Acid, raves, snow, and Portlandia.

To clarify, I have not been tripping on acid since I've been back in Pittsburgh.  Okay, moving on.

So I finally decided to write a post.  Ashley has been dropping not-so-subtle hints over Facebook chat about writing one, so here I am.  I probably should have written this when my stories were fresher in my mind, but this is the Internet and no one will be able to tell if I'm exaggerating the truth.  I won't anyway, but it could happen.

So we'll tackle this story potluck (Buffet? Smorgasbord? Menagerie? Nah, potluck.) in accordance to the title.  Get excited guys, you're about to hear a story about people on acid being afraid of my face.

I don't really recall how or why we ended up at our friend's house this one night, but we did and it was pretty okay for a while.  It was the night before my good friend's birthday and we decided to take advantage of this totally superfluous night, as any true college student should do.  So when we showed up we found ourselves in the midst of unfamiliar company, but they seemed nice enough.  After a while I challenged everyone to a Mario Party 2 showdown and then proceeded to murder everyone with my 15 years of hard work and focus. We were meandering back upstairs while I reveled in my Superstar glory when we came across the calm before the acid-induced storm.  There were two girls and three guys that had all dropped acid about an hour before and it was starting to kick in.  One girl was holding an ice cube while pondering its very existence. Another was just laughing and taking pictures of fruit.  And then they all decided to form a human couch in the bedroom adjacent to the kitchen.  At that point, I was pretty tired and just wanted to go back to my dorm.  So, while sitting on hold for a taxi and devouring an avocado ("What kind of sick people don't have SALT? They have have nutmeg and no fucking salt."), I heard the girls crack open the bedroom door and frantically ask my roommate, "IS SHE STILL HERE?".  I didn't really pay much attention to it until my roommate asked if they were talking about me. I poked my head around the corner and heard a collective scream followed by a slamming of the bedroom door. 

So, I did what any person would do in this situation and proceeded to scratch at the door and tell them they would all be made into salted pork by night's end.  And then our taxi arrived and we all left.  (Not before one of the guys emphatically stated that he needed to open the living room window to "let the outside in.")

Onto the rave. 
There was a rave happening in Southside (basically bar central in Pittsburgh) the night of my friend's actual birthday.  Raves are not my thing, but she's young and starry-eyed and really wanted to see what it was like.  So, we showed up fashionably early.  Like, really early.  There were a couple characters dancing to the Dubstep-kind-of-music that was playing, but that was about it.  Deciding it was best to stick together, my roommate and I decided to find the bathroom.  As we reached the door, a couple of guys stepped out, sniffed, shook their heads, and walked away. 
Needless to say, we found a different bathroom.  It turned into that kind of bathroom later, but at the time it was pretty cocaine-less.  Or whatever-less.

As for the rest of the night...I mean, what else would you expect from a rave.  Lots of sniffing, too many people asking for dollar bills, lots of people with lit up gloves, the same kind of song being played over and over, all of that.  A group of us ended up leaving early, leaving a couple people behind.  I was, yes, a little high so I was pretty much constantly hugging someone.  I like to hug people, what can I say. 

The rest of that night was uneventful.  There was pizza involved.  And later sleep.

Snow.  There is snow.  A lot of it.  My friend Allie and I just walked several miles in it.  But it's okay because we got free pad thai out of it.  But I temporarily lost all feeling in my extremities and left my student ID in the restaurant, so I'm not sure if free pad thai really made up for that.


Portlandia.  If you don't know what it is then we can't really be friends. Kayla (my roommate) and I have Portlandia dates.  It's a beautiful thing.  I just...I can't.  It is something that must be experienced.  Not unlike acid I suppose, but you probably shouldn't drop acid.  You'll be obsessed with ice cubes and you'll think perfectly agreeable girls are terrifying demons. 


ONTO THE PICTURES (which are, let's face it, mostly Instagram pictures)

The view from my window.  

This is a little out of order, but this is myself on New Year's. I believe Ashley already posted this picture, but it's okay because how often do you get to see me in a Ghostface mask?  Exactly.

Waiting in the always exciting Sacramento airport for my departing flight back to Pittsburgh.

In Georgia, on my way to Pittsburgh.  

Keeping it classy with our bag of wine.

That girl, that one right there.  This is from the acid night and she was the primary instigator in making me out to be the creature from the Black Lagoon.

Rave.  People.  Hipsters, rather.

 Lights on walls.

The night of the rave.  I dyed my hair black.

 More pretty lights.

Oh yeah.  This night was a story but I forgot to write it.  Maybe next time.  

My friend with a decorative egg perched above her head.

A couple nights ago I temporarily lost control of my life because I discovered Party Down.

The rest of these are from tonight.  It just....it was a very cold night.  

Fin.