SOC #5: Vodka Ice Storm

Before I moved into my boss' house full time in Santa Barbara, I slept on a small couch in a living room of a condo with 7 other people, including my friend who slept on a thin cushion on the floor. One of my roommates, Ghost, lived with his girlfriend in a room upstairs. It was my first time living away from home, and I didn't care that I slept on a couch where my feet hung off one end; I got good sleep on that couch. What I'm going to tell you next happened about a month after moving into that place. Ghost and his girlfriend got into a fight when my friend and I were at work. The following weekend we were chilling in the condo, drinking beers, smoking joints, when Ghost's girlfriend opened the front door, holding a plastic bottle of vodka in one hand, a pinch left at the bottom of the bottle. "Lets get fucked up!" she said, raising the nearly empty bottle, seeing us smoking a joint we were passing around. She wasn't walking straight. She slammed the door shut. My friend gave me a worried look. It was 3 in the afternoon, and her being drunk as fuck didn't seem strange to me; us being free spirits and all. But the owner of the condo, my older coworker, looked worried just like my friend. She stumbled in the living room, plopping her ass on the couch between my coworkers, continuing to say, "Lets get fucked up!" Finishing the last of the vodka, she threw the bottle across the room. It hit the wall and bounced to the floor. "What the fuck, guys?" she asked, nearly screaming. "Where's the shit?" I tried to pass her the joint. She scoffed. "No," she said, "the shit, shit, where's the shit." She was wearing a black tank-top with thin shoulder straps. She pulled down her tank-top, showing her titties, digging around them, looking for something with her glazed eyes. My older coworker stared down at her boobs, smiling. "Whoa," he uttered. Then he said, "Wow." My friend seemed to enjoy himself too. Well, she was looking for cocaine that wasn't there; that's how fucked up she was. "You got shit?" she asked me. "No," I answered, chuckling. "What the fucks funny? I want some fucking powder, BITCH!" she yelled at me. "Sorry," I said, "I ain't got none." I went through the sliding glass door to the small, cement backyard of the condo, closing the door behind me to have a cigarette. She was fucking nuts. I chilled in a chair, smoking my cig, when I heard her slamming her fists on the sliding-glass door, yelling at the top of her lungs. Thank God I was outside. Then she came out, my friend following her. FUCK! "Where are my fucking car keys, goddammit!?" she yelled, running up to the glass patio table. I shook my head, shrugging. She then took hold of the table and flipped it, shattering it to pieces. I sat in the chair motionless, astonished, shocked, and scared. The fuck was wrong with this bitch. Ghost wasn't around; he hadn't been around for days prior to this incident I'm describing. My friend said to her, "Go inside and look. The keys must be inside." She then went back inside, her hands waving all around, not knowing she could hurt someone with one slap. "Dude," my friend began to say to me, "we had to hide all the knives." I asked, "Why?" He said, "Because she'll grab one in each hand and wave 'em around. You see what she did to the table? Imagine if she had knives, man." When I went back inside the condo, she immediately came up to me, her bloodshot, drunk-as-fuck eyes looking into mine. She asked me, "Where are my keys?" I said, chuckling again, "I don't know." She asked, "Why are you laughing at me?" I replied, "I'm not laughing at you. Life is just entertaining. Be happy."