I swear to gahd, I do not know if my room-mate is going to survive the next two weeks. If she doesn't, guys, I'm turning myself in now. If anything happens to her that seems suspicious, I probably did it.
Now, don't get me wrong: I love my room-mate. I do! At this point, it's difficult to remember WHY I love her, but I do. Because... hm... let me think about it for a minute... Because she's not a girly-girl. She's a very tough bitch. She's not one of those snobby prudish people who make grossed-out faces when you say something like "blowjob." I like Louise because she's got the weirdest, most provocative door in the entire building; her side of the door makes her look like a sadistic bitch, and my side of the door makes me look like a sex-crazed hippie bitch. I like Louise because we're the self-dubbed "Fifth-Floor Vixens." I like Louise because we can talk all catty--like about other people and be relatively assured that the other won't backstab us with whatever gossip we've been discussing. Louise was a barrista once too; barristas know how to gossip like nobody's business. We also know how to flirt.
But for the past couple of days, I have not been liking Louise so very much.
It began with dinner the other night. Louise just kind of went catatonic on me. She just spaced out and wouldn't talk to me; half the time, she wasn't even acknowledging that I was talking to HER. I'm getting pretty used to this; Louise does this often when there's something on her mind. She'll sit there and stare past you while you're talking to her, and she won't have ANY idea that you're talking to her. This goes on for maybe an hour, sometimes two, and then she comes out with whatever is going on, and you give her some advice, and she stressed out about the advice for awhile, and then things are all back to normal.
So, by the end of dinner, Louise had told me what was bothering her, much to my relief. I suggested we go purchase some things at the grocery store, and then go have some coffee at Otto's or Oly World News. A good idea, no? Coffee with a friend?
Well, Louise went catatonic over coffee -- AGAIN. She was STILL worrying about the same damned thing, I'm quite sure. The thing is, when I'm in a coffeehouse, I like to do one of two things: sit in complete silence reading my book or writing, or have a nice, intimate, important conversation. I was in the mood for talking. Louise was in the mood for smoking my cigarettes and staring. Which would have been fine, except