Prompt: Platonic Living Together

Word Count: 1256

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Enjoy:)

Lacy's Journal Entry #188

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In my defense, it wasn't supposed to end like this.

And if you're thinking of anything dirty, it's not. Get your mind out of the gutter.

If you didn't, cool. Carry on.

But yeah, I'm still wondering how I wound up here, in my brother's and I's new apartment located hallway across the state, with the microwave popcorn on fire in the oven and I holding a spatula in one hand and a bunch of overripe banana in the other, with guests that weren't mine having just left two minutes ago. Oh, did I mention my brother, who was currently at the supermarket buying air freshener at the moment, was the one to arrange the entire thing?

...I should rewind and explain, shouldn't I?

Alright, sure. Firstly, the popcorn isn't on fire anymore. And I'm not holding the spatula and banana anymore either, obviously. I'm holding a pen, writing this in my journal.

Anyways. My name is Lacy, in case you haven't read my 187 other journal entries. (But then again, I always have this paranoia that the world will all under an apocalypse, and hundreds of human civilizations will burn to the ground. And then, from the ashes, miraculously some of my dearest journal entries will have survived. So that's why I make a point of introducing myself every single entry, in case my entire journal does not survive.)

I am a college student currently studying Phycology, and am 19 years old.

I've got an older half-brother (mother sure had a ton of children), Mitchell, who's also my roommate now, it seems.

So, it all started when Mitch got this brilliant idea.

We both needed to get our place, because, well. We were adults now, what more of a reason? But the thing was, places to live were expensive. Keep in mind, I'm a student and part time waitress and he's an assistant to some music guy. In short, we don't make much.

So, my brother dearest bought it would be a great idea to be roommates.

In theory, this was a good idea. Great, even.

But then again, this was theory.

So, we went ahead and got ourselves a small, three roomed apartment (two bedrooms and a living room) at the edges of the city. In other words, far away from our previous home located in Long Island, New York.

Then, because Mitchell was young and positively, debatably crazy, he thought that we just had to have a housewarming party

So, he invited all of his and my friends, our families, bought a startling amount of food and alcohol, and prepared for a wonderful party.

Of course, he conveniently forgot to inform me of such developments.

The conversation went something like this;

"Mitch, why is there so much food in the fridge? We'll never be able to eat all of this."

"What do you mean? Lacy, that's not for ourselves."

"Then who is it for?"

"...For the party, what else?"

"..."

"...uh...did I not tell you about the party?"

"...Mitchell…"

"So, uh, we're hosting a party tomorrow?"

"Mitch, my final project is due in a week, I don't have time to party."

"...oops?"

So, that's how I found out we were going to be playing host in less than 24 hours.

Joy.

After that initial moment of shock? Annoyance? Sure, annoyance, I resigned myself to the fact we (I) would be hosting a party.

And then, the next day came, and the people started pouring into our tiny, three roomed apartment.

I'll spare you the details, but within the first hour, the majority of the guests were drunk and stuffed full with my cooking. As well as the following; a shattered vase, an almost broken window, and our microwave disassembled.

(For the record, Mitch so owned me or this, he's lucky I didn't kick them all out. I definatly could. I just didn't. Yeah, that's the case.)

Around 6pm, I would later know, some random person decided, in a stroke of genius, that they wanted popcorn. And because the microwave was disassembled and out of commission, apparently the next best thing was the oven.

So, they popped the bag of microwave popcorn into the oven, and set the timer to 30 minutes.

Of course, no one saw this happening.

I'm 99% sure they were drunk at the time. The 1% is for is they truly were stupid.

Then, Mitch's grandparents arrived at the party.

I'm not sure why Mitch invited elderly to a possibly mentally damaging gathering of young, drunk adults (not me, I don't drink), but he did. And they brought gifts.

Hence, the overripe bananas that were in my hands.

And then, when things could not get any worse, a mortal friend of mine started making waffles.

In theory this was harmless. But in theory, the party was harmless as well, and look how well that turned out.

How nobody noticed, I'll never know.

It was then I had to swoop in to do damage control. I snatched the spatula out of his hands and unforgivingly, dumped the bowl of (pathetic, orange) batter into the sink.

I think he was drunk, beacuse he didn't complain when I ruined his batter. But still, it's best not to underestimate these things.

Now, one might be wondering where Mitch was, during all this. Well, the answer was, he was having a hell of a time playing DD in his bedroom with his two best friends.

Yes. Be a wonderful older brother and leave your little sister to the wolves. Or drunk, immature beings, in this case.

It was then the popcorn started burning. Yes, a literal fire had started, in my oven, out of all places. Keep in mind, no one noticed her putting the popcorn into the oven in the first place, and I was kind of preoccupied, making sure there wasn't any lasting damage to, well, everything.

So, the smoke was wafting through the kitchen, and suddenly, one of Mitch's colleagues shouted "FIRE!"

And like a herd of sheep, almost everyone ran out the door. (Almost, because I still had to escort Mitch's grandparents out, as well as storm into Mitch's room to kick out his DD buddies.) Huh. Guess even the drunk have a survival instinct. (If I had known that was all it took to get them out of the apartment, I so would have done so sooner.)

And just like that, the party was over. In the hurricane's wake it left a mess of empty bottles, a bowl of orange waffle batter in my sink, and a fire in my oven. Of course, with me still holding the spatula and overripe banana.

Honestly, Mitch even had the gall to tell me "that was fun."

In response, I sent a glare his way and promptly threw him out the door with instructions to get air freshener. (Gods above know we need it.)

And then I head to deal with the fire. Well, not really, because I just left it be. Look, I reasoned that because it was in the oven, I should just let it burn itself out. There wasn't much to burn, anyways.

And after putting down the banana and spatula, that leads me here.

Moral of this story? Never let Mitch 'plan' a housewarming party. Or any party in general. And possibly get back at him by 'accidentally' misplacing his DD set and earbuds.

Well, I'm going to work on my project now. Leave the cleaning to my brother dearest.

(He deserves it.)

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Signing off,

- Lacy

-Fin-