A million years late to the drunk stories …
but here is one I love.
Fall 2002. I am living in a triple in the sorority house with Melissa and our friend Alexis (funnest. room. ever.). It’s my 19th birthday, and we celebrate at some frat house, probably Sig Ep. We return home, I am wastey, and I consume my several glasses of water and eight pieces of toast. I am taken upstairs and put to bed where I state that I feel like I might throw up and could I please have my trash can beside me with a vanilla trash bag in it. Everyone decides I am crazy and dismisses me, until I describe where in the closet they are - and lo and behold, I have two kinds of trash bags, plain, and vanilla.
Oh, you doubters.
Also I have a million stories about myself being a shitshow involving things like vomiting in elevators and peeing in people’s yards, but I like the vanilla trash bag one. So there.
