Who here remembers their freshman year of college? Of course you don't. Because it was freshman year and man that shiz was ca-RAZY. Especially those first few months, when those hundreds of 18-year-olds were first unleashed on the world of Ah do what Ah want when Ah want!
Most college freshman have already been well exposed to solo cups and Natty Lights, but certainly not to the degree of Freshman Year, when all the campus youngins realized they could actually design their own class schedules to ensure that they never had to be awake before noon. IMAGINE THE POSSIBILITIES.
And imagine how exciting those first few months were: Getting to know all those crazy kids you'd be spending the next four years with. Bonding with some of the girlfriends you'd end up being girlfriends with 4lyfe. Building your circle of friends. And booze. Etc., etc., etc.
Now, the spring of my senior year of high school, I met a guy who would be starting at Loyola the following fall with me and blah blah blah we dated. Within the first few weeks of school though, we started fighting. A lot.
In the midst of one of these verbal disagreements, I stormed off back to my humble dorm room to ready myself for a night out with mah grlz. But I needed some cash. My roommate was out, so I left a note for her on the dry erase board hanging on our door.
"kate - tapping mac. back in a flash"
In my family in Philadelphia, we refer to "going to the ATM" as "tapping mac." You know? Mac machines? Right? Welp, soon after I left that note, the boyf ambled over to offer his sincerest apologies. Only when he got to my room, he saw the note on the door and stormed off in a mighty huff.
Later that night, he stumbled up to me at the bar and our conversation went a little something like this:
Freshman boyf: Who's Mac?
FB: I saw the note. Tapping Mac? Real discreet.
And that went on for a while.
Turns out he thought that when I was tapping mac, I was tapping some fine ass with some dude named Mac. And yes, I'm well aware that "tapping that" refers to getting yourself some booty. But being as "tapping" entered my vernacular as a means of getting money far before getting a little soemthin' somethin', that hadn't quite occurred to me until that moment. Incidentally, this immediately had me amend my mental Life Goals list to "date someone named Mac" so one day I could literally tap me some sweet, sweet Mac. Unfortunately, that goal was never realized. Yet.
BUT WAIT. THERE'S MORE. Maybe after that little absurdity of a fight, I had a shot. And then maybe I had another shot. Maybe another drink or two with the girlfriends. Drinking away my sorrows? Thaaat's about my style.
So when my roommate and I finally did meander back to our room, we both faceplanted hardcore into our delicious pillows. Some time later, our door opened. And in our dorm room, friends came and went so often through each others' rooms that no one locked their doors, so this wasn't uncommon. I turned my groggy little head toward the body standing in our doorway. Oh, I thought to myself. The boyf is here to apologize for being a freak, I assumed. I called his name. Yeah? He answered. So then I was all "okay whatever, I'm tired I don't want to talk about it now. Just go to bed." So he comes over and -- EARMUFFS, MOM -- crawls into my bed.
The night wares on and he is hogging my covers. I push him. Move over. He apologizes and rolls over. An apology, Finally. I rub his back. It's fine, I say. And then I fall back asleep to sleep the sleep of the drunken dead.
The next morning, the light streaming through our window wakes us both. And as we both slowly open our eyes I realize that I have NO IDEA WHO THIS GUY IS. I'll let that sink in for a second. I HAVE NO IDEA WHO THE DUDE IN MY BED IS.
So he jumps up and is all "um, sorry, I gotta go to class." And I'm all "WTF?!" And just like that, he's hightailed it out of that room faster than you can say "who the hell was THAT?"
So I'm all "Kate! Kate, wake up! I think some guy just slept in my bed" and she's all "no, it's fine. You were dreaming." And then I begin to think that maybe I was dreaming because SERIOUSLY, WTF?!
And then I go back to bed. Because that's how I roll. If it doesn't make sense, just sleep it off. Sixty percent of the time, it works every time.
A few days later, Kate and I are walking back from class together, discussing this bizarre incident, wondering if maybe it really was a dream because neither of us had seen a guy who fit his description since. As we're talking, we approach a group of guys standing outside the dorm. Suddenly, every single one of them starts laughing like they've just seen a fat kid in a weiner bikiener doing the Macarena for the last time.
And lo and behold the guy I drunkenly mistook for my boyfriend comes face to face for the first time with the girl who owned the bed he drunkenly mistook for his own in the room directly above his.
And after that doozie of an icebreaker we became great friends and he dated one of my best girlfriends for the next two years. And THAT just about sums up my entire college experience. WOO COLLEGE. Ohhh, gah I miss it. Someone get me a Natty Light.