Burn, Motherfucker, Burn

Friends

Late last night I finally watched the Chris Crocker video of him sobbing and asking the world to leave Britney Spears alone. It was kind of funny, had a nice post planned around it, but I got tired last night and decided to finish it up in the morning, then something considerably more blogworthy happened.

Around, say nine-ish today, the fire alarm in my apartment complex went off. Now, not the smoke detector in the apartment, but rather the raise-the-dead-get-the-fuck-out alarm in the hallway. The kind of alarm that doesn't go off unless someone's apartment has caught fire, which will soon engulf the entire complex, leaving us all homeless, stuffless and generally in a bad way. So I leap out of bed, get dressed fast, grab the laptop (the thesis is on there, never leaving that boy behind), the iPod, a jacket Emily grabs her violin and we hustle down the stairs. While other groggy bodies come stumbling out of their apartments.

Now, on the way down the stairs, I didn't smell or see smoke. But, that doesn't mean a fire isn't raging somewhere, so then, like good school children, everyone gets away from the building and then we wait for the fire department to come. And we waited. And we waited some more. The young girls who came out in only shorts and t-shirts were shivering cold, so a guy went back into the building (which should have been a raging inferno, but was not) and came back with blankets for them. We waited for what felt like a good fifteen minutes before we heard the first siren. Now, it could have been less time, but it was at least 10 minutes for sure. Still, 10 minutes is one slow fucking response time for a fire department, especially at 9 am on a Saturday in Mankato...when we live about 3 minutes from the damn fire station.

The firemen arrive, and all of them are about five-foot seven. Now, I'm not knocking short people, some of my favorite people are shorter folk, but when I think firemen, I don't think squat little David Eckstein firefighters. What are they going to do? Out hustle the fire? So they come in there and shut off the alarm and give the all clear for people to go inside. So I ask one of the David Ecksteins what tripped the alarm, and he replied, "I don't know, just tripped for some reason." Oh, thanks Davey. So that means I live in an apartment complex with a faulty fire system? Fan-fucking-tastic. Just add that to list of growing complaints I have about this complex.

When we first moved here, there were some undergrads, just a handful really, so it was quiet at night and a man could stay up late and get work done. Not anymore. I got to deal with drunk "wooing" from Thursday to Sunday evening, and all sorts of carrying on and slamming of doors and running around in the halls. So now I got the loudness, the unconsiderate and consistent drunkeness, and a questionable fire safety system...I'm living in a fucking dorm. At least there isn't the palpable smell of sex in this building yet like most dorms. I guess I'll need to ask the RA to get transferred to the quiet floor if this keeps up.

VIVA EL MUSTACHE!