The Gang’s All Here

January 15, 2009 at 4:05 AM (Friends, Happenings) (, )

Tonight, I celebrated being reunited with my roommates (well, two of them: one, you may recall, graduated last semester) for the first time this year.  The Little Wanderer arrived from her Vancouver holiday last night; my damn roommate returned about four hours ago.  As we know, I don’t do well with temporary loneliness, so I was pretty ecstatic to have people in the apartment again.  I was so happy that I decided to make dinner for everyone, and we all enjoyed an evening of pasta, wine and fresh chocolate chip cookies.  It’s good to have more bodies here again (and the new suitemate is pretty cool, too).

Here’s to another semester of awesome living arrangements!

Tonight’s Tunes
“Candy Shop,” Madonna
“Semi Charmed Life,” Third Eye Blind
“Never Gonna Give You Up,” Rick Astley


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My Accident-Prone Roommate, Episode I

October 18, 2008 at 4:33 AM (Friends, Happenings) (, )

Just to clarify, this is not the same roommate from “My Damn Roommate . . .”  I share my apartment with three lovely people.  This one is Thing 2.

My roomate has a fractured disc and is scheduled for surgery in December.  When we first moved in, she warned me that she was accident-prone after letting me know about her current condition.  I admit that I took her warning with a grain of salt.  It’s not that I didn’t believe her, but at the same time, accident-prone could be anything from tripping incessantly to breaking bones so predictably that one could set a clock by it.  I took a shot at optimism and assumed that my roommate was of the former variety, and that the back condition was an extreme circumstance.


As the semester has progressed, my roommate’s back has been bothering her more frequently and with greater severity.  This past week she decided to switch the office chair in her room with an egg chair in the living room that she brought from home.  The office chair was irritating her back because it offered minimal support.  With the egg chair, at least she could sit back a little more comfortably.

Although our living/dining/cooking area is a decent size, our bedrooms are more or less standard jail-cell-sized.  We’ve lofted our beds a good 4’6″ off the ground in order to increase storage space.  Also shoved within our cells are a desk, dresses, and a hole in a wall with a horizontal pole that’s supposed to serve as a closet.  My point is that quarters are cozy.

It was Monday or Tuesday evening of this week.  I was decompressing after practise on the sofa watching Scrubs when Thing 2 sheepishly emerged from her room.

“I think I gave myself a concussion today.”

After I offered a melodramatically prolonged blink and a dash of awkward silence, I first asked her if she was okay (which is probably the most redundant question I could have possibly asked), then asked her to elaborate.  As it turned out, my roommate had gone to collapse into her egg chair, and managed to smack the base of her skull against the bed frame.  Noticing my cringe as she recreated the resounding “SMACK” of her head hitting the frame, she grinned.  “Yeah, whenever I do that, THAT’S when people freak out.”

One of the many things that I enjoy about my roommate is that she’s just so darned good-humoured.  I imagine that it’s a healthy way to be, if you’re accident-prone.  I could see someone fall just as easily into a state of learned helplessness, otherwise.

Unfortunately, it’s now Friday (Saturday, technically), and my roommate is still going through the aftermath of her run-in with her bed frame.  She went to health services, which only served to confirm her self-diagnosis.  I suggested that she visit an ER today, but she wasn’t too thrilled with the idea.  After all, what can you do to treat a concussion?  I may nag her until she does in a couple days, though.  I have this nasty habit of worrying about people in whom I take an interest.  And since she makes a great drinking buddy (among her many other wonderful traits), I’ve taken an interest.

Now, perhaps a back condition and a concussion don’t merit the label “Accident-Prone,” but how about stabbing your own finger and bruising your arm something awful within that same week?  Next time: “Why Knives and Fingers Don’t Play Together,” and “I Don’t REALLY Need My Left Arm!”


It may be relevant to note that my roommate asked me to write about her, uhm, situations in my blog.  My response?

“. . . Maybe I WILL.”

[readers groan]

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