Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Welcome to my home

While I wait for my stuff to arrive, I thought I would give you a little tour of my new digs. Come on in, won't you?

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As you enter the building through the foyer, this is what you see as you surprise me with pizza and vodka because you know how much I enjoy them and...you're a good friend.

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Once inside, I take the food and 750 ML beverage and begin eating and drinking immediately (because I don't cook and you're distracted by my new place). You look across the room and ask if the kitchen is back there...

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And I say (likely with my mouth full) that it is and that a dining room table will go under that lovely lamp (at which point I'll likely spit some morsel of pizza out and you, being a good friend, will pretend not to notice and quickly point out how big the space is and how nice the wood floors look).

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You then ask where the restroom is and I point the half-empty vodka bottle in my hand towards the entry on the left and then nod to indicate an immediate right once you get into the hallway as I finish another quick swig to help rinse the cheese out of my teeth.

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Being a good friend, you choose not to acknowledge hearing me trip and hit my head on the lamp in the dining room and, instead, take a peek inside the guest room...

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You then make your way down the hallway into the master bedroom...

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Once inside, you comment loudly on how big the closet is (hoping the cavernous sound of your voice covers up the slurred swearing coming from me in the dining room).

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You then head into the master bathroom...

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You shout out "Great shower!" and then politely laugh at my drunken joke about how it has a nook for the products that will soon be cleaning my "nooks".

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For a second, you wonder if you could quietly slip out of the bathroom window...

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But then you think you hear me stumbling your way and immediately ask to see the kitchen.

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Upon entering, you make light of the fact that I appear to be nodding off on the floor next to you and then comment on how compact, yet functional, the space is...

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And how rustic the cabinets look and then...you notice the back door.

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Being a good friend, you tell me you think you left something in your car for me and say you'll be "right back" and, noticing that I appear to be falling asleep on the pizza box, you carefully open the door and head quickly down the stairs.

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For a brief moment, you turn and wonder if you should go back in and check on me. But then you suddenly hear me loudly slurring the theme song to "Land of the Lost" and immediately look for a way out to the street. You run down the back parking area...

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And past the pool...

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And, finally, you make it to your car, lock the doors, and speed away.

However, you do text me once you get to your place (because a good friend would never text and drive) and tell me that there was an emergency at the hospital (knowing I still have no idea what you do for a living, so I'll likely assume you're a doctor when I wake up later that night), that you'll come by to watch Glee with me next week, and that you really liked my new place.

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You'll also choose not text me about Tom Bosley passing away because you know how much I loved Happy Days and that it'll only make me cry and, as you know, that's never a pretty sight for anyone involved AND that my new neighbors don't need to see that "charming" side of me just yet.

Why would you do all of this for me?

Well...it's obvious.

You're a good friend.

Well, that and the likelihood that I probably still have one of your DVDs and you just know it's gotta be in one of those damn boxes on the moving truck that should be here any day now.

2 comments:

Roland said...

With all that rambling, a "doctor" might check to be sure you didn't have a concussion.

Vampire Hours said...

A concussion? I'm sure I'm fine.


A concussion? I'm sure I'm fine.


A concussion? I'm sure I'm fine.

Hmmm....you might be on to something. =)