Dorm Tramps. Volumes 1-6: A Field Guide for the Genetically Blessed.

Description

Sadie and Jenna are roommates on campus who tend to take some aspects of their life a little too seriously. Being young and somewhat naïve, does little to inhibit their confidence, however. That is the positive side of naiveté; one isn’t aware of any shortcomings. Verbal blunders, over-exaggeration and an excessively high perception of themselves, isn’t something they attempt to hide from family or friends. In fact, you’d probably be looked at as jealous or even inept if calling them out on such things. The series begins with these promo girl/students delivering quick-witted angst and an obliviousness for those whom dare question their mission.

Volume two of Dorm Tramps, delves into the current trend of a youth gone wild on the dance floor. An awareness campaign is born as a result and hopes of striking a blow against a third world in strife runs on high. It’s a compassionate endeavor for the group, wearing well with the newest in stiletto chic and provoking a long-lasting side debate over nipple oppression.

The girls are joined in daily play by athlete boyfriends and of course, the members of the crew you were introduced to in volume one. Jayne also moves into the fold more prominently, as does the ever-important eighth floor committee. And don’t worry; what would the perfect world be without Heather and Bree randomly irking the girls.

Despite a small obstacle or two, a mantra of patience is strong with our alpha females, but as always, must be tested to endure. In Kill the Twerk, be ready to laugh and discover more of what makes these girls tick―in a greedy, yet upscale light.

Midway through this collection, vacation takes center stage in Lose the Haterade. March goes hand in hand with several things when one is in college. Spring Break and a famous sports tournament, for example, are of the most prominent dates on any given calendar during that month. Jenna has interest in the one involving sand and a bikini. At least that is what she thought until landing in Cabo. When Matt and the other boyfriends abandon the girls for the better part of a week, Jenna lends appreciation to a sport she knows little about until recently. An unsuspected friend is found in the NCAA’s bracketology—basketball. She could care less about the game; but a free pass does form because of it and allows for sexual boundaries to expand—or blow up as it were. A bonus, throwing the vacation into overdrive.

Standard routines change on this trip. New habits of daring behaviors slap the demands of etiquette in the face. In other words, Jenna’s true freak from the shadows pokes its head into the sunlight of Mexico, promising to ride shotgun next to her on the way home. Call it a souvenir of the surprise type and of which is sure to be a lifelong BFF.

In The Brandy Files, the average day now involves an added strangeness. After their ten-day party comes to a close, moral consistencies must once again become the chosen road. It makes hiding everything in between a little harder to accomplish. Exploring, as Mom urges, is precisely what catches the eye and tingling fantasies of curious Honor students now. Skype sessions with hammers, unknown microbes compounding on mirrors, along with secret societies; all take hold as Jenna is forced to create a new clipboard—a dark operations sort of schedule.

Skipping passed second gear altogether; an acceptable residence for the Fall semester has been tossed onto the hot seat. A chance visit and tour of a high-rise complex nearby, secures the girls a new home for the following year. Dorm life is in its final days, although the spirit will never die.

If these entertaining burdens weren’t enough to contend with, the eighth floor gets into a rumble and Matt’s boyfriend status is potentially on the chopping block. Events move faster, so pay close attention and don’t dare miss the explanation of the Halloween Bang Massacre.

Lastly, change looms about and presents no sign of slowing when summer approaches. The girls finally transition to the long awaited freedom of an apartment and the promised land of luxury opens new doors. Pirates in G-strings and Luck is Nothing, has Jenna’s career spinning out of control. Her fetishes spread their tentacles like a spider web as well; with notch lists expanding, Mason Country pleading and a boss who is forced to plan for a divorce. Boundaries of close and intimate relationships are not merely teased and challenged here—they are readjusted in their entirety.

This three-month hiatus from class evolves into chance meetings that give way to still more of the surreal and unexpected. Underground clubs are one thing, but joining another that meets with forty thousand cheering students is somewhat over the top. Yet, all of this is what young minds and bodies seek out—a world of adrenaline, with unabashed promiscuity steering its ship. Fleet services at Geisha Fuel can attest to this, as a rep in fuzzy slippers secures her own maintenance bay.

Nevertheless, suffice to say that a University’s core doesn’t revolve solely around research papers and studying for exams. It shouldn’t anyway, by measures of a well-rounded participant. You will see that it proves to be nothing of which the owners of an adult emporium haven’t covered in a radical program of study. A Shoppe’s applicant offering cabbage-made diaper apparel and volunteer labor notwithstanding. The later sounds complicated maybe, but once understanding Sadie’s colosseum aspirations, it isn’t anything a good bail bondsman can’t remedy. Strap yourself in or on for the ride—everyone else is already geared up and waiting in the wings.

Table of Contents

Description

Volume 1: Promo Girls.

Chapter 1: A Week in the Life.

Chapter 2: Dorm Exodus: Dreams of Luxury.

Chapter 3: Patience and Rewards.

Chapter 4: Meeting of Great Minds: Clothing Optional.

Chapter 5: Knowing Your Place at the Head of the Table.

Volume 2: Kill the Twerk.

Chapter 1: A Movement is Born.

Chapter 2: Commitment to Service; it can’t be Learned.

Chapter 3: Head-butting Schedules.

Chapter 4: Bargaining in all Directions.

Chapter 5: Tunnels, Puddles and Surprises.

Chapter 6: Acceleration Mode.

Volume 3: Lose the Haterade.

Chapter 1: Brackets and Break.

Chapter 2: The Unraveling.

Chapter 3: Dirty is Subjective.

Chapter 4: No Shame in the Game.

Chapter 5: Uno Mas Gig Por Favor.

Chapter 6: Fourth Quarter Heat.

Volume 4: The Brandy Files

Chapter 1: Pudding.

Chapter 2: Sidetracks that Rock.

Chapter 3: Fresh Hangouts and Open Doors.

Chapter 4: Eighth Floor Conspiracy.

Chapter 5: Conferencing in Slippers.

Chapter 6: Compost to Sunflowers.

Volume 5: Pirates in G-strings

Chapter 1: Freaks with Secret Handshakes.

Chapter 2: Cheating as an Artform.

Chapter 3: School Spirit Meets the Ridiculous.

Chapter 4: A Pin-up Girl and her Sage Barista.

Chapter 5: Life Preservers are for the Meek.

Chapter 6: Pillage and Plunder.

Volume 6: Luck is Nothing

Chapter 1: Equilibrium on Full Tilt.

Chapter 2: Chicks Talk too much.

Chapter 3: Blink and You Lose.

Chapter 4: Protégés, Boyfriend Intros and a Bucket List on Lock Down.

Chapter 5: Confessions of a Shower Troll.

Chapter 6: Crushing Life.

Postscript

Special Glossary of Terms

Additional Books from the Author

Note from the Author

Vol. 1: Promo Girls

Chapter 1

A week in the Life

Did you have sex with him, Sadie?

What? How would I? I went home with you.

Oh, and our place is a safe zone for your vagina? Please. How long have I known you?

It was a pool party, Jenna. He was cute and had a great body. What’s the sense in going to those shin-digs if I’m not going to shop around?

Yeah…well, your boy-toy is certainly into hands-on shopping. That freak manhandled you as if he’d mount your lounge and photo bomb you from the front. No camera required.

It was a massage. Nothing more.

Uhhh…yeah. Massages usually begin with the shoulders, not your inner thighs. From what I saw, he covered the space in between as well. You whored it up and in the process, made the rest of us girls look cheap as well. Poor form.

Whatever. I’m not a whore, Jenna. I was just getting to know him. It’s called socializing for your information. You know, ‘making the most of my collegiate experience; building a lifetime of relationships.’

Oh, is that what we’re calling public spectacles of foreplay now?

I wasn’t particularly happy with her, but also wouldn’t stay mad for very long. She definitely dropped the ball where etiquette is concerned in this instance; that much is true, yet I understand the needs. What she needs is an onramp to her own, private, rest area—maybe, one with an admission counter to the Glory Hole ride.

And, stop quoting that blurb from campus orientation, I continued. You were building an orgasm in front of two-hundred, horny and half-in-the-bag students. Nothing else.

So, what’s the problem?

"The problem is that he didn’t introduce me to any of his hot and grabby friends. I spent an hour listening to chicks asking me if I could get them a job repping with us. That’s totally lame on Saturday.

"Oh, stop whining, you sore loser. You need to be more assertive. I destroy my welcome mat for other bitches the second my bikini hits this bod. You talk to everyone. That’s your problem."

That’s called life, Sadie.

Well, change that shit up, Jenna. When a fine ass guy’s hands are on me, I’m off any other the clock.

Yeah, I know all about your clock. You put a towel down on my car seats from now on. I’m serious.

Gassing up the car is never quick, quiet or about getting on the road as soon as possible. For whatever reason it happens to be stopover for us to air grievances and pick apart girls with unkempt hair and underdeveloped wardrobe failures. I know it’s possible to enter and exit a gas station in several minutes, yet we are not amongst the majority doing so. It baffles me to this day, why grocery trips take less time.

Where did you two sneak, I continued. The clubhouse? He followed you in the clubhouse.

Hey, I needed to use the restroom. We only talked…about my class schedule, she said, searching for an escape and looking guilty, And stuff.

Sadie, you barely know your schedule. I have to tell you what to load in your book bag every morning. And, if you’re telling me you had sex in a public bathroom, I’m not being your friend anymore.

Okay, now that’s nasty, Jenna. I don’t even pee in those bathrooms if I have half a chance of making it home. I certainly wouldn’t have sex in someone else’s bathroom.

You better not be saying you’re doing it in ours either, Sadie.

Ummm…

Gross! I’m moving out.

Welcome to every minute of every day. Sadie and I have been best friends since high school. It is there, that we decided on which college to attend and it being a must to shack up as a team. We’ve done everything together as long as I can remember and any other option just wasn’t acceptable. Our living arrangement would be the badass and multi-level apartment, showcasing the best contempo furniture available. A total chick pad, for those being of our high caliber and in the most popular circles; whom adore entertaining with spur of the moment cocktail parties. That was the dream anyway.

Yeah, we ended up in the dorms. Unfortunately, our parents wouldn’t float the bill for either of their daughters, unless residing in a so-called supervised and secure setting. Something about us not being entirely responsible for our age and ignorant to the challenges of real life. I argued that I had a meticulous day planner that I held firmly to and Sadie—she held up the pepper spray on her keychain.

Apparently, we still came up short on their lame-ass requirements. The monthly checks were delivered on one condition; she and I would remain in the prison-like residence for both freshman and sophomore years. An opt-out was available if we rented said bachelorette pad on our own, which meant part-time jobs. That complicated matters even more so when a sly, back door, addendum was added about keeping our grades on par for the duration.

Grades, smades. Each of us are straight A and grade A, both on exam day and poolside respectively. The ultimate 4.0’s in mind and the perfectly toned, nineteen-year-old bodies. Packages highly sought after, even though we ignore guys unfitting of our very strict, bedroom access list. Fortunately, and quite purposely, Sadie and I spent long hours researching exactly where we might attend a University that didn’t allow bad looking people. Rigorous reporting, by way of the annual Playboy and Cosmo listing of pretty people schools, led us to Tempe. YouTube also lent to many a pajama night, where we scavenged through vids of sick pool parties and six-pack abs. Choosing a school is a big deal. Know its truth. You better get it right the first time, because four years is a without the proper amenities is the wrong way to live.

The drive would take fifteen minutes, even though it felt more as if two had passed. Excitement builds and we run through important themes that might have been missed early on in the day. Usually we talk over one another, but chicks tend to do this as a rule. It’s a social skill we begin honing in pre-school and by the time college is reached, it has evolved into a complex code that no male ever understands. They have no idea, but this is why they look stupid and grow silent in the absence of a supporting man brigade—to escape and talk intelligently about sports and new tires.

I really like this logo and the color schemes are much better, I said, changing the subject.

I know. Pretty much all my booty gear work well with their shirts.

Don’t forget accessorizing. I can go modern hippie to mad fabulous, depending upon my whim of the day.

Sports drink fabulous? I like it, she said, smiling. By the way, I’m also digging on the exposed panty strings you’re rock’n. The white pops between the color of these shorts and your tan. Good call.

Thank you! I don’t see yours. Can I assume you went camel-toe commando again? Like Thursday night.

Nope. I’m strapped in, but hidden. In fashion hindsight, I think it was maybe a little too brazen and 80’s flashback.

No kidding. That was probably your mom’s style before you were even born. Chicks advertised back in historical times.

Can we leave my mother’s vag out of this convo, Jenna? My advertisement was purely coincidently.

How is not wearing underwear and your lips practically piercing thin shorts coincidental?

I don’t know. How can I be held accountable for Thursday? I think I counted items and decided there were too many. Anyway, I did score a record number of phone numbers. Best three hours I’ve had in a while, as far as potential muscle for afterhours. Maybe commando really is the way to go.

It was the look of an epiphany. I noticed her silently counting as fingers jetted out one by one. She held the total on one hand, but still didn’t appear happy with the result.

We might have this figured all wrong, Jenna.

Just keep their muscle off my vanity. And, stop scouring the bathroom we share with your behind. The idea is for me to get clean when I go in there.

Okay, seriously Jenna, what am I supposed to do when you’re sleeping five feet away from me?

I don’t know. Have your dad send a tent or something.

A tent. Yeah, right. ‘Dad, I need a soundproof tent because Jenna is too lazy to knock on a hot neighbors door and fill her own bed.’ No thank you. The ‘Responsibility’ lecture on Thanksgiving and Christmas is more than I can already stomach.

"Well…put a towel down, Sadie. I keep saying it…towel."

I tried that route. Fail.

How so?

I slid off the vanity and almost cracked my head open on the toilet. Totally jacked up the mood, not to mention my trademark Sadie rhythm.

Oh, for Christ’s sake. You and your…okay, wait. Immediate 911. I came to a stop in front of the clubs main doors and began a moderate panic. Where do we park? We’re supposed to be all access here. Don’t these people understand the hugeness of the promo girls showing up to their gig? Like, where’s our valet or manager escort?

Rookies, Jenna. It’s going to be one of those nights.

Well, I’m demanding more money for this gig when I talk to our district manager. We’re professionals.

I’m ditching my underwear, she said, totally ignoring me and taking advantage of our crisis. Thank God, I bought these shorts in the kid’s section. Pucker up, sweetheart. Time to go to work.

Stop talking to your cooch and go find someone, Sadie.

It’s true that we are also coveted veterans in the field of sports drink promotion. Six months of working for the best of the best: Rock Star, Red Bull and currently, a new and skyrocketing line known as Geisha Fuel. Sure, we thought about becoming reps for liquor brands, but again with the irritating restraints. Both of us can easily purchase liquor locally from this one store on Terrace Drive. It’s simply a matter of wearing miniskirts or micro-dresses when the college boys operate the registers during evening hours. The law in general, for whatever reasoning, doesn’t appreciate a great set of legs, however. Bureaucratic powers single handedly wiped out the dream and becoming a Malibu or Sailor Jerry girl was temporarily put on hold.

Neither Sadie nor I could care less either way. We are already legends in the industry and its sugar-power swag lines our fridge at all times. It’s also a good way to check out clubs that normally, we wouldn’t be able to get into due to the whole I.D. thing. The upside means older guys and a greater advantage of meeting more established dating material. Our phones ring to the point of having to skip to voicemail as is, but since hooking up with new careers, men with their own apartments are part of the equation. Highly desirable for women such as Sadie and myself. Obviously, we’re a little more mature than the typical freshman―being raised in environments that fostered strength in character.

I guess what I’m saying is that we learned early on about the blowback of being so popular and desirable. It is as caddy as it sounds, but simply one of those things we are destined to shoulder. The chosen are born into it, similar to Darwin’s Theory of Natural Selection. Beyoncé, Kylie and Kendall, Sadie and me, to mention a few of the fewest. The best advice I can give to others who might not be navigating such a road so successfully—have patience, with those around you that don’t understand the life. Constantly, answering questions about being pretty and having to die for bodies―dating the best-looking guys always and even having the job every girl wants in college―it gets to be slightly monotonous at times. We’re probably as close to royalty as anyone can get on a college campus.

The parents try to play it off as a mere stepping-stone, yet they do give encouragement. I, however, recognize that my mom and dad are holding back the compliments; their way of attempting to thwart off an inflamed ego on my part I suppose. Parents do have a duty to keep their kid level headed. It’s also totally hilarious, although I play along and Sadie says she has to do the same with her family.

Deep down, I know the wonder of how we pull it off time and again just boggles their minds. They have to be flabbergasted as I create the magic at every turn. Again, even where they are concerned, patience. When I leave the house or end a call with them, you better believe they’re high-fiving each other and taking credit for the way Sadie and I throw strikes―all day, every day and as far back as middle school.

Two hours into the gig.

Jenna, I’m out of hats, keychains and stickers. Holy crap! What a night so far. It’s a good thing I’m so adept in dealing with high pressure situations.

I still have half a box of T-shirts left.

Maybe the guy man-handling you has something to do with your not actually being on the floor. You think? Aren’t you the girl who disciplined me on the drive over here for the very same behavior?

At least I’m not calling it a massage, Sadie.

"What are you calling it?

Letting him probe every inch of my everything that’s exposed in this outfit. Sadly, he hasn’t made any moves to uncover more of me.

Jenna wants you to undress her in the middle of the bar, she said, matter of factly. Who’s your friend by the way?

Sorry, I said, leaning back as he kissed my neck, Bad manners. Sadie, this is Neil. He’s a personal banker at Chase. They are probably making him a VP next year.

"No way. That’s huge."

Hi Sadie. Nice to meet you. Hey, I was just asking Jenna about what time you girls are finishing up tonight. My roommate and I are probably leaving soon and heading back to the house. You girls are welcome to join us. Maybe, enjoy cocktails in the hot tub.

Oh…well, who’s your roommate?

He is…that guy in the blue shirt at the end of the bar. Brown hair, tats on his forearms. He’s a commercial real estate agent. And, he’s twenty-five.

"Really."

What do think, Sadie?

Ummm, yeah, I could meet him.

Let me run and get him. Be right back.

Hang on a minute, Neil. I just thought of something, Jenna. What about the car?

She’s right, Neil. We have the Geisha Fuel Mini-Cooper. It’s our responsibility for the weekend.

Exactly. People see the logo on the side of the car and they freak. If someone were to steal that car, it’s our asses.

My new friend who had bypassed the soft approach regarding his intentions with me, acted as if an unseen boulder had been thrown in front of him. From the moment he zeroed in on me, no one else was allowed any access to what he planned on devouring at his Scottsdale pad. Now, a car was cock blocking him. He didn’t quite know how to compete against a corporate ride and its Fuel can prop that was suddenly valued higher than his cock.

Ummm…that’s a new one. Well, let me think.

And think he did, while Sadie and I stared at him. Nothing was going any further without a room of its own for the Mini.

Garage? I looked at him with hopeful eyes and saw the three sevens of a winner line up in his own.

I have to admit, Sadie approaches the job as seriously as I do and this was a perfect example. As if, we don’t have enough to deal with on a regular basis. Class, homework, daily workouts and of course, social obligations at the Rec Center, where it’s expected that we make an appearance several times a week. There are also various lunches and shopping dates with other friends, not to forget the unending invites to parties when the weekend hits. Sometimes, being the face of a company after dark can be a bit overwhelming.

Neil excused himself to retrieve James; Sadie’s soon to be date that was about to have his night blessed, which gave us girls a chance to talk.

Wow, sex in a real bed for you tonight. Do you remember how?

Shut up, Jenna. No one’s having sex until you dump these shirts. F.Y.I., I don’t have a suit with me to go hot tubbing. You know that, right?

Neither do I. It won’t be the first time, Sadie. Besides, we are not going there merely to chit-chat.

True. Better to make it undeniably clear that it’s a go as soon as we get in the door. It becomes tedious having to talk about myself after such a long day.

I agree. They’re going to want to know all about us though. Everyone always does.

Just stay positive, she continued, lowering her voice. Once we lose the clothing, guys always stop talking. Hope for the best. It’s all we can do.

Both of us took handfuls of shirts from the box and began draping them across shoulders passing by, refusing any possible returns. It wasn’t the traditional procedure, but spending another hour or more orienting club-goers to the benefits of the latest energy drink, was more than the current situation allowed. It was also a lazy presentation and silently, both of us were ashamed at our behavior I think.

Worse yet, God help us if a company spotter was in the building and evaluating our now laxed performance. Getting busted in that way could evolve into a reprimand or even a write-up―the consequences being a demotion from repping the hottest clubs and events. We didn’t say a word, but I knew she was cringing inside as I was in these final minutes.

Excuse me. Hi girls, I’m Yvonne.

Of course, the best laid plans—well, you know where this is going already.

Hi Yvonne, I answered, pushing a shirt into her hand. Buy Geisha. Have a good night.

Oh…okay, thanks. Listen, I don’t mean to interrupt, but can I ask how or where I need to go to apply for a job?

You mean as a promo girl?

Yes. I’m in school and I need something that pays well. Part-time. Studying and all, you know.

"Well, you are pretty enough. I’m Jenna by the way."

Nice to meet you.

Anyway, being attractive isn’t the only requirement to do this job well.

She’s right, Yvonne. It’s not for everyone, being in this kind of position.

Ummm, don’t you girls just hand out hats and stuff?

"Now, you see…that right there. Sadie dropped the box to the floor and shot a look of dismay to our inquirer. That is not at all the kind of attitude we’re looking for at Geisha Fuel."

As I said before, patience is something she and I have had to interweave in our daily encounters. Some don’t get it and one can’t jump all over them for the shortcomings they possess. It’s probably fair to say that we have assumed the charge of guiding others when the opportunity is tossed in our laps. Girls such as us, feel we owe this small gift of giving back to those not quite up to speed. Good karma and all I guess. Those with potential and favored with good genes as we were―often require baby steps and we fully understand.

What Sadie is trying to say, is that being a promo girl, it’s…you are the front line of marketing for the company’s product. Nothing else can possibly supersede its mandate.

"Jenna is spot on, Yvonne. When you show up at clubs, you are Geisha Fuel and everyone remembers you at the grocery store. And, let’s not forget the pressure. Remember last weekend, Jenna?"

Haaa! Oh my God! Sadie and I worked a gig at the Sun’s game. Inside the entrance lobby. I thought I knew what being slammed was, but that night changed everything.

I’m not sure if she was reading us correctly or that maybe we scared her with the responsibilities involved. One thing I knew to be true is that Yvonne left us and no longer carried the same enthusiasm. It’s true, not just anyone can fill these shoes, nor do most shop at the appropriate stores when purchasing a gig heel. Nevertheless, the girls in the field are often times the front line in a weed-out process. These are the little accomplishments our district office never sees, but we understand the role of alleviating some of the mundane issues for them. Time wasters don’t catapult a brand to the top.

Ummm…well, yeah. Thanks for the info, girls.

No problem whatsoever. Jenna and I have tons of girls who ask us the same questions constantly. And, don’t forget to tell your friends about us.

Oh, don’t worry, I’ll tell them. Whether or not they’ll believe me, that’s another story altogether.

By the time Yvonne disappeared from sight, Sadie’s ass was in James’ hands and the smile on her face said we didn’t have to go back to the Dorms tonight. Older and professional hot guys were about to ravish us to pieces in a secluded hot tub. We will be able to engage in anything all night long, while enjoying the freedom of moaning or even screaming in private bedrooms. Exactly as it should be and one of the many motivations for Operation Luxury Apartment living. The sooner the better. Promotion is our ticket to paradise and nothing will detour us, now that we are anchored in a stellar and rising new company. The perks―they come to us, night after generous night, like candy to a baby. Muscle to a vanity, in Sadie’s case.

Chapter 2

Dorm Exodus: Dreams of Luxury

Tiffany sat waiting for us in our floor’s lounge area. The very second the elevator doors opened, her arms flung themselves in the air, followed by the tapping at a watch on her wrist. This usually didn’t happen, because even if Sadie and I hooked up on a Friday night, we were always home by ten the next morning. Currently, it was approaching one in the afternoon and she was none too happy with us. Busted schedules—unexplainable, even for Honor students.

You tramps are still in your work gear and it’s after noon. Where was your gig, Tucson?

Hi Tiff doll. You’re brimming with joy as usual I see.

We were at breakfast, Tiff.

"Breakfast. Thanks for inviting me."

It wasn’t ours to invite. Last night’s dates offered.

What guy springs for breakfast? Off campus I’m assuming.

You assume correctly. Jenna and I hooked up with real men last night.

"That’s right, Miss Tiffany. Twenty-five year old men. With careers and a house.

Don’t forget stamina, Jenna.

Tiffany stood listening, totally falling down the jealousy well fast. She couldn’t hold eye contact any longer and Sadie jabbed me lightly with her elbow. Both of us silently waited for her second try at a Good morning. The girl simply could not stomach our tales of triumph when we presented them.

To be fair, she dug her own sexual grave with opportunities. We offered several times to recommend her to our district manager. Tiffany decided that work wasn’t something she wanted any part of as long as her parents upgraded her BMW every season. Fine by us of course; but parents don’t usually get you laid.

"Well, I’m sure I’ll here all about at Target…where we are supposed to be already, ladies."

What if we skip Target today, Tiff? We have pool parties at The Vue and Grigio.

Jenna, I want to go to Grigio. I love that place. Plus, we can take the tour again and everyone in the building will see us in our swim suits.

Hey…hey! Target. We have to go to Target, you fools.

Why Tiff?

Because we go every Saturday, Sadie.

That’s what I mean. Why can’t we skip one?

"Uhhhh, excuse me. Because, I need cotton balls amongst other necessities."

Tiff, you buy a bag of cotton balls every Saturday. How does any girl go through that many? It’s not possible.

Okay, time out, Jenna. Her fuming became more apparent. I simply wanted to change clothes and get to a lounge chair as quickly as possible. Sunning myself and waiting for a nice bulge to sit himself on my chair, seemed to be a better option than digging through lip-gloss bins. What in God’s name happened to you two last night? You hook up and suddenly Target is under attack?

That has nothing to do with it, I answered.

No kidding, Tiff. Jenna and I usually have afterhours plans. We’re just running a little late today. Why don’t you just stockpile a dozen bags and be done with it for a while?

"Because, I’ll…we…will be going to Target again next Saturday. This is how we start our weekends. Her arms folded and Sadie and I bumped shoulders in a weak ass escape maneuver that led nowhere. I can do this all day long, you guys. It’s your pool time that’s suffering."

Tiffany also lives on the same floor and is one of the mainstays in our immediate social circle. One of the governing board members you might say. If we upset her, the days ahead will undeniably be pure hell. She will constantly reminds us how tragic working on nails or the proper removal of make-up has become and that it’s our fault.

Let’s just change and get it done, Jenna.

Fine, whatever. God forbid we miss out on old people arguing over disinfectants…shower curtains…the choice between mixed nuts or a laxative. Now, I was the one getting pissy and my free breakfast didn’t hold its value anymore. Which reminds me buzzkill friend, you might want to include chips on your list, Tiff. I hear drunk eighteen-year-olds enjoy making out with a girl after chowing Doritos.

That’s sickening, Sadie chimed in. Do they really?

We smiled and waved as we walked past her on our way to our room. I might mention for illustration’s sake that said waving was in the form of our middle fingers saluting her. Tiff sat herself in a chair, crossed her legs and pretended to flip through the current issue of Vogue. She also mouthed the words fuck off, which just proves that she’s stuck in brooding mode. Probably, due to the fact of her having to hook up with some guy last night that insisted upon showing her a good time. You know, doing shots and an hour’s worth of cannonballs at some random apartment complex—before he puked and mentioned he ran out of condoms a few days ago.

Hang out with children and you will act like a child, is what Sadie always says. She’s good with those life comparisons, having read The Art of War twice. I never could keep up with philosophy in the way she does, yet I do hang a nice patchouli scent in my car. I’m also a member in a candle of the month club, which I think says something for being spiritually open-minded. My overall point being, this exactly why Sadie and I have no stomach for trolling keg parties.

You bitches are cocky.

Cocky has nothing to do with it. Does it, Sadie?

I agree. We have simply chosen to date on another level, Tiffany. Crabby bitch.

"Oh really. And, do your legs spread differently on that level?"

Half past the red bullseye.

Shopping developed into an unanticipated, yet profitable and time worthy end. Tiffany’s whining yielded a fresh batch of bikini wear. This year’s Spring line was sure to save us from the ultimate pool embarrassment. Most of the other girls had most likely hit the racks in days prior, undoubtedly wearing the latest and greatest. Flesh teasers, as Sadie called them. We almost missed the boat and arrived looking foolish. If Tiff hadn’t been camping out for us in the lobby, the plan was to skip straight to Grigio. A near tragedy indeed, neatly diverted by way of a credit card and yes, our friends constant quest for toiletries.

It’s probably the one bad aspect of working nights toward the end of the week and throughout the weekend. You tend to want to bypass some of the rudimentary and no-brainer items in an otherwise mainstream schedule. Our now, out of date suits, would not only have shamed us, but also lumped us in the same category as the fallen angels of fashion. Completely unacceptable. I’m not sure why that type would be on this campus, other than the equal opportunity for the world rhetoric that is so popular these days. Whatever floats your own boat, I guess. It makes our circle stand out that much more; as if, we needed propping up and added exposure.

This prelude’s nicely into a bullet point of noteworthiness. The cool thing about my girls is our tolerance and respect for those around us. Some chicks on campus, for example, tend to come across as quite snobbish. Luckily, our confidence and general respect of all people has never come close to piling us into that category. We’re an enigma you might say, being perfect by all standards of a winning oriented society and still compassionate all at once.

I can’t help but laugh at Sadie, as she continues to wonder how people flock to and aspire to be what we are at every turn. Don’t be fooled, she gets it. She’s merely playing the humble, model type. I’m often reminded of Snow White when seeing the surprise in her face though. The exception here being that Sadie doesn’t hang with poorly dressed dwarves. You would somehow have to mix my caricature of her with the men in the movie Spartacus, to get a clear picture of what I thinking. Her generous nourishing of their you’re hot, but you will only progress so far in life status, shortly before whipping them naked and demanding a line form to service her. It’s cute, right? Humbleness.

We filled our baskets with several new and miniature ensembles, those allowing the mixing and matching of various colors and patterns. Last year was so drab, with tops and bottoms having to be the same, not to mention their being too rich in the quantity of material used. They were satisfactory for girls on the more robust size, but my friends and I simply had no need for excessive drapery. Freedom for hotness was back in town and left nothing in the imagination file. Tiff remarked that the ice age against skin was finally over and we all high-fived without laughing. There simply isn’t anything humorous about overdressing for a good flaunting.

Maybe an hour or so later, the three of us changed in Grigio’s parking lot. The walk to the elevator leading up to the pool was long, considering we were all in heels. Whistles from gawking males, both in the lot and hanging over the balconies in front of us, came frantically. It’s the usual welcome we receive and the accommodating waves on our part were nothing more than standard operating procedure. Remember that royalty on campus analogy I referred to earlier—this is it in all its glory. The main event has arrived and every guy wants backstage passes.

Thank God we went early for our waxes this week. I’m wearing a baby banana peel here.

I just thought of that, Sadie. How does this suit look on me in the sun?

Amazing. You’ll have hands on you the minute we get upstairs, Jenna.

I hope your right.

So the plan is: we stay out at the pool for as long as possible. Find an open spot to stand and draw some serious penis traffic. Everyone needs to see us as soon as we walk into runway zone. Tiff, Jenna and I have a gig tonight, so work fast.

Copy that. It never takes long, once they see this ass. I’ll be locked into a horizontal date within twenty minutes.

Heels clicked loudly as we made our way indoors and along the foyer area. My roommate had taken on the role of General a few minutes ago, only now to appear perplexed or troubled by something. Pretty much similar to the inconvenient shopping trip earlier and the same, jumbled, face she had there—knowing it was a pain in the ass, yet scoring some cool gear that would bode well at Auction Sadie.

I want something different today, Jenna. Muscle.

Stop calling it that, Sadie. It’s crude and not fit for public ears.

"No, listen. I’m talking the extreme package. A pulsating rodeo bull to go. Those monsters that usually have to mate with sun tea jars because of . You know, walking it on a skateboard below