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...