Woman Chinese Flat Tire Bicycle
Oh, this post has nothing to do with Chinese women, flat tires, or
bicycles. Sorry to mislead you. Somebody found my site by with
that google search. I just had to share it with you.
After I mentioned my former roommates included a party girl, some
potheads, a boring scholarship athlete, the lesbian couple, a gay
construction worker, an archaeologist, an ROTC gal, a lesbian
virgin, and an anal-retentive high school teacher, Rebecca left a
comment that she didn't know I used to manage the Village People.
Ha! I was going to use that angle to blog about that experience, but
NOOOO, Rebecca had to be all clever and do it before I got the
chance. Well, I'm not using her idea. It was mine first, I tell you!
I left out the redneck-outdoorsman-1/16th Indian-redheaded-
cracker, because even though I spent many a night with him during
my cohabitation with the party girl, potheads, and boring athlete,
I technically didn't pay any rent with him. He was boring athlete's
boyfriend, but she neglected him, so he latched onto me. He kept
me entertained (here now! It was all platonic!) and I later came to
find out that he told two guys who wanted to ask me out that
they were not good enough for me. Thanks, buddy. Maybe it's
YOUR fault I had to live with lesbians, huh? He also came
around after I'd met my Future Hillbilly Husband, and we picked
up our platonic reletionship where we left off, which infuriated
FHH. Maybe that's why I did it.
Anyhoo, let's begin with the Party Girl. I was already a junior when
I went away to college, because I'd had an academic scholarship
to a junior college near home. I moved into a dorm, and a lot of the
girls already knew each other. I fell in with my roommate's crowd
of partiers. They never met a frat party they didn't like. Or an
independent party, or a bottle of booze in the dorm room. We
walked to frat parties, where we'd grab a giant plastic cup, line
up at the keg for the free beer, and my roomie would disappear.
When guys asked who I came with, and I gave her name, they
looked at each other over my head and said, "Oh, the whore of
8th floor." I soon came to find out that being Party Girl's roommate
gave me the responsibility of whispering to her, when she reappeared
later in the night: "You need to go in the bathroom and change your
sweater. It's on inside out." And she would slur, "Heehee...does
that really matter?" Guess not.
The Potheads were girls from the dorm. We rented a house right
behind the dorm for the summer. They got the whole deal rolling,
and just needed other girls with money. It was a big old two-story
5-bedroom house. My room was actually an old screened-in porch
on the back of the second story. That's what happens when you're
the last one to join in. It was slanted, like it might just fall off the
house in the middle of the night, but it had windows on three sides
and was cool. One of the Potheads had a boyfriend who was a
major drug dealer in that city. There was always a stash of pot in
the house. A giant bong sat on the mantle. They would fire it up
every afternoon...or morning...or night. When my Cracker friend
dropped in, there was a big panic to hide the bong, because he
had used his minority status as an Indian to get an appointment
to the state Highway Patrol academy. (No Native American stuff
back then, it was a simpler time.) One of the Potheads would
answer the door, say they'd come find me, and then tell me
"Keep him in the front room!" Cracker told me he was worried
about some of my friends, and things they were into. "If you
ever smoke pot, I'll break your arm!" he promised. (That's my
Cracker! Always taking care of me.)
Everything was fun and games until Pothead 1's boyfriend got
sent up the river. She was all worried that she might have to
testify against him. But more importantly, she was worried that
her source of pot was gone. She and Pothead 2 started saving.
Saving seeds. They had a whole glass full (a glass stolen from
the cafeteria where Pothead 1 worked). The saddest day was
the day Pothead 1 and Pothead 2 took out the glass of seeds
and tried to smoke them in the bong. It sounded like popcorn.
They complained that they couldn't even get high off of it, but
smoked the whole glass of seeds. After that, their only fun was
greasing up with baby oil, climbing out the bedroom window
onto the front porch roof with some beer, and waiting to flirt
with the mailman every afternoon.
That brings us to the next year, when I rented an apartment
with the Boring Scholarship Athlete that I knew from home.
We had played on the same high school volleyball team
together, the team that got 2nd place in the state tournament.
She had a 4-year scholarship, and had been living in a dorm.
We found a place about a mile from campus. Her boyfriend
had an apartment in an old building a few blocks from there.
He had been her boyfriend since I introduced them right after
we got out of high school. I might have forgotten to mention
that I ran around with him and his buddy the two years she
was gone away, and we were at junior college. No big deal.
It was platonic.
Well, Miss BSA was gone a lot, and even when she was
home, she didn't treat him very nice. She let him buy her all
kinds of stuff (even though he had to work hard for his
money) and she wouldn't put out. Now, this was none of
my business until she started seeing another Boring Scholarship
Athlete, a guy on the track team. He was from the college
town, rich, and a drug dealer of sorts. He dressed all fancy
and had a little sports car, whereas Cracker had a Jeep.
Miss and Mr. BSA had sex in our apartment, which again
was not my business, except that they did not close their
bedroom door, and it was right across from the bathroom,
and I had to hold it all night or risk being blinded by the
sight of their two boring bodies going at it. I even had to
move my bed to a different wall because of their noise.
And Miss BSA kept seeing Cracker, and wanted me to
lie for her when he called. I refused. I didn't tell him, because
that was their business, but I wouldn't lie for her. So things
went downhill, and I needed another roommate. We both
had to finish out another semester, because she missed
some classes while traveling with the team, and I lost some
credits in the transfer.
Which brings me to how I ended up living with the lesbian
couple. I had classes with one of the pair. After two years
of the upper level classes, you kind of get to know what
people are like, who runs with whom, are they cheaters,
dumbasses, jerks, etc. Les 1 had heard I was looking for
someplace to live during the summer and next year. A very
straight girl was also looking for a new living arrangement,
as 4 people in her house were graduating. The three of us
agreed to move in together in a one-bedroom apartment
across town, which had twin beds and a fold-out couch.
Things were moving according to plan, until a week before
the move-in. Straight Girl and Les 1 were at my apartment
pool, doing cannonballs. In the midst of the frivolity, Straight
Girl said she was having second thoughts. It seems one of
her also-straight roommates, who hung out with Les 1 and
I at school functions, had mentioned something about Les 1
being a lesbian. Now this was no secret to anybody in our PE
major program, but Straight Girl was a recreation major, and
only had a few classes with us. Still. She should have known.
She played field hockey, for cryin' out loud! So Les 1 and
I looked at each other like "WTF?", how could she NOT
know this already? So Straight Girl backed out. Les 1 and
I figured we could manage to split the rent two ways instead
of three. Then a week after I moved in, Les 2 returned from
their hometown and moved back in. She couldn't afford rent.
I still said it was OK. I got the bedroom, they took the couch.
This was not a bad arrangement, because Les 2 cleaned and
cooked and tried to earn her keep. She got a job at a place
sanding the paint off cars for minimum wage, cash money.
She also sold her plasma twice a week for $10 a pop. And
she was hilarious, so that was one of the least stressful living
arrangements that I had. Plus, I made connections that would
lead me to the "Village People" house of fools. Which may
not have been such a good thing.
That story will have to wait until tomorrow.
bicycles. Sorry to mislead you. Somebody found my site by with
that google search. I just had to share it with you.
After I mentioned my former roommates included a party girl, some
potheads, a boring scholarship athlete, the lesbian couple, a gay
construction worker, an archaeologist, an ROTC gal, a lesbian
virgin, and an anal-retentive high school teacher, Rebecca left a
comment that she didn't know I used to manage the Village People.
Ha! I was going to use that angle to blog about that experience, but
NOOOO, Rebecca had to be all clever and do it before I got the
chance. Well, I'm not using her idea. It was mine first, I tell you!
I left out the redneck-outdoorsman-1/16th Indian-redheaded-
cracker, because even though I spent many a night with him during
my cohabitation with the party girl, potheads, and boring athlete,
I technically didn't pay any rent with him. He was boring athlete's
boyfriend, but she neglected him, so he latched onto me. He kept
me entertained (here now! It was all platonic!) and I later came to
find out that he told two guys who wanted to ask me out that
they were not good enough for me. Thanks, buddy. Maybe it's
YOUR fault I had to live with lesbians, huh? He also came
around after I'd met my Future Hillbilly Husband, and we picked
up our platonic reletionship where we left off, which infuriated
FHH. Maybe that's why I did it.
Anyhoo, let's begin with the Party Girl. I was already a junior when
I went away to college, because I'd had an academic scholarship
to a junior college near home. I moved into a dorm, and a lot of the
girls already knew each other. I fell in with my roommate's crowd
of partiers. They never met a frat party they didn't like. Or an
independent party, or a bottle of booze in the dorm room. We
walked to frat parties, where we'd grab a giant plastic cup, line
up at the keg for the free beer, and my roomie would disappear.
When guys asked who I came with, and I gave her name, they
looked at each other over my head and said, "Oh, the whore of
8th floor." I soon came to find out that being Party Girl's roommate
gave me the responsibility of whispering to her, when she reappeared
later in the night: "You need to go in the bathroom and change your
sweater. It's on inside out." And she would slur, "Heehee...does
that really matter?" Guess not.
The Potheads were girls from the dorm. We rented a house right
behind the dorm for the summer. They got the whole deal rolling,
and just needed other girls with money. It was a big old two-story
5-bedroom house. My room was actually an old screened-in porch
on the back of the second story. That's what happens when you're
the last one to join in. It was slanted, like it might just fall off the
house in the middle of the night, but it had windows on three sides
and was cool. One of the Potheads had a boyfriend who was a
major drug dealer in that city. There was always a stash of pot in
the house. A giant bong sat on the mantle. They would fire it up
every afternoon...or morning...or night. When my Cracker friend
dropped in, there was a big panic to hide the bong, because he
had used his minority status as an Indian to get an appointment
to the state Highway Patrol academy. (No Native American stuff
back then, it was a simpler time.) One of the Potheads would
answer the door, say they'd come find me, and then tell me
"Keep him in the front room!" Cracker told me he was worried
about some of my friends, and things they were into. "If you
ever smoke pot, I'll break your arm!" he promised. (That's my
Cracker! Always taking care of me.)
Everything was fun and games until Pothead 1's boyfriend got
sent up the river. She was all worried that she might have to
testify against him. But more importantly, she was worried that
her source of pot was gone. She and Pothead 2 started saving.
Saving seeds. They had a whole glass full (a glass stolen from
the cafeteria where Pothead 1 worked). The saddest day was
the day Pothead 1 and Pothead 2 took out the glass of seeds
and tried to smoke them in the bong. It sounded like popcorn.
They complained that they couldn't even get high off of it, but
smoked the whole glass of seeds. After that, their only fun was
greasing up with baby oil, climbing out the bedroom window
onto the front porch roof with some beer, and waiting to flirt
with the mailman every afternoon.
That brings us to the next year, when I rented an apartment
with the Boring Scholarship Athlete that I knew from home.
We had played on the same high school volleyball team
together, the team that got 2nd place in the state tournament.
She had a 4-year scholarship, and had been living in a dorm.
We found a place about a mile from campus. Her boyfriend
had an apartment in an old building a few blocks from there.
He had been her boyfriend since I introduced them right after
we got out of high school. I might have forgotten to mention
that I ran around with him and his buddy the two years she
was gone away, and we were at junior college. No big deal.
It was platonic.
Well, Miss BSA was gone a lot, and even when she was
home, she didn't treat him very nice. She let him buy her all
kinds of stuff (even though he had to work hard for his
money) and she wouldn't put out. Now, this was none of
my business until she started seeing another Boring Scholarship
Athlete, a guy on the track team. He was from the college
town, rich, and a drug dealer of sorts. He dressed all fancy
and had a little sports car, whereas Cracker had a Jeep.
Miss and Mr. BSA had sex in our apartment, which again
was not my business, except that they did not close their
bedroom door, and it was right across from the bathroom,
and I had to hold it all night or risk being blinded by the
sight of their two boring bodies going at it. I even had to
move my bed to a different wall because of their noise.
And Miss BSA kept seeing Cracker, and wanted me to
lie for her when he called. I refused. I didn't tell him, because
that was their business, but I wouldn't lie for her. So things
went downhill, and I needed another roommate. We both
had to finish out another semester, because she missed
some classes while traveling with the team, and I lost some
credits in the transfer.
Which brings me to how I ended up living with the lesbian
couple. I had classes with one of the pair. After two years
of the upper level classes, you kind of get to know what
people are like, who runs with whom, are they cheaters,
dumbasses, jerks, etc. Les 1 had heard I was looking for
someplace to live during the summer and next year. A very
straight girl was also looking for a new living arrangement,
as 4 people in her house were graduating. The three of us
agreed to move in together in a one-bedroom apartment
across town, which had twin beds and a fold-out couch.
Things were moving according to plan, until a week before
the move-in. Straight Girl and Les 1 were at my apartment
pool, doing cannonballs. In the midst of the frivolity, Straight
Girl said she was having second thoughts. It seems one of
her also-straight roommates, who hung out with Les 1 and
I at school functions, had mentioned something about Les 1
being a lesbian. Now this was no secret to anybody in our PE
major program, but Straight Girl was a recreation major, and
only had a few classes with us. Still. She should have known.
She played field hockey, for cryin' out loud! So Les 1 and
I looked at each other like "WTF?", how could she NOT
know this already? So Straight Girl backed out. Les 1 and
I figured we could manage to split the rent two ways instead
of three. Then a week after I moved in, Les 2 returned from
their hometown and moved back in. She couldn't afford rent.
I still said it was OK. I got the bedroom, they took the couch.
This was not a bad arrangement, because Les 2 cleaned and
cooked and tried to earn her keep. She got a job at a place
sanding the paint off cars for minimum wage, cash money.
She also sold her plasma twice a week for $10 a pop. And
she was hilarious, so that was one of the least stressful living
arrangements that I had. Plus, I made connections that would
lead me to the "Village People" house of fools. Which may
not have been such a good thing.
That story will have to wait until tomorrow.
posted by Hillbilly Mom at 12:05 PM
3 Comments:
Gosh, this story is better than the last 20 minutes of All My Children.
Hi Hillbilly Mom,
I know how they found your blog wiht that search, a Woman Chinese Flat Tire Bicycle, is about the only thing you have not roomed with in your life.
As I read your story, I started to sing to myself (because you know how bad I sing), and it went a little like this:
Here's a story,
Of a boring lady,
Who's shared houses,
With lesso's and a gnome.
She was getting herself,
through university,
To end up a Hillbilly Mom.....
Ok, so if you haven't worked it out, it is sung to the tune of The Brady Bunch.
HooRoo
Rebecca
Miss Diva,
Ahh...the return of the Diva!
I've been a-lookin' and a-lookin' fer ya, gal!
Now you know why my friend Betty used to constantly tell me, "Enough of your boring story." Thanks for pretending to be entertained.
Bec,
That's about right. I was much happier alone, once I got a full-time job.
Oh, I DO remember how bad you sing. That special song, "It Goes Like it Goes," from the Academy Award winning motion picture "Norma Rae." Yes, I have a memory like an elephant. That's what HH always says. Or is it 'look like an elephant'...
I knew right away it was the Brady Bunch song. I am a child of bad sitcom TV.
Post a Comment
<< Home