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...
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...
posted by The Roni at 3:48 PM
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