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07/13/02 3:58 PM
My 24 year-old roommate asked me how to cook a hotdog the other day - kinda makes you wonder how he made it to 24.
07/15/02 2:47 AM
Awoke this morning with my brain trying to erupt out of my skull, or maybe it was my skull trying to collapse around my brain - either way it was an unrelenting battle all day. Bedtime, blessed bedtime. A grave would not be quiet nor dark enough at this point. Just when I find that square inch of my head that doesn't hurt to lay on the pillow, the alarm clock from hell starts ranting in the other room. I stagger into kitchen only to see what looks like the inside of Cheech and Chong's Big Green Van. Feeling my way across the room, I prop open the door, and the fire alarm is trying to scream itself off the ceiling, and through the smoke I see a pot on the stove that must have roughly thirty-five billion smoke bombs in it. But wait, no - its . . . . HOTDOGS!!! Meanwhile the alarm is BUZZZZING and he obviously wasn't listening when I suggested the microwave. I bang on his door and it swings open.
He's not there.
But the fire alarm is still BUZZZZZZING.
I check the bathroom.
Nope.
Turns on the stove and leaves. Hmmmm . . . I'm seriously beginning to doubt Darwin's theory of natural selection. So the cops show up, and the resident Ms. Incharge shows up, and I don't know who all shows up and the fire alarm is BUZZZING and I have to keep explaining what I think happened to each of my uninvited guests and the fire alarm is still BUUZZZZING and my brain is reaching meltdown and the building engineer shows up and finally shuts it off. Everyone leaves. Everything smells like smoke. Every brain cell is exploding and I have to go to class in three hours. Happy Happy Joy Joy . . . You Ediot!!!!
07/29/02 10:55 PM
Erm . . . just walked in the bathroom and Hotdog Boy has 2 electric trimmers in there and hair e v e r y w h e r e. Not sure what he is shaving, and not sure I want to know . . .
08/03/02 8:44 PM
So, the saga of Hotdog Boy concludes, (do the Snoopy happy dance here) but not before 1) I find a full size, Hefty garbage bag in the fridge, and 2) he and his 'girlfriend' get into a huge argument over a pair of her black panties and ask me to mediate ( I am not making this up!)
After a few drinks and some prodding by a friend, I had to peek into the Hefty bag last night and I found . . . . nothing really interesting, but then again, nothing that should be in the fridge. One can of fake butter flavoring, one can of parmesan cheese, salt, pepper, and one package of Texas toast. At least it wasn't a human head or anything.
Flash to today, approximately 1:00 PM. Lots of yelling coming from the next room, can't quite make things out only a word here and there - 'backpack', 'laundry', and 'black panties'. Initially, I just turned up the stereo. Out of sight out of mind and all that stuff. So about the time I can't ignore it any longer there is a knock at the door and she is starts telling me her story talking so fast I can barely understand her, but somehow I'm sure she's including everything that happened between them in the last week, and essentially this is the portion I can make out.
Her: Would you talk to him?
Me: Uh . . .
Her: I put a black pair of panties in his laundry, and I told him not to do the laundry I told him. I told him. I told him to wait for me.
Me: (Still in denial that this conversation is taking place) Uh . . .
Her: I told him I told him, but he did it anyway and now he won't give them to me.
Me: Uh . . .
My Roommate: I couldn't wait
Me: Uh . . .
Her: Would you tell him to give them back?
Me: Look, you two are going to have to work this out on your own - and a little quieter if possible, please
I shut the door, and the noise dies down - ten minutes later, another knock - my roommate hands me the lamp I let him borrow and says he's moving out. I tried to act surprised and disappointed, but I don't think I pulled it off. Good riddance.