19My Roommate Rocks:
I wake up this morning to satisfy a very primal need: I have to pee. So, I make a beeline for the toilet, but something stops me. The lock on my door.
I jiggle it.
I shake it.
I attempt to threaten it with horror stories of fiery meltdowns at the locksmith.
Nothing works.
Along the way, I hear my poor roommate moaning, "Lisa, what are you doing?"
"Warring with our lock," I reply stoically as the topic of conversation proceeds to become more and more of a stubborn ass. Whoever said locks are inanimate objects was greatly mistaken. This lock definitely isn't inanimate because it has some sort of penchant for driving a girl with a full bladder to near hysteria.
Anyway, my roommate then decides that she's had enough of my half- assed insults, although I'm far from finished with the treacherous lock, and slides precariously out of bed to take my place as lock torturer, still swaying from her night on the town. (It's 8 o'clock in the morning, mind you.) I graciously move aside, hoping that her inebriated hands can do something mine cannot: fulfill the simple motor task of turning a lock.
They cannot.
Our lock becomes even more stubborn, if that is even possible, and refuses to move at all. Not a nanometer. It glares at us and we glare right back.
Meanwhile, my bladder is not a happy camper. It's threatening to give my roommate blackmail material for years to come. But that's besides the point.
"Drunk roommate" + "Lisa who really has to pee" + "stubborn lock" = nightmare.
As the staring contest continues, something struck my funny bone (I still am trying to figure out what) and I begin to laugh hysterically (greatly aggravating my bladder), somehow finding the situation hilarious and my roommate joins me and we guffaw together before the roommate realizes that you get a headache when you drink a lot and laugh. She clutches her head with both hands and lets out a groan. Then, magically, an idea found its way into her mind (don't ask me how) and she calls her friend on the second floor of our dorm to come and rescue us from the man-eating lock. As we wait, my roommate alternates from pacing back and forth in front of the untrustworthy lock like a lion (a small lion.a small, very DRUNK lion) to shaking the lock and muttering expletives. I stand and stare at her, praying for the friend to arrive quickly as my bladder feels like its holding enough urine to fill the Pacific Ocean. Finally, a sound from God: knocking. "Open up," says a tired, slurred voice. "We can't," I call back. "It's stuck." "Oh," I hear from the other side, wishing I am there with her, staring at this puzzle of a lock instead of hopping on one leg attempting to appease my bladder by entertaining it. That doesn't work either. "You idiot!" our rescuer explodes, halting my kangaroo-imitation before the door opens and the very annoyed-looking friend steps in holding up a key. "Kelly, you left your key in the lock," she states very matter-of-factly. We stare at her, dumbfounded, our mouths hanging open like bass out of water. "What?" I manage to say, staring at my roommate. She only shrugs and says, "I was drunk." I proceeded to . My bladder heavily protested that movement so I headed off to the bathroom to give it some much needed relief, laughing all the way. Needless-to-say, the next time my roommate comes back drunk, I'm taking her things are dangerous in more than one way.
Disclaimer: This is mine. Touch it and die.
Second disclaimer: My roommate is really not was just
REALLY drunk. I embellished a few things for the sake of retelling it.
Note: If you don't know who Dave Barry out. He's hilarious.
He's a humor columnist for the Miami Herald and has one a Pulitzer
prize. Here's an article for you to read:
Second Note: Please review. This is my first try at humor and I need
to know if I failed miserably or if I had you in stitches or if you
managed a giggle or two because you felt badly for me.