Epsilon Pi in Real Time (last Saturday)

Living across the street from a frat house has its disadvantages, and also its advantages. For instance, regardless of the fact that I had no idea there was a football game this evening, I left my windows open to the cool fall air and am now full to bursting with the knowledge that UK not only had a football game tonight, but they won.

My favorite moment thus far is the drunk guy with the cup of beer sloshing all over his shirt screaming "I WANNA GO CELEBRATE!"

If my car is on fire in the morning, I will be a) not surprised and b) less inclined to be grateful to not have to turn on the news for sports updates (first sirens of the evening, commence...now).

Last Tuesday, when the fire alarm at the Epsilon Pi house went off at 3am, not only was I awake, but reading some of the most boring academic literature to have ever graced a university press. I was utterly delighted, when I first noticed the flashing lights through my blinds, for the opportunity to sit on my roof sipping tea and taking note of the various frat-girlfriend hairstyles.

Now, there was some definite milling about in a small circle and my numbers may not be perfect, but I counted 12 girlfriends and two haircuts. Maybe two point five.

Unfortunately, my recent serious illness and hospitalization occurred during rush week. The night before I went to the doctor the first time, I had to park my car three blocks away (it took almost 20 minutes for me to hobble home) out of respect for the three stretch Hummer limousines with the strobe headlights on the street directly in front of my house.

Currently, I am counting how long the same men can shout "UK, UK, UK, UK, UK, UK, WILDCATS" over and over again before getting winded. It has been 7 minutes. I am also counting how many newspaper helicopter passes are made directly over my house; so far I've got six. Seven.

Last night, there was a fairly drunken party. This morning when I went to check my mail, there was a size ten slingback peeptoe stiletto heel in matte black on the sidewalk. And while I see you all calculating this as a disadvantage, I'd like to remind you that I've been looking for a pair of black peeptoe heels for quite some time now. I'm also a size ten. My search is half over. And honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if I find the other one next Saturday.

13 minutes; ten helicopter passes. One firetruck. The local greasy spoon buys a round for the house each time something with lights and sirens passes within view; poor bartenders must be fit to anyeurise this evening.

I guess I should get around to discussing the couch on the front lawn. It's an eyesore, and surely has something of a discernible size living somewhere in it. I'm not beyond admitting, however, that sometime in the next ten months I will quite likely stumble home too drunk to make it up the 18 flights of stairs to my bed. In which case, I will collapse gleefully onto that couch with one foot flat on the ground and wake up in the morning with my panties in my pocket.

16 minutes. 14 helicopter passes.

Filled with a vague sadness that I never bothered to embrace sorority life, date a frat boy and join in such festivities as these, I must now take my leave in order to read several chapters of a very long book.

I'll let you know tomorrow what the final count on helicopters turns out to be. The screamers' numbers have dwindled to an obviously tiring two.

Welcome to Kentucky.

***UPDATE***

I don't even have the words to describe how elated I am that my car is not parked on the street tonight.

***UPDATE***

The fire department just showed up at the Epsilon Pi house. I am disappointed to report that they have set the lawn couch on fire, and now I shall be forced to move. Unless they buy me shoes.