Holy Debauchery, Batman

Let's start by saying that in all The Roni's many years, she has never, not ever, burned it down the way she did this weekend. Starting on Thursday, every night was a raging boozefest culminating in outrageous makeouts in public bathrooms and broom closets at house parties. In short, debauchery. And I like it.
So as not to crash the territory of other TGLSOAT bloggers, I will refrain from giving you a play by play of each night, but I will highlight a few things for you:
Thursday night? Craps. True that. Double true. The Roni loves her some craps, and she played the shit out of some craps on Thursday. However, I will reiterate how hot the dancing was. We need to get more of that going on around here.
Not a whole heck of a lot going on in the gossip department. The Roni does apologize to anyone injured in the fallout of her minor explosion. Other than that, no one got pantless, so no real goss. As far as I know.
But the takeaway of Thursday? People were ready to start the 72 hour rager in style. And by in style, I mean in a $3 salvation army wedding dress with 36 beers.
Quote of the night? "Dick." (The Roni)

Now Friday, Friday was cool, no pun intended. Good drinks (beer), good people (The Panty Posse in full force), good band. Sadly, the only gossip of which The Roni is aware is the late night waffle party thrown by Zeus. He apologizes to everyone he called at 4am and left this exact message: "If you do not show up in 5 minutes for my late night waffle party, you are dead to me." You did miss a fabu waffle party (not as good as other certain late night waffle moms, oh sorry, I mean hosts...), but you are by no means dead to Zeus.
But the night itself was maj fun. It proved, once again, that half-priced martinis at the urban family's new venue of choice are an excellent way to get the party started. Especially when everyone is fully decked out in ski gear. Shout out to Hester P and The Boobs for kicking the costumes into high gear with The Roni. I was totally in love with my West Palm Beach ski bunny costume. And the Baby Phat sunglasses MADE the outfit. Word.
There was one interesting phenomenon documented on Friday - the platonic sleepover. Multiple members of the PP had legit 4th grade slumber parties with members of the opposite sex and didn't think twice about it. Is that weird? Or is it weird that I think it's weird that we didn't think about it - does that make me so jaded because I just assume the anomaly is the time you sleepover and don't make out? But whatever, it was a phenomenon nonetheless for these members of the PP.
Quote of the night? "Want to come over and eat waffles and then pass out?" (Zeus, circa 3:47am)

Barrister's Ball. Holy Awesomeness. I heart last night. It was so good, but so crowded and ridiculous, that the only way I can sum it up is by giving you a representative blind item that exemplifies what went down:
What apple of The Roni's eye was so enthralled by a new lady friend that he literally instructed traffic to move around him so that she and he could proceed to make out in the middle of the street? Sadly, the night couldn't have been too much of a success seeing as he ended the night by running the mile plus from his lady friend's house to his own house.
It was that good. We got just drunk enough to work up the courage to go after that fine thang you've had your eye on, but then we shared four eerie blue concoctions that were made out of rocket fuel causing us to spill our whiskeys all down the front of his/her dress/tux and run home at 5am instead of having a not-so-platonic sleepover and thereby forefitting those precious morning moments that determine whether this jello mixture of a relationship will take.
There was so much scandal that went down, I can't even write it all. But I will extend a big thank you on behalf of all womankind to The Professor for bringing 18 big, drunk, hilarious, gorgeous men for us to oggle. And twins are never a bad idea.
Quote of the night? "Save a horse, ride a law student." (The general rally cry at the PPPP - Panty Posse Pre-Party)

Giving Credit Where Credit Is Due

I gotta say, you bitches are the best. The Roni has never felt so lucky to have such great friends. Let's just say that I've been a little on the homicidal-maniac-in-need-of-a-thorazine-drip side lately, and all my bia's have been right there, willing to hop behind the wheel when it was time for a drive-by shooting.
I just wanted to raise my funnel of beer and thank you for being the most top drawer bunch of sluts I know. (That is Roni speak for "you girls are awesome and I really like you and do not think you are the least bit promiscuously inclined, except for at 1:59pm when the bartender gives last call, at which point you laser in on the first UG you can find.) So thanks for that.

I would also like to say that last night was like a whirlwind tour through debauchery. There was Continental Divide with its requisite margaritas and naughty talk, there was pong, pong and more pong, and then we went to the party where there was craps (oh sweet craps, how The Roni loves you!), there was dancing to Madonna, and there were fist fights. It was hot like the sun.
You know what else is hot like the sun? Dancing with the three hottest men I know. Dirk, Zeus and The Badger really made The Roni shake her laffy taffy last night...and she liked it. So men, thank you for that.

Now I promise to dredge up some dirt for tomorrow. Or I will just muster up some drama of my own to report on. I seem to have no trouble doing that lately...

Happy VD from The Roni!

To all my little hens whom I love dearly - and you know who you are - be sure to check your, ahem, boxes today, because The Roni has a special little cadeau pour vous...

The Green Pants Are Back

As I sit here in my flamboyantly green pants (I don't really know what that means, since green is green, right? But these pants are Green, with a capital G), I am waxing a little philosophic. Call it the mid-February Doldrums, call it recovering from multiple, successive blackouts, call it Post-Black Sunday blues or Pre-Black Tuesday blues, call it what you will, but the point is, The Roni is thinking in grandiose intellectualisms.
We'll start with number 1, since that seems reasonable. As you may or may not know, dear readers, ever since an unfortunate (nay, TTT) incident several weeks back, The Roni has been moderating her comments page, which means she has the ability to squash mens' egos like puny insects...oh wait, that's something else. Comment moderating allows me to quash comments like puny insects. And occasionally, I must exercise this authority. However, today, in a nod to Voltaire, I published a comment that ruffled my feathers a little bit. I realize there is a whole TGLSOAT blog out there dedicated solely to the wonder that is Feb Club (with a little side helping of the wonder that is misogynistic egomania), and that's special. But seriously people, I make no claims to be the sole purveyor of gossip in this law school. If you want to know who's doing the no pants dance after 16 pina coladas, you might just have to look elsewhere. There are just some things I would not deign to comment on. True, people getting freaky with inappropriate partners after Anything for a Dollar is not one of those things. But you also have to factor in the contingency that The Roni just might like the taste of pineapple too much to resist the roofied punch we were invariably served as Hawaii Five-O. And the fact that half-priced martinis is her new favorite way to pre-game. (That idea, much like the pre-game power hour, is, let's be honest, a bad one. But there are some lessons you just have to learn for yourself.) So basically what I'm trying to say to you is, sometimes I am just too busy stirring up a brew of my own self-created drama, mixed with a little grain alcohol, two pre-game cosmos, and a whole lot of plunging neckline to notice, let alone remember, who's taking their pants of with who at/during/after/instead of Feb Club parties. So put on your big girl panties and deal with it.

Now that I've said my peace, I have a couple of comments to make on life.
First and foremost, I'd like to thank GWM for making this special comment to The Roni re: The Greenest Pants Alive:
"i was sad to hear that my favorite ghetto booty is becoming gentrified, like so many other ghettos, and succumbing to some yoga-lates-robics variation. def hot anyway -- i'd still eat it with a spoon."
Baby, you know The Roni's got a whole bowl full of laffy taffy right here that you can gnaw on anytime...

Also, PILA, The Roni has beef with you. What the F were you thinking when you told me that my "Number One Love Match" is a certain, while adorable, slightly too-good-for-The-Roni gentleman. And I don't mean too good like he's better than me, because we all know that'd be a damn lie. I just mean too good like I have a feeling he frowns on the idea of chugging a pina colada while you're waiting in line to get another pina colada. Maybe he missed his freshman economics lectures too much, but I don't think he applies the concept of scarcity to his boozing. Also, and here's a perfect example, this loveable fellow, let's call him The Good Sir, happened to be bonding with The Roni towards the end of Anything for a Dollar on saturday night. I know this because I saw pictures of us. So The Good Sir is with me when I witness someone starting to punch holes in the ceiling with their fist. The Roni sees this and thinks it's an awesome idea. She attempts to perform said feat with her own bare fists. This is a bad idea for several reasons - 1: this is Zeus's house and something tells me he'd prefer it if his ceiling were intact. 2: the ceiling is about 8 feet high. The Roni has about a quarter inch vertical. 3: for her size, The Roni is deceptively puny and weak. In a KY Jelly wrestling match to the death, The Ceiling beats The Roni every time. After about two exceedingly painful attempts to bash ceiling, The Good Sir finally had to step in and physically restrain The Roni from continuing this course of action. Clearly this man is not right for me. So PILA, I want you to go back to the trained monkey you have cranking these babies out and find me a match! Preferably one with a cute little behind, because you know I am so partial to them.

And, for you, my loyal readers, I will try to stay just inches away from Blackout in the future so I can watch and see who's canoodling with who at 2:37am. Sadly, The Roni will not be canoodling with anyone herself, so she will be perfectly available to be on Canoodle Watch...

Why, God, Why?

I have TERRIBLE news! The Royal Ass is shrinking!!
After a solid month of some serious gym-hitting (and largely thanks to my HABIT instructor who I propose to on a daily basis), my ass has begun to recede. Now this is obviously bad news, because my ass is the source of all my power. So either I need to stop hitting the gym and start hitting the fritos, or I need to find a new source of power. Any suggestions on where this can come? Seriously - The Roni's gotta have something to pump her game, or else she'll be left adrift...

Shout out to my homies

I just wanted to give one huge mother f-ing shout out to Google. Google is amazing. Seriously. I do believe my life would legitimately be incomplete without it. Here are a few things The Googs does that no one else can do:
1. Google Earth: Thank you, GMW, for showing me this handy stalking and class procrastination technique. Simply fascinating.
2. Google directions via TEXT MESSAGE: The Roni is obsessed with texting. No joke. I do it incessantly, even when I'm doing other stuff. Texting and driving? Money. Texting on the can? You bet. Texting in class? Risky, but I like it. Hence this handy dandy technique wherein The Roni can be lost, driving, and texting all at the same time pretty much is the best thing that's ever happened to me.** Simply text G-O-O-G-L (no E) and type the name of your destination (i.e. "The Roni's Bedroom") the city (i.e. "Charvegas") and the state (i.e. "Confused") (just kidding...not that kind of state) and Google will text you back the address, directions and phone number of your destination!! So hott.
3. Google Help: The Roni has been suffering from some serious foot cramps lately. Methinks it's some of the tricky moves we do in water aerobics (not kidding), but it's starting to cramp my style, if you know what I mean. So I google "foot cramps remedy" and what should I discover but a service where you can ask Google, which knows everything, how to remedy your various ailments/dilemmas/phobias.
So pretty much Google is my favorite animal. (Get there...get there...)

**I say "pretty much the best thing that's ever happened to me" because currently the best thing that's happening to me is the Clap Your Hands, Say Yeah album of the same name. If you haven't downloaded it and sold your soul to the devil for them to produce more music, that should be the first thing on your "To Do" List. I think I will direct the music video of my life to "Upon This Tidal Wave..."

You know what else I think is amazing? The NS. I emailed The NS recently to discuss some crap that's been going down, and she wrote back a pithy yet heartfelt email that really hit home. I will share with you some excerpts:

re: a close friend really dropping the ball vis a vis The Roni recently: "Everyone fucks up like that, I think. Except us."

Re: Pathetic Boy Incident No. 1 (see yesterday's post): "There are a lot of jackasses it sounds like at TGLSOAT, but you only have to live with them for another year and a half, whereas they have to live with themselves for their whole lives."

NS, you really know how to speak to The Roni in terms she can understand (i.e. be not bothered by the plebeians whom you tower above).

I Caved

I tried bitter cynicism for a day, and already I cave. Clearly committment is not for me. But nonetheless, I remain jilted, so don't try to tell me I'm not!
Here's what happened. I'm at home, watching the two hour Bachelor Special (it was the Home Visit episode), when I get an email reminding me to fill out my "Love Match Survey." Let me explain - TGLSOAT offers this quiz every year where you answer several random questions (such as "Vote For Pedro? Yes or No?") and then, for the bargain price of $3, you can buy the list of the people you are most compatible with. (Sorry grammar police - I meant "those with whom you are most compatible.")
Let's just say I wanted to resist. I tried...I fought it...but I...just...couldn't...say no. It wanted me to fill it out, and who was I to say no. I mean, you never know, my true love could be on that list, right! SO I caved. That list better get me laid, is all I'm sayin', because I am sick of getting duped.

Love is for Suckers

Well, now The Roni knows what it's like to not be able to get it up. After all her hot, sweaty rants about optimism being the new pink in February and how much she loves love and let's all hold hands and sing motherf-ing Kumbya and all that other brown & bubbly, Feb Club finally rolls around and she goes limp. I don't mean like all weak in the knees, I just mean plain flaccid. I really wanted to keep it up, but I just couldn't. And it's not like I couldn't stop thinking about grandma nekkid to the waist up wearing assless chaps, I mean I was really trying!
But you know what did it? I'll tell you - Number 1: people are so freaking predictable. And Number 2, or perhaps more appropriately, Number 1(b): boys are lame. That's it, plain and simple. They are lame, always have been, always will be, and you can set your watch by that. Even scarier, I will admit that this fact actually disappointed me! After Pathetic Boy Incident No.1 which rang in the Feb Club Year (as GWM points out, we at TGLSOAT mark our calendars much like the Chinese, with everything that matters starting in February), The Roni enjoyed maybe a day or two of being the firebreathing bitch from hell she knows she has in her (probably residing somewhere in the tin box located in her chest, where her "heart" should be), but then she just got plum down. She was secretly hoping that this particular love interest (one of her many inappropriate crushes) would prove her wrong and that he would be different - nay! that all men would be different than she knew or expected! He would see the smoke tendrils coming out of her ears, and between dodging heated breaths of fire (and the garlic from The Most Powerful Garlic Mashed Potatoes on Earth, thank you to Hester P for discovering), he would run towards The Roni, take her in his arms, cry to the heavens that he's been, gasp, lame, and BEG to be forgiven!
Not surprisingly, this did not happen. Lameness abounded, and the only man The Roni woke up with the next morning was the arm from the pizza delivery guy, which she had evidently ripped apart from his person in her haste to collect the much-needed sustenance that was an extra-large sausage lover's pizza. (Ah, the irony of that sentence...)
But I digress; the point of that little tale through the convoluted jungle that is The Roni's brain was to explain that even the most frigid of heinous bitches, The Roni herself, can get her parachute-sized cotton panties in a knot for the lowest of all creatures, a boy.
Now here is where the real kicker comes, and it pains me to say it - but doesn't that then beg the question - is it really (a) people are overly predictable, and, er go (b) boys are, and always will be, predictably lame, or is it maybe (a) people are overly predictable, and, er go (b) girls are, and always will be, crazy in the head, and further (c) The Roni, as a "girl," is, therefore, doomed to a life of being duped by boys, who are still lame. Wrap your brains around that one, my friends.

But just to show you that I'm still as shallow and superficial as ever, here are some blidies for you:

1. Which Curly-Headed Soulmate of The Roni spent saturday night rebuffing the advances of a certain wily suitor? I don't know, but I'll tell you who did spend the night succumbing to those advances...

2. In another tragic blow to the heart and ego of The Roni, which of her favorite anonymous posters and friend to belligerent animals everywhere spent Thursday night working the UG crowd like a shirtless bartender in Cancun during March?

3. Violets to La Brez for shooting down the Captain of the DB's and card-carrying member of the lamer sex!

4. Violets to The Sorority Sister for literally grabbing the kerosene, lighting the match and burning that mother down on saturday night! The Roni hasn't stayed up until 4am dancing to Salt-N-Peppa (spell it right, folks) in quite some time, but let me tell you, she likey.

5. Violets to Gray's Anatomy for KICKING SERIOUS ASS. The Roni is still trying to catch her breath from excitement.

6. The Roni must give a preemptive apology for this one, but you knew you weren't going to avoid it...the You Naughty, Naughty Minx Award goes to one of The Roni's Close, Personal Friends this week for proving that a toga shouldn't stop anyone from getting nookie.

That about does it for Dirt & Violets, I think. I'm sure there's more, but since I spent most of the weekend trying to figure out how to tie a toga, I was a little preoccupied. Let me know if I've missed anyone.
Oh, and from here on out, we are going to kick it old school style and do a round up of every Feb Club Party The Roni attends. So keep it classy, Charvegas, because The Roni's going to spill all your dirty secrets. And wax philosophical about the greater meaning of melancholy (alone, pizza-less, and sober at 2am on a saturday) and the potential for happiness (Anything for a Dollar is only a few days away...and The Roni's two very favorite costumes are going to get a chance to come out!).

I'm going to go cry on my pillow now.