RC:2 Musings of the original food whore.

Musings of the original food whore.

“Even Gwen Stefani has to Poop.”

I found that article in Details magazine about 5 years ago. I tore it out and kept it with a modge podge of other random objects that conjure laughter such as: the Altoids Boy, a picture of butter from the museum of art in D.C., and the above picture of MATT, who apparently while skiing has the ability to make someone moan like a cow with his huge..umm personality.

I have a boundless amount of stories to tell of Nikki, Nicole, and Tiesha. These were my second year room-mates.

I would have to go on record saying that my sophomore year of college has to date been my favorite year of my life. I can’t remember having so much fun during a confined time. Not to say that another year won’t surpass it, but that one is the one I see in my dreams when I try to pick a way I want my life to be. During that year, everyone was genuine. Everyone was NEW.

"Man, your refrigerator is awesome, Sissy." He was of course was referring to Trooper's stash of nachos, potato chips, and various chocolate chipped cookies. These cookies were a valued addictive commodity, much like crack. They caused me at one point to admit that I was indeed visiting her just for cookies, coke, and nachos; because, as many of you know I am a foodwhore.

Trooper confirmed that her diet was indeed a diet of queens and kings by inviting Larry and the fam to her famous nacho bean dip dinner. Bean dip to normal people is an appetizer. To a college student, it is the a la carte item of a fine eloquent meal. You see bean dip if made correctly, requires the oven. Which in Leslie speak means that you are cooking.

After Tiesha drove off, and waved I felt sorta oddly forlorn about the whole situation. All of my girls were gone. All I knew was that the “girls” had broken up and even though I would try to make things like it was I knew it never could be again.

So it is without further adieu, I bring you the Room-Mate Chronicles.
The Women’s Liberation Front.

I was the last one left at the end of sophomore year. It’s a bit of a ritual for me in that I was the last person to walk out of my 3 previous residences and I always prefer it that way. You have to linger about in a place that used to be a home and question why it isn’t anymore in order to move progressively forward. With no T.V., no posters, and sigh no remaining friends, I set about on my clean-up mission of the chores assigned to me: mopping, vacuuming, and mirrors.

It was when MATT came off the wall that I wandered outside of my apartment to see signs of life from the others staying in the on-campus apartments. Powhatan during the last week of school resembles something of a ghost town during that final week. No one around anywhere, and I was staring upstairs into the windows of the elusive gentlemen of apartment G-8.

I’d had a crush on Matt from G-8 since, a random ass Frat party where I was greeted with an unexpected hug and 5 five minutes of conversation. Now, while this is not enough to build any lasting relationship from, it is the kinda stuff that feeds my delusions for months. I’m not saying I wanted to marry him or anything, but he was pleasing on the eyes. Matt would later become “Cheesy 80’s Matt” and loose his appeal after using the poor word choice “tall glass or water”, and then worsening the situation by telling someone randomly that “that girl is choice P***Y” at a party.

Matt had 3 room-mates John, Chris, and Brian. All of which semi-bomb in their own right. Brian was a blondy short military guy, he sorta fancied an English Rugby player. He spoke to me on two separate occasions in the conditioning room on the importance of ROTC training and how it could help me with my college money situation. As most of you know, it isn’t a situation: it’s a condition - so to speak. John was a dark haired, Tiger Woods dressing kinda guy. He was very nice but nice in that no lady is anymore special than the next kinda nice. Yeah, he liked you, but he liked your friend and her friend, and your best friend.

Chris was tall and Italian looking. He had dark curly hair and bright blue eyes. These are basically the only things I knew about him. He was cute by merit of “I live with attractive people, thus I am cute.” Cute by association is not a bad way to earn the title.

Outside my apartment the light in G-8 was flashing on and off. Not a strobe light flashing but an odd sorta S.O.S purposeful flashing. “Are they signaling me?” I thought. Then came an odd whooping and whistling noise. I would later understand that sometimes when boys do not know what to say they make animal like noises to express their interest. It’s the truth I seen it on the discovery channel!

“Hey, Leslie! Is that you down there?

I couldn’t really make out the face through the window, so I just kinda waved blindly in the dark for a minute and then went back in the house. The window yelling was normal there was a lot of that, but rare few incidences where an actual encounter ever ensued. I was feeling too depressed to carry on a real conversation. In 24 hours, I was heading back to Covington and it would really be a moot point anyway.

While I was sweeping and pondering how I would work when I got home. I heard a pecking at my window. It was Mr. Cute by Assosciation Chris. I’d had no real conversation with him, so I assumed he wanted to borrow the communal Powhatan vacuum cleaner of course and let him in.

I’ll summarize this part to say that I received a very, very, unwanted smooch. That left me questioning whether it was ever safe to offer someone a drink with your back turned.

When he kissed me I was left feeling like Bridget Jones at the end of “The Edge of Reason” when she finds out Rebecca is in love with her and not Mark. (which by the way was NOT what happened in the book). He was promptly excommunicated from the apartment (by force). *Don’t worry-it wasn’t thaaat bad I wasn’t hurt, it was just icky.

At this point I went to G-8. CA’s party pad to enlist trauma support.

“We’ll start a women’s liberation front! Now! Tonight!
“But Nikki, It’s after midnight!“ I said.
No, RIGHT NOW!
CA: LET’S GO!

It was futile to ever really ask CA just where we were going. It’s part of her whole appeal. We may be on some sorta tentative schedule, but at any moment it was subject to change. This usually involved high speed running, smashing up glass, and at some point finding your feet in a pool of water.

At this point CA begins bounding across campus. I say bound because it was a march of intention. Not so much a stomp as a cross between and stomp and the Fraggle Frock stride.

Nikki gets her sombrero (don’t ask) and I look right to left as if being watched and follow behind her and CA.

After a tirade on the tribulations of confused men, we found ourselves at the mini lake in front of the oceanography building. In Nikki’s attempt to help a frog back to the water from the sidewalk, she wound up mauling him with her foot. Nikki played the perfect Shakespearean tragedy, by trying to help the frog she had crushed it and threw herself into a hilarious state of dismay. I nearly laughed so hard I almost peed! We fled the scene of the crime to frolic in the Webb Center front lawn.

I get hazy at this part, but I remember someone sitting on the ODU sign..whether CA or Nikki I do not remember. Then yet another mad dash to 7-11 where we tried to act sober in front of Campus police. Trooper’s screwdiver consisted of 3/4 Aristocrat and enough orange juice to tint it yellow (not for the week at heart).

Whilst fleeing the po-po, I realize that maybe the only friends I need to start a liberation front are the comedians I’m running across this campus with.

It’s with a kinda sadness that I fell asleep that night to awake to a very different year 3. I often wish for the WLF to invade my job and go on some crazy adventure again.
Maybe it’s time for a new chapter.
Fin.