At one point in the semester, a Project X type event was held to celebrate a well-played football game. I left the place at around 9 p.m., when it was a modest gathering. Unbeknownst to me, it became a turned into a rager during the six hours I was gone.

Getting back was just going through the motions. Find side door. Slide card and get in. See a smashed bottle on the ground? Though I cannot endorse the consumption of alcohol, it hurt my heart a bit to see the smashed body of Jose Cuervo bleeding out onto the carpet. Rip Jose.

Moving past the tragedy in the foyer, I opened the door to our lounge. The sound alone should have told me that people were “turning up” from a mile away. Never before had I seen the lounge packed like it was that night. Big Sean was tearing it up from the club sized speakers around the room and people were dancing everywhere I looked.

I was too tired to keep up with the people around me and made the executive decision to go to bed. Shutting myself behind the door did little to quiet the music. Sleep couldn’t take over with the music still blasting, which was disappointing at first. The situation only got worse from there. It would have been unrealistic to ask that many people to stop having fun. At least the hallway to my room was relatively empty of people. Until the bickering couple decided to argue right outside of my door.

Hey I get that relationships can be a rocky road. But my door was not the place to yell at each other about it at 5 a.m. I was too beat to get out of bed so I resolved the situation by throwing a boot at my door and yelling an obscenity about how I was spending my private time.

Luckily that scared them off and I was able to doze off to the sounds of “Headband” blasting in the background. Thanks to ibuprofen and bottled water, I was up and at ‘em by 10 a.m. I left for the lounge to heat up a leftover calzone for breakfast and stumbled upon what appeared to be a homeless man on the lounge floor. Somehow he was on a sheet less blue dorm mattress surrounded by red solos, candy wrappers and Izone boxes. The hobo had no shirt and was missing a shoe. But he looked happy because he was smiling in his sleep so that’s what matters I guess.

The guy was gone by noon and things were somewhat back to normal by the end of the day. And throughout it all, Jose sat out there in broken seclusion. Thus concludes another chapter of G-Spot, the best spot.