Why I Suspect My Roommate is Dating an Old Lady

- His sheets smell like rice cakes.

- According to Facebook feed he has new friends named Phyllis and Dorie.

- He bought the brown Speed Stick.

- He totally ehow’d “How to stay regular.”

- Hoveround tracks on the sidewalk.

- He didn’t drive home a few nights ago because it was “foggy as a cataract.”

- He booked a spring break trip to West Palm Beach.

- There’s correction fluid on his computer monitor.

- He has the funeral home on speed dial.

- Shopping list: Couch plastic, blue-blockers, support hose.

- He tipped our waitress with hard candies last night.

- He says “sweater” instead of hoody, “potata’s” instead of French fries, and “colored fella” instead of black guy.

- He’ll come in on Friday nights with a big smug grin, smelling like Icy Hot.

- He started calling DVD’s tapes.

- He brings a cushion to class.

- Freshman year he used to tell the joke “Man, check out the bingo wings on that one!” Every lie holds a nugget of truth.

- AIM: jeriatrixizmyfix

Loving Legal Living

Turning eighteen for me meant only one thing: Selling cigarettes to middle schoolers. I imagine that for most people, turning eighteen has its subtle charms, but within a week or so everything is back to normal. I admit it was pretty much the same for me. Despite all the extra dirty cigarette money I was making, I was pretty much wasting my newly found adulthood. So I started dating an old lady.

Well, actually, if you want to put it in Facebook terms, “it’s complicated”. You see, there’s this adorable old lady named Beverly whose condo I stop by every couple of days. We sit, chat, drink tea- all the usual stuff you would expect from old people. But then sometimes I rub her feet. For money. Yup, five bucks every time I rub her feet, plus all the hard candies I want. And then sometimes, on weekends, she pays me to drag her around in a Radio Flyer wagon through the park. She gives me like ten bucks for that, plus an extra 2.50 if I sing “My Funny Valentine”. So basically I do her little favors, make some extra cash, and I weasel my way into her will. So not technically dating, but we do go on dates.
Beverly has also shown me a life of sophistication. I mean, I’m not even twenty yet and I enjoy butter pecan ice cream. I know what a doily is, I know how to properly prepare grapefruit, and I can operate a Victrola. The only downside is that she makes me do weird things sometimes. Like when Merv Griffin died, she had me wear a black arm band and I had to sing “I’ve Got a Lovely Bunch of Coconuts” while stroking a photograph of Kathryn Grayson. And last week I had to waltz with her in her late husbands’ old tux. Gross! But other than that, she’s golden.

Another “grown-up” thing that I’ve done recently is donated my body to science. It was so easy! I just signed up with the University of Tennessee Medical Center, and I guess that they work with forensic examiners doing CSI kind of stuff. I’m totally sewing a bag of coke into my forearm before I die; those med students will get a real kick out of it!
Being an adult is the best, and there are so many things that I still want to try. I’m definitely ordering some OXY Clean next time I see the infomercial. Then, I’ll probably slip a razor blade into some chicken nuggets so that I can file a lawsuit. And then get a tat with the settlement money. In the meantime I’m crossing my fingers for jury duty.

Researchers are now saying that bacon and other cured meats can cause stomach cancer. I wonder, does smoked bacon put us at risk for emphysema?

Wait, don’t die!

I know that sometimes it’s pretty easy to feel downright hopeless. Whenever I have the hang-myself-with-a-belt blues, I just take a quick gander at this list of reasons to live.

-Koala Yummies

-New Futurama

-Strong belief in Santa

-Legislature for legal euthanasia by 2011

-Continental breakfast

-Portable iron lung

-Tupac’s inevitable comeback

-$ocial $ecurity

-Phobia of demons, angels

- and more!!!

Disclaimer: I’m not actually depressive or anything, so don’t get frightened and call Dr. Phil or anything…yet.

Double Disclaimer: Koala Yummies make me high.