New Roommates

In this period of post collegiant life (James pretends like he graduated, so can I), I have found the best mediun for moving forward is reflecting on the past. Through this online memoir, I have been able to devulge my sexual latitudes, testicular fortitudes, and pictures of myself in the nudes. Nice rhyme. It was through these reflections that I have begun to become more critical, not of myself so much, but of others. I could write even more pages on my core roommates, but even the tapeworm shows appreciation for its host and so shall I. But for my new roommates, brought on through the inefficiencies of BC Housing, here's my unbiased reflection, alphabetically:

Marco Alfieri: Italian. Nuff said.

Pat McManus: Enjoys curry to an unhealthy extent. Not Italian.

John McNamara: Claims to have an unhumanly large member. My eyes thirst to view it.

Nigro: I'm not sure if he has a first name, hopefully not. If he does have one, I assume it is self imposed, single sylabic or ending in 'O' (ex: Butch, Duke, Chongo, Mongo, Buzz, Roid) I just thank Christ that Kyle wasnt exposed to him for more than 2 semesters.

Nick Mulrooney: Canadian. Maybe Jewish?

Eric Speed: I've never been found on the English, but this Saucy Brit changed me. The way he utterly disrespected the Italians, made love to only women of the crown, and kept a copy of Oliver Twist next to his bedside impressed me. It takes a lot to impress me.

~The Gotty

Graduation

Seeing as how I've been on blog hiatus for so long, I am nearly positive that no one will read this. Based upon this assumption, I now feel that it is safe to post my most intimate and personal details without fear of others finding out. Also, without using spell check or worrying about grammatical accuracy. I equate this to masterbating in your parents room while they are at work. I mean, they're at work right? So its safe, but just dangerous enough to get the Gotty juices flowing. Poor analogy, I know. Anyhow, I didnt graduate. Yup, after 4 long years of BEER PIZZA AND CHICKS, I managed to screw the pooch. Sure, I woke up at the crack of 8am, put on a cap and gown (with questionable undergarments) and strunted my half erect self down to alumni [authors note: I had blown so much peyote the night prior and watched Flutie highlights on repeat that I half convinced myself I was going to the BC v. Miami 1984 Miracle. You should have seen the disappointment on my face when Phelan wasnt even the speaker. Fucking bullshit.] and made a move on my senior five. [Authors note: If we're counting the senior five on a 4th grade level of butt-rub-when-passing-in-the-hallways-without-her-noticing, I cleaned house, if not, I'll most likely spit in your food next time you hit up VTs].

The biggest give away of not graduating was probably when I didnt make the graduation roster. Now I know you're all saying, if there was a you all, "Gotty, you knew you werent graduating, why didnt you plan ahead?" I did, Poorly. At the peak of my peyote experience, I realized that I had put off my mistake for far too long, four years too long. I searched the entirety of Adam's art supplies and found nothing but 6 unsharpened Crayolas, a charcoal pencil, and what I believe to be a blonde hair doll [Authors note: I'm not one to put on the white wig and judge but I'd wager that little hair doll brings Adam some JOY {Authors note of note: I've now thricely dropped hints about this hair doll, if you cant figure it out, you're either Marco or retarded, though the two arent mutually exclusive}].

Obsessions aside, I stormed Devlin that night and found what I believed to be the entirety of graduation pamphletes. I Joyly, I mean, coyly wrote my name in the A&S section with a little Cum Laude props for kicks. Problem solved.

There's not much I remember from graduation, but there are two specifics that stick out: 1.) the stream of phone calls from mom questioning why I wasnt in the program and 2.) the confused look of Speed as he held out his graduation booklet to show me a huge, crayon drawn phallus with a crudley written 'Suck it! Gottys is Grady-atting!'

On a side note, Mom and Dad have refused to pay for summer classes, so any help is a big help.