semi charmed.

It insults my intelligence, abilities as an executive officer and unsatisfactory attempts at being funny when my emails are not approved. Yes, I know you are reading this. Yes, I am calling you out. What about it?

Granted, my emails rarely serve a purpose other than to ramble, rebuke or talk about my daily life in a reprobate manner, but still. Many people signed up to live alongside me knowing all that it entailed. When I say many people, I mean everyone, actually. I do a pretty good job of making it clear how things are going to go at first interaction. Tell me I'm wrong. DO IT.

Just kidding.

It's ok. A lot of people don't appreciate my sense of humor. Whether it be a moral conscience, a fear of God or the fact that they are actually just a good person, some people just don't find me entertaining. For that, I apologize. The truth is, I hang out with most of you guys just in case hell grades on a curve. I am being honest with you just as I expect you to be honest with me when you tell me that you didn't finish reading this. Much love.

Semi Formal is a memorable event for few, but a notable night for many. Me and 129 of my closest friends partook in an evening that entailed a bus ride never to be tried again unless under heavy sedation, a bar suited for hobbits and a dance party that would make any respectable parent cringe.

For those of you who were too retardedly excited about the night to remember your actions or those of you that were unable to attend this rendezvous, continue on for a completely unbiased recount of the evening.

• I would like to point out that the key lime pie was actually a type of garlic infested cheese. The strips of green which were thought to be strips of lime were actually green onion. Go figure. You're welcome for taking one for the team and finding this out the hard way. Maybe I was the only one to fall victim to this dessert dupery, but we'll pretend for now that many others of you made the same mistake. Three of your dates may have watched me try to save face, taste buds and vomit-free carpet by using nearby food and linens to remedy the situation. I'm pretty sure one of them gagged. It was borderline 2 girls 1 cup material. You're welcome for the visual. Tell them I am sorry and yes, I am single.

• Everyone can thank my date for being the documentarian of the evening. I have some really awesome shots of a number of you in questionable positions with 1. me, 2. your date, 3. food and 4. each other. I hope running for political office isn't a dire necessity in any of your lives. If so, I accept bribes, lemon squares and poems about how pretty I am. In other breaking news, the writer formerly known as "Lacy" may or may not have a promising future in soft pornography.

• A thank you to all of those who made my body their wonderland over the course of night. I know this is a fun habit for many of you at every event and I just want you to know that I truly appreciate your generosity.

• Big shout outs to the following dates:

1. The date who asked if my pockets were kangaroo pockets and if so, whether "hopping in my ass like a kangaroo" would be "inappropriate." Uh, real quick. One, your date thinks he is Afroman. This is a problem. Two, yes it would be inappropriate. Three, be sure to tell him I am still deliberating as to whether the Australian accent helped his argument.
2. The date that I found hiding under the table during my initial quesadilla raid. Taking into consideration the three bottles around him, I assume this was after the announcement of one drink per person and the animal hunt for underage consumers. Next time, though, maybe hold off on all fort-like adventures until you get home.
3. The date that was under the impression that the bathroom area was only there for his viewing pleasure. He stood at the kitchen door and watched every entry, exit and all other miscellaneous restroom activity. I am not saying this was rude behavior or anything, I'm just saying it was incredibly weird as fuck.

• Heads up to whoever brought the boy wearing a light colored shirt and patterned tie of some sort. He may have had dark hair? Specificity is my jam. Anyway, I really hope you don't make a habit of giving anything he says any sort of credibility. Not that I don't trust your judgment, but after his 17th remark that would validate him as God's gift to N.C. State, I felt the slight need to inflict pain upon both myself and an innocent kitten. He may be really awesome in real life, but something still tells me I would be physically incapable of agreeing with anything that comes out of his mouth. He could be reading my grandmother's homemade german chocolate cake recipe aloud and I'd still be like, "Fuck that. NO."

• One of you has slowly, but surely come full circle. Legitimately though. You have definitely been the entertainment of every event I have ever been to and/or planned (whether good, bad, ugly or bruise-inflicting), but you were awesome last night. You lasted the entire event and no one was hurt, violated, railed or derailed. I know we can't take credit for everything, but still. It's hard not to feel a touch of pride when someone we've been supporting for so long finally makes it to the big time.

• One of you thought the catering manager was your date. He tried explaining the occurrence to me last night, but clarified with an email this morning. Apparently he was borderline jumped as he passed by the dance area making his many trips to and from the food table. As he tried to flee the scene and your "surprisingly firm" grasp, you took this as him playing hard to get. All in all, he made it out alive with "only one minor cut." If this was you and you knew that he wasn't actually your date and you forced yourself upon him anyway... don't worry about. No shame. Don't be hurt. It's not you. It's him.. and his wife that he's had since his sophomore year at State. Yea. No comment. Kaysee, Iris and I had statistics with him and tried to Pi Phi up his life many a'confidence interval, but he would never allow it. What a prude. Thanks for cutting him.

nasopharyngitis.

To the person who got me sick: Congratulations. You may be the most contagious person alive. Not only have you accomplished what hundreds of people have been trying to do over the past six years, but you have done it well. You infested me with your pathetic little germs and for that, I hate you. I have not had a cold since before that one time I died momentarily in the tenth grade. I'm not sure if you deserve a medallion, a gold star or a swift punt to your pelvic region... The jury is still out.

I am pretty sure I signed a form in the hospital that agreed to suffering the rest of my life from random spouts of pain, black outs and having musical instruments as insides every time I eat.. and that is fine. A deal is a deal. Bring it. However, I am pretty sure this contract mentioned nothing about any other health atrocity, may that be allergies, pregnancy or the common cold. Thus far all I have been allergic to is bitches and pollen and I have been dealing with those just fine. I wouldn't wish pregnancy upon anyone, so I am hoping karma will back me up on that one. A cold though? Really? A cold? How many street corners do I have to pass out on to avoid this constant dilemma of being able to inhale and exhale without sounding like Brainy from Hey Arnold?

Yes, I hear you. That jibberish you call "an argument" would make sense in some cases, just not mine. Why? Because I am awesome. Duh. So you're saying maybe this sickness is attributed to my ignorance of any and all active germs? Yea, about that. No. Germs aren't real. Will I eat food handed to me by a stranger with no questions asked? Well, yes. If I am hungry. Will I share drinks with someone who has yet to rid themselves of mononucleosis since they were in preschool? Yes, obviously. Why not? By choice, will I become blood brethren with someone who contracted AIDS from a tragic saliva exchange when they were simply trying to pass along a Life Saver via toothpick at a Young Life camp? Again, straight positive. I don't see what the issue is. I am perfect, and in no way susceptible to you people and your commoner illnesses.

This constipation of breath cannot be accredited to these made up "germs" you guys keep yelling at me about. This disease was man-made.. and for that, someone will pay. Too bad the only person paying right now is Ed since I infected the rest of my family with the snotty goodness and now he has to go buy drugs to keep us from being pathetic lumps of human.

On a more cheerful note, this cold is doing wonders for my appearance. Most people have a red nose, puffy eyes and hair as if styled by a blind second grader with only one arm.. but nope. Not me. I am freaking adorable. For real. You guys thought I was cute when I was attached to a wall and fully dependent upon a catheter to get the job done? Psht, please. Gangrene's got nothing on this sore throat. Pimps beg women that look like this to be their prostitutes. I could make someone named Mackdaddy G. Smooth a very rich man.

Legit. I am warning you. Those that fear my thieving ways in normal health.. Seriously. Hide your boyfriends. I am coming back to Raleigh and I am more ready than ever to take what is yours. Slut levels running high, I have my tissues in hand and Dayquil infused sizzurp in my monogrammed tumbler. Shit is about to get real.

nancy drew, mystery solved.

As I have expressed before, there is nothing more respectable than an adult trying to receive a college degree. Wait. I said that, right? Oh, I didn't? Huh.. Weird.

I know what you're thinking and yes.. Technically in some countries, hick towns and prisons I may be considered an adult as well, but let's be real. That is a bunch of noise. When I say I adult, I mean ADULT adult, tried and true. For men, I am talking abnormal bald spots, children, bicep tattoos that look more like ink pen defecation than a bed of tribal thorns, ex-wives named after alcohol, cars, and licorice and a volunteer position with the local Boy Scout troop. For women, I am referring to the post-menopausal lady kind that have suddenly grown tired of overachieving in the kitchen and bedroom and genuinely think that the classroom should be their next feat. Yea, about that. No.

Gentlemen, please. If the professor asks for an example.. more than likely they want one that is entertaining. Entertainment is not found in weathered anecdotes of the many years you spent "providing for your family" in that mill. Although the beautiful, tear-jerking story of your coworker, Juan, having nearly lost his arm reeaally made me think about life and appreciate my ability to applaud, dougie and braid hair... no one else thinks you're cool. I tried to take a class poll during one of your last rants to see if others agreed with me, but everyone was asleep. Fancy that.

To all you husbands out there, I understand you "love" your wife. You want what is best for her and you honestly just really want her to focus on other things besides where you are, what you are doing and what she can cook for you when you are done doing it. When she came to you with the idea of going back to school, you were hesitant about her interest in something other than you and your well being, but you gave in anyway. You gave her the permission she needed since you are clearly the decision maker in the relationship and off she went. Uhm. About that. Fun fact, sir. You did not have to say yes. You did not have to agree that the idea was one of worth. Women are genetically predisposed to be completely inept. Tell us when we are wrong. (Always.) Tell us to forget about our stupid aspiration of knowledge or credibility or whatever we're whining about and point us back to the kitchen. Let us make you a sandwich or something. Ever since you guys started letting women protest, peacefully assemble and speak, it's been nothing but bad news. Now all the old ones all about signing up for COM 486 and perfecting the art form that is intercoder reliability. It's just... wrong.

Just kidding, Nancy. You're awesome.

Who is Nancy, you ask? Oh, you know.. Just my best friend in waiting. Whether she knows this or not isn't the question, ok? Right now, I am working towards ultimate BF4L status. Once that is achieved, we will then discuss what exactly she can do for me. We first met at the beginning of the semester in a crowded room of three. Both abnormally early for class due to a mistake on my watch and an eagerness to learn on hers, we connected over our shared love of some restaurant that I had never been to. You see, she was mid-one-way-conversation before I realized she was talking to me. She was waiting for an answer to a question that I never even heard, so I nodded my head and excitedly said, "Yes!" assuming she had just asked me if I wanted to sex Zac Efron. Yea, wrong. Apparently she was raving about this awesome restaurant in the middle of bumfuck Garner and inquired as to whether I had been there before. Nanthy wath thuper duper exthited we had both eaten at the thame plathe. Like, more than anyone should ever be. A restaurant is a restaurant. Heads up. If they're in business, more than likely you are not the only person that eats there. Shocking, I know. Anyway. She asked me what I ordered. I told her I had gotten something different with every visit, but really loved "some chicken thing" one time. I asked her what she got. She answered with words that may or may not have been Slavic, but oh my gosh. Such a small world. The last time I went there I ordered the EXACT same thing and absolutely LOVED it. Definitely a must, you guys.

Next class came around.. I intentionally got there ten minutes late and blade-to-wrist upset, HAD to sit really really far away from the Nance. So sad, I know. As the semester ensued and people made specific seats their permanent home, Nancy found her way back to me. How sweet. Yea, yea. Small problem. Boy. Not just a boy, though. Like, MAN boy. Like, really GOOD man boy. Good, in this context, will be defined by HOLY CRAP. Yea, that pretty. Unfortunately for my weekend plans and lacking relationship with the make-out fairy, girl has been wrecking the flow since Week Three. Girl being Nancy, if you are having trouble keeping up.

She clearly did not get my hint of moving her things, leaning over her and "forgetting" her usual seat in order to have direct body contact with the hot piece of almost man on the other side of her, but whatever. Married women apparently don't see that some college males actually exude sex, camel tone loafers and the ability to provide David Yurman to their slampieces. How rude. You have a husband, whore. Let me sit next to him. Your children may be older than me, your husband may be a really awesome banker with lots of sport coats and business cards and your hair may be more flammable than Bonnie's carpet, but none of these things give you the upper hand. You may have your will, but I have my youth. It is on. Game. Set. Match.

I didn't care enough about the boy or the class or her, actually, to make it to class on time for the following weeks, so my efforts died off. To make a long story short because I am losing interest in my own rant, I continued to sit next to Nancy. Nancy continued to treat the class as if it was a basic activity and she was Amelia Bedelia. Since she tells everyone her life and her children's lives and her husband's life and her mother-in-law's life rather than letting the class material soak into her aged skin.. I may or may not know she is graduating when I am. Such a good thing to know, right? Yea. I didn't think so either. Anyway, I want to sit next to her at graduation. Why? The same reason I have hairbows, wear tall socks, rewrite rap songs that embrace how white I am and make a wish on any repeated or consecutive number on the clock.. I am weird. What are you going to do? Basically, I want to make her love me so there is no question as to who she is going to share her big day with as she struggles to keep her Depends dry on those really cool fold-out chairs.

These have been my attempts at best friendship over the past couple of weeks:

• Listened to a vent session about her son's girlfriend of three years that she thinks may be a "two-timer."
• Found a cookie recipe suitable for her diabetic husband.
• Introduced her to Quizlet.
• Acted as if her 40,959,458,034,985 questions in class were completely valid.
• Did not cry or stab her when she asked our professor for an extra assignment so she could get more practice on coding data.
  
• Called out vocabulary to her for her Spanish class that she is taking "for fun." You know. Since people do that.
• Told her about my obsession with my parents and made her really jealous that her kids don't like her that much. Ironically, this made her appreciate me more as a "youngster."
  
• Allowed her to say the word "youngster" without any visible judgment from my end.
  
• Complimented her joutfit.
  
• Let Ed buy her a muffin when I saw her studying in the library.
  
• Took her husband's business card and agreed to Google him because she thinks he is great.

I lose a little bit of self-respect with every bullet point, but hey. It's not like I have anything else to do.

That is all. You gained nothing from this. Mission complete.