Bamatick

Ah, my old suitemate Ulrich.  He was great!  Ulrich was a foreign exchange student that decided to stay in America and go to college.  Being European, he was a virtuoso with a soccer ball.  But, being in America, where soccer is stupid (it’s okay, keep reading), he was rushed into playing Football and became the kicker.  No one liked him.  He was too nice and he sounded ‘fur-in.’  He didn’t last long.  He was on my intramural soccer team though.  He hated playing with us because were not European and therefore sucked at soccer.  But, he was my neighbor and a riot.  Occasionally, we would get him to speak in his native tongue and I swear, it sounded just like he was saying “blah bla bluh.”  We decided it was a made up language and he was really from Minnesota or something.  Sometimes, I forgot that he was actually going to college in a foreign language, his third language.  He always got me to take whatever science class he was supposed to take and we worked together.  Ulrich is the reason I speak a little Danish.  Sadly, all I know how to say is really inappropriate, unless you’re having a conversation about someone’s mother who artificially inseminates horses for a living/hobby.

Ulrich had a girlfriend, named Nikki.  They were perpetually breaking up and getting back together.  One night, while she was laying in his bed, she looked up at the ceiling where Ulrich had painted in glow-in-the-dark paint, “Nikki=Bitch.”  I don’t think she was his girlfriend anymore.  No loss.  She was a bitch.

I miss my friend.

I have several “Rules of Life.”  My friend came up with his own list.  It only has one rule: Don’t live with me.  He figured out that living with me made people become a-holes.  It was as inevitable as the tides. 

My first roommate wasn’t so bad.  He was a slob, sure, but for the most part okay.  I don’t think he ever went to class.  And he did make me sleep next door once for a few days so he could engage in adult activities with his girlfriend.

My second roommate was a complete slob.  I joke about finding him asleep with pizza attached to his belly…it might not be a joke.  But every now and then he would get a hankering to clean and with my prodding would fill multiple hefty bags.

My third roommate?  Total psycho.  He was a bassist in a bar band.  He practiced.  He also got mad at me once for “spoiling” a movie.  I said EVERYONE dies in Unforgiven, even the dog.  There was no dog.  Lots of people live.  But he threw a punch in my face.  Not cool.

After that, I had some pretty decent roommates.  One of them chewed though, and for the life of me, I haven’t figured out why they do this, but he collected spitoons.  Our room was full of “recycled” coke bottles, semi-full of chaw.  Ugh.

For my own part, I was a vindictive SOB.  I actually took vengeance one time by letting the gang get to the final boss of Street Fighter and then cut the power.  My friend didn’t talk to me for weeks.  I was in the right, but that was very uncool of me.

My Intro to Psych professor was dreamy.  She told us that she had an “Oral Fixation,” as evidenced by her smoking.  Riiight.  She was a good teacher.  However, this humorous story is actually attributed to another psych professor that my roommate had.  He was a riot.  The other professor.  Not the roommate.  That guy was a tool.