Every Thursday afternoon, I go visit a therapist that disturbingly resembles Barbie. I found her online and chose her out of many therapists due to having the most stylish earrings in the head-shot. It seemed like the best indicator that she could relate to my situation.
Yesterday afternoon, I felt edged with panic as we began to discuss the topic of smoking and alcohol. She asked me what it was that I got out of drinking. I was like ooooohhhhh no, I see where this is going. You sly motherfucker, I see where this is going. I know you therapist types. Here is how I saw this going:
Therapist that resembles Barbie: What exactly do you get out of drinking?
Me: I like the taste of different beers. It’s a good way for being social. (long pause)…………….and it feels good.
Therapist that resembles Barbie: It feels good?
Me: Yep, that’s what I said. It feels good.
Therapist that resembles Barbie: So you’re saying that you can’t feel good without consuming alcohol?
Me: Ummm…err. No. I don’t know. Fuck she thinks I’m an alcoholic. Am I an alcoholic?
All joking aside, it actually went much better, leaving me and the therapist that looks like Barbie coming to the conclusion that alcohol can be consumed in an emotionally healthy manner. This is such an inappropriate time to be transitioning to my emotionally drunken night Monday, but alas, we must get onto the subject of my roommate, ole Connor.
All I could remember from Monday night was sitting on the kitchen counter, drunkenly telling my roommate that I wasn’t sure why I was crying. He confirmed my drunkenness as the explanation for said crying then BAM…blackout drunk. The next day, Connor informed me that we had had an entire conversation. I just sort of looked at him in silence like…glad we are on the same page that you are not going to tell me what I said when I was drunk. These unspoken bonds are the makings of a good roommate. Because no one can hold me accountable for the things I say when I’m drunk. That’s a thing right? Definitely a thing.
Here’s the thing about ole Connor, he laughs at just about everything you say. Knock Knock, who’s there??! Motherfucking Connor is laughing. Two hipsters walk into a bar. Motherfucking Connor is laughing. I’ve got such a bad headache. Connor is laughing. I just found out I’m paralyzed from the neck down. MOTHER FUCKING Connor is laughing. He’s this big guy with tattoos that pretends he’s too cool for school…and by school, I mean me. But for the most part, I really like it. He doesn’t take me seriously which is ideal considering I don’t either. He gets me ice cream when I tell him to, and doesn’t ask pointless, time-wasting questions like, “What kind do you want?” “Where should I get the ice cream?” “At what temperature and thickness do you want said ice cream?” He understands the desperation in my voice just gets me the motherfucking ice cream. Word.
Connor always laughs when I say this (imagine that), but he’s like the alpha male. No one ever fucks with Connor…and I mean no one. If I was always hanging out with him, I would run out of skeezes for the day because again, no one fucks with Connor…and if you’re with Connor, well no one fucks with you. While I’d get bored without the skeezes, I do really enjoy playing some doubles with Connor. I’m like, Oh, you’ve been winning too many games of pool? Lame roommate to the rescue. Then I give em the ole two for one special….where the cue ball follows the eight ball into the corner pocket. You’re welcome. Again, you’re welcome.
Living with Connor is a blast. Let me tell you one of my many favorite things to do with Connor…Hover. I love these moments when I just keep standing there long after our conversation should’ve ended and he keeps shooting me these glances like Why the fuck is she still standing there? Is she looking at me? It feels like she’s looking at me. I really love to hover, especially when he brings over the girl that taught me the word skeeze, ole Samantha. I’m like a five year old on Christmas morning. I go run into his room, hug her like a crazy person, and ramble on to them about my blog for hours on end (several minutes) waiting for the moment he starts yawning or staring at his phone longingly, my cue to leave.
This brings me to my conclusion. My skeeze of the day goes out to my roommate Connor, because I have two MAJOR problems with him.
1. He keeps closing the blinds to the window where my plants are sitting. My plants are dying you fucking vampire!
2. He stole my floor lamp and just sort of laughs when I ask about getting it back. It’s like, no really, when the fuck am I getting my lamp back?
Instead of a song, I chose to post a video today to give you some insight on what it’s like living with roommates in modern society.
Keep those fucking comments coming! Conner, if you’re reading this, I want my fucking lamp back! (said Savannah in a calm and loving voice)