Going to a teen club and hitting on 15 year old floozies is NOT partying. Sorry.

Gooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo friday afternoon. My coffee pot dripped a little onto the burner and is disturbing me with the smell of burned coffee. And it keeps sizzling which is kind of annoying. Get over yourself coffee pot. Stop acting like a child.

Coffee today is actually a bit on the extra bold side. See what happened is one of my neighbors, Jose, is from Columbia and has a cool three pounds of fresh ground coffee and gave me enough for like 4 cups. So I made like 2 cups out of it so it's actually pretty strong this afternoon. And it's not bad actually. Props to Jose.

It's actually been less than 24 hours since my last post. This is a rare occasion. Fucking enjoy it.

So last night was one of those nights that I will remember for the rest of my life. It wasn't one of those night's where in a year you're like "oh yeah I forgot about that", no this is just one of those night's that make an impression. I actually finally broke down and partied on a Thursday night. Pause.

Mind you, I did not go out. I'm not sure how many times I've defined partying in this blog but partying is the combination of 3 things. Girls. Alcohol. And Music. If you have those three things then you were, in effect, partying. Doesn't mean you went to a party. Just means that you partied. I hate it when people get that confused. And another thing I hate is when people are lacking like 1-2 of the 3 necessities yet they still say they're partying. Like having a beer with your dad is NOT partying. Doing shots of heaven hill (which doesn't even deserve proper capitalization) with a bunch of guys is NOT partying. Going to a teen club and hitting on 15 year old floozies is NOT partying. Sorry. Just shut up and don't call it partying.

Resume. So I was relaxing to some tea, getting a jump on math homework I didn't wanna reserve for today, and I became sidetracked and went to chill with Jamal and two girls who practically live on my floor. We're chilling and one thing lead to another and now we're doing shots of coconut rum delicioso in the dorm out of my "I'm in Miami Bitch" shot glass.

Ok so I know it's against my "code" to party on a Thursday night. Like I specifically remember making the conscious decision to only party on weekends. Then I decided that Thursday night was a weekend but I was only to party on a Thursday if the conditions were right for it. And honestly conditions couldn't be more perfect last night. I had just done two midterms, it was the halfway point in the semester, and for once in a while I didn't have anything to worry about.

It's reasons like last night that I love my dorm room. Like fucking admit it. It's just straight relaxing to gaze into my beachy-ass posters and take a sip of coconut-rum-spiked-coffee while kicking back to the sweet sounds of my vacation playlist.

I took my decorations to the exterior today. I got a picture of South Beach and put a Chris Brown quote about partying to it and taped it up on the door. I think it serves as a sign. Kinda like saying "Look if you're gonna step foot in this room you're gonna be chill and you're not gonna chase away the party." That's what room #808 is all about. Fucking get with it.

Here's an observation I made last time I was in the gym. Sometimes, there are rooms that simply don't have clocks. Like they just didn't invest the couple of dollars into buying a public-use time piece. And I think I know why. I think there are some organizations that just don't want you to stress over what time it is. Take for example, cruise ships. You will find very few clocks on cruise ships. Why? Because you're on a fucking cruise ship, don't worry about it. You don't need to know the time, you have no schedule, all you know is that in like a couple of days your cruise will end. I was quite excited while in the Johnson Center when I couldn't find any clocks. I thought to myself, "Ahh ok. This is obviously a place of peace and therefore I don't need to know what time it is." I was quite happy to be a part of such a open-minded gym. Then about ten minutes later I noticed the big clock up on the center wall that I somehow had missed. Oh well, it was a cool thought while it lasted.

So today we were learning about different love types in Communication. And one of the slides said "This love..." which made me think of the song "this love" by maroon 5. And I was like "that's such a chill song, I'm gonna listen to it later." And like three hours later it came on the radio in the gym. And I was like "Ahhh that's my song! Sweet!" Then, AS I'M WRITING THIS, it comes on Pandora. Like are you serious!? I'm getting the full "This Love" dose today! Fuck yeah!

Alright enough vacation chill shit. Time to get serious. I wanna know where my obsession with status went. Like I can't find it. It's gone. Like I specifically remember, and it's also in stuff I've written in the past, that from like Spring 2010 until recently I've defined myself by status. Like I stressed over it. I had to be drinking the RIGHT bottle. I had to fly on the RIGHT airline through the RIGHT layovers to the RIGHT destinations. I had to attend and throw the RIGHT parties. I had to bump the RIGHT music in the parking lot before school. The list goes on. Long story short, my decisions were based on where they would get me in the eyes of others.

For example. I went to Los Angeles (twice) to see a friend. And both times I milked the shit out of it. I made sure everyone's News Feeds were just clogged with the cool shit I'm doing. Because I have more status than you, you need to be jealous of me.

AND ALL THE SUDDEN it's over. Now I don't give a shit how much the bottle of tequila cost for the night's pregaming. Like maybe the first couple of nights at UK I cared about status. Getting kicked out of a frat party: high status. Yeah that's right I'm in the Air Force BITCH: high status. Yeah I party with famous basketball players no big deal: high status. But after about a week or two, I didn't give a shit. I guess I had more important things to stress about, I had to make room.

This coffee isn't very good. I mean it's strong and decent, but I was expecting better. Oh well when you drink Tribute every morning you get pretty damn picky about coffee.

So I'm going home (again) this weekend. Doug is as well. We shall smoke fine cigars and drink cold beers all night long. That sounds so chill I can't fucking wait.

Here's something interesting. Take the words "beer" and "cigars". What do you think of? I think of average beers, and average cigars. Which equates to an average night. But what if I changed it up and we looked at the words "cold beer" and "fine cigars". The entire connotation changes. It's incredible. All once you make the distinction that the malt is in fact colder than the planets, and the cigars are finely wrapped Ashton leafs, suddenly it's a classy night which will likely be enjoyed. I love that!

Well I guess I should go home. I'm almost done with my two cups of coffee. And of course you know the rules I can't stop blogging until I finish BOTH cups. Ok I'm done. And I'm also done writing. Good shit. Have a good weekend everyone! Until next time...