Friendship around the clock

There was a time in my undergrad career where I had my own desk in a friend's room. We studied around the clock together, in an effort for him to rid himself of academic probation and for me to not have to pay for wireless internet. It was the final semester at Square State University, and our peak hours were 9PM - 3AM. We posted the following schedule above my desk so we could keep track of the hours I worked. The highlight was a random comment left by one of the housemates that declared self inflicted defication in the pants.



I lived across town, and often the night would involve a run to Wendy's (why am I so fat?) and my study-buddy would drive me home at 3AM, just in time for me to run into my roommate coming home from his fiancee's (smelling like Bed Bath Body and BEYOND). I remember that our place was so horrible that year we made a pledge to spend as much time away from it as possible - thus my study habits at my friend's house. I also would walk uphill in the driving snow the half mile to my friend's house with a pot full of marinating boneless chicken breasts and grill 14 at a time and then eat them for the rest of the week. Once, a housemate ate one of my chicken breasts. He is now the star of Snakes on a Plane.

Also, I put the note on the back of the schedule indicating the last time I studied in my friend's room and apparently, Nora Jone's subdued me with a cudgel and signed where my signature should have gone:

Any Grad Schools in Hawaii? Fiji?

Exhibit A:

This is proof that I spent 390 dollars applying to Graduate schools. I only landed interviews at two of the five, but was reimbursed airfare and put up for several nights at very expensive hotels and got to eat whole pizzas instead of slices of pizzas on someone else's tab. My only regret: applying to cold places like Boston and Baltimore. Why didn't I feign interest in Fiji State University's Quantitative Coconut Summation Graduate Certificate Program?

More to come, and more often.

I owe everyone a Vega$ report, a monthly report, a car status report, and yet another underwear report.

I'm going to be a more faithful blogger to you. I promise, this time, it will all be different.

Currently I am cleaning out my childhood room. I like to think of myself as a streamlined-rat as opposed to a pack-rat, but the following suggests otherwise:

From top, clockwise: a slip of paper with a girl's email address on it that was given to me the day before I left Junktown to go to undergraduate university (some 6 years ago...it was a magical night of rain showers, bouncy trampolines, a flash-mob butt slap chemical reaction pandemonium, and sweet hugs for someone who accepted Jesus Christ as their personal Lord and Saviour); a postcard from Germany from 2001 sent to me by a girl who raises emus despite what they did to the late Johnny Cash; and a Las Vegas Star Trek Hilton hotel card that I decided to keep from an ill-fated Vegas trip (not the 24 hour trip...this happened immediately after seeing Onion Girl give a prayer to open up the FMHS commencement ceremony, where I ran into Afton and her boyfriend (who, consequently, is six foot four and full of muscle) - this Vegas trip was ill-fated because I drank too much Pepsi in the sarcophagus of the Luxor and experienced heat rash on my calves from walking the Strip in the summer so badly that I had to go the pharmacist, buy ointment and apply it to my wounds in the parking lot with a sock. I also had to throw away all the change cups from that Vegas trip...for some reason GRY and I thought it would be awesome to have these nasty, filthy cups in our possession. I thought one day I would wash them and have awkwardly obtuse cups be in my cupboards so I could drink cheap wine from them with Heidi Klum, or better yet, Star Jones. Or even better yet, Tracey Morgan as Star Jones (don't even mention Keenan and Kel around me).

Higher fidelity, to you, my blog readers. I'm so sorry. Take me back.