An Open Letter To My Suitemate, and Then Some

The BBQ Pit
1

Cat. Ah, Cat. Darling suitemate mine. I tolerate the fact that you leave dirty dishes in the bathroom for weeks on end, that you own four different razors for no good reason the rest of us can see, that you use more toilet paper than anyone normal, that you leave clothes all over the bathroom and yet describe yourself as a ‘neat freak’, that you take forty-five minute showers and then stand in the fucking doorway for over a half hour doing your hair and makeup. You know why? Because I try to be a good suitemate. And I apparently have more patience than I knew. Next week, the semester will be over, and I will move out, and I will never have to live with you again, ever, so help me Og.

But for the moment, I’m stuck with you. And I am putting a leash on a sudden desire to hurt you. Yet my fury is not because of your personal habits, odd may they be. No. My fury is due to your ABSOLUTE UNHELPFULNESS.</open letter>

Let me 'splain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up. Cat and I are in the same English class. Last Friday, our teacher handed out the exams. We were told to answer five questions out of the ten provided by this Friday. But the paper says to do all ten. Hmm. I’m seeing a problem here. The review was Monday morning and I, being a lazy bitch, slept through my alarm. Class was cancelled on Wednesday. So the exams are due tomorrow, and I’m not entirely certain if I’m meant to answer five questions or ten. This is a disaster in the making.

But ah, Cat was at the review. She’ll know. Let’s go ask her.

Me: Hey, Cat, do I need to answer five questions on this exam or ten? McW said five, but his paper says ten.
Her: Oh, the next-to-last episode of Friends is on. Can I talk to you later? door slam

That’s right, boys and girls. She blew me off for a television show. My GOD, it’s not like it won’t be shown fifty million times in reruns. It’s not like it’s Buffy! It’s not like there won’t be DVDS! It’s not like it was the last time Friends will be shown, ever, in the known universe (oh, and I think it was a commercial). It’s not like it didn’t take her longer to blow me off than it would have to answer my goddamned question!!!

‘Five’ or ‘ten.’ That’s all she had to say. One syllable. ‘Five’ or ‘ten.’ I did not ask her to explain string theory, or Paradise Lost. I asked for ‘five’ or ‘ten.’

I’m going in there now to ask again, and I don’t care which fucking TV show is on. And if she doesn’t give me a straight answer, then God help me, there will be blood tonight!!

2

What do Lister and Holly have to say about it?

Sorry, couldn’t resist.

Did you confront her? What did she have to say for herself?

3

Perhaps Cat didn’t know off the top of her head and needed to consult her notes.
That can’t wait 30 minutes?

4

spooje: That’s an entirely acceptable interpretation, and under that interpretation (and the assumption that I am not as hormonal as I actually am right now), I shouldn’t have gotten upset.

Except, oh, wait. I finally got the answer from her. It’s five. And she finished doing them earlier today. So yeah, she knew.

5

Well…then, THAT BITCH!!!
:smiley:

6

She spent more time telling you she couldn’t answer because friends is on, then more time it would have taken to say ‘5’. That’s just wierd.

7

And here I was feeling all bad at being “short” with the damn neighbor brats as they came ringing my doorbell after their ball magically flew over my fence for the fifth goddamn time this week during the next-to-last episode of Friends.

I don’t feel bad anymore. Cat is an idiot. How long could it have possibly taken to say “five”?

Not nearly as long as getting up, scowling at the little neighborhood brats, struggling with the screen door I can never unlock when I’m in a rush (I’ve got a really smart cat), looking for a ball in my backyard in dark twilight, telling the damn brats that if they didn’t play right up against my fence and instead went out about 50 feet, about a third of the way down all that expansive lawn they’ve got to play on, their ball wouldn’t come flying into my backyard every ten minutes! You know, because it’s not enough I’ve got to listen to their little banshee screams from about 5:30 until 9 every damn night and jump 10 feet everytime their freaking balls slam up against my fence, no no! I’ve gotta miss the next-to-the-last episode of Friends to fetch their damn ball they can’t keep outta my backyard!

Ahem.

Oh, this isn’t about me?

So sorry for the inturruption.

8

Two words for all of you, particularly Lezlers:

Ti Vo!

9

Three words for ya Max

starving…law…student.

Unless you’re offering to buy one for me. In that case, I’d be happy to provide you with a p.o. box it can be sent to. Try to get it here before Thursday though, I’m gonna miss the first hour of the last episode of Friends thanks to that pesky class thing…

:smiley:

10

[Guy Who Didn’t Do The Assigned Reading]

Paradise Lost is a classic by John Milton about man’s struggle to do several things: first, to find a place in a world not designated for him; second, to find himself in a world not giving him answers; third, to find meaning in a world constructed in chaos; finally, to accept that he can change nothing but himself, and to change himself he must look to change that which is around him.

Paradise Lost addresses the classic philosophical questions of existence, the metaphysical realities of life and the intangible questions of life.

[/GWDDTAR]