I Am Honored, My Friend. February 1, 2007

An E-mail I only just recieved this morning:

           I do not know if you heard; my grandfather died last Tuesday.  I have never seen him happier than this last Thanksgiving when my father’s cousins came to town to see him.  He stayed up hours past what he usually did in order to play cards with them.  He fought exhaustion and payed for it later in order to enjoy that game.  So I would like to hold a card game in his honor (tripoly). I consider you a good friend and would be pleased if you came.  I hope you will not mind that there is alchohol present.  You could hardly be surprised at finding it at a heathen’s ritualistic gathering. If you have a specific request for something else to enjoy, I will try to see that it is there. I consider you to be one of the closest things I have to spiritual kindred. The game will be Sunday around 7:30.

Of course I will be attending.  I couldn’t be more honored that he is inviting me and added that I am one of the closest thing he has to a spiritual kindred. 

They Were High As Kites January 29, 2007

and now my room smells like potheads, popcorn and everything else Steve ate.  I think he ate at least 6 bowls of (Anna’s – – he’s not comfortable enough with me to take my food,) mac n’ cheese and then got himself some kind of korean heat-up stuff.  Disgusting.

 Why do they insist on coming to my room after they smoke?

My Friends Make Enemies Look Like A Good Idea January 28, 2007

No, I mean it.  They really do.  I love my friends, but they’re crazy and highly destructive.  I think they might just rival the nuclear bomb in their capacity for complete and total obliteration, because whenever they pay me a visit, my room ends up looking like ground zero.  Maybe worse.

However, barring one keyboard, I never came back to find anything broken.  Until the other day.

I had left the dorm in search of sustenance, leaving behind several friends and my roommate, all of whom had either already eaten or were not hungry (I’d been waiting for the not hungry crowd, but decided to brave the campus alone about 20 minutes before the cafeteria stopped serving food.)

After 45 minutes of harassing Theo, to whom I insist on being a perpetual pain in the ass, I returned to my building.  About 2 doors away from my own room, I was confronted by 5 frantic looking friends, begging, “Don’t go in there yet!”

I glanced around and spotted neither my roommate nor her boyfriend among them.  I’ve become accustomed to leaving my room for extended periods of time.  I highly suspect they’re both bunnies in disguise, so my immediate suspicion went right to the gutter and shoveled filth. 

Then they informed me that they’d broken my vacuum.  They used the term “broken” to describe my vacuum’s sate much like one would use “a grievous misunderstanding” to describe the holocaust. 

My vacuum’s base was ripped from the stem, torn wires jutting out from the top.  The stem itself was ripped in two pieces, because my friends, apparently, thought it would be a good idea to play Star Wars Light Saber Battles with the remains.  This pisses me off not only because they further desecrated my innocent cleaning appliance, but because damn it, Star Trek > Star Wars and they really should have been ripping each other to pieces in honorable battle like any good Klingon would.  But then, they’re uncultured idiots.

I wonder if there’s a vacuum heaven, where all good vacuums go.  One can only hope God would be so just.