Wow. It was a long weekend with a lot of crazy stuff happening. So, without further ado, LET'S PLAY THE FEUD!
A friend and co-worker of my wife had a hot tub party this weekend. As I drove up there, I was listening to the radio and one of my favorite songs came on: Burning Down the House by the Talking Heads. Great song, go listen to it. Anyway, right as it got to the chorus, I came around a corner on Highway 252 to find two police cars and some sort of automobile that was completely ablaze. That's right. As I passed by this burning car, the radio blared, "Burning down the house!" It was a strange coincidence...or so I thought. As I approached Stacie's house (the co-worker), I noticed Jill's (the Party Girl) car. As I pulled up next to it, the radio started to play, "One Bourbon, One Scotch, and One Beer." It totally fit. And, as it turns out, Jill was a little sauced. So was my radio a prophet...or was it all coincidence? Only my hairdresser knows for sure.
Ah Stacie. She's an interesting character. First of all, Stacie is about 5'9", maybe 110 pounds and looks like she belongs in the 1950s. Secondly, beyond the fact that she's a light weight when it comes to drinking, she has this uncanny knack, when she's drunk, to blurt out something that makes everyone in the room turn their head. Need an example? Ok, one time while we were eating at Nami, Stacie had a little too much to drink. There was a lull in the noise around us (we were in the center of the dining room) and Stacie, who had been quiet for awhile, suddenly blurts out (and I'm quoting here folks), "This one time, when I was giving this guy head..." Immediately every single person in the room (ok, it WAS mostly guys) turns and stares at us. I thought it was great, so I started with waving to the room a la Queen Elizabeth (even threw in a few, "Helllllloooos," here and there). Without giving you the whole story (unless you really want it), I now call Stacie, "Patch," when I see her. Have fun with that one.
Ok, so the lovely Meridita is getting a new roommate, and she wants HORROR STORIES. Now, I am lucky in that I have never had a psycho roommate. My freshman year of college, I lived in a single. Sophomore and junior year I lived alone. During my senior year, however, I did have a roommate, sort of. See Caroline and I did essentially live together senior year (though we had our own places). What I'm talking about, however, is Cecil. I know I've mentioned him before, but it bares repeating. Cecil was (and still is) a dance teacher at the university I went to. The department learned that I was living alone in a house (also known as bliss) and told Cecil he could live with me. I returned from a trip, and there he was on my stoop. So, he lived with me for three months. It was difficult at times (as most roommate relationships can be), but he's still the best roommate I ever had. The best thing was that he kept the place spotless. He was even more of a clean freak than I was (that's saying something). However, the worst experience came when I returned from a night out, and Cecil was on my couch inebriated (of sorts) and watching gay porn. With no homework (and the fact that it was already playing and charged to my cable account), I joined him in watching. I learned two things:
1. Gay porn is even funnier than real porn. Real porn has some sort of plot, gay porn doesn't.
2. Anything is funnier when you're out of it.
That's about the worst thing he ever did.
So I've never had a psycho roommate, but my wife, my sister, and my friend all have. Let's go through each one.
During her freshman year, Caroline lived with an art student, who, for some unknown reason, would start playing "The Girl from Ipanema" over and over again at two in the morning while she worked. That's right. The beloved elevator tune that's really no longer than about three minutes over and over again for hours. HOURS! However, the worst came one night when the student procrastinated too much. The roommate returned to the room at 9 PM and cut cardboard ALL NIGHT LONG during finals week. Never asked, just snip, snip, snip. No wait, sorry, I've been corrected. It was crunch, crunch, crunch.
My sister had a roommate that was literlly psycho. One night my sister woke up, rolled over, and discovered her roommate standing over her with a knife talking about having to "sacrifice (my sister) to her God!" Suffice to say, that didn't go over well. This roommate also stole money and clothes from her.
My buddy may have the worst stories however. He let a friend move in with him, because, "he was desperate." Well, the friend said he had no money, but he would make it up. After a year, the following happened:
1. The friend always had excuses why he didn't have the rent, but he had the money to get drunk every night AND do things like gamble or see strippers.
2. Clothes and other items disappeared from my buddy's closet only to wind up in his friend's room.
3. The friend's girlfriend was given a key (without permission). My buddy comes home one day, drops his stuff, and heads to the bathroom. He opens the door, and there's the friend's girlfriend shaving her body hair off (he pointed to a certain part of the anatomy) with HIS razor. Her response upon seeing him enter? She asked if he, "wanted to help her?"
4. The friend needed to get to an apointment one day and paniced, so he grabbed my buddy's car keys and took off with his car. His note read something like, "Took car. Back later." That didn't go over well and was the last straw. My buddy called the cops and reported the car stolen, then he moved all of his friend's stuff out and called a locksmith. There not friends anymore. Want to guess why?
So to Meridita, I wish you luck. Plus, if the roommate is no good, we'll "remove" her for you. Seriously.
I finished my Master's program in July. So, here it is midway through September, and I STILL DON'T HAVE MY DIPLOMA. Come on, St. Thomas, send me piece of paper. I just want to frame that sucker and put it up on the wall and think about the good times in school....Yeah...good times...or something. When I graduated from college, my diploma was right there. They handed it to me. It wasn't a fake piece of paper. Is this because I didn't attend your full-on, hardcore Mass that you call graduation? I didn't want to pay all the money for tickets and gowns and such. ANNND you held it on a weekday. A WEEKDAY! Some of us have jobs that we don't want to leave. Seriously. I was teaching that day. So, St. Thomas, here's a tip. If you want Grad students to attend your ceremonies, have them on the weekend or make them at night. It's simple. Sheesh.
Have a good night folks.