Sunday, March 06, 2005
Excavating the Ruins of Pompeii
I love my roommate, I really do. He always forwards me information about marketing surveys I could participate in for cash, he understands the cultural importance of movies like Sister Act and Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle, and he bought us TiVo and a small Bolivian woman to clean up our messes. Plus, he's gone a lot, so I get plenty of Jay time, which is so important.
But he has a habit of leaving things half-done around the house, as though interrupted mid task by a masked home invader or the eruption of a long dormant volcano. I come home and find half a sandwich and an open jar of peanut butter sitting on the counter, or the remains of someone attempting to change a light bulb. Once I came home at three in the morning to find no one home but all the lights on and the TV in the living room blaring a copy of Amistad. This weekend I already have two half-empty pizza boxes decorating the coffee table, a set of clothes originally destined for goodwill adorning the living room floor, and a gallon of milk that's been left out for thirty-six hours on the kitchen counter. All I can say is thank god the Bolivian is coming tomorrow.
Of course, during my relatively short tenure on this earth, I have already lived with a fat nudist, a rageaholic who broke his hand punching a brick wall, and a death metal fan who suffered from both multiple personality disorder and obsessive compulsive disorder. So I'm feeling pretty good about life right now.
I love my roommate, I really do. He always forwards me information about marketing surveys I could participate in for cash, he understands the cultural importance of movies like Sister Act and Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle, and he bought us TiVo and a small Bolivian woman to clean up our messes. Plus, he's gone a lot, so I get plenty of Jay time, which is so important.
But he has a habit of leaving things half-done around the house, as though interrupted mid task by a masked home invader or the eruption of a long dormant volcano. I come home and find half a sandwich and an open jar of peanut butter sitting on the counter, or the remains of someone attempting to change a light bulb. Once I came home at three in the morning to find no one home but all the lights on and the TV in the living room blaring a copy of Amistad. This weekend I already have two half-empty pizza boxes decorating the coffee table, a set of clothes originally destined for goodwill adorning the living room floor, and a gallon of milk that's been left out for thirty-six hours on the kitchen counter. All I can say is thank god the Bolivian is coming tomorrow.
Of course, during my relatively short tenure on this earth, I have already lived with a fat nudist, a rageaholic who broke his hand punching a brick wall, and a death metal fan who suffered from both multiple personality disorder and obsessive compulsive disorder. So I'm feeling pretty good about life right now.
