I Love My Roommates

Two Snippets of Dialog:
Protagitron: Tragedy, Iris: Richard is going back to Markham.
Iris: Who's Christian?
Protag: RICHARD.
Iris:... Who's Richard?
Protag: Sigh.

A few minutes later:
Iris: Protagitron, you're the only constant in my life.
Protag: I thought that was Mister Claws.
Iris: But he'll die before you.
Protag:... Who, Richard?
Anthony: Laughs loudly from his room.

Yes, my acquaintance Richard is leaving. If you've stuck around this blog for awhile, he was the mysterious V I mentioned way, way back, upon whom I briefly entertained before the Q shenanigans came underfoot. Somehow we eventually became friends. But he also makes me think that some personal relationships are more complicated than simple categories, and that some have, well, layers. Even if they are only complicated on one side. Look, it's like sedimentary rock: here's the respect I have for him as a person, and there's my loyalty to him as a friend, and above that is the knowledge that's all we are. And of course, there's the fact that, even as I babble to him about Neil Gaiman's current run on Batman, I can't look at him. Because I might let my attraction become less subtextual and more textual (sexual?).

Sometimes I think I would much prefer being a stock character in a movie than someone dealing with real, dull life. The editing would be better, and the soundtrack more exciting.

Neo-Citranville

I've got a weird throat bug, that not only gives me that sexy, gravelly voice- I sound like Harvey Fierstein- but makes me sleep like a log. I took today off to recuperate before work tomorrow, as I'm sure no one wants me coughing into their sandwiches, and spent most of it sleeping. When I wasn't sleeping, I was cleaning. The good news is that I found the handle to my razor, so I can stop growing a pair of hair pants. The bad news is that my room still looks like the CIA ransacked it, but also tidied up my stationary collection while they were at it. Now I'm chain-drinking Neo-Citran in an effort to knock this cold on its ass.

In other news, and before the Neo-Citran kicks in, I'm throwing a Trivial Pursuit Tournament at my place on the weekend. I've even drafted my roommate into playing on my team. Unfortunately, she's American- and we're playing with the Canadian edition. So I have her on a strict preparation regimen of Canadian geography and notable CBC figures. Well, not really. I figure if she learns too much, all the terrible gaps in my education will be revealed, and she'll stop being impressed when I can answer a simple question about R.B. Bennett.

And finally, I want one of these TerraCross campers. I hate SUVs with a passion, and yet I'm utterly charmed by campers and some mobile homes, even though they're probably even worse as far as fuel efficiency goes. This one looks like it will survive the coming zombie apocalypse with ease. In fact, it looks like it could just drive over the living dead without a scratch. And look at that interior! Not only is it nicer than my apartment, which isn't really that hard to do, but it finally answers the question of what a mobile home would look like if it was designed by Ikea. I could eat Swedish meatballs and drink lingonberry juice in that nook! Put a gerber daisy in a Faren vase and get to work on my book about organic cookery! I could make freaking espresso every morning in the middle of India! Although the realization that there's more counter space in that camper's kitchen than in my own is starting to make me a little weepy. Maybe my parents won't mind if I use all of my tuition and rent money to buy one of these. And then I could finally achieve my most cherished dream: driving my home to class.

Dooo bee do be dooo... just destroying some ecosystem.

The Once and Future Sandwich Queen

Pistache and I are on the same page, mood-wise.

First, some big news: I am now gainfully employed! Soon I will be making sandwiches at a wee student café on campus. You may now address me as the Sandwich Queen. I'm actually pretty gleeful at this event- I have a real job! Which will give me money! And where I can meet people! It's a win-win-win situation, and it goes a fair bit towards my New Year's resolution of not being a hermit. Now I just need to ditch my tinfoil hat.

Other things have been working out in my life, but perhaps working out a little too well. I'm highly suspicious whenever I hit a streak of good luck. Suddenly my days are full of Commando quote fests over cheap beer and pizza, and the promise of Cronenberg and Romero screenings in class. It's all too good to last! Something black must be on the horizon. So far, the worst has been some dipshit's alarm/horn/whatever has been going off all morning. If it wasn't so bloody cold out, I would track the source down and beat it with a crowbar. Of course, I would have to a buy a crowbar first... so maybe later.

I would also like to report on the results of a research project my esteemed colleague and roommate embarked on: The Effects of Being Abandoned in The Fridge For Over a Month on Name Brand Jell-O. Her conclusion: "This must be how they make Fruit Roll-Ups."

Yummy.

The Stupid Week: Stupid Injuries

I went to meet up with some old friends (and their new friends) for Ultimate Frisbee and a Barbecue. I read Strangers on a Train instead of moving, because I'm allergic to sweat. My doctor just refuses to believe me. Anyway, despite remaining as immobile and lichen-like as possible, I woke up this morning with a sizable bruise on my leg. It doesn't hurt that much, it's just perplexing. Where did it come from? How did it get there? And what kind of story can I come up to explain it and impress my peers?

Something that's resolutely non-stupid are the pair of Jaywalkers I'm working on. The yarn is Regia 4-ply in "Calgary", and the colours remind me of the buckets of Gerber daisies you see outside of florists. Which is a good thing, because the recipient adores Gerber daisies. Ding ding ding, the lucky recipient is my beloved roommate. Although, she's making time in Italy and England this summer, while I'm a prisoner in my hometown, a place where bus ads about workplace safety are taken down because one mother found them too graphic, and the fight over the pesticide ban limps on. Clearly, I deserve the damn socks. Screw you, my beloved Minnesotan!

Alright, I'm being too hard on Guelph. The knitting store is nice, the people are fine, and the farmer's market is reassuringly crunchy. Also, the good salsa is close by. I still wouldn't say no to a rescue team though.