Thursday, January 23, 2003


Back In The Day...

I once knew a girl named Amanda, who was nicer to me than I ever deserved. She was the type of girl who was the complete opposite of me, but never flinched when exposed to my old, barbaric habits and never once questioned me about why I acted like a complete freakazoid. Once, after some random instance of insanity that I forget, I invited her over the next night and assured her that we would spend a quiet night at my house, with no distractions, random lunatics or flying monkeys. I think we were watching tv on the couch when my roommate came home. She couldn't get her key to open the door, so I hopped up and stood in front of the door. It had glass window panes in it. I started to tease my roommate about not being able to get inside and thought it would be funny to hit one of the panes of glass with my forehead. My head went through. I heard the crash, and in mini-seconds cursed myself because I knew that I was going to have to replace the window because of my spur-of-the-moment stupidity. I drew my head back and started to laugh, but stopped when I saw the look of horror on my roommates face. Her mouth was doing the silent "O" thing. I was still laughing as I wiped my hand across my face and saw blood on my palm. I wiped it off on my shirt and put my hand to my face again and stopped laughing when I saw more blood there than before. Fortunately, my other roommate, Joe, had a mom who was a nurse. While she was putting stitches across the bridge of my nose and I was drinking beers, Amanda stood in the background, laughing nervously.

Two weeks later Amanda arrived at six a.m. in the morning to drop me off at the airport. I was flying to Texas to visit my sister. After knocking repeatedly on the boarded-up front door she found it unlocked and let herself in. She found me in the living room, sleeping with sunglasses on, and in a lawnchair. I had a 40 oz. of beer in my lap and burned out candles in a ring around me. Taped to my chest was a note written by my roommates that said, "remember to wake up at six!".

Now I don't know where she is. I lost touch with her. She was an entertainment lawyer last time I talked to her. After putting up with eccentric brats like me, she probably figured she might as well make some money with her high patience threshold.

I've learned alot since then.

Don't forget your key.
Glass can be thin.
Roommates are lazy help at best.
And some patient girls have got horrible taste in men, but mad job skills, bitch.







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