Wednesday, June 09, 2004

Good times, good times.

I was just reading a post over at Tenth-Muse, and it reminded me of a story of my own that I feel like tellin' right now...

My sophomore year in college, I had transferred to Pepperdine from a junior college not too far down the beach in Palos Verdes. (Ok, because of PCH and all the freeway traffic in between, they're actually about an hour away from each other, but I digress...) All of the transfer students lived in a large dorm at the top of the hill near the law library...they were relatively cool dorms - they had 2 rooms each, and a living area that included a kitchen, so we didn't have to rely on dining hall food if we didn't want to. The first semester I was there, I lived with a strange girl...her name was Heather, I think. She was a bit chubby, and had long hair, and she was a shoe/sock fanatic. (She worked at a sock store...a store where all they sold was socks. I shit you not...) She and I didn't get along. We had been on thin ice to begin with, but when I brought a boy home one night that wanted to do more than sleep (and there was NO WAY in HELL that I was turning him down...he was hot!), she lost it completely. Started sleeping in another friend's room all the time, etc.. I decided the honorable thing to do was to move out. My friend Libby was on the 3rd floor, and had terrorists for roommates, and couldn't move out herself (she'd tried), so she asked if I would come live with her. She thought it would be easier to deal with the feminazis if it were two on two rather than just her against them all the time. I was up for the challenge!

So I moved into the dorm with Libby after Christmas break, and things seemed peachy. The other chicks were somewhat odd, but they kept a pretty low profile the day I was moving all my stuff in. I got moved in on a Saturday...my class on Monday was at 8 a.m., or something early like that, and so I went to bed relatively early, since I knew I would be up against the "jetlag" one usually experiences after having been off schedule for a while, and then suddenly has to get up early again on a regular basis.

At about 3 a.m., I woke to a horrible stench in my room. Smelled like someone had burned the hell out of a bag of popcorn, or something. I thought it was Libby...so I wandered out into the hall trying to figure out why in heaven's name there was any cooking going on at all at that hour, and I found my new nasty roommates standing in the kitchen, in their "normal" attire (I'd been warned that they regularly walked around in nothing but t-shirts. I mean NOTHING BUT...we finally forced them to start wearing underwear when they were in common areas. Nasty-ass chicks...), and they were burning bacon to a crisp. As I walked into the kitchen, I saw the bigger one dumping the bacon grease down the sink! I was all, "Dude, you can't do that...it clogs the pipes." She wanted to know where else she was supposed to put it. I said in a can. She didn't have a can, she said. She continued to dump the grease down the sink. I told them that their cooking at 3 a.m. was unacceptable, and had woken me up from a sound sleep. They couldn't have cared less. I went back to my room, and covered my head with my blanket, and tried to sleep. It sucked.

What really sucked was that I couldn't be around any kitchen where bacon was being cooked for a good 3 years without feeling queesy. And I had had NO problems with bacon prior to this incident! They ruined bacon for me for 3 years. Bitches.

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