Bottle opener's fault

So this whole piece will start with so....

So after editing hell and coffee, we finally decide to cook something at Casa kitchen. Onion rings, felafal (not sure its spelled that way) and some ref cake. course I get stuck making the cake. everything turns out great except for (surprise!) the cake. although I had made it a hundred times before, the cream didn't have enough time to "solidify" and such, turning my lil masterpiece into ref semi-soup. blahr. still tasted great though.
So we all decide to have a nightcap in the room. All goes well until a resident stoner who will remain unnamed decides to pop his head in and just, oh so randomly throw a joint onto my bed. Random gift isn't rolled in paper yet so I head out to find someone who can solve little problem.
So am in hallway trying to find stoner friend when I bump into other dude who is known to have ample supply of, urm, rolling paper material and such. I get invited back to his room for proper sesh. But I am first asked to go look for bottle opener for said friend. Bottle opener not found and other friends not recruited. On way back to room alone (and under scrutiny of newly installed security cameras) I bump into male batchmate who has nasty smile on his face as he notices which room I'm headed towards. Dumb model also sees me and smirks. If the damn security cameras could smirk I'm sure they would have. Due to idiotic perception logic, I am now part of "slutty" Casa population who sleeps around since I am seen entering a guy's room at an ungodly eleven pm.
So now I'm done smoking the joint and don't give a flying rat's ass what ya'll think.
Knowing all our track records, I must be the only monk in the building.