A late-night chat.

Thursday, October 8th, 2009

“John!”

“Wha?”

“The guy who plays Jim on The Office. John Krasinski.”

“Right. I thought you meant like, Jon, from AEPi. I thought you were having a sexual fantasy about him.”

“Nope, but I’m about to have a sexual fantasy about John Krasinski.”

“Goodnight, beezie…”

Roommates 4 LYFE!!!!!111!

Monday, September 21st, 2009

Alex and I are not inherently neat people. We are, in fact, messy people. I like to think that he is the messier one, but when we get right down to it, he is not. While I cannot stand crap all over the floor, I think nothing of leaving the tables and couch covered in my latest project. He will leave diet coke cans on every available surface. I can deal until I see one without a coaster and then I go postal on his ass, screaming WHY THE HELL DON’T YOU HAVE A COASTER AGAIN??? ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME?

It’s only funny until it occurs to me that he probably is trying to kill me so he can have the the better side of the closet back.

Since moving in together, our shit has multiplied. I mean, literally. I feel like our clothing is sneaking off together when we go out for bagels and fucking profusely; before you know it BAM! SOCKS! BABY SOCKS ARE EVERYWHERE! AND NEVER IN PAIRS! Our computer cables are at the point of having grandchildren and if I see one more cable that charges something or converts something into something else I might just lose it. The coasters won’t even matter because I will be DEAD ALREADY.

And while the sock babies and the coasters are excitement enough, Alex and I are also in the habit of routinely walking around the living room and kitchen naked or in just underwear because we can. Because there are no roommates lurking out there watching bad reality television while we’re trying to be naked. It is wonderful. More pros include the ability to make dinner at 1 in the morning, starting spontaneous dance parties while cleaning and not having to ask someone if a) the slightly rotten fruit is theirs or b) why they drank the last of my raspberry vodka. While the second one is no longer a problem, regardless of living situation, it is a question I have had to ask roommates before.

Every once in a while, usually when we just wake up, Alex and I like to acknowledge the fact that we are lucky enough to live in such a beautiful home together. Sometimes we just remember that we have a couch or that everything in the refrigerator belongs to both of us, and sometimes we like to dance around the living room naked, just because we can.

That Annoying Throaty Noise

Monday, June 29th, 2009

I am a perfectionist.

There. I said it. Not that this is news to anyone that knows me… Spend five minutes in a room with me and you will be subjected to lint picking, and, if there are things hanging on the wall, a long-winded analysis of how perfectly (or not perfectly) aligned each object is.

That being said, Alex and I have been working on a few home-improvement projects for my apartment. And because I cannot paint or put wallpaper featuring Greg Grunberg’s face up or do anything else fun, I have opted to fill every single inch of available wall space with framed art.

(As a side note, I am very picky about the art that I put up. I generally feel weird putting up anything that I didn’t make myself. Which is really stupid, almost as stupid as the Marshmallow Blaster, which is actually stupidly awesome.)

In any event, because I have a Big Strong Man living with me for the summer, I have him do all of the grunt-work. He does the nailing, screwing, hanging, assembling, lifting and arranging. I supervise. And because I am a perfectionist supervising means I watch him like a hawk and make throaty irritated noises every time I think he’s doing some unperfect. Which is a lot, because in addition to being a perfectionist I am also a control freak. Yes, I have a highly trained therapist and an unlimited supply of Prozac, thanks for asking.

Alex is generally a really good sport about the whole thing.

He normally responds with a sort of “I-love-you-but-I’m-about-to-kill-you” look, not unlike a look one might give a child who keeps asking the same question over and over. A look that says “if you want to make it to age 22 you better take your throat noises elsewhere” or perhaps “if you want this relationship to work you best run along and stick your finger in an outlet before I do it for you.” It is a look I get often, and I often am amazed at his restraint when it comes to me. More often than not I am commenting on the straightness of the pictures he has hung or his tendency to fart during otherwise romantic moments or the truly impressive amount of chest hair he has. And he hasn’t killed me. It’s a miracle!

But while I am the neurotic one, he is the charming one, the one who hangs pictures perfectly, especially when I’m not in the same room and preferably when I’m not in the same city.

Why I Love Alex #234

Friday, May 22nd, 2009

He refrained from laughing when I smacked my face into the wall so hard that I now have a lump under my eye brow. And he barely cracked a smile when I used a pack of frozen edamame to stop the swelling because I have no ice.

Oh yeah, he’s a keeper.

Maybe sad, but definitely epic.

Monday, April 20th, 2009

So as a college student, I use the Internet a lot. I mean, there is so much information out there… so many papers to write, so much injustice to blog about and post on Facebook.

Today, I was at Alex’s apartment and his Internet exploded. Wouldn’t work. Couldn’t work. It was sad. And after about 2 hours of trying to restart the router, cursing at the modem, pleading with our computers, writing a death letter to Comcast, and trying to guess the passwords of his neighbor’s wireless networks, we gave up and went to Taco Bell. After Taco Bell I went home, sat on my couch and booted up my computer, and my Internet was working.

So I went on Yahoo Games and played my Sudoku and all was right with the world.