Nobody knows more about knowing less about Thomas Jefferson than my roommate Alex. When we went to Harpers Ferry last year for a day of ‘sampling’ local ales, touring, and hiking, I was privileged to hear some nuggets of wisdom about Thomas Jefferson. For instance, Thomas Jefferson invented ice. Thomas Jefferson used to use his old bed for a kayak down the Potomac and beat Native Americans in boat races. Thomas Jefferson invented hot sauce, but only after his red hair and George Washington inspired him. Every now and then, one would be outlandish enough to believe. Therefore, I could find no better person to quote now than TJ as I struggle to write this update.
“The happiness of the domestic fireside is the first boon of Heaven; and it is well it is so, since it is that which is the lot of the mass of mankind”.
As many of you know, I’m moving out of my house today. I moved in just over a year and a half ago. I had just graduated college and I needed a temporary place to live while I figured out that whole ‘job’ and ‘life’ thing. A Craigslist ad from a guy named Paul saved the day—I found a 3 month sublet. When I carried my three dozen pairs of shoes into this group house with my fake nails (God, what was I thinking?!?), I was relieved. I knew I found a place that I’d be able to just have time to sort things out. I didn’t know I’d find a family.
I say this as Alex is beating by over 100 points on Words with Friends, and I hate him. In fact, you don’t always love your family. I’m sure my roommates never loved that time I drink so much at a band show I made them come to that I vomited on the hood of my car. Thanks for holding my hair back Clyde and getting me a McMuffin the next day. Which I also threw up. I’m sure Brock doesn’t love my 30 minute showers, complete with singing, curly hair shedding, subsequent drain cloggage, and flooded floors in the morning. I routinely verbally abuse Alex and ruin his favorite NPR radio shows. Maybe this isn’t what a family does, because it sure doesn’t sound like my biological one in Connecticut.
I look at that Thomas Jefferson quote, and realize just how apt it is to describe my three guys. Brock is a fireman. I’ve asked him countless times how hot it needs to be in a fire to burn teeth, or how you can get away with arson. Brock’s told me just how many trucks and ladders (I hope those are the right words) for a five alarm fire. I’ve learned life advice too, from my fireman roommate. He’s taught me about thread count, how many ‘points’ are in a beer, how to get a good Pinot Noir, where to listen to Barenaked Ladies acoustic, and my favorite, how to eventually be a good parent.
Speaking of fire, I also remember the carbon monoxide incident in the house. Clyde and I started a fire in the fireplace. We took pictures of Penny with the fire and it looked like a Christmas card. Clyde specifically told me to shut the flue before I went to bed, so I did. The fire wasn’t fully out. I woke up to Alex pounding on my door, and saying the carbon monoxide detector was going off wayyy more than usual. That’s right, we used to have a detector that beeped once every five minutes. We couldn’t figure out how to tell it to stop. So we got used to it. Which was why I slept through it when it was really going off. Or I was being poisoned by the gas. Anyways, I got to call the fire department and have a huge fire truck with five firemen come into our house with Ghostbusters technology. We had to wake up Clyde and Penny, because, as it turns out, they had toxic levels building up in the room. How’s that for a friendship fire?
I could sit and write all of my favorite memories from my roommates. Well, I am. They’ll be in the beer book. The point I’m trying to make is that my domestic fireside is something I will be eternally grateful for. People make plans, and God laughs. If you had told me ten years ago I’d be living in a house with guys older than me, I’d call shenanigans. Actually, that’s one of my favorite games to play with my roommates: What was I doing in fifth grade when they were doing ____ out of college? Besides not knowing archaic cartoon shows, it wasn’t a big deal. When you find the people who make you feel the happiest, paltry things like age aren’t an issue. Or when everyone’s heard the other have sex in the house. Yeah, it’s happened.
So, as I’m tempted to quote Semisonic’s song, “Closing Time”, I still feel sad. That’s not to say I’m not ecstatic about moving in with my best friend (and spouse, according to Rite Aid) Dani. I’m eager to begin my Dani stories. I’m a sucker for a good comparison (metaphors be with you!), and I do see my life as an unfolding book. Perhaps it’s my desperate desire to be a writer, but it is always hard to see a chapter you love finish. You might anticipate the next one, but you’ll always anxiously reread the previous. Luckily, Facebook seems to be keeping a good record of everything. And I never forget anything, ever.
Alex and I are bickering about Lionel Ritchie, and I think it’s good to end here. The Show is heading for a finale. I’ll live for reruns but for now, I’m getting ready to star in a new sitcom of Two Broke Girls.
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