These are the days of our lives.

Have I mentioned before how wrecktastically (yes I made up that word, the post needed it) disastrous my roommates are? First, the youngest one dumps her boyfriend who proceeds to break back into the house, argue with her, and then threaten her with a dull (albeit very large) kitchen knife. Then the same roommate invites her ex-con bestie to live with us, after which countless unsavory "gang-bangers" start showing up at our house at all hours, often when roomie and bestie are not even home.

Then my other roommate, who thinks she is the most responsible human being on the planet (they only allow a CERTAIN CALIBER OF PEOPLE to sign leases, you know), allows her two ex-con siblings to move in and share a room. Not that there's anything wrong with that, I'm all for fresh starts... until one of them gets his girlfriend pregnant. The same girlfriend who asks me for a cigarette after her third ultrasound. I had to hold the vomit in, people.

And this whole time I've kept my pretty little mouth shut because the arguments with these people are quick to devolve and insanely hard put a stop to. But then my food. Good lord, my food. It disappears daily, HOURLY, and there are only so many people in the house right now. But four (five, counting the pregnant girlfriend who is "visiting" while they "figure things out") are on team trashtastic, so of course it must be me who is eating copious amounts of.... my own food. Even though I'm asleep for 99% of the time I am in the house.

I need a solution but I'm unwilling to give up a room this size for this little rent, and they are unwilling to give up their idiocy. What to do.

Are you there Google? It's me, Rachel.

Just wanted to point out the first thing google returned to me when I asked for the definition of "Overtly" (god forbid I ever spell/use a word the wrong way): "In an overt manner; 'He did it overtly'"

Why, thank you google (and wordnet.princeton.edu) for that dazzlingly precise and yet totally worthless definition.

Stop. Talking.

"Is there TP in there?"
"Jon, is there TP in there?"
"what?"
"Jon, is there TP IN THERE?"
"Hey, is there Toilet paper in there?"
"Do you need toilet paper?"
"what?"
"Toilet paper"
"oh, no"
"There's none in there?"
"no"
"Do you need some?"
"yeah"

The preceding conversation took about 2 minutes, which was probably two minutes too long. I have come to the MIND BLOWING conclusion that my roommate shelters her brother a little too much. Like, damn girl, he's almost 20, he can probably figure out the toilet paper situation by himself. Plus he was in prison, and I'm pretty sure they use crusty pages from a decade old sports illustrated as TP in prison.

Sometimes I'm too lazy to boil water...

I've been sick recently, and have chalked it up to allergies, but have a persistent cough that I've been trying to eradicate before IT'S TOO LATE, OH DEAR GOD.

Anyways, I've found brief respite in what I like to call a tea "habit", since I'm going through like 20 bags a day. And I am waaaaay too lazy to sit there and wait for the water to boil, so I usually just stick a mug of water in the microwave.

So today I'm in front of the microwave when one of my roommates stops, looks through the window, and then whips her head around to ask me "Are you boiling water? In the MICROWAVE?!!". Yes, I am boiling water in the microwave, I tell her. "Did you know that it could blow up?" she asks. I had a hard time holding THAT laugh in, let me tell you. So I say well, you're going to have to go ask someone who knows about science, but I'm pretty sure the worst thing that can happen is I burn my hand. Since it's my hand, I think we're all O.K. here.

She still watches out of the corner of her eye for the next minute and a half, and lets out a little sigh while making an exaggerated "THAT was close!" face at me when I finally pull the mug out and stick the tea bag in.

I'm pretty sure she has a future at NASA.

Landmark!

We here (by which I mean...me...) at Accidental Love have gained one official follower! Wowza! Don't crack open the franzia just yet, however... I thought we (again, me) would celebrate in a different way. That's right, it's time to Make Fun of Other People!!! Let's take this conversation my roommates had during an episode of House, for example.

#1: So, what's going on?
#2: She was just diagnosed with African Sleeping Sickness!!!
#1: Didn't she come in with like, mood swings or something?
#2: Yeah! And she never went to Africa, but she got it by sleeping with some guy!
#1: So it's like... (long pause. C'mon roomie... work.... it....out...) AN STD?!?!??
#2: YEAH! (No?)
#1: Wow, you can get some crazy shit from sleeping with people!

Yes, you CAN get some crazy shit from sleeping with people. I'd better start asking my potential lovers to go ahead and get tested for African Sleeping Sickness so that they can submit it along with their STD test results and application. I am so glad we have shows like "House" to teach us about the dangers of sleeping with people who have traveled outside of the country.

I want to marry Wikipedia. Is that possible?

Ever notice that they throw out "Sarcoidosis" as a potential diagnosis in almost every episode of "House" (not that I've seen them all...)? What, exactly, is this mysterious "catch-all" disease? Turns out sarcoidosis is a disease that can either manifest over time, or very suddenly, with severe and chronic symptoms, or no symptoms at all... It can start with a rash, cough, or really anything at all, and occurs in all races, genders, and age groups all across the world. It can also affect almost all of your internal organs, or none of them, and it has no known cause.

I guess they actually did their homework on that one. Oh shit... maybe I have sarcoidosis... RIGHT NOW.

Things I've learned in College thus far

"Beer before liquor" and other such alcohol related rhymes hold no weight when well drinks are $1.

No, I will not be bothered with periods

Unless it's absolutely necessary. Like right there. See?

Future relatives: awesome

The Man has some relatives. These relatives are mostly awesome. Some don't even know how awesome they are.

So, Man wants to "customize" the car (I don't really understand either...). It's a 1988 Oldsmobile Cutlass. He was thinking, probably like, a new dashboard... or something.

First relatives' response: "You need a gun rack"

I think she's serious.

Recipe for disaster

I woke up half an hour ago. Itchy. Like, really itchy.

What could it possibly be, making my face itch so hard that I'm tempted to scratch it off, or at least spend the next hour or so in a hot shower?

I didn't eat anything out of the ordinary. I had the same wine I always drink with dinner.

Then it hits me. The fire. That damn bonfire my roommates built outside. With wood. And green stuff. You know, stuff I'm allergic to. It's slowly killing me.

Seriously. Is it me, or is it extremely creepy that this stuff has some sort of half life? In twenty years--when I'm living in a sanitary padded cell because of, you know, THESE DAMN ALLERGIES--I'm going to start swelling like a puffer fish out of the blue and everybody is going to be like how the hell is she allergic to this?

Then I'll laugh. Because the allergies drove me crazy.

Run in with the LAW

I needed to practice driving at night, so Matt and I headed out at about half past midnight to head to Philomath. I should mention that I have no sense as to which direction Philomath is in, so Matt was giving me directions. And by "giving me directions" I mean he was getting distracted talking to me and then yelling out for me to "LEFT, TURN LEFT" about 20 feet before the light.

I am also pretty paranoid, and even though I feel that I am an average driver, I am ALWAYS checking to make sure I'm in the lines. However, at night, this often translates into me driving like a man who's "only had a couple" of beers. We got pulled over.

Neither of us saw the Officer, so I have a feeling a fellow driver called our license plate in, which I'm thankful for, because what if I had actually been a drunk driver?

However, as I pulled to the side of the road Matt said "Man, you did actually drink earlier" (I had a beer with lunch). This made me paranoid for one very good reason; Matt is honest. Not like "Yes I chopped down the cherry tree" honest, more like "yes, I used three pages from your cosmo magazine to wipe my butt because we were out of toilet paper" honest. He tells you things you never needed to know in the first place, in the name of honesty, which would be fine if those things didn't include telling a police officer "Why, YES officer, we HAVE been drinking" only to be pulled out of the car and slammed to the ground before he has time to explain "I mean, we were drinking YESTERDAY!?"

Turns out the Officer was just making sure we were sober drivers. He must pull over a lot of drunk drivers to be able to tell whether or not we were sober without giving us any field sobriety tests, but I have a feeling that was just a cover, and what he actually wanted to know was what kind of person could stay perfectly within the lines while also failing to signal and taking turns that are a little too sharp. Answer?

"I'm a new driver, sorry!"

One last question, though. He took down my information. I was obviously not drunk, so where does he put said information? I'm willing to bet that they have a database for weirdos who are just learning to drive at the age of 22.

Man...these weekends are way too short.

Man now works 9 days on and 5 days off. That means that, every couple of weeks, his weekend will be during my week. When I have class. And work. It stinks.

Day one:
Me: "Want to take a shower?"
Man: "Not especially"
When we get back from running errands, he heads straight for the kitchen and gets the Nutella out. He clutches it like it's his first born.
Man: "Will you get me bread?"
Me: "Like, go to the store?"
Man: "No... it's in the car"
The car is about 100 feet away.
I say no.

He falls asleep about two minutes later, and proceeds to take up the entire bed. Here I've been sleeping on my side every night since he left for work; mostly out of habit. Apparently his body has no such habit. I try not to take offense.

Oh well.

I'm sad about how stressful our short breaks together have become. If he's here over the weekend, everybody is demanding his time; family, friends, and myself. If he's here during the week, I'm so busy I barely notice.

We try to cram so much stuff into a very short couple of days, and have barely had two seconds alone in the past few weeks. Tonight we went to the premier of "Terminator: Salvation". I liked it. He loved it. He fell asleep right when we got home.

*Sigh*

I guess I can't win.

Such is life, and he's worth waiting for. He leaves today, and I'd better get some sleep so we can spend time together in between my classes.

Accidental "L-word"

Got the spare keys to the Man's car today.

Accidental, yes. He locked both sets in the car earlier in the day.

The spares are now hidden in a safe place.

But hey, I'll take it.

Confusion.

Text conversation with Man:

"I wanna come see you tonight, so badly"

"But you have to work tomorrow. Just a few more days!"

"Tomorrow?! I got nothin'! My one day off. Should I? Or wait..."

"You have tomorrow off? Then, yes!"

Later, phone conversation with Man:

"Have you been drinking?"

"Drinking... Mountain Dew!"

"So, are you coming? It's getting late..."

"Um, I think not. I'm a sleepy puppy, we should just wait until next week"

"Then, what's that noise?" (wooshing noise, sounds like he's driving)

"The air conditioner"

"Uh...."

"Do you like air conditioning?"

"Uhmmm.... so I guess you're not coming"

"My phone's almost out of batteries"

"So plug it in?"

"I could, the charger is right here, but..."

"Ok, so, not coming."

"Don't think so. Don't stay up too late, ok?"

Confusion.

I guess he's not coming. My man isn't the type of guy to trick me into being surprised. Somehow, I still have the overpowering urge to shave my legs. I call back later. Straight to voicemail. Why doesn't he just plug it in? Unless he's in the car...

Confusion.

Oh well, another day, I guess.

Update:
That car I hear. It's parking. I peek. Gold/brown oldsmobile. We still haven't named it. I didn't ever shave my legs. He's such a devil...

Accidental frustration

A conversation about Recycling. (wherein my snarky commentary was very effectively withheld and is now being released in italic form)

Roommate: "Hey" (holds up cardboard microwave dinner box). "Things like this need to go in the recycling."

Me: (wondering exactly what "like this" means to her. Like... rectangular? Like... Marie Callender brand?). "O.K. well, I'm pretty hardcore about recycling, I don't usually throw much in the trash."

Roommate: "Well our garbage was overflowing and our recycling was empty this past week."

Me: "Noted. I think you need to talk to blank, and blank. I'm pretty sure that belongs to them" (They seem to have grown up in a remote village not familiar with recycling. Probably somewhere in California).

Roommate: "Ok, well, I'm just telling everyone."

Me: "Did you tell blank and blank?" (you know, the Aliens not familiar with the concept of recycle, reduce, reuse? And save the earth? Captain Planet would be so ashamed...)

Roommate: "I'm not blaming you. I'm just telling everyone."

Me: "Right. I got that. But did you tell blank and blank yet?" (because I don't trust for one second that this way anything more than a ploy to disturb my slumber)

Roommate: "I'm telling everyone."

Me: (WHO DARES DISTURB MY SLUMBER??? Oh, it's you. Again.) "Ohhhhkeeeee..... thanks...."

This is about where I gave up. I still want to know what "like this" means. Because, you know, if we're only allowed to recycle rectangular objects from this point on, I'm going to have to get creative.

Accidental naked hot tub party

We were just trying to test out the waterproof camera!

Accidents

This blog is my way of making my place in the universe seem more real. When the first thing I do every morning is sit bolt upright and grab for my phone to make sure I didn't oversleep, it gets pretty easy to forget the incredible sense of meaning and calm that I gained during my unconscious hours.

Then I remember moments like these.















Wonderful little accidents. They make life worth living. And I'm going to document the hell out of them.

An acid flashback to my childhood

I was an interesting child.

The Blog.

Conversation edited for humor and brevity.

Friend: It should be a play on your name.
Me: Love
Friend: Witty...wise
Me: Love.... Hole?
Friend: It should reflect your writing style.
Me: Love...ly?
Friend: Gross.
Me: Uh, I'm accident prone? That's fodder, right?
Friend: Yeah, for other people.
Me: hey.
Friend: Lovely accident?
Me: That sounds like a bad Emo band. IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT? EMO BLOG?
Friend: You're right...
Me: Hey, how about Accidental Love!