So, here's the pants story.
Day before I left school, I needed to pack a carload of stuff down to Kim's boyfriend's house in Winchester, about 45 minutes south of Moscow. We both had a lot of stuff that we wouldn't be needing for the summer, but were going to want to have in the apartment next year...but the current tenants of the apartment wouldn't be vacating until after we had both already left. So we stashed stuff with him. Imagine taking every single thing I had in Moscow, and trying to sort out stuff to go to Winchester, stuff to stay in Seattle permanently, and stuff to take to Taylor Ranch in a space as small as my dorm room. 0_o
So the plan for that day (Sunday) was to pack up a carload of Winchester boxes, rugs, stuff Tyler in the car for company (and lifting help), book it down to Winchester, and then come back to Moscow, and RELOAD the car with ALL the rest of my stuff (heavy book boxes, refrigerator, phone booth), so that the next morning, I could take my two finals, quickly clean my empty room, and head home. After loading, Tyler and I would study for genetics, and when we were done, he would leave and I would spend the rest of the night studying Econ.
Pants coming up soon, I promise.
So as you can see, I had a LOT to do that day. I set my alarm early, accordingly. I was in the middle of a deep dream when it went off, and so I didn't really want to get up. I slid off my top bunk, staggered over to the clock (eyes still shut), slapped the sleep button, and staggered back to the bed. Since I don't have a bottom bunk, I get into the bed by putting my right foot on the bottom headboard, pulling on the top headboard with my right hand, and swinging my left foot onto the top bunk mattress. However, when I did this that morning, my foot on the bottom headboard skidded out from under me, because a piece of cloth had been draped over the metal bar, and slipped out from under me. I grabbed onto the top bar just barely in time to keep from falling flat on my back on the concrete floor.
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You are one seriously laid back, fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants kind of guy. Even when you've just gambled away $9000 of your boss's money, you still manage to maintain your cool. Always ready with some pseudo-intellectual response, people take pause even when they're about to rip your head off. But beneath the placid exterior and quick-witted, quasi-insightful demeanor, you really have no idea what you're doing.
So here I am, left leg on top mattress, left hand clawing at mattress, right hand in a death grip on top bar, right foot dangling in space, eyes closed, hair wild, with my only thought being "sleeeeep." I was bound and determined to get back into that bed, which, after some grunting and flailing, I accomplished.
When I woke up on my own some minutes later, I wondered what on earth I my foot had slipped on. I never drape anything over that footboard, to prevent such a thing from happening. I got down out of bed ("you must not forget the suspenders, best beloved") and went to see what it was.
It was a pair of loose, olive green cargo pants.
This would be unremarkable except for the fact that I own no such pants.
I was a little unsure as what to do. I couldn't remember ever owning these pants, and I couldn't remember any of my friends carrying pants into my room recently (or disrobing). I went to the whiteboard out in the entryway and wrote something to the effect of
There is a pair of green cargo pants in my room. I have no idea who left them there. Please come back and get them, whoever you are.
I mean, there was really no way I could phrase that situation without it sounding bad.
I didn't hear from anyone, but I wasn't too upset about it. The pants actually appealed to me a lot...they were well broken in, a nice color, comfortable material, and lots of pockets...great for working or hiking. Tyler and I drove to Winchester and back, and decided to get some food out of the kitchen before we studied ("HAVE you forgotten the suspenders?").
So we were sitting in the living room, waiting on the microwave, when someone calls my name. It was Mark, who lives across the hall and one door west of me (with Ken). He was sitting at the table with Marco (two doors east), studying Biology 201. He said "ummm...I think you have my pants."
Meanwhile, Marco is sitting across from Mark, absolutely cracking up.
What had happened was this.
The night before, Mark had gone out and gotten utterly pasted. Staggered back into the house at 4:30 AM, drunk as a lemur, and headed for his room. Opened the door, went into his room, took off his clothes, and hung his pants over the bottom headboard of his bottom bunk. Attempted to get into the bottom bunk...then realized there WAS no bottom bunk. He was in the wrong room. Mine (I don't lock my door at night). I was sound asleep through all of this. He freaked and decided to get the hell out of there...which he did...sans pants. Woke up the next morning (with a blistering hangover, I assume), and saw my note. He was so embarassed by the whole thing that he almost decided not to tell me about it.
But in the end, he did. After all, they WERE great pants.
P.S. 10 points to the person who correctly identifies the origin of the "drunk as a lemur" crack.
P.S. 1000 points to the person who correctly identifies the origin of the suspenders quotes.
Current good thing: Gold skulltulas.