Sista Sista! (Sung in a Sing Song Voice)

                Sam and I are sitting at Starbucks right now and she effing hates me so much. I’m singing half hearted jingles about everything because 1. I love to sing and B. I just drank a venti Starbucks Double Shot on Ice and I’m supa hypa. She also hates me because I don’t wear my hat right the way, I keep getting angry at old people, and I’m a piss sore winner for every game we play. Sam is my sista sista and we have been best friends since she was born only a year and nine days after me.  Here is a picture of us as best friends

                So you know how models are supposed to be really dumb and pretty and obsess over their hair? Well Sam is all three. Okay, okay, that’s not true. She’s not that pretty. In all real life actuality, Sam is very talented and smart and is majoring in film at Columbia College of Chicago. That’s why when we meet new people together I have to tell them about myself first because once they hear “Chicago” and “film school” all of the sudden Mankato doesn’t seem so awesome… because it totally is… Growing up, Sam’s life was very different from the one she leads now. She basically lived the life of Lizzie McGuire without the weird doppelganger, Italy, pop star storyline. Except her doppelganger is Justin Bieber but she never got to sing at one of his concerts. Never say never! (Sung in a singsong voice.)

Can you tell which one is Bieber?

                When we were in middle school, everyone used to meet in the gym before school started and sometimes the principal would make announcements since everyone was in the same place at the same time. Well, like, four times that year she kept screaming at us about people vandalizing the bathrooms and I didn’t really understand why because I never saw anything wrong with the boy’s room. Then, at the end of the year, Sam comes up to me…

Sam: Brahd.

Brad: Sahm. (That’s how we say each other’s names.)

Sam: So you know how we always kept getting yelled at for vandalizing the bathrooms?

Brad: Yeah.

Sam: Okay. Well, that was me and Erica.

Brad: What.

Sam: Okay well, we can reach our hands up into the tampon machine and we would get them wet in the sink and throw them up so they stuck to the ceiling.

The epitome of hooligans.

                Coincidentally, Sam decided to be a Q-Tip for Halloween one year. Why? I don’t know. But she looked like a giant tampon. Like a huge effing tampon. … Like, imagine a five foot tampon just walking down the street asking you for candy. I can’t believe that my parents didn’t say anything…

Sam used to have long beautiful hair and then she decided she was like Jenny from the Block and she’d had Enough of her hair and chopped all of it off when she was a junior. Probably the worst decision she’s ever made because now she looks hideous. The first day that she cut her hair short, she made sure to wear a dress to school but she wasn’t thinking so clearly the second day. She wore a shirt with a rainbow on it. Total lezzy move. Just even the other day she heard, “Oh I didn’t know if you were a lesbian or a gay boy I wanted to make out with.”

But the best “Sam has short hair story” is when she moved to Chicago. She just got off the plane and she was in the airport and she heads off the bathroom. She’s washing her hands and this lady walks in and sees Sam and goes, “Oh! I’m sorry. I thought this was the women’s…” And she leaves. She must have realized her mistake and she comes walking back and my sister gives her a death glare and flips her off and walks out. Ugh, typical angry lesbian… lol.

In her second year of college she was signed on with Factor, a support group for those struggling to continue being anorexic. Sam was already a size two when she was signed on and they told her to lose two inches off her hips and thighs. So she does. And then they’re like, “Mm yeah. You’re going to have to lose more of your fat… so…” And she did! And now they’re still telling her to lose more weight! I mean she really could stand to lose a few more el bees. Personally, I won’t be happy until she looks like this-

                It’s a good thing that she has a sense of humor about the whole modeling thing because that job is crazy. In addition to the whole not eating thing, there are about a billion other things she has to deal with. One time before a runway show, the director lectured all the models and told them that they better be dressed by their turn to walk or she would send them out naked and that she was serious about it. So Sam does her first runway walk and comes back and starts to change and someone tells her that she didn’t have to change into her second outfit and to get into her third. Then, the serious lady yells at her to get back into her second piece and then by that time it was Sam’s turn to go out on the runway and she was just standing backstage naked. And serious lady goes, “You need to get out there NOOOOWWW!”  Like Sam’s just going to be all, “Oh okay” and strut out in her birthday suit.

One time she farted at the end of the runway.

To clear some things up- I don’t think Sam is that ugly. Yes, she is straight. And she’s a really talented film maker. She did this movie with just her laptop.

                What can we learn from my sister? You can be a model and do whatever the fuck you want. You want to crop dust a runway? Go for it. You wanna dress like a tampon for Halloween? Sweet.  Her next move is to go all Domino Harvey and become a bounty hunter and have sex in the desert with a Mexican. Believe me. She can do anything. 

Scary Things

A lot of scary things have happened to me lately. First of all, Josh and I have been playing racquetball like crazy and it’s really fun but really scary. Josh is better than me and almost always wins every time and it just puts me in the worst mood. I’m so scared of losing and whenever I lose I always feel like someone’s holding an “L” over my forehead like the Glee posters and my Glee club is never going to win nationals. Also, Josh hits the ball really hard and he hit me in the ribs with the ball on my birthday. But then I hit him in the eye with the ball the following week and I felt really bad… but it was hilarious.

And there are all these other things that I’m scared of and they’re pretty ridiculous.

Sometimes I dream that there’s velociraptors in my house. And sometimes I dream that Jaws is going to eat me. The first time I watched Jurassic and Jaws I cried. Actually, that was in school. Ok. So I was out at recess and I think I was in first grade and the teachers were like, “Ohmygod it’s Hoth out here. Ok children, indoor recess instead.” So we go inside and the sixth graders were watching this movie. So we sit down and it’s whatever and I’m just watching the TV. And all of the sudden, this kid gets electrocuted and a dinosaur comes out of the wires with a light bulb burning it’s head and it’s trying to eat this lady and I spazzed out. I told my mom when I got home from school and I’m sure I was really melodramatic about it. I looked like this-

Then my mom called the school and the teacher got fired. Like Donald Trump fired. The best part was when I told my dad, he goes, “Well, Brad. You know those dinosaurs are just fake, right?” “Yeah.” “Well why don’t we watch it and you can see that it’s all just made up.” So then we did and I loved it! It was one of my favorite movies after that! But seriously, that teacher should not have been showing such graphic material to six year olds.

                Josh is scared of mentally challenged people and witches. Actually, he said that my initials the other day stood for Big Retarded Witch. Offensive. The other day we checked out at Wal-Mart and Josh thought that our teller was a witch.

Josh: She had a necklace with the Wiccan symbol and two earrings with stars and a circle around them and that means she’s a bad witch… Ugh witches scare me.

Brad: Why?

Josh: Because they might be real! I mean has anyone considered the possibility that they are? That’s why whenever I think someone’s a witch I’m just really charming and nice…”

I’m scared that people won’t like my outfit or my Facebook status. #gayboyproblems.

               

Have you ever been an accidental pedophile? I know I have. Seriously! Can you think of anything worse than being accused of pedophilia? If I had to make a list of the worst things ever it would go like this-

1.       Being mistaken for a child lover

2.       Being eaten alive by ants

3.       The Holocaust

4.       Dropping your cell phone and then having to put it back together

                               

I’ve been an accidental pedophile two times. First, I was working at Disney one time being a Greeter. This means that I stand outside of the line and say, “Yep this is the start of the line.” “No, I’m sorry we’re out of fast passes for the day” “Oh, when I said that we were out of fast passes for the day I meant for the day. Yes, I know, it’s very confusing.” So it’s beautiful and sunny out and I’m just minding my own business and this five or six year old girl is running around the courtyard and she’s super cute and she’s dancing and just being adorable. Then, she comes running up to me and I kid you not, she lifts up her shirt like she’s on Girls Gone Wild and gives me the biggest smile ever. It was the worst. I kept waiting to be fired or sent to pedo-hell not to be confused with ghetto-hell where you have to live in Detroit for the rest of eternity.

AND THEN I always walk by the swimming pool when I’m done working out because I want to see if the men’s swim team is practicing and they never are! But this one time they were and I got so excited! I was like Precious when she steals the chicken. I ran as fast as I could with my giant backpack and then nearly threw up from joy. So I get to the balcony where I can watch and I immediately start scanning for the hottest guy. As I searched I realized that none of them were really all that muscular. “The B-team must be sitting out while the sexies swim…” I thought. I probably sat there for five minutes before I realized that I was watching the high-school swim team. Godammit.

A lot of people say that I’m fat-o-phobic but I’m seriously not scared of or hate fat people. I used to be one! Believe me, I have several fat friends and they are all quite jolly.

Finally, there is one thing that scares me more than any of these things. Showers. Ok well not showers per gay but that there’s someone in them. When I was like eight or nine I started to have this suspicion that there might be someone in the shower who was going to kill me when I was peeing. So I started to check every time I went to the bathroom and of course no one was ever there. So I told myself I was being silly one day and that I had to stopping being scared of something so stupid.

So one day I go to the bathroom and I’m thinking, “Don’t check the shower. Your fine.” But I did anyway and obviously no one was there. So I start to go potty and ALL OF THE SUDDEN THE SHOWER CURTAIN CAME TO LIFE AND GRABBED ME! I don’t think I’ve ever felt like I was going to die more than I did at that moment. You know how some people wet themselves when they’re scared? I literally stopped in midstream like my whole body was like, “Fuck it. Nope. Nope.”

        It turns out that my sister, Sam was hiding in the shower and I can’t imagine how I didn’t see her. This is the horrible demon that scarred me for life-

She gets to be a model and I can’t even urinate without stressing out that I’m going to get murdered. I’m also scared of tornados, bats (duh), The Joker from Batman, being poor, that things won’t go my way, and that Starbucks might be closed. I don’t know why that last one frightens me but I still get that anxiety at like, one in the afternoon.

                What is the lesson in these scary stories? To quote Liam Ra’s al Ghul Neeson, “To conquer fear, you must become fear.” I’ve decided to become my fear and rename myself Veloci-Bradford.

'Mo Dogs Go Part One

                I had a panic last week. I mean I drank some coffee and pooped and then I felt better but still I was freaking out. I was trying to think of a new blog post and I had no idea what to write! I was like, “Kittens are cute and funny…” “I should write about how hilarious I am!” “Can I just post Charlie bit my finger and call it good?” I just felt so smothered. Josh was holding my mouth and nose shut to suffocate me but now I know what a panic attack really is!

                Then I went to visit Megan and we drank a bunch of coffee and watched CSI and I saw a ghost in her bathroom and we had so much fun. And then I saw that she had the book GO, DOG. GO! And I had an apocalypse. I realized that I could do a reinterpretation of the classic children’s book and make it completely inappropriate and gay. SO HERE IT IS, WORLD! Part one!

The Bat Story

                The week of the infestation was, like, the hottest week ever. It was so hot that I would have gladly water boarded myself. IT WAS SO HOT. I felt bad for poor Amara who was staying at my house for the week because she was expecting fun and True Blood and we got terrorism and the surface of the sun. Well my scary old haunted house that I live in doesn’t have air-conditioning so we slept with fans blasting in our faces.

                That night Amara was sleeping on the couch and I went up to my bedroom, took off all my clothes, and pointed the fan directly on my moist, naked body. I was sleeping like a sound little baby when in the dead of night, I felt something tickle my thigh. Thinking that the fan was blowing the sheet on me, I swiped it away and then all of the sudden- SOMETHINGGRABBEDMYFINGER. I heard fluttering around the room and I look at my window and a bat was climbing up the screen with its little finger wings.

                As I was having a mild stroke, I pulled some jeans on over my tight, sculpted figure and ran downstairs…

This is me having a mild stroke-

Me: Amara! Amara ohmygod. There’s a bat it my room! Amara, there’s a bat in my room!

Amara: (sleepily) What? No, Brad just go back to bed.

Me: No! Amara I’m serious-

                And then out of nowhere the bat flew down the stairs and we both screamed and ran up to my room, we checked for baby bats, and then went to bed. The next morning, we creeped downstairs and found it snuggled in the crown molding in my kitchen. Knowing exactly what to do, we put plastic, grocery bags over our heads so it wouldn’t get caught in our hair and decided to spray the bat with Pam and bathroom cleaner to disorient it. So while holding brooms and spraying it with our good idea the bat just got pissed off and crawled deeper into the crack in the wall.

                Amara and I looked at each other like, “Well now what?” when the bat abruptly attacked! Fearing it would use Bite or Leech Life (both of which would be super effective) we swung our brooms at the bat while falling on the floor looking like we were trying to do the Bernie while having epileptic seizures. The scene sort of looked like this- 

                Instead of using my shotgun (broom) to blow it (smack it with my Ethiopian arms) to smithereens, we sat in the kitchen thinking of what to do next when that Dracula-whore started crawling horizontally across the brick wall like some possessed Reagan shit. AND THEN because it hadn’t had enough fun the first time, it started flying at us over and over again. It was as if it knew air force training combat and we were like helpless, screeching kittens with plastic bags over our heads. Keep in mind that every time the bat flies at us, Amara is still sitting in the kitchen chair and I’m standing behind her and we’re hitting nothing but air with our brooms. The final time it came around, Amara was so frustrated that she screamed, “GET OUT, FUCKER!”  And it did! We both high fived and sat back down in front of the TV.

                I looked closer at my finger and I realized the horrible. I had been bitten. My firm, sexy body had been violated. There were two, tiny, little bite marks in my left finger and I knew that I had to get rabies shots. I called my dad and he set up an appointment for me and then said, “Why didn’t you catch it? You could have had the bat tested for rabies instead.” Like I’m going to catch the devil and keep him safe in my Tupperware. Then, the next day I’m on my way to the hospital and my mom calls…

Mom: Hey whatcha doin’?

Me: Um… I’m on my way to the hospital to get rabies shots because I got bit by a bat.

Mom: WHAT?

Me: Yeah I didn’t want you to worry so…

My dad told me later that she said to him on the phone, “Why didn’t you or Brad tell me that he got bit by a bat?! Did everyone think I was going to FREAK OUT OR SOMETHING?!?!”

                 Four doctors at the hospital were like, “Why didn’t you catch it so you wouldn’t have to go through this?” Oh! I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was supposed to catch my own rapist! So I had to get four shots directly in my finger and four in my arms and then I was supposed to go back three times after that for more shots but I was so over it. I might have rabies now but it’s whatever.

Amara was leaving that week to move back into her apartment and like, three days after the bat incident she couldn’t find her keys. We’re looking around the house and she looks under her suitcase and they’re not there. So she looks around the house and comes back to her suitcase… checks under it again… and… there was another effing bat pinned under her suitcase.

That's me and that's Amara scared out of our minds.

                It was the worst thing ever. We had to get an exterminator and seal up the house and apparently there was another bat on the other side of the house where the straight boys live. That week at Barnes and Noble everyone called me “Bat Boy” which I guess was clever and hilarious. What is to be learned from this story? I’ve learned that bats are like rapists. And I found these steps on WikiHow to remove a bat/rapist from your house.

1.       Allow the rapist to land.

2.       Pick up the rapist if necessary.

3.       Coax the rapist down from high places.

4.       Carry the rapist outside- Set the trapped rapist on the ground some distance from your house. Close the door so that the rapist does not accidently come inside and rape you again.

5.       Help the rapist if it seems fatigued.

6.       Take care using your hands directly- You should wear leather gloves. Do not squeeze too tightly. 

Auschwitz: An Adventure

When I moved back from Orlando I knew that I would need a roommate but after some of my past roommate experiences I wasn’t that excited. I mean, ever since Mu I always look through all of my roommates things to see if I can find anything criminalizing so that I have leverage to blackmail them if I need to. That doesn’t make me creepy. That makes me creepy smart.

Actually I never looked through my roommate, Megan’s things because she was so open that I searching was pointless. For example…

“Everyone’s looking at me because I’m not wearing a bra but I sort of love it.”

“I bought thirteen bottles of wine tonight and I already drank two of them!”

“I had the best day ever! I drank a Sundrop and got a smoothie from McDonald’s and then I watched four episodes of CSI and had sex with myself three times!!”

So I got on the good ol’ Craigslist thinking I was going to have to live with another straight guy who liked cars and football and couldn’t appreciate Florence and the Machine let alone the supercute boots I just bought. But then Craig did me a giant favor. On his list he delivered me Josh. At first I didn’t understand the sort of queeny quest Josh and I would embark upon. After several e-mails I looked him up on Facebook and discovered our only friend in common was Stupid Head. (Stupid Head is my ex who cheated on me and lied to me and told me that he wanted to break up with me four months before he could work up the balls to do it. But it’s totally cool because he’s a college dropout and a never-nude.) But it turned out that they only hung out once, lalala, I’m really frickin’ jaded.

Anyway, so Josh moves in and immediately I’m like the worst roommate ever. Within thirty minutes I tell him the story about Mu and how I intentionally broke his alarm clock. So you know, I’m starting off with a great first impression. And then the next day I was like, “You have friends, right? Because my old roommate didn’t and he was really weird so…” So now I’m REALLY on a roll. Meanwhile all my dishes are lying around everywhere and he’s discovering all the things around the house that don’t work.

“Ope yeah, Josh. So don’t close the bathroom door all the way because you’ll lock yourself in.”

“Hey Josh, this drawer is broken so don’t pull it out all the way because the knives will fall out of it and they’ll stab your feet.”

“Yeah the fire alarm just kept beeping all over the place so I just took the batteries out. But it’s not like there’s going to be a fire in the hallway, right?”

But now it’s great because we’re just like Will and Grace! We hang out all the time and have sleepovers and play Scrabble (but I always win) and make craft projects! We’ve also decided that we both want matching kitten tattoos. Oh, and Josh wants to change his last name to Puppy and he calls me B-Kitten for my nickname. So we’re Josh Puppy and B-Kitten! WE’RE DISGUSTINGLY CUTE.

                Josh and I decided to go to Pride in Mankato which was crazy and crazy lame at the same time. First of all, I’ve never seen so many gay people in Mankato before but the actual Pride Festival was more of a sign up for anti-discrimination laws and make a craft project festival? And then that night we decided to go to the dance with Josh’s friend Sid (not McDonald’s Sid) and we may or may not have been wearing our shwastey pants. So we get to the dance and it’s really high school and so after only about an hour, we leave.

                We’re like two miles from our house and we only make it, like, two blocks before Josh turns to me and says, “Wanna climb that billboard?” and I’m like, “Duh.” So we do. And here’s a picture of it.

The billboard is right next to a building and so we climb down on the roof and there’s like a giant pipe or something that I don’t see and I trip and fall. My body didn’t tell my arms to go out in front of me so I literally just slid along the roof face and all. As it turns out the roof was covered in this tar crap and the entire right side of my body was covered in black shit. So it’s whatever.

                We keep walking and two blocks later we see Dominos and we’re like, well we obviously need some, so I walk in looking like a stylish, hotassmess, coal miner and the conversation goes like this-

Me: Hi. I’m Brad.

Domino's Girl: I’m Darcy.

Me: Darcy. What can we have for free?

Domino's Girl: Haha nothing…

Me: Ok but seriously. We would really appreciate a medium, half sausage, half cheese pizza.

Domino's Girl: …Okay.

So we got a free pizza!

                Then, Josh and I were checking every door that we were walking by as we walked through downtown and by this point it’s like one in the morning. Well, we finally find one that’s open and it’s these stairs that lead to a roof and on the roof is a patio with chairs and things! So we’re eating our pizza and the most adorable cat comes over and Josh decides to name it Josh, of course. We’re just in love with it and even though I’m allergic I’m like rubbing the cat all over my face. But then we finished our pizza and went home and went to bed.

                When I woke up, my eyes were swollen like crazy, I was wheezing, and when I looked in the mirror, I was covered in tar and cat hair. But I was really hungry and so I went downstairs and then I noticed that there was blood all over my leg! So I start picking at it to figure out where my wound is but it turns out that it was just pizza sauce.

                Is the lesson to not judge books by their covers? Or is the lesson to not cover your face in something you’re allergic to? Neither. The lesson is if you take the first letter off Josh and the first letter off his last name - Schutz, his name spells Osh Chutz. Which sounds like Auschwitz. Which is funny.  If you don’t think so, then I’m sorry you feel that way. 

Bedazzled Heart

                I have been employed eight different times in the twenty-one years that I have lived and each of them was their own special bedazzle on my heart. My heart is covered in bedazzles actually. There’s one for The Matrix, one for Zachary, Teresa Giudice, Starbucks, Dolce and Gabbana, and many other things that make my life sparkle. My heart is also covered in corduroy, camouflage colored scales that represent everything that I hate. My doctor tells me that if I get too many scales on my heart that I’ll soon get so stressed that I’ll look like an orc version of Marcus Bachman.

                Hy-Vee was the first job that I’ve ever had. Believe it or not, in Great Faces, Great Places, South Dakota you may drive when you are only fourteen years old! Imagine Abigail Breslin just cruisin’ around in that big, old bus with her dead grandpa in the back going to work. Well that’s me. I would push carts and bag groceries. If someone made me mad, I would put cans on top of their tomatoes.  You know those aprons that they always wear? Well I found out that more went on under those aprons in the break room than I would have liked to know.

                Actually, looking back on Hy-Vee, I realize that my fellow employees must have been high every other day. One time I took out the trash with this other kid and instead of taking it to the compacter like a human, he lifted the bag over his head and drank the garbage juice. I probably should have taken a page out of his book. I would break jars of baby food on purpose so that I could break the basic routine and clean them up.

                Bagel Boy was my second job and BAGEL BOY IS THE BEST PLACE EVER! Bagel Boy makes bagel sandwiches and coffee and soup and it’s so delicious. The weird thing was that the managers were never there so I just ate bagels all day and got really fat. I know that people don’t believe me when I say that I was fat but seriously. Look at this picture and tell me otherwise.

                Old Navy was awesome. I worked there with my bff Rachael and she definitely got the short end of the stick on that one. I worked in the fitting room where I would have fashion shows every day with Andrew and Rachael always had to work in “Kids” which they may as well have named “Apocalypse” because that was what it looked and felt like to work in “Kids” every day. There were millions of tiny jeans to be folded and there was always pee or barf on the floor.

                Rachael and I would also make a game out of selling ONC’s. That stands for “Old Navy Card” yeah! Every time we were at the register we would think of the most creative way to sell an ONC.

Rachael: Ok, and your purchase comes to $11.56. Would you like to save a treasure chest of money by signing up for an Old Navy Card today?

Customer: (Fills out nearly the entire signup sheet) Wait. Is this a credit card?

Rachael: (speaking as slow as possible thinking she may confuse the customer) Uuuummmm…. (breath) …. Yesss…. It is…. (then takes off at light speed) butit’sareallygooddealandyou’llloveitandyoucansaveatreasurechestandit’sreallyawesomeandyoulookreallygoodtoday!

Customer: Oh ok. Uh. No thank you, then.

                After that I worked at Starbucks. Starbucks to me is like a grocery store to a child with Prader-Willi Syndrome. It is by far one of my favorite places to be and in the top two of my favorite places to work. The best part was the customers. I don’t think it’s difficult to order a drink correctly. In fact, when the AP Style guide has to specifically state, “Espresso. Never expresso”  then there is clearly a problem with the world.

Can I please get a frappa mocha?

Where are the moo-lattes?

This tastes too much like coffee…

I’ll have a large macha-tee-toh.

A medium, please.

                Rachael posted this funny cartoon on my wall that summed up my life.

                And one time this lady ran into the side of Starbucks with her car. She was driving this brand new Escalade, had big boobs, big blonde hair, long nails, the works. I hand her the drink. She thinks she’s going to drive away but instead she decides to scrape her Escalade along the side of the building. Instead of, of you know, checking in with us to make sure there wasn’t any damage, she decided it would be best to just drive away.

                Then, I worked at Barnes and Noble which was fine.

                THEN, I WORKED AT DISNEY WORLD!

                Then, I did the roofing job which I still haven’t gotten a check for…

                Finally, I worked at McDonalds. It was sort of like working in the future because everything was automated and machines would like fill up the French fry baskets for us. But it was only like the future if the future is like working in “Kids” in Sierra Leone. I just really needed a job so I applied and I got it and whatever. On my first day, my manager yelled at the girl with Down Syndrome because she interrupted her. Every day I was burned by the oils from the fryers. One day this stud who we’ll call Sid had a conversation with me that went like this…

Sid: So what kinda girls are you into?

Me: None. None of them. … I’m gay.

Sid: What? (looking really concerned) Since when?

Me: Ever…

                Anyway, nothing was sanitary. We were supposed to wash our hands every thirty minutes but I saw people go the entire shift without washing their hands. The trays that the hamburgers sit in don’t get washed all day. One day I dropped an entire bag of fries in the fryer including the plastic bag which dissolved in less than a second. So after working there for less than two weeks, I quit. It was just terrible. I went up my managers and I said, “I’m quitting. I don’t like it here. So I’m going to leave.” And I walked out. … So it’s whatever.

                Is there a lesson in today’s lesson? Why yes. Yes there is. I’ve added another bedazzle to my heart. It’s called unemployment.   

Mu

                You know how everyone knows someone who had the worst roommate of all time? Well I was that someone. I HAD THE WORST ROOMMATE OF ALL TIME. I went into my freshman year thinking that I was going to be best friends with my roommate and that we would watch movies and have sleepovers every night and plan each other’s weddings. This was not the case.

                Muhammad seemed fine when I met him. He was an engineering major, short, wore glasses and moved to America when he was thirteen. His English was almost perfect but he had a hard time with his adjectives. When something was bad he would say, “It is so shit, man. It is so shit.” He also loved Celine Dion. I would turn on “My Heart Will Go On” on my laptop and Muhammad would immediately stop whatever he was doing and start singing along very poorly. Little did he know that Rachael was on Skype and we were secretly laughing at him.

One time Muhammad accidently put metal in his microwave and pink and blue sparks went everywhere and I laughed and he got really mad at me.

                The worst thing about Muhammad was that he had three alarm clocks. He had one of the old fashioned ones that looked like this-

And then he had two cell phones for some reason. Oh, and he also hated it when the room was messy so I tried very hard to be a neat person which my friends would attest is not an easy task for me. I’m seriously a giant slob. One time I found a Dorito in my chest hair.

SO he would go out with his friends and drink and smoke hookah at their houses and then come back at three or four in the morning. Then, at seven his old fashioned alarm clock would go off and make the sound of a banshee. THEN every minute after that his cell phones would take turns alternating alarms which he would continuously hit the “snooze” button for about an hour until he woke up. I had several “roommate” talks which I said things like, “I feel” and “It makes me uncomfortable” and “Does everyone in the Middle East have three alarm clocks because I watched The Kite Runner and I didn’t see any of that going on.” He would wake up on time for three or four days and then he would relapse and start “snoozing” again.

Well one day I had enough! I said to myself, “I am a strong, independent, black woman inside of a white, gay man’s body and I don’t need any of this shit!” So I got up and threw my clothes all over the floor and started brushing my teeth and Mu realized that he was late for class yet again so he began scrambling to get dressed and he said, “Hey can you clean this stuff up?” And I said, “No! I don’t know how many times I have had to talk to you about your alarm clock but I’m seriously super sick of it!” My voice rose two entire octaves by the end of that sentence. He says “whatever” and runs out.

Later that day I’m reading a book in our dorm and he walks in and this is how the conversation goes-

Mu: Hey can I talk to you?

Me: (Thinking he’s going to apologize) Yeah what’s up?

Mu: First of all, don’t ever talk to me like that again. And second of all, I’m not going to change and there’s nothing you can do about it.

                And then he just walks out. At this point I am boiling with rage. I don’t think I have ever been that pissed since my speech teacher tricked me into thinking that Britney Spears died. So I went down to the front desk of my dorm and asked for the smallest screw driver possible. I brought it back upstairs, unscrewed the back of his alarm clock, pulled some wires, and put it right back where I found it. I’m such an evil genius.

                Around midnight, I go to bed but I can’t sleep because I’m like that little boy in the Disney World commercial-

                Mu comes home around two and he bounces around the room for a little bit and I hear him start to mess with his alarm clock. He tries to fix it for about five minutes before banging it on the counter (engineering major?) and finally turns on the music as loud as possible, turns on all the lights and starts screaming at me! Of course I’m awake this whole time but I squint and rub my eyes and I’m all, “mmmwhat? Mwhat’s going on?”

Mu: You broke my alarm clock!

Me: What are you talking about? (sleepily)

Mu: I know you broke it I know you did!!

Me: How would I ever do that Muhammed? It’s probably broken because you were banging it on your desk.

                At this point he is lunging at me with his hands in fists. I didn’t know he was going to be so upset! I mean it’s not like Celine Dion gave it to him! But I was pretty scared that I was going to get beat up so I called security and they said that they would be right over. Muhammed was hell bent on making sure that security knew that I broke his clock. We wait half an hour. I call them again and they said that they were coming. So by this point it’s like three in the morning and security never comes and Mu forgets that he’s angry and falls asleep. Well I’m scared that he’s going to kill me in my sleep so I stay up the rest of the night.

                And I am pissed. Right? So I stay at Justin’s for a few days and find a new dorm. But as I’m moving out I decide to look through all of Mu’s things one last time. And. I. Found. It. A backpack full of alcohol. So I grab the bag, bust Mu for underage consumption in the dorms, and move out :)

                Is there a lesson to be learned from this? Yes. Yes there is. I am such a slob that sometimes I spray Febreze on myself and call it “a shower.”

The West Wing

                I have a terrible temper. You know in Beauty and the Beast when the Beast freaks out because Belle was in the west wing? Well someone is in my west wing all the time.

One time I was walking across the street on campus and this truck turns into me and nearly hits me. He starts yelling at me and pointing at the red hand that I guess means don’t walk but it was a green light! So I started yelling back and I refused to move out of his way so that he couldn’t drive anywhere. Luckily, Jason witnessed the entire thing and yelled at me to get in his car. Another time, I thought this lady waved me to turn out into the street in front of her so I do just that and she starts honking at me like crazy. So I just roll my eyes but then she starts to follow me super close so I slammed on my breaks as hard as I could to which she responded with more honking and screaming. THEN THIS OTHER TIME I was walking through my apartment complex parking lot at Disney World and this guy drives by me super fast and nearly hits me so naturally I flip him off. He stops the car, rolls down the window, and goes, “’scuze me is there a problem?” And I go, “Yeah! You’re fucking driving like and asshole!” And then we get in this giant screaming match that I don’t really remember very well because I may or may not have been slightly inebriated but I DO remember yelling, “Then fuckin’ do it! See what happens!” like I’m Steven Segal or something.

And that’s not even the half of it. Leah asked me one time if I had been tested for aspergers. So that was really nice of her.

It’s not that I really like to start fights with people but I feel this compulsion to correct people when they’re wrong or stupid. I took an online class this last summer and it was basically the most ridiculous thing ever. First of all, the class was called “Interpersonal Communication” so that totally makes sense for an online class. Second of all, the girls in my class were so duuuuumb. They were so dumb. We had to do discussions online and a question might be like, “How does new technology impact your life?” And these girls would answer like, “I think that technology is bad for us sometimes because instead of calling my mom I will just text her. But then I really like that I can text my mom whenever I want.” And then every single other girl in the class would say, “I completely agree. I think that’s a really interesting point.” Are you kidding me. We’re not going to talk about the implications of technology on war, poverty, government, or religion but instead we’re going to talk about you texting you’re mom? It made me feel like this-

                Then we had a discussion question that asked, “What sort of listening environments are effective or ineffective?” And after a buh-jillion moronic comments I had enough. It was the hit that caused the overdose. I wrote-


“I think everyone can agree that florescent lights, Facebook, and continuous lecturing does not create a listener friendly environment. But has anyone had to listen in a class with a leprechaun poking you every thirty seconds? Well, I have and it's terrible. So I was in my Into to Visual Culture Class and this leprechaun would not leave me alone! It kept saying mean things to me like, "You're going to fail this class," and "You look ugly today." That did not create an effective listening environment for me. I think that we need to focus on the removal of ALL leprechauns from the classroom. I am personally SO thankful that this is an online class so I don't have to face another situation like that. I also heard about this one kid who had to deal with a velociraptor...”


Somehow I still received an A.


                I think the worst time that I ever pissed anyone off was when I bought my new car. My dad and I had decided that we were getting the ostentatious gold 2009 Ford Focus. Our salesman was super nice if not too nice and he told us that we had to fill out a survey for all the people that helped us and that if they got anything less than all 1’s on the survey then they would be up for review. So we’re about to go to the finance guy’s office and my dad tells me that he’s going to try and sell us on all these upgrades and such and to not go with any of it because it’s basically a big scam.


                We walk into this guy’s office and his name was Josh and he was nice enough at first but then he pulls out a spread sheet with all of these charts and things.


                He starts talking and my dad interrupts him and says, “Just so you know we’re not going to go with any of these things today.” And Josh says, “Yeah well you know it’s part of my job so I have to tell you these things. Anyway…” He starts pitching some more, lalala, and I say, “Josh. My dad just said that we aren’t going to go with any of these things today so can we just skip this and leave?” Josh, “Ok I actually do have to go over these with you but if you look here…” Then my phone rings and I go out into the foyer to talk to my stepmom and I say loud enough for the entire dealership to hear, “No, we didn’t get the car yet. This guy Josh keeps talking to us about all these stupid things.”  I am soooo mature.


                I walk back into the office and Josh is still pitching to my dad and I yell, “JOSH. We’re not doing any of these things today! Okay? We’re just not!”


Josh: Ok look you know what? I don’t need any attitude from you!


Me: I don’t need this attitude from you!!


Josh: THIS IS PART OF MY JOB! I HAVE TO TALK TO YOU ABOUT THIS!


Me: WE ARE THE CUSTOMERS! WE KNOW WHAT YOU’RE GOING TO SAY AND WE DON’T WANT IT!


                It has now been two years since that argument and I couldn’t remember how the fight ended. I called my dad the other day to ask him and he goes, “Yeah I don’t know what happened. … Josh. What a dick.” We gave Josh the lowest scores possible on his evaluation and I checked the Ford website and he is no longer working there:)


                Besides the fact that I’m a petty bitch, what can we learn from all of this? Leah was probably right. I probably have aspergers.