Jai Guru Deva Om
April 13, 2003 4:24 a.m.
[Disclaimer: I apologize ahead of time for any lack of coherence or poor spelling.]I'm home... it feels odd to have my roommate sleeping in the bed I grew up in while I crash on a couch or share a bed because I can't fall asleep in our sewing room. So I sit downstairs, watching my kitten sleep next to me on the computer desk, and suddenly realizing that in only three weeks I will be home again, for good.
Jessie and I are plugging along together and we seem to be getting along fairly well right now. We're on a roomie-love spree with a few speedbumps every few miles. Half the people we meet seem to think we're a happy couple, and we feel no need to explain any different. Let the tongues wag.
As we cruised through Susquehanna tonight, we crooned "Picture" to each other and laughed about the irony of the lyrics (Jessie is Kid Rock, I'm Cheryl Crow). Then, we roamed through Walmart where we talked about redecorating our dorm room, getting a new wallet for Jess, and why, specifically, we are not capable of owning fish.
Later, after we properly mourned the end of service for Jessie's wallet "The Brick" as I so fondly call it. We welcomed her new wallet, "The Cement Block". We retired to the living room for tea and cake (aka a loaf of french bread and three bottle with two shot glasses) and proceeded to watch shows about deadly animals, boobies, and pigs. We have conclusively decided that dubbing over voices for jellyfish isn't funny.
Midway through a History Channel show called "Cleavage" we decided that my breasts still need a name. I suggested "Sonny and Cher". Jessie told me that I was not allowed to call my chest those names, and in response (prepare yourselves for maturity people) I leaned over and, jiggling my left one at her, sang "Boob... I've got you boob!"
Yes... I really did.
This set the mood for the rest of the evening. By this point, we were giggly. No, not drunk, just giggly, and while discovering that there is, indeed, nothing on TV at 3am, we settled on a PBS documentary about the joy of pigs. It's much more fun to do voiceovers for them. Espescially when the wild baby jungle pigs look like a cross between an armadillo and a chipmunk. Picture now, Jessie and Me saying "But mommy! Why don't I look like you? I look like a fuckin' chipmunk crossed with an armadillo! Who's my daddy? What kind of orgy did you have? Why does she get to nurse first? Why do we have to run? Stop smelling my ASS! MOMMY!"
Pigs people... freakin pigs and we're doing this. All because of these damn exorcists.
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