February 24, 2005
After sufficient carousing and debauching on the other side of Powhatan, Ed, always the good citizen, escorted my drunk ass back to the new apartment. I knew that new roommate Heather’s bible-thumpin’ momma was staying over, and informed Ed that I would be making a bee-line for my bedroom once we got upstairs. Except when I opened there door, we were greeted with a scene not unlike something out of an old Godzilla movie. There was screaming. Flitting about. I could have sworn there were sirens. My drunk brain ascertained through the shrieks that there was a bug. Ed was recruited to get it, ambling over the cumbersome Powhatan furniture, and generally creating enough ruckus that I couldn’t have made a scene if I wanted to. I safely made it to my room, where roommate Morgan was. We commiserated over our fear of Heather’s holy mom and the wrath she might dispense at our sinning ways (me being drunk, how earlier she had given me the Spanish inquisition over the Hot Topic-begotten sticker reading “My god can beat up your god.” plastered on my computer monitor, when Morgan laid a jewel of a line on me that will dwell in the First Impression Hall of Fame long after that stupid bug’s descendents have met their doom. She said, “Yeah, I know what you mean. I’m bi, I prefer women, but I have a boyfriend.” But after she laid that on me she went and got me some Pepsi, so I let it slide.
The fourth, and if I do say so, greatest roommate of all time was Kristin. She brought no drama, and was always up for farting on roommates-who-weren’t home’s pillows. She would stick her head into my room at random intervals and quote that one commercial with all the animal crackers, “He’s gonna eat monkey!” (complete with voice). (PS…anyone who can remember what that commercial was, I’ll send you a present). I think the secret to roommate success with Kristin, besides the fact that we didn’t share an actual bedroom, was that we didn’t front like just because we were roommates, we had to be best friends. As a transfer student, she went the sorority route to make friends. I already had my ragtag tableau of a social scene. We’d go out and do our own thing, but when in the apartment, we were bros. I got along with her friends when they came over, and she got along with mine. My favorite Kristin memory, besides the aforementioned Freshman Fucker admonishment phone call, was Saint Patrick’s Day (or rather the wee hours of the morning after Saint Patrick’s Day). We’d both returned from our respective green-draped festivities and were topping off the evening with a little drunken heckling of passersby way down below (we were on the fourth floor). One young fella found our heckling downright charming, and decided that he was head over heels in love with me. He cried that I was his angel (our only guess was that the wire shamrock novelty headband had since free-formed itself into a circle, bearing a shocking resemblance to a halo). Kristin barked that if he loved me, he’d get down on his knees and express it in song. Which he did. This went on for a bit, when a girl downstairs flung her window open and bellowed that if he loved me so much, he needs to go upstairs and tell me, or she’s gonna get the RA. At which point, my suitor and his friend booked towards the stairwell. We turned off all the lights, locked the door and ran to bed.
As for Morgan, who I shared a room with, she was pretty alright. Sure, she had a gigantic Xena: Warrior Princess Poster that I had to wake up to every morning, but she was fun while she lasted. Besides having crushes on all of my friends and being a magnet for weird friends herself, that is. The end of the Morgan story is for another blog, though.
Heather, as I mentioned before, came to ODU (another transfer) fresh from an extremely religious upbringing. Homegirl was seriously repressed. First of all, at that time she was 22 years old, but was still holding on to her collage of Tigerbeat clippings of all the dreamy guys from music and tv. For Heather, ODU was like the fast-track to damnation. She joined the sorority with Kristin, and before she knew it she was knocking back the amaretto sours and slurping it up with any marine that belched in her direction. Last I heard, she had a venereal disease and joined the Navy.
I really should be in bed, as I have one of those pesky 8-5 deals, but I’m sort of wired at the moment. I know I promised my electronic friends a manifesto on NN8, but that little diddy lies unfinished on my computer at work, ripe for the lame-o IT guys late night bored picking through our documents.
I wanted to give a shout out to the Hench for coming up to see me in my toothless glory this past weekend. We initially planned on being super-hip artsy types by going to see Dali, but found out you need an appointment for that type of thing, so we settled for the Archaeology & Anthropology Museum at the University of Pennsylvania. How’s that for punk rock. It was pretty neat, actually, because the museum is right across the street from the Hospital, and there’s this one part that is a big cylindrical wing that I had a really cool view of from my hospital room when I was furloughed there for a few days this past summer. It was cool to see what was inside there (a bunch of Japanese statues, murals, and this really dope 49lb. flawless crystal ball. I took a picture of it with my camera phone, but sorta forgot that I recorded my own shutter sound, so my punk ass bratting “Smile, Bitch!” resonated all off those crazy rounded walls.
We also scammed (re: won) $20 dollars from the Borgata and promptly got our asses out of there. We also watched like four episodes of Jem, who in retrospect, is only sort of outrageous. Even if her boyfriend/roadie had purple hair.
I really think that might be it. I thought I had a variety of things I could tease out here, but I’ve sort of fallen out of the mood. I had half a mind to launch some immaturity bombs out into the internet ether, but dagnabbit if boredom with the sight of my own typing didn’t prevail. Now THERE’S an understatement for you, Leslie.
February 23, 2005
This is from MTV news today:
Guitarist Brian "Head" Welch, a founding member of Korn, has left the band and has rededicated his life to Christianity, according to the group's management.
"Korn respects Brian's wishes, and hopes he finds the happiness he's searching for."
The announcement puts to rest weeks of rumors that Welch was unhappy with Korn's direction. On February 8, he had apparently written a "letter of resignation" to the band's management. In the note, Welch detailed a long list of reasons for leaving the band, including increased moral objections to Korn's music and videos. In particular, he was upset by how he was portrayed in the clip for their cover of Cameo's "Word Up," off their recently released Greatest Hits, Vol. 1 album. In the video, Welch's face was superimposed on a dog patrolling a strip club
I felt I had to make a quick announcement to my loyal readers since a few of them were questioning my feelings on the situation.
Korn was my favorite group in the late nineties early 2000’s. While I am a sad my favorite guitarist is moving on I’m happy that he’s pursuing something he believes in. I mean after all this is much better news than hearing that he died of a drug overdose or ate a live rat.
In my old(er) age I’m not as angry as I was at the close of my teen years. I don’t have enough room in my heart to be so pissed off about everything anymore. Don’t get me wrong, there are moments; but with this change of heart came a change of music. I think my new favorite group at the moment is a tie between Interpol, The Strokes, The Killers and Fleetwood Mac (not to mention a slew of top forty hip-hop songs).
Teen angst has been replaced more or less with songs about being lovelorn, growing up, and well having some fun.
I guess what I’m saying is the thing that represented me years ago isn’t necessarily who am I now. It’s understandable and expected that my group would grow up with me.
February 22, 2005
It wasn’t so bad not being in the triple anymore. I had room for pictures, posters, crap, and leftover food from Webb center. This leftover food would become a story in itself. Which would cause Nicole and Tiesha to never quite look at me in the same manner again. I can tell you one thing, tuna sandwiches should NOT be stored in in closets. In terms of decor college has got to be the only place where stud posters can co-exist with thoughtful quotes with babies. I guess they do have an inverse relationship. You have to meet the stud to have the thoughtful baby right..ehh..nev. mind.
My new room-mate did not show up for a week. Angela came in at 3 a.m. in the morning her first day. She had 5 dudes with her and a plastic bag with clothes. I learned later that she had been staying at a fraternity house with her boyfriend, Hi (yes that is his name) rather than squishing up in the dorm. She was trying to be a “little sister” to the Tekes. I’m still not sure what that meant.
We did not get off to a good start. She turned on the light upon her arrival and scared the crap outta me. Her friends proceeded to pick over my stuff and look at me as if I were a science experiment. This was only the beginning. Her typical come-home time from that day on was 3 a.m. if she came back at all. Often times she would stumble in drunk and pass out on the first soft thing she encountered. Twice that was the foot of my bed and I had to drag her over to her own side. Another time, it was the dirty carpet in the bathroom and she almost went to class with the lint on her face.
Angela was a party girl. She drank every night and partied everyday like the Kiss song. I will credit Angela for introducing me to parties in general, fraternities, and merits of cramming 8 people into a civic. It was because of Angela that I realized that for some college is not about grades or classes or even working towards a degree. For some it’s all about the social affairs.
The perks of being Angela’s room-mate worked something akin to Matt Leblanc on Friends. I met all these people through her that I kept me in parties and in “cool” until the end of my college career. Angela failed out (left) that year. She sent me a couple of letters from PA talking about Hi and how he had moved to her state to be near her. I think she's probably a mom now. People that wild always tend to burn out quicker. I'm guessing though. She maybe at a bar as we speak.
Cool by your own merits is great, buy cool by assosciation is “f***ing AWESOME!” as leaping Lizard would say.
February 17, 2005
I can’t say I had a vision for what my room-mate should or should not have been. You see, I have never had a room to myself the entirety of my life up until the past two years; much less an entire domicile. I guess my main issues were crazy overblown ones. Like these errant thoughts: “I don’t want a room-mate who has sex in front of me.” “No Brokedown Palace shit where they smuggle drugs in your book bag.” “Please let them like X-Files.” “And God, please don’t let them own a Hamster.” These were my silly concerns. So naïve. Just so naïve.
I was late signing up for college and henceforth late getting a place to live. ODU was stuck with too many students and too little space. The solution of course was to pack 3 cats in a sack and hope they did not claw each other to death. So here I was stuck in a triple and a day late to arrive. My card said my room-mate names were Jennifer from Richmond and Tianna from Louisa. My name was in pink highlights, which basically meant when the time came I would be the first to go when a space opened for me.
Me and the fam get to Rogers sometime in the evening on move-in day and haul my crap up the steps to my new room on Ryan’s (the RA’s) Hall. The doors had octopuses representing each of us on our door, much like Kindergarten where you have a sun or star sitting on your designated desk. Were we octopuses? My mom was laying groundwork for later laughter in picking out all of the boys she thought were cute. Little did she know they would all be revealed to be gay. Sorry mom. Jesse, Adam, and some dark haired fellow on floor two. I felt bad for her because she picked 3 gay son-in-laws thus killing her chances for grandchildren.
I walked in the room to find Tianna sitting at the computer tearing the legs off her octopus. Jennifer wasted no time in saying hello and introducing herself. Tianna, however looked up and continued to cripple her cre’ papered sea animal.
Tianna’s days consisted of writing in her journal and playing solitaire on the computer. There was no time for idle chit-chat or dilly dallying of any type. There was ONLY time for quiet thoughts of studies and personal reflection. My uncle says “Lee can talk a hole into the broad side of a barn.” That’s pretty much me. I like to talk all the time. Which didn’t always work out with Tianna. She would pretty much grimace as if in pain when I would try to share any sorta mundane college story with her in a feeble attempt to bond. My stories were stopped dead in their tracks with monosyllabic answers like, “yeah, no, or my favorite: huh?”
Jennifer on the other hand liked to talk, dance, sing and party (all of which very loudly).
I had met her previously on the ODU tour with her wild looking younger sister and her funny mom. It was actually a relief to see her standing in the room when I got there seeing as to how no one from my high school was in Norfolk. Cool girl. I seen her off and on until my last year. She had a baby with a basketball player and moved to the towers apartments. I hope she’s doing well.
Seeing as we were all desperately cramped in the room, we were forced to venture out and make new friends. At least me and Jennifer would. Tianna had Dell and that’s all she needed. I met the other sea creatures across the hall that would become my room-mates the following year but that’s next weeks blog.
We never had room-mate issues because there was literally no room. There was no room for boyfriends, or hiding spots for hallucinogenic drug paraphanelia. (Much less hampsters or damnable rabbits) It sucked air out of the room to chit chat. There was no space for decorations or posters of any sort. Just room to sleep, shower, and leave.
And eventually the time came for me to LEAVE. Ryan presented this to me as if it were an option or a choice. He said you may stay if you like, but a room is waiting for you. Tianna and Jennifer -I think didn’t want ME per se to leave, but they did want that space. I was sad because I wanted that grandiose..please don’t go speech and it never came. Plus they were my first room-mates. Best friends we weren’t - but still. I took my octopus off the door and we swam on down to Chelsea’s hall.
I didn’t see either of them until a fire drill 3 weeks later. When each of them pulled me to the side to confess they hated the other one and wish I stayed. What can you say about hindsight. Without me there to clog up room they were forced to socialize with each other. Guess it wasn’t meant to be.
The fable part of the story is I put the paper octopus on my door that first night away from the triple and it wound up back on Ryan’s hall stuck on some random door. I’m starting to sound like Rose Niland….
Until Chelsea’s Hall….
February 16, 2005
At that time in my life I wouldn’t have considered myself a tomboy, exactly, nor so “punk rawk” that I denied my lifelong obsession with Days of Our Lives. In fact, I didn’t even know I liked punk rock until the Hench later pointed out to me that most of the songs I liked, that the pirate radio station with no jocks back home played, were in fact punk in nature. I was just kind of a t-shirt and jeans girl. Makeup and interesting haircuts were just too much work. I had my getting-ready-for-school routine down to 7 minutes from bed to car, and I wasn’t going to sacrifice another second of sleep for some mouth-breathing sophomore. Instead of batting my eyelashes, I thought the way to the boy’s heart was through a thoughtfully chosen Adam Sandler quote. I can’t help it. I always had older brothers, and if I wanted to stay in the room and MAYBE get a chance at the NES controller during a Baseball Stars tourney, I had to adapt to their sophisticated social practices. Even if when I got my turn, I insisted that my bro do the code so my team could wear the purple uniforms.
The long and short of it is that, like MC Skat Kat and Paula Abdul, for mine and Daina’s friendship, it was opposites attract. She was organizing the carpool for everyone to go up the road to see Romeo & Juliet starring Leonardo Retardo and Angela Chase, I was planning the Monty-Python marathon. In fact, as I type this entry, I am instant-messaging with Daina. I suggest we meet up in Philadelphia on Saturday to take in the Dali exhibit, and she points out that Debra (formerly Debbie) Gibson will be signing autographs on South Street. If I knew then what I know now, that even though Daina has mastered the art of the Thank-You card (and any other kind of card, actually) and I usually slip by with a simple “thanks man!”. You know, that old Japanese proverb that says “Only that which is the other, gives us truly unto ourselves.”…blahblahblah—koombyahcakes.
So back to the roommate thing. I showed up at ODU on a sticky August day, with two brothers loaded down with boxes of my crap. When I opened the door, I was greeted with a sea of sunflowers. Sunflower bedspread. Sunflower hand towels. Sunflower mug holding sunflower-topped pens. Sunflower shower curtain acting as closet door. The 4 foot-nothing ball of sunshine AKA my new roommate and her mother were applying something sunflowery to another surface when I walked in. She’d gotten permission to move in a day early since she was coming all the way from New Jersey (ahem, so was I). So she picked the “good side” (re: inner) of the room and had already gone all Christopher Lowell on that bitch. So there you go. I got a Daina. Sort of.
Tracey, AOL Screenname: Sunflwrs79 (what else?) wasn’t all that bad. Sure, she was a sugary-sweet little sprite, but she had a car. And she was funny. Once, while driving down Little Creek road, she shouted out for no apparent reason, “Norfork Paint! That’s crazy!”---a soundbyte that simply will not leave my head, and plays back whenever I drive past one. We were also an extremely compatible sleeping team. We’d stay up until 4 or so, get up 10 minutes before the 9am class, then report back around 2 for the nap until dinnertime. Lather, rinse, repeat. It was with Tracey that I forged my rag-tag group of dorm friends before the Hench and I took on world domination. We’d go to parties and while I pretended to be too cool, Tracey would disappear into the crowd and re-emerge with some new interesting person she thought I’d like to meet. Once, I commented on some guy walking by being hot, and twenty minutes later I was beckoned from across the party, and UP ON STAGE, by Tracey (she was a shortie, remember). When I made my way to her she just said, “This is Ben”, motioning to the hot guy who passed by earlier (it should be noted, that while this Ben was given the moniker “Beautiful Ben”, I would have laughed at such a notion if he was encountered later, given the true perfection that was Ben from downstairs. That boy sure was pretty.)
I soon found out that all Tracey’s sunflowery-goodness was chemically based. She was on some kind of anti-depressants, which I really don’t have a problem with. Hell, I chew one of them bitches down once a day so I can’t even front. Problems arose, though, one night when she was hanging out with some friends of ours over in Whitehurst. I was stuck cranking out a creative writing portfolio (that I should have been accumulating over the semester, natch), so I wasn’t there to witness her whip out a bottle of her pills and wash the whole thing down with a couple of swigs of Goldschlager. Blech. I can barely get just a swig of Goldschlager down, let alone a bunch of pills to boot. So yeah, I got a call from the boys about what she had done and that she was on her way back to the dorm.
One stint sitting in the swanky waiting room of the Norfolk Sentara emergency room between my ultra high strung (and miffed that he couldn’t go out to the club because of this) RA and the drunk idiot friend who wanted to get in her pants later, I came to find out that even if she took a few hundred of those pills, she couldn’t have killed herself. Anti-depressants are kinda designed that way. So they pumped her stomach and sent us on our not-so-merry way.
That was before Thanksgiving break. She came back after pretending like nothing happened. Over Christmas break I actually hung out with her and my friends from home as we were venturing into NYC for some Chrimmastime fun and she lived on the way. We even slept at her house. She made the effort to lug all of her crap back to ODU from North Jersey after Christmas break, only to decide the night before classes started that she was going to leave. I was sort of bummed. Sure she made a quick trip to the booby hatch, but when haven’t we all, if not to such an extreme degree. This one time I was trying to fix my fan, and all of a sudden I thought of a new, ingenious way to fix it, and thought out loud to myself “Am I getting smarter?”. She heard me and put on this little stance maybe like a body-builder or a troll of some sort and grunted “Am I getting Smah-tah???”, for no reason whatsoever. She was random like that.
She could be really annoying and downright weird, but I would come to find out that she really wasn’t that bad. Probably number 3 on the long list of roommates I had over the years (Not counting the Hench, who was a by-proxy roommate or Meredith and Julie, but they are for another manifesto altogether).
I know I really should bring Daina back in around here at the end somewhere, as is proper writing technique and I’d be shamed by the writing community (or maybe just my 12th grade writing teacher, but who’s counting)…but I don’t really have any way of bringing her back. Daina’s never washed down Paxil with any kind of schnapps and she really doesn’t do voices. I dunno. She is short though. A weak connection indeed.
Next up from the Roommate Chronicles: NN8!!
February 15, 2005
What I found to be most profound on my first day of school were these things:
Ryan the RA gathered all the peeps in his group outside to talk about some dorm basics and some facts of life. “You may meet your best friend here. You may meet your future spouse. Or You may be the only one left from this group that graduates. That’s right people, take a look around because I guarantee you almost 80% of this group won’t be here with you until the end.” And he was right. Of THAT group in my freshman year dorm, probably only 8 outta 40 were there walking across the stage when I did. Only bad thing about Ryan was that he was continously touching himself, which would make even the most experienced listener have trouble staying focused. It also took away that "Bono" moving speech credibility. Then he gave us all condoms. Some decided to accept these tokens of sexual revolution. Others passed fearing that the people in the group would judge them. I guess you really do only get one chance at a first impression.
I think I went through five or six different cliques trying to find that one group that was closest to my own niche. Overly confident to too confident and finally my recipe of friendship: a spattering of self confident with a pinch of dork.
In my FIVE YEAR (please people what normal student graduates in four) stay at ODU, classes related to my major did not come until year three. I had not yet met my graphic design peeps yet. Years one and two were for Gen Ed classes. These Gen Ed classes are refreshing in a sense, but they also provide the kind of frustration that makes most people say “College isn’t for me after all, I learned all this shit n high school.” Does anyone remember “learning communities”? Did I ever see those people again after first semester?
I wanted college to be different but found myself repeating high school behaviors. Fidgeting, trying to go unnoticed, sitting in the back of the class and so on and so forth. It was only after my worst fear was realized, that I could move in any sort of progressive forward motion.
I had to literally get knocked flat on my ass to decide to make a change. Looking back now I had to fall on my rear down the main flight at BAL to change the course of my collegiate life. It was a metaphor for me of the whole experience. Fall down, get back up, change your clothes and move forward. The change clothes part was key, because if all someone knows is that the girl in the stripey black sweater fell down the steps, then to not be her—just change the outfit. Change clothes and move on.
February 11, 2005
February 8, 2005
Even though i DO NOT DANCE, I would like to think that 25 is not too old to start, should I have the desire to rent myself out to rich 16 year olds for their $250,000 birthday party. But I guess I need to get with the times!
February 7, 2005
I can remember the earthquake joke, the defininition of Mer, and the claw.
Do you remember the conversation we had about journalists who film disasters and people in poverty and talk to them as if they had not just lost a family member or a limb in an earthquake? It’s a fragmented conversation but I remember making a crazy voice and talking about a butt being exposed. Do you remember that?
Mer: 1. a descriptive adjective used to express a wide range of feelings.
Example: How are you feeling today? Mer.
2. an adjective that may also be used as a name.
Mer, what are you doing? *usually used by a girl named Kristin.
The claw: 1. a gesture made to a member of the opposite sex to show them that you are attracted to them *the claw most often times is accompanied by a hiss much like the noise made by lions of the Serengetti.
To make claw. 1. Hold hands outstretched palms facing ceiling. Then draw fingers inward in menacing “feral-cat” pose.
There are other college classics which should be story titles:
“Calling Mo-Mo. “Hullo? HU-Hullo?”,
“Leslie, I think Ron is following Me”
"The Women’s Liberation-Frog Stomp Front"
“No Time for Fake Rhymes: Jody is born."
“Hench DOES NOT Dance.”
“Running is the Only way to travel.”
“The Floor feels so Cool”
“Is that Grimmace?”
I meant to post this like a week ago so it would be with your old blog entries.
I can’t do anything sequentially.
February 4, 2005
February 2, 2005
At home: I can’t seem to find my bedroom anymore. Within hours of cleaning it, the closet somehow regurgitates all of its contents on the floor. I’m expecting a portal to some alternate dimension to appear at some point under the pile. My mattress won’t stay in one spot. For weeks now, I’ve been having dreams about sliding off of the Titanic deck and awaken to find myself clinging to the edge of the aforementioned piece of furniture. My desk and laptop are pitifully cluttered with necklaces and perfumes and lotions and yes; sigh, leftover food. My feet are larger than the width of my steps.
My mom and brother speak to the voicemail as if it is an answering machine and I am sitting there refusing to answer. I don’t understand this logic on either of their behalfs, I will usually hang up on the pope if either family member beeps in.
I don’t understand the purpose of the spamblocker if it won’t protect from spam. I’m sadly disappointed in Earthlink for not protecting me from these electronic invaders. The spam is getting crafty now too. It mocks your friends email address and then you think: “Oh an email from Carol Ann,” but no it is from Carol Aun and she is sending you discounts on Viagra and such. Crafty Spam.
At work-I love designing, but spend most of the time going to battle for my degree, my life choices (yes at work) and why I like lemon yellow better than “pee” yellow.
There are ants under my keypad. At first I tried combating them with that frozen keypad cleaner, but I keep picturing them laughing at me as I turn on the air conditioner or something.
On a good note though, the smothering apple cinnamon spray was removed from the ladies restroom and replaced with baby powder. Although I’m not really sure about what message they are trying to convey.