Dr. Awkward

glimmering:

imagine trying to take a shit while in the arena

like with cameras everywhere and the constant fear of being killed

and like what would happen if someone popped up and killed you mid poop

and you became known as the person who died mid poop during the hunger games

Because if my child is anywhere as near as much of a mischievous little brat as Potato is [<the second I typed that word he seriously attacked my face and then ran off…] when it comes to finding ways to make my life difficult, I just may kill it.

I have four roommates. When I refer to them (usually when I post tweets about them to Twitter), I refer to them as Roommate A, Roommate B, and Roommate D. (I live in room C of our apartment.)

Roommate A does nothing but smoke weed. Every single day. Every moment of every single day. He also steals my granola bars and doesn’t ever really go to class. We never see each other, so we also don’t have a problem with one another.

Rommate B is obese and eats massive amounts of extremely unhealthy food in one sitting. For example, he will open up an entire box of 30 taquitos, heat them up in the microwave, and eat them all in about 10-15 minutes. The same goes for boxes of 12 egg rolls, 4 enchilada dinners, and bags of Totino’s pizza rolls. We see each other sometimes, and he is friendly enough.

Roommate C is me. I have one section in the fridge that is mine. I’m always having to move everyone else’s shit out of my section. I don’t buy frozen foods because the freezer doesn’t work properly and I don’t eat a lot, so the food goes bad before I get a chance to ingest it. I mostly keep to my room, which is sometimes dirty, but it doesn’t affect anyone else, so they have nothing to complain about. I keep the apartment cold so my chinchillas don’t die.

Roommate D. He is a decent person. He looks kind of like this:

But his back is in good shape. He smells bad. Kind of like what I would guess a dirty hundred-year-old sloth would smell like. We share a Netflix subscription. He always pays on time. He oftentimes decides to move into the living room. He’ll pretty much just camp out there with his comforter set and his XBOX and play video games all day. He likes to wear a bathrobe around the apartment at night. He cooks really smelly food, such as salmon. His electric toothbrush has mold on it. He sometimes wakes up at random times, such as 3:00am to take a bath, which I find odd. Last week he was sick and instead of using toilet paper, he was blowing his nose into a full-sized towel. We get along, but sometimes his habits gross me out.

But enough about that. Three days ago I woke up to get ready for work (at about 7:30am. He’s an early riser and is always awake before me.) and he had a giant box of Kellogg’s Rice Crispy Treats sitting in front of me. He was unwrapping all of the Rice Crispy Treats, rewrapping them in plastic wrap, and then placing them on baking pans. We had a short conversation as I was walking out the door:

“…What are you doing?”

“It’s hard to explain.”

“Okay. I don’t actually want to know. Carry on.”

Turns out he took the Rice Crispy Treats to a party and told everyone he made them himself. A girl just brought by a note to our apartment for him that said:

“Dear Person who made the rice crispys,
they were fucking delicious! You werent here when I was for me to give you a huge…so just pretend I did.
Love,
The girl in Janies’ room
:)”

This post doesn’t really have much of a point other than for me to let all of you know that I think the whole “I made these delicious rice crispy treats for all of you” lie is ridiculous and sad.

That is all. Thanks for reading!

-Kalin