Pass Out

Being a teenager is all about pushing yourself to limits of adolescent sanity. It's about being able to stay cool under pressure, and exerting yourself past your known limits. This week has been, for sure, the most unbelievably difficult week of college by far, hands down, and without a doubt. I'm talking sleep deprivation in it's greatest form. Y'all know beauty sleep is essential to the teenage lifestyle, without it, we all wake up looking weird, wrinkly and old. Get ready for the wildest two days by far, I'm ready to pass out.

Mystery Model's Look-A-Like, actor/model Wesley Morgan
Whenever you attend the class after an exam, all you've got is that dangfangled contraption on your mind. It's impossible to listen to your professor drone on and on about nucleic acid brain juice or chemical reaction explosion boom-boom pows. I get to biology on Wednesday, and I really have no intention of accomplishing anything. I guess I'm going to class because I'm supposed to and what else would I be doing? Don't answer that, I could watching TV, buying more plaid, dancing up a storm, sleeping and literally anything else that I could possibly care about, ooph that's awkward. But in Biology we get our exam scores back, and the class average was a 60%, as in epic fail kiddies. I'm thinking, oh hot shat, I'm going to have to drop out of college and become the socialite I've secretly wanted, so I smartphone it up and check my score. I'm above average peeps, 80% for the win. From there it's on to HCOL for some talk of what makes a narrative. I'm thinking, I read books because they're interesting, not because I want to dissect the way they should be written. Somehow the class ends up throwing out movies for our professor to tell us where the "breach" (which apparently has nothing to do with rotating a baby during its delivery, these are things I know about) *where the norm is broken- in the story is. Classmates, I give you all props for your excellence in getting us off topic into things that can actually comment on, as in, relatable teenage junk. Class be over, so I head to the student center for my midday meal of some New World Tortillas. All I want is a chicken flat wrap, but what I get is a major whiff of rotten attitude, dirty looks and harsh tones after a receipt malfunction lets the whole operation go haywire. I'm thinking, chill people, we can all wait for our Americano-Mexican grub, the world won't end if I don't get my mediocre hot ironed tortilla with minimal cheese and burned chicken, it's NBD if I wait a little longer, but the sass needs to go. No Carolyn, Hannity Insanity, and Shan-Dawg finish their food and dip out, so I sit with some friends from HCOL, Sam and Selene from the upper midwest of the dorm. Talk of grandparent jobs, and of course quirky things make lunchtime something to be remembered. Those are some funny kids. I go back to the dorm for an awesome surprise, Krabby Patty and his our little brother, Baby Tom, are hanging out. Jandro shows himself and it's a bromantic time for all. Soon it's time to get a move on for chemistry, and I get to the little brick quad-type thingy outside the building and guess who's there, one the coolest kids around, Bandana Nick. While we never get to have very long conversations, it's always awesome just to get a high-five from high, he knows that I exist, life goal achieved. Jandro joins the conversation, and soon I'm go into attack mode as the previous class lets out and I scout the crowd to find Mystery Model (if you don't know by now, there's this hulked Hollister model looking dude, who engages in a staring contest with me *a  total stranger BTW* on my way to chem). That guy is getting craftier by the encounter, he raised his eyebrow and I broke contact, another round goes to him. I get through chemistry and am pretty much ready for my impending doom with the exam scheduled for the next day. Just over halfway through the day and I want to pass out.


No time to fret, I scurry back home to get myself camera ready for another episode of UVMtv's "Dirty Pop." (If you want all of this teenagedom in real life, tune in Wednesday's at 6pm on channel 12). Talking about dramatic TV shows in a segment, me and my homegirl- Hailey G. (also known as Hailey's Comet) we named "the Pleasure Dome" was literally hilarious. I described getting hot and bothered after watching TV, I might have a problem. All in all, it was an hour of pure pop culture talk turned comedic with our witty banter, including main hosts, Jonathan or J-Lo, and Molly (that girl has got some sass) if we do say so ourselves, all ending with my ridiculous jokes with celebrity tweets. My favorite reply, "Lizzie McGuire has been impregnated.and Gordo wasn't the culprit" with breaking the news that Hilary Duff is most deff prego. From shooting the show, I literally run back to the dorm, strip off the plaid and grab the first white thing I can. I'm supposed to be at broomball slipping and sliding around the ice. It ends up being a polo shirt. I'm telling you I looked like a hot (or cold) mess, with my wannabe jockey wrinkled collar with sporty shorts. At least I made the game. Eastside Gang had a strong showing of athletic prowess. I made some fundamental hits, but Nemesis Norio and Penguin Lilia were for sure the MVP's of the game. We may have lost 2-1, but we were playing old people, as in graduate students, and they've got centuries on us so no fair, JK of course. However I wasn't smiling when I got checked against the glass, eff that, the gloves would be off if I were wearing any. To the Marché for the sweet sustenance known as Cherry Limeade Sunkist, my new addiction - that stuff is like a candyholics deadly vice. Back to the dorm, where JaMocha comes to "study" (the quotes are highly unnecessary, because literally all that happened, studying for chemistry). I learned some elements and all that chemical crap, but I'm not trying to make Molotov cocktails, I just want to deliver babies, WTE. Soon it comes time for the power hours, at thirty minute increments, where upper midwest-side Jack, aka Cracka-Jack, Jack w/ the Box, Jack-o-Lantern, or Jackie Robinson (maybe not that last one)- blasts hardcore party music for a study break of pure dance pandemonium. I'm talking sweat stains, hands in the air, dirty dancing on tables/chairs type of stuff. It's like a Britney Spears music video up in there (okay maybe not so much). But I end up working until 3:34 am before passing the hell out. Zombie status, brain diminished, life forced drained. The definition of a KO. College is trying to kill me, the dastardly punk.


Thursday morning was quite possibly the most difficult time waking up. My IHome started slowly with increasing volume urging me awake to the sultry sounds of Katy Perry's "Teenage Dream" but when she sang "I can't sleep" I was instantly enraged, that's what I want in my teenage dream. Whatevs, I get my bum ass up, and head on over to tennis class. Let's just say it got more than intense. I'm talking about me superman leaping into the air to Hulk roar and smash a ball into the sweet spot of the court. Big E, I'm talking you down. Of course Pretty Boy Evan serves me up some sort impossible shot, I'll get that guy one day, forehand superpowers. I come back and take the second fastest shower of my entire life, 7 minutes people, new record. I change, only once, and am out the door sprinting to central campus for a talk sess with my prof. After that's over, I stop at the little food truck, and get an English Muffin, with hot sauce on it and an iced tea. It's drizzling, but I've already been productive on 4.5 hours of sleep, and all before 11am. From there, I come back to my room to watch the season premiere of the Real World: San Diego. Can you say uh-maze-ing, the cast is going to be so wild. A transgender chick, a bi-sexual dude who just wants to be loved, a towering giant, a guy's guy, and modelling chicks, and too much to even recount. It's going to be wild. Soon, the stomach starts a grumbling and I head to lunch with No-Crap Carolyn, and Hannity Insanity at the Marché. Uhm, Cherry Limeade Sunkist for everyone, duh? We sit next to the window and people watch. Guess who walks by ... Mystery Model, the dude is now everywhere, and believe it or not (not Ripley's) the staring game continued with him coming back from a run, looking like a Nike boom commercial. Mark my words big guy, I'll get you one day. Tired as eff but still on a mission, I study my buttox off, as in my booty meat literally was cooked with brain power and sweat, to cram (yup, I said cram, I do what I want) for my math and chemistry exams. So I'm doing my work, and in comes Jandro to draw multiple man junk in highlighter on my window screens. Who does that, I'mma bout' to report bias. The kid is killing me with his tomfoolery, I'm about ready to pass out.


Any who, I discovered this song "Without You" by David Guetta ft. Usher (first of all, dear deejay, seeing as all you did was make the beat, you need to chill with putting your name first, Raymond Raymond belts out a phenom-nom-nom-al tune) and Jandro and I dance like maniacs (not Animaniacs) to it while studying. Soon it's time to armor up and head to war with academics. I enter the matrix, the mathematical one that is, Neo has got nothing on Joteng, and I demolish that exam. I finish half an hour early, triple check that thick wad of math genius and turn that in. I'm like third done and the class is dead silent, you know I was the one to run into the desk and completely knock it over. Clumsy me, as always. I come back to the dorm to get some last minute studying done courteousy of Sam I Am, and the gang cliques up and we walk to our plenary lecture. We watch the "Perfect Human" and 2 of the 5 Obstructions. All I know is that I got a good laugh, at the funny, weird things the people were doing, and I had candy so I was fine. It ends, and it's showtime. JaMocha, Jandro, Mireille, and I, head outside to walk to our chem exam,  and the sky has ripped itself apart pouring rain. I'm talking torrential downpour. Sam, advised me that I didn't need a jacket, the ultimate lie, because that 5 minute walk had me soaked to the skin. I'm talking my plaid shirt, my slim khaki pants with plaid pockets, and even my plaid boxers were drenched. We walk into the auditorium and everyone looks at us, I look like a failed attempt at waterboarding a spy. I take the exam and after an hour and fifteen minutes, I'm done and over it. I squish down the stairs, did I mention I stepped into a deep puddle, like Paris Hilton deep, and my professor asked if I was okay. I gather my things and smile at the puddle of water under my desk and get the heck out of there. Done and done with that, on to our Hall Council event, "Midnight Morning Munches" as in free breakfast food for our entire building. I provide the tunes and whip up a shat ton of fluffy, and good looking scrambled eggs. It's literally a circus, Jimbo popping bacon grease everywhere, and the multiple pancake chefs, including Ali-Cat, Mouse Lilia, Big Ben, our RA Kelsey, and even Joelly-Bear. I'm just cooking away, with the massive crowd of hungry kids lining up for us to feed them. Everything is better with music, so we're dancing like freaking High School Musical 2 "Work This Out" whipping up some varying quality food. From 10 pm to 1:30 am, we bully the hell out of that stove, my goodness it was abused. We clean up and Sam, Jandro and I make a late night run to the Marché for nothing else other than Cherry Limeade Sunkist. Yeah, I've got a problem. Bed time is almost there but not before an intense dance party with Cracka Jack and Shan-Dawg. I do some homework and hit the pass out zone at 2:30 am. Hardest two days ever, right there.



Being a teenager is all about handling pressure. College is tough people. Don't get it twisted. This crap hard. So much work, and it all conveniently ends up on a few days. You've got to be able to sacrifice some sleep, get your work done, and do your best to stay positive. I'm telling you food, and taking breaks, especially where wild dancing is involved, is the key to surviving tough times. Stress has got nothing on the fork in the garbage disposal dance move. Finish strong and pass out.



My blog post question for the day is ... how do you pass out? Uhm, I listen to that exact song, Chris Brown "Pass Out" - it's kind of for raving, but I like to even jiggle in my bed.

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