Hey Everyone, I just wanted to give a special thanks to group 4 for choosing my blog for their presentation. I really Appreciate it guys.

                                                            Sleeping bag

Hey guys, if you haven’t read it already scroll down the page and check out the entry entitled “Problem Number Two: Lyle’s Special Time,” because this next story is directly related. (I’m now picturing the eyes of my long time readers widening at the mention of that entry). Sometimes I wonder why I didn’t hold onto that story for a bit longer, because when you try to list reasons someone is a bad roommate its pretty damn hard to top vividly describing them masturbating within an arms length above you.  So when this next story happened I made sure to try and get it on paper pretty quickly.

            This one begins with Lyle needing to purchase a sleeping bag, and now that I am on a never-ending quest to put myself in odd situations with the guy, I jumped at the chance to give him a ride. We enter the sporting goods store and a few minutes passed as Lyle mustered up the courage to ask one of the clerks for assistance, and I wandered the outskirts of the shop. Eventually I made my way back over to Lyle who was testing the sleeping bag by hopping, and wriggling around. The combination of the lite green sleeping back with Lyle’s pasty pale complexion made him look like some kind of giant uncoordinated caterpillar.

            Here comes the part that blew my mind. When Lyle unzipped the sleeping bag and stepped out, my jaw dropped in horror at the site in front of me. HE WAS WEARING MY FUCKING SOCKS! Seriously, it was unmistakable. They even had the little patches with my last name on them that my mom insisted on ironing on to prevent anyone from picking them up by accident.

           

            Admittedly I felt partially at fault because I must have thrown away a good percentage of Lyles sock drawer at this point. But what the hell man? I know there isn’t much to this story its self, but try and understand what an impact this had on me. That night I lost a good amount of sleep (and not for the usual reasons). This gave me a lot to think about. For example, “is it possible that he didn’t see the little tags with my name on them?” And “could it be that he is doing this maliciously as a way of getting revenge?” That thought lead to a never-ending loop of “does he know that I’m one hundred percent aware of what he does at night in the top bunk? And now, I know that he knows that I know, but does he know I know he knows I know. “

            In retrospect I see that if I had just called him out the first time, and told him to stop, instead of waiting to vent by blogging angrily about him on the internet, this all could have been avoided. But hey, if The Social Network taught me anything it’s that this very same thing worked out for Mark Zuckerberg.

(See, I can relate this to class)

                                                The Piercing

Hey Everyone. Let me start by apologizing for not posting in a while, but trust me when I tell you that its not because Lyle has gotten any better. In fact so much has happened since my last post that I am having some difficulty deciding what I want to clue you guys in on first. I guess one of the more entertaining experiences for me was Lyle’s ear Piercing.

            This particular story begins with me going out of my way to put myself in situations with Lyle that might be worth reporting back to you, my loyal followers. No it wasn’t the most fun experience, but no great piece of writing is achieved without sacrifice.

With that in mind, I jumped at the opportunity to take Lyle to get his ear pierced.  Try to understand that I am not the kind of guy who is particularly keen on piercings of any kind, so I don’t really know what’s the common place scenario is for this kind of thing, but the shop Lyle picked out sure as hell was not the kind of place I would let some stranger stab me with a needle. I don’t want to sound un-manly but this was one of those Goth, black metal type places, where every employee is wearing white and black makeup and reading hell-raiser comics.  

I’m having trouble describing the man we dealt with directly but had this been a Wal-Mart, he would have been wearing a nametag that read “Hello my name is: Mordakai the unholy blood-guzzler, Have a nice day.”

After an awkward second or two of just staring at each other, Lyle mustered up the courage to state his purpose for being there, and said that he would like his ear pierced. Immediately the guy reaches below the desk and slams a rubber ear (covered in piercings) on the table. “So what are you thinking brother, something like this?” he said as he produced a massive ring that looked fit for a bull’s nose. Lyle being the generic indie- folk loving college student replied by saying, “no I think I’m feeling something a bit smaller. “Oh ok, I got you, how’s this?” said Mordakai the unholy blood-guzzler, producing an ever so slightly smaller earing. At this point it became clear that Lyle and Mordakai the unholy blood-guzzler had two completely different ideas in mind. Lyle wanted a stud, and Mordakai the unholy blood-guzzler was thinking more along the lines of a bracelet.

This went on about two more times, until finally Mordakai the unholy blood-guzzler exclaimed “Ok, I’m not going to let you go any smaller than this (producing one finial earing), or everyone is going to think you’re a little fairy.” “Um, ok,” Lyle, replied, and they settled on an earing size that was significantly Larger that what Lyle Wanted, and smaller than Mordakai the unholy blood-guzzler’s usual customer.

            After that, they took Lyle into the back room, and unfortunately I was not permitted to follow them. This did however give me the interesting experience of making small talk with the other metal heads working in the shop, and we all had a good chuckle when we heard Lyles shriek through the wall. Just a few minutes later Lyle walked out grinning with a massive iron ring dangling from one ear.  ________________
That’s about the end of this story, but I feel its worth mentioning that as I sit here writing, Lyle is sitting on the floor next to me wedeling a stick he found, and singing summer loving from grease. 

Living With Lyle

Problem Number Three

Head Lice

            After years of watching movies like Animal house and Van Wilder, I had a certain expectancy for the way I believed the average college student would act on weekends. So believe me when I say that I felt pretty bad for Lyle when I heard that his acne medicine was too hard on his liver for him to consume any alcohol. However I was a bit thrown off when I heard he had also given up all his Saturday nights so that he could wake up on Sunday mornings to attend meetings with a Quaker society he joined out of the blue.

Yes, every Sunday morning at 6:00am Lyle’s alarm would go off, only so that he could press snooze every seven minutes until 7:00am when he actually had to wake up. He would then roll out of bed and shuffle outside where the shady van full of Quakers would be waiting to scoop him up and rush him off to a long day of prayer and apple picking (I like to picture Lyle riding shotgun with the Quaker’s oatmeal man singing gospel tunes).

            Don’t get me wrong, I have no issues with Quakers, I just found it a bit odd that someone who was never previously religious would give up all his potential wild Saturday night memories of freshman year (though on some level I do admire his independence).  And I really didn’t have any problem with this, until his “announcement.”

            “Dudes” Lyle said in a way that grabbed both the attention of myself and my other roommate Nate (who was buried in homework at the time). “I have head lice.”  I could swear I heard a record scratch as soon as he said it.  “No you don’t.” I replied (adding a “please please god tell me this is a joke” in my head). “Yea I got em pretty bad. I think they’re from the Quakers, But don’t worry…Actually Nate’s hair is too short, only you worry.” He said.

“Wow, thanks Lyle. That’s really reassuring.”

            He went on to suggest that I wash anything that is near his bed (which is the bunk above mine, so by extension everything near my bed) or the seat by the window (that currently had a freshly washed pile of my laundry sitting on it). To put things in perspective Lyle’s hats, shirts (and socks), are constantly drifting down from his bed and onto mine. So it’s damn near impossible for me to avoid him, though I sure as hell tried.

            But the very next morning when I was in the shower, I heard Lyle’s voice calling to me from just outside the door. I shut my eyes tight and hoped he wasn’t about to ask me to drive him to get his “special shampoo.” But sure enough the next words out of his mouth were exactly what I expected them to be. And given my vulnerable state in the shower I agreed to do it. Under the condition that he wear a hat that covers as much of his head as possible.

            The hour that followed consisted of a seemingly infinite trip to CVS, in which my head was as far out the window as possible, and Lyle constantly shifting his hat around as though he was trying to itch his head with his other strands of hair. I also distinctly remember watching the perky pharmacist’s smile drop and head jolt back as Lyle told her his reasons for being there. And even with the treatment, Lyle did end up shaving his head (one extreme paranoia filled a week later).

Although I couldn’t bring my self to touch my pile of laundry for another month or so, I did managed to avoid getting lice. And that’s about as close to a happy ending as a story like this can get. 

Living with Lyle

Problem Number Two:

Lyle’s special time

            About a month into the semester Lyle went home for the weekend, and generously offered up his bed to any guests. I decided to take advantage of this and have a buddy from back home come up and visit me. After a pretty decent night of showing my friend the campus and exposing him to the night life, we decided it was time for bed. My friend (who had grown up sleeping in the top bunk), pulled himself up with ease, but he almost came crashing back down when he pulled the blanket away. 

            “Awww dude, that is so wrong.” My friend exclaimed as I pulled my self out of the bottom bunk to see what got such a rise out of him. I looked over the gate (that Lyle had campus safety install because he was afraid of falling out,) and there lying flat in the center of the bed was single, large, and dare I say crusty tube sock.

            It would seriously shock you to know how fast I came to the horrible realization that Lyle was not in fact the restless sleeper I had thought him to be. And the violent spring squeaking I often heard above me wasn’t just him trying to get comfortable. It also put in perspective the good amount of photo’s of his long distance girlfriend he had hung up by his pillow.

            Unfortunately this problem did not die with that sock; actually I have thrown away a great deal of Lyle’s socks since then, mainly because they drift down from his bed to mine. Basically I cant imagine any other way a sock would be able to travel from the foot to the head of the mattress, and therefore it must go. One horrible afternoon I lay down only to find a copy the “Bare, the schools first sex publication” peeking out from his mattress.

            In fairness he typically tries conceal this little hobby. For example if I walk into the room, he will pull the covers up (occasionally too much, so that I might see his boxers are at his knee’s) and pretend to be sleeping.

            At the end of the day, masturbation is what it is. If you got to do it, then go for it. But have a little decency for the guy whose face is three feet below you.

Living with Lyle

Problem Number one:

Sleep talking

            We were not a week into classes when my fist issue with Lyle arose.  He sleeps talks. But not like gentle murmurs that can slip out of anyone’s mouth from time to time. Lyle sleep speaks. It’s clear as day. He’s typically a pretty quiet kid, but at night he speaks with much more inflection than he would during the day. I was once jostled awake to, “WELL HOW MUCH ARE THEY, because I don’t want to pay for all of them.”  

 Also, he seems to almost always be speaking to someone. He is not speaking for both parties like Gollem, but every night I hear Lyle’s half of a conversation. I distinctly remember waking up one of the first nights and thinking “who makes a phone call at 3:30 in the morning?”

            My other roommate is a large “international student” from Africa, who we’re going to call Nate. Nate occasionally struggles with sleep, and has now made a habit of filling in the other half of Lyle’s conversations. So from my perspective I hear something along the lines of-

Lyle: “WHERE IS SHE?”

Giant African Nate (from the other side of the room): “she is in D-hall bro.”

Lyle: “Well I don’t like her, who said I like her?”

Nate: “I think it was tom”

Lyle: “I’m gunna go tell her”

Nate: “Ok you do that.”

Being a third party, I must attempt to sleep through this.

            Lyle is also a frequent “napper” so his sleep talking isn’t necessarily confined to the night. And on certain occasions he will react to something happening in the room, but later he will have no recollection of doing so. One afternoon Nate and I were chuckling at an Internet meme, when Lyle rolled over and mumbled, “you guys are like two French fries.” Nate and I then looked at each other (not knowing what to make of this statement). “What?” I responded a few seconds later. Without skipping a beat Lyle blurted out (in a pretty commanding voice considering the depth of his sleep) “YOU GUYS ARE LIKE A COUPLE OF BEST FRIEND FRENCH FRIES.” He then rolled over and didn’t say another word.

            Only recently did this problem come to a head when I was awoken to a melody. Through the foggy vision of having just been asleep, I see Nate’s head lift in unison with mine. I could only see his silhouette but I can imagine he had the same confused expression I did. It took us a second but we simultaneously came to the realization that “oh my god, its 4:30 in the morning and Lyle is actually singing right now.” 

The days approaching your freshman year of college are an exciting time for anyone. However that is not to say they are without worry. Everyone has fears about the “big transition.” “Is the work going to be hard?” “Am I in good classes?” “Will I make friends?” I can’t, however, imagine that any of these fears quite add up to the prospect of being forced to live with a truly terrible roommate.  Like I was.

            For security reasons I have chosen to disclose my new roommate’s real name, so for the purpose of this piece were going to call him “Lyle.” Given that he did not have a Facebook (which I found a bit strange in this day and age) I knew very little about Lyle going in to the first semester. I had to go on whatever I could pick up from his few texts.  I knew that he came from a small town, played banjo, and the only appliances he planned on bringing were a teakettle, and a Nintendo 64 (released only four years after I was Born). For a good while I did not know what to make of him, but over the next few months I would get a pretty clear Idea that living in a small space with this kid is not the best of situations.

            Just to clarify Lyle is not a mean or bad person. In fact in most cases he can be pretty nice. I just find him to be an incredible character, and I think some of his stories are worth sharing with the world. But again, love or hate Lyle, he is not the kind of guy you want share a bunk bed with.