The Ex-Files, Ep. 2

R: "Hey R U staying at the dorms 2nite?"
M: "Well, I was planning on it."
R: "Oh...k"
M: "But I can totally stay ay my mom's if you want some space!"
R: "Yeah that would be great."

That was a little snippet of a normal text convo between Rachelle and I. (Notice the TOTAL lack of punctuation. I'm just saying...how many extra milliseconds of your life does it take to add a period???)

It had been a few weeks and we had settled into a somewhat normal routine. This said routine consisted of me staying in the ancient ASU Best dorms (gotta love the total irony of that nomenclature...) for as long as I could bear, before making the 14 minute drive home to my mom's for a much needed hot, STD free shower and home-cooked meal. On average I lasted about 3.2 days.

At the time it didn't seem so bad. Especially when you consider that during that same 2007 fall semester a girl at U of A stabbed her roommate to death in her sleep. So, all things considered, I thought I was ok. Or at least shank free.

Before we knew it 3 weeks had gone by and it was time for the first round of tests to start. The night before my first french test I reviewed after dinner (I had been conjugating verbs and memorizing vocab all week) and went to bed around ten. My class was at 7:30am and it was my first test in college. Ever. So needless to say I was a little panicked/worried. I finally fell asleep listening to James Blunt (Oh come on, You're Beautiful was THE song then!), with my ear-buds shoved in my ears in a vain attempt to block out some of the noise my fellow Best residents were making -- the Best dorms were NEVER quiet between the hours of 8pm and 4am. I can only assume that the endless stampede of feet running up and down the halls, as well as the spontaneous shrieks of laughter that erupted every time a door was loudly opened or shut, were just the audio side effects of young people making memories that I am sure will last a lifetime.

Anyways, like I was saying, I finally fell asleep around ten only to be woken up an two and a half hours later to sound of the TV. And after several minutes of me failing (miserably) to ignore it, I sat up in bed ready to kick some seriously roommate butt.

"Who does she think she IS??? This is ridiculous! Come on, I have a test in about 6 hours. One that DOESN'T involve me plie-ing across the floor. Or "moving my body to the music in whatever way I'm called to." But an ACTUAL test. In ANOTHER language! AND It's my TV anyways. She can do WHATEVER she wants WHENEVER she wants when I'm gone but right now I AM here and I would really LOVE it if I could just get some FREAKING sleep!!!

And with that, I jolted myself out of bed. In my mid-sleep daze I had failed to notice one thing. Rachel ("Rachelle") was not the only one in our room. So when I threw myself up out of my bed I was wasn't just looking at Rachel, but about half of ASU's LGBTQ (Lesbian-Gay-Bisexual-Transgender-Questionable) Organization. Apparently, midnight seemed like the perfect time to start Clockwork Orange. So Rachel invited everyone over to our dorm for a midnight movie.

All of my sleep deprived and derived gumption fled me in about 2.7 seconds when I met the confused gazes of 13 of Rachel's brand new best friends huddled in front of the TV.

R: "Um...are you ok?"
M: "Oh, yeah! Totally, must have just been a bad dream or something...ha ha!"
R: "Oh cool. Cause if we're being too loud we can always turn the TV down...a little bit."
M: "Yeah if you could that would be great. I just have a test tomorrow and am trying to get some sleep...ha ha!" (Yeah, I was still super nervous/awkward around her and basically lived my life trying to avoid any kind of confrontation with her at all costs...hey, a girl at U of A had just been STABBED!)

So Rachel turned the TV down (like 2 notches, but I'm over it...almost) and I went back to bed. Completely mortified. I think/know I would have just grabbed by toothbrush and ran barefoot all the way home to my mom's, if a giant, tattooed, darkly-clad, cluster of spikes and shaved heads hadn't been between me and the door.

I forget what time I finally did fall asleep. And Rachel did apologize the next day for waking me up. The rest of my anger/frustration at that night dissipated when I pulled a 107% on my french test. Setting the curve for my class and receiving a capitalized, red "BIEN!" from my smokin' hot French, French TA.

But unfortunately for me, (and fortunately for you!) things were about to get much, much weirder.

To be continued...

The Ex-Files, Ep. 1

I didn't think she would be my best friend. I didn't think we would bond over cups of Ramen at 2am, forging a friendship that would last a lifetime. Maybe even past our lifetime. (Hey, our kids could have been friends, and then their kids, and then their ki...well, you get it.) I knew she probably wouldn't come from a moderately wealthy East coast family who wintered in Aspen and summered in Greece. I didn't honestly think she would have a perfectly handsome and intelligent older brother with a flare for the outdoors, ambitions of law school, and a face reminiscent of a young Robert Redford whom I would one day marry, cementing our friendship and places in each others' lives. Forever. I promise you. I. Did. Not.

I really was just hoping for nice. Clean. Normal. And really, not even completely normal. Maybe just in the range of 60-70% normal. Instead, the universe gave me Rachel. (Spelled exactly like Rachel but pronounced, Rachelle...ugh). That's right friends, we're opening up the ex-files. The Ex-roommate-files to be precise. Instead of a new bosom-buddy-forever-friend-future-sister-in-law, my freshmen college roommate was a lesbian/bisexual-gothic-satanic-worshipping-dancer. From New Mexico.

I have decided, at Shannon's request, to do a blog "mini-series" on my freshmen fall semester housing woes. I promise all stories and events are true and no names have been changed to protect the innocent. Mainly me. (Hey, I/the district attorney might need proof/motive one day. She was, and probably still is, cook-your-rabbit-crazy. Plus anyone can find anyone on the internet nowadays.)

So. Once upon a time, two future roommates had their very first phone conversation. I'm not sure who called who but our first conversation included normal freshmen roommate things. Things like who was bringing the microwave (me). Who was bringing the mini-fridge (her). Who had a tv (me). Who was a big lesbian (her). Who almost died a little inside (me).

If we were a made for TV MTV movie, I think our screenplay would have gone something like this:

M: Hey! It's so good to talk to you, finally!
R: Yeah, you too!
M: Move in day is getting close, aren't you like so excited?!?
R: I know, it's crazy! We should figure out what each of us is bringing.
M: Ok, cool! I have a TV and microwave.
R: Great, I have a mini fridge!
M: Oh, awesome. I wasn't sure whether to get one or not. Well it was great talking to you and I'm sure we'll talk again really soon!
R: Yeah you too!
M: Ok, well bye!
R: Oh wait, one more thing. (Initiate panic mode, cue heavy breathing) It's totally ok if you're not ok with this, but I don't really date boys.
M: Oh, yeah that's no problem at all! I'm not dating anyone either right now! College boys are stupid anyways...
R: No I am dating someone, they're just not a boy.
M: Oh...? (Panic level increasing...)
R: Yeah, I date girls.
M: Oh!!!!!(Full panic level reached, voice jumps 2.3 octaves higher. Morgan, be cool.) That's totally and completely ok!!!!! (Great self, keep it going...) Yeah, I don't care at all. (Yeah, you really don't!) Whatever you want to do, that's ok by me! Really, I'm not even a little worried...besides I have a lot of girl friends who date girls. (You do?...Who?) And its not an issue for me at all!!!! (Alright, cut it off, cut it off now!)
R: Ok, great! Well I'll talk to you soon. Bye!
M: Mhmmm, bye! (NOOOOOO!!!!!!)

And I did mean what I said. Maybe not as enthusiastically as my initial response indicated (I'm pretty sure I made it sound like I would be disappointed if she did date boys), but I really don't care who other people date or marry or whatever. Whether its boys or girls or movie popcorn or chocolate. The heart wants what the heart wants. But I was a sheltered, Switchfoot-loving, church grown 18 year-old. And I definitely was not ready for what was coming.

To be continued...