As I pen this, I listen to the gentle hum emitting from an ex-roommate of mine as she sleeps soundly and with lady-like elegance beside me — and by that of course I mean her arm sporadically flails towards my face unannounced and she sounds like a grizzly bear with a sinus infection. I’ll get her back tonight though when I slowly cocoon myself in her blanket and act like I’m in stage 10 REM when she tries to take it back. Moral of the story … don’t freakin mess with me ... when I'm asleep.
So anyways, this is my last night in Southern California, at least for a while and it marks the end of a super weeklong adventure. The first day of this friend-visiting journey began in Malibu when I saw “Inception” and remained comatose for the remaining portion of the day trying to figure out what exactly happened. And trust me, its awkward being comatose for that long. Like, you probably shouldn’t operate heavy machinery. Or try to talk to people.
That night I slept at a friends house where it is apparently okay with everybody that the air conditioning be seen but not heard and/or turned on. Henceforth, I lost about 15 pounds in five minutes just sitting on the couch. You don’t even want to know how much I lost when I walked to the fridge. If only it were that easy … that’s what she said.
Bright and early the next morning it was off to meet with my aunt and uncle at the happiest place on earth — or a place that is kind of nice and reminds me of childhood but kind of bugs me now that I’m an adult because it just doesn’t make any economical sense to charge five big ones for a bottle of water — but is still pretty great. I would just like to go on record and say that I don’t hate Disneyland. In case there were any confusion. But c’mon, it’s flipping water.
The next day it was off to San Diego — or, that one city that is now consistently referred to as female genitalia 10 years after Anchorman came out. It was funny for the first year, but lets be serious. Germans don’t know anything about whale sexual organs anyways. Unless they’re Arian whales. Then they might know something. But I doubt it.
Anyways, I met up with Kasie, mah best friend of about 10 years (so around the time Anchorman came out?), and we freakin lit the town up! Kind of. We went to this bar called In Cahoots where there was a lot of line dancing. So, of course, I did the only thing a normal girl with no knowledge of Southern culture would do in a bar that required a cowboy boots and a lot of kick-ball-changes — about 10 tequila shots. Just kidding. Or am I? Ya I’m kidding. Maybe …
And now we come to how I arrived next to Lexie, the girl I am proud to say shared a room with me for the entirety of my last year in college — and by room I mean a 10-foot by 10-foot carpeted area that makes me think I can understand all too well what my ancestors were going through when they were living in a broom closet with 20 other people.
I drove 30 minutes north to see this ex-roommate of mine three days ago and it’s been fun-filled ever since. The first day she woke me up at 7 am (yes, the world DOES exist at that time … I know, I was surprised too). Let me make clear though that the only way she pried me out of her bed sheets was by gently shaking me and whispering “Starbucks … *shake, shake* … Starbucks …” I promptly whispered back, “I hate you … so much.”
The next day she woke me up at 9 am (she is seriously pushing this whole friendship thing) and we headed down to the beach to play volleyball with some friends. I may, or may not get an Olympic nod for my performance by the way. But that’s only a side note. That night we saw Oklahoma where I was told to move my Oklahoma to a different location during intermission because apparently I was being a fire hazard and blocking the aisle. Mind you, I was sitting in a lawn chair smack dab in the middle of the stairs but I was just trying to get in the mood. They sit in lawn chairs while watching musicals in Oklahoma right? That was my argument anyways.
So now here I am. Getting ready to venture back into the wild/Placerville to live with the family that made me the Olympic volleyball, tequila shot taking, Southern culture embodying person I am today. And hey, if this is National Geographic … please, for the love of all that is holy hire me. Placerville sucks.