don't wake me, I plan on sleeping in

Last night, I was coming out of a restaurant where I had just been treated to a lovely dinner by my lovely parents, and I noticed I had a voicemail from Heidi. It started like this:

Hello, JENNIE, this is Heidi. Your roommate. I was just calling because there's this situation at the apartment . . .

and at this moment, I started visualizing all sorts of things. Like Phoebe had somehow turned on the fireplace or the stove and caught the apartment on fire or had gotten herself locked in the microwave with a rabid monkey or SOMETHING WORSE. Then, after I had a mini-heart attack, I kept listening:

I just thought you should know that Hot Guy is outside playing football. And he has Hot Friends. So you should get home ASAP so you can see Hot Guy and his Hot Friends playing Hot Football.

Unfortunately by the time I got home, the Hotness was over. So sad. There are actually two Hot Guys in our apartment complex that Heidi and I have been keeping an eye on recently. One has dark hair and one has light hair and I almost hit the one with light hair with my car in the parking lot one day. I've only had one run in with the dark-haired guy. It was at the very end of my run and I passed him on the sidewalk. He was running the other way and looked like he was just getting started. WHY I couldn't have seen him before my face was beet red and my hair was sweat-plastered to my face, I don't know. Anyway, I told Heidi it reminds me a lot of high school, like when you have a crush on the captain of the football team (I don't get this particular cliche . . . I don't remember having a crush on the captain of any team) and you walk by his locker between classes so you can giggle and tell your friends about it later. Because whenever one of us sees Hot Guy 1 or Hot Guy 2 we have to tell the other. In fact, the reason we were sitting on the balcony last night drinking beer and playing Truth or Dare was because we were spying on Hot Guy and his friends. WHAT? What did YOU do last night that was so exciting?

Our game of Truth or Dare escalated quickly. Truths suddenly jumped from "did you ever have a crush on a teacher in high school" to "would you ever get back together with [name has been deleted]?" and "how do you really feel about [oh you'd better BELIEVE name has been deleted]." And then the dares went from "I dare you to tell the Internets that you're a lesbian" to "I dare you to throw your underwear in that tree." By the way, the underwear stayed up there until about an hour ago, when Heidi found it on the front stoop. Heh.

Anyway, Heidi left a little while ago so I have nothing else to do but sit here and write these damn How To articles. Actually, it is about 800 degrees in our apartment right now so really what I've been doing is lying on the floor in front of the fan and whining about how hot it is even though no one can hear me, unless of course Hot Guy is outside exacting his revenge by spying on our apartment. Which I'm actually totally fine with, SO TAKE THAT, HOT GUY!