Justin learned that coming home late on a school night is not the best way to start a new roommate situation ...
Dear Mom & Dad,
If I had my own Ben & Jerry’s ice cream flavor, it would be called Clouded Judgment. It would taste like marshmallows and contain methamphetamine. Side effects would include quoting “Family Guy,” drunk-dialing Michael Lohan and excessively adding movies to your instant queue on Netflix that you’ll never get around to watching.
After all, I’m sort of an expert on clouded judgment. Who knows what was going through my mind or blood stream when I did half the shit I’ve done. Regardless, I realize it’s time to start reflecting on my mistakes and share some lessons learned. One that comes to mind: Never rent a limo on a school night. I learned this lesson first hand homecoming ’08.
My fraternity brothers were pumped that two girls I met while living in Los Angeles were coming to visit, mainly because the one’s father is a rock ’n’ roll legend, and they all aspired to say they slept with his daughter.
Neither of them had been to Pittsburgh before, so I decided to rent a limo to take us the Tuesday night they arrived. Earlier that day, I moved into a new apartment because the roommate I was placed with wouldn’t stop accusing me of using his deep fryer, and I didn’t have time to argue with him in between class and binge drinking.
“My friends and I are taking a limo into the ’Burgh tonight,” I informed my new roommate. “Wanna come?”
When his excuse for not coming had to do with it being a school night, I realized the living situation was doomed.
The night was a disaster as the limo driver went the wrong way, and we ended up in West Virginia. Ten of us rolled up wasted at 3:30 a.m. to my new apartment, drunk and fighting. We were so loud that the police showed up.
My new roommate wasn’t impressed that I managed to get a limo driver and a police officer at our apartment before I even unpacked. That night, I learned renting a limo is most appropriate when celebrating a friend’s birthday or vasectomy.
Although I’ve experienced my share of clouded judgment, I don’t foresee my own ice-cream flavor to recognize it anytime soon. However, as someone that competed in a local version of “Dancing with the Stars,” I predict my new dance craze taking off: The Bad Decision Train. Jump on it!
Sorry,
Justin
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