Monday, May 13, 2013

Me, a Belgian and two bros

  I've finally met all of my roommates. One is Belgian. I get along with him the best. Maybe because we bonded over the lack of hot water in the house our first few days. The other roommates weren't here, yet. Or maybe it's because they seem like normal guys. I've heard the word "bro" thrown around a few times. Everyone is nice, so I'm happy. It's an eclectic mix here. So, it's like "New Girl" except substitute two jocks and a foreigner. I can still fulfill the kooky role like Zooey Deschanel. Right now, one roommate has a friend over & they're playing video games. This friend was a total bro. Muscular, shorts, t-shirt, tennis shoes, Axe body spray. At least I feel safe. Bros can fight if needed.
  I always wonder what impression I'm making. I feel for the Belgian. He's known me a week and has seen me drunk and crying (not at the same time). We went out one night for drinks and to get acquainted. I had three drinks, so he got to have me stagger home, my arm wrapped around his. The crying was when he came to my rescue after my car overheated. We rode back to it with emergency water, me crying all the while. Girls cry in a crisis. It's our Achilles's heel. I didn't want to be crying. But, I was on my way to WV for Mother's day and I'd already had my credit card number stolen earlier in the week. Straw that broke the camel's back, so to speak. He was cool and collected the whole time. He just kept saying "We put water in and you go to West Virginia". I lacked his confidence, however, and stayed home on Mother's day. I cried as hard as I did when I first saw Titanic. If you ever want to gauge crying, Titanic usually ranks a ten on a scale of one to ten. Fucking sad. That and Sophie's Choice. That shit is raw. Anyway, I missed my child so bad; I felt like my heart was breaking.
  Oh, yeah, they're bros. I just heard someone get called a "fag". I think I smell meat, too. Bros love meat. Maybe I'm a bro. I should join them.