When Kari decided to move out, Jenny put an ad in the classifieds at work because we didn't know anyone at the time who was looking for a place. We got two responses. One was from this guy named Ahmed. Actually, his friend called on his behalf, and there was definitely a language barrier going on. I am all about diversity, though, so Jenny and I looked him up on the company directory. Turns out that he is a middle-aged, middle-Eastern plastic surgeon. Don't get me wrong, I don't discriminate against the middle-aged, and I think it could be interesting to have a roommate with a different culture. Kind of like a foreign exchange student. But sharing my home with a plastic surgeon? Now that I have a problem with. I can just picture it. I would wake up, walk into the bathroom and get naked for my shower and my body would be covered with those thick black marker lines depicting where he intended to nip and tuck everything that needed nipping and tucking. I realize that I have probably watched a little too much Doctor 90210, but with a bangin' body like mine it seems like a legitimate fear.
The other response we got was from Logan, an eighteen-year-old kid that works at the hospital. His photo in the directory and his fluency in English were pretty much all we had to go on, but we deemed him non-threatening, and he came over and looked at the house. He was interested, and I wanted to meet him, so we met at school. Our conversation was short and sweet. I asked him if he was going to kill me in my sleep. Any idiot would answer no to this question even if that person was a sociopath. Probably especially if they were a sociopath. But Logan passed my test when he asked me if I was going to kill him in his sleep.
So last weekend he moved in. That was back when I couldn't walk, so I came home from working the longest twelve hour shift of my life, took fifteen minutes to hobble up the stairs and threw myself onto my bed. We made a little small talk as he got ready to go out. I realized the magnitude of those four little years between eighteen and twenty-two when he asked me if I was "just going to lay there on a FRIDAY night." It wasn't even nine. What the hell? He didn't even give me a chance. Oh, who was I kidding...I was not going anywhere. I told him that I couldn't walk and that I had to work the next morning at seven. I am becoming so lame, and I barely even care.
I think things have been going well so far. I now have surround sound on my TV, and he is pretty tidy. Not to mention that it makes for some pretty interesting observations of male behavior. Like when, after an hour and a half phone conversation with some chick, he informed me that girls are complicated. Like every other guy, he just wants to get laid. Insight into the male psyche cannot hurt my current situation.
There have been awkward moments. Well, just one, and it was my fault. I brought the Colombian over, and I wasn't exactly sure how to handle it. Should I warn Logan? But then he wouldn't be able to be in denial about it. So I opted for the sneak attack and got busted upon entrance. He is eighteen, not eight, and he knew what was going down. Sometimes I am a bad roommate, but fuck, I gotta do what I gotta do.
This weekend, when Logan informed me that he was having his underage friends over to party, my ass got the hell out of dodge. For a split second, I considered just staying home in my room. Then I realized that if I was home and this party got busted, I would be arrested. Worse than that, I would have to tell people why I was arrested. I couldn't help but think of that creepy girl who hangs out with much younger kids because she can hook them up with beer if they will be her friends. Everyone knows one. People would think I was her. How did I get myself into this situation? And what was Ahmed doing right now? I'll bet he wasn't trying to get lucky with sixteen-year-old girls. God-willing. Jenny and I joked about our house being a brothel, but in that scenario I was supposed to be a whore not a madam. I went to Meghan's praying that I would not come home to total destruction, or have to witness high school girls' walks of shame. When I got home I entered with caution, but my house was no more and no less unkempt than usual. The girls had already evacuated. All was well.
I think my fears of theft and illicit drug use in my attic have been put to rest. What can I say? I have trust issues, but I think this is going to work out just fine.
The other response we got was from Logan, an eighteen-year-old kid that works at the hospital. His photo in the directory and his fluency in English were pretty much all we had to go on, but we deemed him non-threatening, and he came over and looked at the house. He was interested, and I wanted to meet him, so we met at school. Our conversation was short and sweet. I asked him if he was going to kill me in my sleep. Any idiot would answer no to this question even if that person was a sociopath. Probably especially if they were a sociopath. But Logan passed my test when he asked me if I was going to kill him in his sleep.
So last weekend he moved in. That was back when I couldn't walk, so I came home from working the longest twelve hour shift of my life, took fifteen minutes to hobble up the stairs and threw myself onto my bed. We made a little small talk as he got ready to go out. I realized the magnitude of those four little years between eighteen and twenty-two when he asked me if I was "just going to lay there on a FRIDAY night." It wasn't even nine. What the hell? He didn't even give me a chance. Oh, who was I kidding...I was not going anywhere. I told him that I couldn't walk and that I had to work the next morning at seven. I am becoming so lame, and I barely even care.
I think things have been going well so far. I now have surround sound on my TV, and he is pretty tidy. Not to mention that it makes for some pretty interesting observations of male behavior. Like when, after an hour and a half phone conversation with some chick, he informed me that girls are complicated. Like every other guy, he just wants to get laid. Insight into the male psyche cannot hurt my current situation.
There have been awkward moments. Well, just one, and it was my fault. I brought the Colombian over, and I wasn't exactly sure how to handle it. Should I warn Logan? But then he wouldn't be able to be in denial about it. So I opted for the sneak attack and got busted upon entrance. He is eighteen, not eight, and he knew what was going down. Sometimes I am a bad roommate, but fuck, I gotta do what I gotta do.
This weekend, when Logan informed me that he was having his underage friends over to party, my ass got the hell out of dodge. For a split second, I considered just staying home in my room. Then I realized that if I was home and this party got busted, I would be arrested. Worse than that, I would have to tell people why I was arrested. I couldn't help but think of that creepy girl who hangs out with much younger kids because she can hook them up with beer if they will be her friends. Everyone knows one. People would think I was her. How did I get myself into this situation? And what was Ahmed doing right now? I'll bet he wasn't trying to get lucky with sixteen-year-old girls. God-willing. Jenny and I joked about our house being a brothel, but in that scenario I was supposed to be a whore not a madam. I went to Meghan's praying that I would not come home to total destruction, or have to witness high school girls' walks of shame. When I got home I entered with caution, but my house was no more and no less unkempt than usual. The girls had already evacuated. All was well.
I think my fears of theft and illicit drug use in my attic have been put to rest. What can I say? I have trust issues, but I think this is going to work out just fine.
2 comments:
Oh Annie,
that is hilarious! how is everything? I miss you!
PS,
just wait till I get home, poor logan, he may have more than a few awkward moments :) i have an agenda when I get home, trust me ;)
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