell you another story that will illustrate my strictly hate relationship with the dorm bathrooms.  Two nights ago, I awoke very early in the morning (around 4 am) feeling quite….sick.  I rushed to the bathroom where, after a series of unfortunate events, I lost consciousness and fell (from a standing up position..I think)..apparently hitting my head quite hard.  All I remember is standing in the stall, holding on to the tops of the stall walls (I’m rather tall if you didn’t know).  Next thing I knew, I was slowly waking up lying on the bathroom floor, with my head at an odd angle against the back wall, sandwiched between the toilet and the stall wall.  I was quite confused and couldn’t figure out why I would decide to sleep on the bathroom floor (no, I was not drunk–just to clarify) and for the life of me I could not figure out where my glasses were and why I hadn’t thought to bring them with me.  I somehow managed to pull myself up and stagger back to my room and lay down in bed.  I laid down and found my glasses, caught in my mass of ratty and tangled hair.  That was odd.  And as I slowly started to realize I had a pretty sharp pain just under my right eyebrow, bits and pieces started coming back to me.  I got up and looked at my face in the mirror and noticed a nice little cut where the pain was radiating from.  I guess I completely passed out cold (let me remind you–not drunk) and hit my head on something–most likely the wall, possibly the toilet, and a bolt that held the stall to the back wall (thus creating the cut on my eye.)  I don’t remember any of this, which I’m going to take as a blessing considering the phrase that goes something like “the taller they are, the harder they fall”.

Don’t worry.  Two doctor visits and a tetanus shot later, I’m officially without a head injury and left with only an embarassing story as to why I have three steri-strips on my swollen and turning slightly blue right eye.

Boy am I excited to move out of here.  That’s just too embarassing to live down.


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