Previous installments: Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16. Also check out the official Livin' Large FAQ, Cast List, Flow Chart 1.0, and Flow Chart 2.0.
"I'm sorry, what was that?" I asked. Aimee's words had been crystal clear. She had finally said what I'd been waiting for months to hear: that she wanted to be with me. But I needed to hear it again. I had to be sure.
"I want us to be together," she repeated.
"Boyfriend and girlfriend? Committed?"
"Yes," she said somewhat breathlessly.
"Wow," I said. "Hey, can I call you right back?"
"Wh...what?" She sounded utterly dumbstruck.
"I just, you know, need a few minutes to mull this over."
"Are you for real?" she asked, confusion giving way to panic. "I thought this was what you wanted? This is what you want, isn't it?"
"Uh, yeah, I think so," I said. "But like I said, I've gotta think about it."
"I can't believe this," she said.
"Right, okay, talk to you in a few." I hung up.
Now THIS was a dilemma. I had spent most of the past three years longing after two girls who had repeatedly rejected me, and now both of them were at my mercy. At the same time no less. I now got to choose between them. My head was spinning at this strange twist of fate.
Mat, who often showed an unexpected interest in my love life (or lack thereof), had been listening intently to the conversation. He was watching me expectantly.
"Now Aimee wants to date me too," I said. "Both of the girls I've always wanted want me now."
"That's cool," Mat said. "So, whatchya gonna do?"
"I have no idea," I said.
"I thought Aimee was the one you wanted to be with," he said.
"She was. She is. But now I don't know. Everything's happening so fast."
"Don't pick between 'em then," he said.
"What?"
"Don't pick between 'em," he said again.
"I don't see how that could possibly work," I said.
"Didn't you tell me they don't talk? That they never gonna see each other?"
"Uh, yeah," I said.
"Then it's easy. Fuck 'em both. That way you get what you want."
I gaped at him. "I can't do that."
"You should. You're gonna regret it if you don't. Trust me." Satisfied with his sage-like advice, he put his hands behind his head and leaned back in his giant chair while a self-satisfied smile spread across his face.
That advice wasn't going to work. Maybe for Mat, but not for me. I sat back down behind my desk to think but immediately decided I wanted more input. I went next door to talk to Nathan.
"Forget for a moment who you want more. Don't let petty lust guide you," he said. "Ask yourself this: who's the better person? Who walks in the light?"
"I don't care about the light, Nathan."
"Of course you don't. Not right now, anyway. But you will," he said with the same kind of confidence Mat had when telling me to fuck them both. "Make the right choice today and you'll have fewer regrets tomorrow."
"And, just to be clear, by 'who walks in the light' you mean..."
"The Godly woman," Nathan said.
"And barring that," said Nathan's roommate, Ron, who poked his head around a book he was reading, "choose the more attractive of the two."
"Cool, thanks," I said, even though that wasn't the advice I was looking for either.
I walked down to the lobby and used the courtesy phone to call my basketball buddy Joe. He said, "Aimee's the girl you've been pursuing. Cindy sort of came back out of nowhere. It seems like you have a lot invested in Aimee and very little invested in Cindy. If it were me, I'd go with my big emotional investment and see what happens."
Next up on the call list was Susan. "I'm not going to tell you what to do," she said. "You've got to figure that out for yourself. But I don't see how you can have any faith in Aimee at this point. She's really been jerking you around. You might want to see how things go with this Cindy chick."
Okay, so that was one vote for fuck them both, one vote for the Godly woman, one vote for the hotter one, and one vote each for Aimee and Cindy. So much for coming to a consensus. You know, the thing that kills me the most about this particular memory is how I actually thought that my friends found my drama as compelling as I did. That's a teenager for you: nothing could possibly be any bigger than what they're going through at that moment.
I slumped back into the room. "You figure it out yet?" Mat asked. He seemed to be enjoying this.
"Not really," I said. Then, on impulse, "You know what? Screw it. I'm picking Aimee."
"You sure 'bout dat?" Mat said.
"Yeah. Yeah, I think I am."
I called Aimee back. I gave her my answer. We talked love and relationships late into the night.
That was Monday, November 1st. As luck would have it, Aimee had an upperclassman friend who was dating someone at my school. More importantly, that girl, Colleen, had a car and was visiting her boyfriend that Friday night. She had agreed to bring Aimee with her so we could see each other as boyfriend/girlfriend for the first time.
I was so excited that I immediately told Mat about her visit, mostly because he was the closest and most convenient human being available. "That's cool," was all he said. I briefly considered asking him to make himself scarce when she arrived, but it hardly seemed necessary. He always disappeared on the weekends. That was one of the few things I could always count on with him.
The week passed with me in a state of agitated excitement. All I could think about was Aimee's visit. Classes seemed more boring than usual. The only point of interest that week was an odd moment in my calculus class. My professor, Mr. Swenson, was the world's biggest dork. He stood about 5"4, looked like he weighed 98 pounds (assuming he had bricks in his pockets), wore giant honkin' glasses, and sported an ugly comb-over/wispy mustache combo. Worse yet, he was terribly clumsy. Professor Swenson could barely walk from one end of the chalkboard to the other without tripping, dropping a piece of chalk or fumbling an eraser to the floor.
Now, a lot of times guy like that lack self-awareness. Not Professor Swenson. He realized he was a dork and seemed to live in a constant state of embarrassment due to that knowledge. But he was confident in one area: math. So during a recitation that week, one of my classmates asked some meaningless question about some meaningless problem from one of our assignments. I was only half paying attention, so I don't remember what the question was, but I do remember Swenson saying, "I could solve that problem in two, three, perhaps even four different ways. With my ability in mathematics, I can do almost anything!"
The whole class just stood and watched him for a moment. Once again self-conscious and embarrassed, Professor Swenson went back to scribbling out answers on the board.
Friday arrived. I had only one class and I was too jittery to sit around the room, so I wandered around campus for a while and met with my German Language Club for lunch. I stopped by the APO office, left a note on the message board for Susan, signed up for a couple service events, and then went to pick up a few things for Aimee's visit. And by a few things I mean one bottle of water, a bag of chips and some chocolate chip cookies (despite the fact that Aimee didn't particularly care for cookies). I was ready for some wild times. Er, make that mild times.
When Aimee was about an hour away, I returned to the dorm and took a shower. I got shaved, dressed and put on some cologne. I made my bed and straightened up my four or five possessions. I even swept the dust bunnies off the floor and out from under my bed. As I was finishing up, Mat walked in. I checked my watch. It was almost 7 p.m. on a Friday night. Except for the weekend that Shelly had visited, I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen Mat on a Friday night. What the hell was going on?
"What's up?" I asked.
"Nuthin'," he replied.
"I mean, what's up tonight? Like, what are you doing later?"
"I don't have any plans," he said.
What? How could he not have plans? I couldn't believe it. "Seriously?" I asked.
"Seriously," he said.
This wasn't happening. It couldn't be.
"Oh come on," I said, trying to lay on some bullshit, "as popular as you are, there's gotta be something going on somewhere. A frat party or something."
"Nope," he said. "Nuthin's going on dat I know of." With that he flipped on MTV and collapsed into his giant chair.
I checked my watch again. Aimee was going to show up any minute.
"You're sure there's nothing going on?" I asked one last, desperate time.
"I'm sure," he said without looking at me.
The phone rang. It was Aimee. She was down in the lobby. I sprinted down to get her. She didn't hesitate to hug me this time. "So," she said with a sly smile, "want to take me up to your room?"
"Yeah, about that," I said, "Mat's there."
"What? Seriously?" she said.
"Seriously," I said. "And he won't leave."
"I thought you told me he was never around on the weekends."
"He usually isn't," I said. "But he claims there's nothing going on tonight."
Aimee was incredulous. "It's Friday night at one of the biggest colleges in the state."
"Yeah, I know," I said. "Trust me, he'll get bored and leave eventually." I hoped so anyway.
Holding hands, we walked back to the room. Mat was still there watching MTV. He barely acknowledged us when we walked in. We sat on my bed talking quietly for a few minutes when an idea hit me. "Hey," I said, "let me introduce you to some of my friends."
Friday night was when my roleplaying group usually met. The roleplaying sessions almost always took place in Duke's room. Duke was an R.A. in a section of the dorm called "The Basement." That meant Duke had a bigger room than most other R.A.'s. He took advantage of the extra living space by bringing in a sectional couch, which made his room pretty awesome by dorm standards. Anyway, I took Aimee down there and introduced her to my motley crew of friends. Nathan was wearing shorts and suspenders. BadDave was in his ever-present sweat pants / t-shirt combo. And Ron -- the same fat guy who had accidentally walked into my room wearing a too-small towel on my first weekend at college -- had squeezed his extra-large caboose into black spandex pants with a large lavender stripe down the side of each leg. And he was wearing a skin-tight white t-shirt.
"Welcome to the den of rogues and fools," Ron said. That's nerd talk for "Hello." Then everybody took turns introducing themselves.
I have to admit, I was a little embarrassed. The group hadn't seemed quite this dorkrageous until there was a living, breathing girl in their midst. I was afraid Aimee would judge me by the appearance of the company I kept. But she didn’t. In fact, she thought the guys were funny and kind of cool. It shouldn’t have surprised me that she’d like geeks. She was now dating me, after all.
That visit killed about an hour, after which Aimee and I journeyed back up to my room in the hope that Mat had wandered off to wherever he usually wandered. No such luck. Apparently, he was serious about spending this Friday night -- of all Friday nights -- in our room.
Grasping at straws, I called my buddy Joe, who had himself recently started dating a girl named Andrea. I quickly explained the situation. He said, "Tell you what, why don't we do a double date?"
Aimee and I met Joe and Andrea at the Ben & Jerry's that used to be at the edge of campus. Each couple told the story of how we’d met and how we’d come to be dating (although Joe already knew most of my story) over the dreaded Vermonster. Then we took a nighttime stroll across campus.
All of a sudden, it was almost midnight. Aimee started tugging on my sleeve, which is the universal signal for "Let's ditch your friends and go back to your room." So we did.
When we got there, my room was empty. Mat was gone! I very nearly let out a whoop of joy. I snuck Aimee into the bathroom across the hall so she could brush her teeth and pee. I only had to forestall one bleary-eyed guy. "Hey, could you wait for a second? My girlfriend’s in there," I said, feeling a little too proud of myself. He just grunted and waited for her to finish what she was doing.
After Aimee came out of the bathroom, she said, "Can you give me a minute to go in and change?" All I could think of was her getting naked in my room. I literally felt like I was going to explode.
"Yeah," I said, trying my damnedest to play it cool, "no problem."
While I was standing outside my room wondering what she was planning to change into (or, hopefully, just out of), I heard something. A sound coming from down the stairs and one hallway over. It was somebody whistling. It was somebody whistling Bob Marley.
"No," I muttered. "No. It can’t be..."
But then the whistling stopped and became a telltale chanting: "You got da horse race, you got da human race, but dis is da rat race…raaaaaaaat raaaaaaaace."
And then Mat's huge, shaved head popped up out of the stairwell. All I could do was stare at him as he lumbered my way. He actually made it as far as reaching for the doorknob before I could say, "Whoa, wait! Aimee's changing in there!"
"Oh, sorry," he said, and he turned around and went into the bathroom.
I knocked on the door. Aimee popped her head out. "Mat's here."
"You're kidding," she said.
"I really wish I was."
Her head disappeared back into the room and the door closed. When Mat came out of the bathroom, I knocked and asked if she was decent. She said she was, so we both walked in. Aimee was now wearing a pair of my sweatpants and one of my sweatshirts. I had a feeling that wasn't her original plan.
"So," I said, and it was really hard to disguise my irritation, "couldn't find anything to do?"
"Nope," he said. Then he picked up a phone and ordered a pizza, a sure sign he wasn't going anywhere. Aimee and I just looked at each other. We spent the next hour just snuggling on my bed and talking quietly. When the pizza came, Mat offered us some. Aimee and I shared a piece. After he finished eating the rest of the pizza, he turned off the TV and said, "You goin' to bed?" We said we were, so he turned out the lights.
My roommate -- the man who had been livin' large all semester -- was at home and in bed by 1:30 a.m. on a Friday night. That had never happened before...and it never happened again while we lived together. If I could shoot lasers with my eyes, there would still be a burning crater where Mat had been that night.
Aimee laughed softly. "I can't believe he's still here," she whispered. "It's almost like he doesn't want to leave."
"I have no idea what's going on," I whispered back. "I hope he walks in front of a bus tomorrow."
"Ssssh," she said. "Let's just make the best of it." And we did. No, we didn't have sex. But we had one of those marathon, hours-long make out sessions that college kids are famous for. At one point, I remember thinking it was kind of ironic that, for once, I was in bed fooling around while Mat slept alone five feet away. But that thought was mercifully brief. The rest of the time, my mind was elsewhere.
The next morning, Aimee woke up sick as a dog. She had a sinus infection, although we didn't know it at the time. I didn't have any medicine in my room, so I had to wander around until I found a pharmacy. (I would late discover there was a small pharmacy only five minutes away.) I bought Robotussin, cough drops, decongestant, Kleenex…basically anything that had the words "cold" or "cough" on it.
I got back about 40 minutes later (I ran back from the pharmacy). Aimee was miserable. Mat was still asleep. I doctored my new girlfriend up as best I could and then watched her sleep a little more. That was a real novelty to me.
Aimee woke up around noon, and Mat work up shortly after her. He turned on the television and resumed his silent MTV vigil. Was he ever going to leave??
Collen called around one o'clock. She was heading back to Butler soon...and Aimee had to go with her. I ushered Mat out of the room so Aimee could change. The only thing she changed was her shirt. "I'm taking your sweats," she said, smiling. "They smell like you."
"I really hope that's a good thing," I said. She probably had no idea how many times I'd passed gas in those sweats, a fact I kept secret.
I walked her to the front of the dorm, where we hugged and kissed until Collen pulled up. We said our sad goodbyes and I watched my girlfriend drive off. I felt empty.
By the time I got back to the room, Mat was gone. He didn't return until Monday. I was furious all day on Saturday, wondering why in the hell he couldn't have disappeared on Friday so that Aimee and I could have had the room to ourselves.
Then it hit me. I thought about all those times I was home studying when Mat might have wanted a little solitude, the times I studied or tried to sleep through his many romantic encounters...encounters that might have been best enjoyed without me hanging around. By staying in the room the one and only chance I had to see my brand new girlfriend, was Mat getting me back for the many inconveniences I had put him through?
That was the first time it occurred to me: if Mat was the villain in my story, maybe I was the villain in his.
Part 18
"I'm sorry, what was that?" I asked. Aimee's words had been crystal clear. She had finally said what I'd been waiting for months to hear: that she wanted to be with me. But I needed to hear it again. I had to be sure.
"I want us to be together," she repeated.
"Boyfriend and girlfriend? Committed?"
"Yes," she said somewhat breathlessly.
"Wow," I said. "Hey, can I call you right back?"
"Wh...what?" She sounded utterly dumbstruck.
"I just, you know, need a few minutes to mull this over."
"Are you for real?" she asked, confusion giving way to panic. "I thought this was what you wanted? This is what you want, isn't it?"
"Uh, yeah, I think so," I said. "But like I said, I've gotta think about it."
"I can't believe this," she said.
"Right, okay, talk to you in a few." I hung up.
Now THIS was a dilemma. I had spent most of the past three years longing after two girls who had repeatedly rejected me, and now both of them were at my mercy. At the same time no less. I now got to choose between them. My head was spinning at this strange twist of fate.
Mat, who often showed an unexpected interest in my love life (or lack thereof), had been listening intently to the conversation. He was watching me expectantly.
"Now Aimee wants to date me too," I said. "Both of the girls I've always wanted want me now."
"That's cool," Mat said. "So, whatchya gonna do?"
"I have no idea," I said.
"I thought Aimee was the one you wanted to be with," he said.
"She was. She is. But now I don't know. Everything's happening so fast."
"Don't pick between 'em then," he said.
"What?"
"Don't pick between 'em," he said again.
"I don't see how that could possibly work," I said.
"Didn't you tell me they don't talk? That they never gonna see each other?"
"Uh, yeah," I said.
"Then it's easy. Fuck 'em both. That way you get what you want."
I gaped at him. "I can't do that."
"You should. You're gonna regret it if you don't. Trust me." Satisfied with his sage-like advice, he put his hands behind his head and leaned back in his giant chair while a self-satisfied smile spread across his face.
That advice wasn't going to work. Maybe for Mat, but not for me. I sat back down behind my desk to think but immediately decided I wanted more input. I went next door to talk to Nathan.
"Forget for a moment who you want more. Don't let petty lust guide you," he said. "Ask yourself this: who's the better person? Who walks in the light?"
"I don't care about the light, Nathan."
"Of course you don't. Not right now, anyway. But you will," he said with the same kind of confidence Mat had when telling me to fuck them both. "Make the right choice today and you'll have fewer regrets tomorrow."
"And, just to be clear, by 'who walks in the light' you mean..."
"The Godly woman," Nathan said.
"And barring that," said Nathan's roommate, Ron, who poked his head around a book he was reading, "choose the more attractive of the two."
"Cool, thanks," I said, even though that wasn't the advice I was looking for either.
I walked down to the lobby and used the courtesy phone to call my basketball buddy Joe. He said, "Aimee's the girl you've been pursuing. Cindy sort of came back out of nowhere. It seems like you have a lot invested in Aimee and very little invested in Cindy. If it were me, I'd go with my big emotional investment and see what happens."
Next up on the call list was Susan. "I'm not going to tell you what to do," she said. "You've got to figure that out for yourself. But I don't see how you can have any faith in Aimee at this point. She's really been jerking you around. You might want to see how things go with this Cindy chick."
Okay, so that was one vote for fuck them both, one vote for the Godly woman, one vote for the hotter one, and one vote each for Aimee and Cindy. So much for coming to a consensus. You know, the thing that kills me the most about this particular memory is how I actually thought that my friends found my drama as compelling as I did. That's a teenager for you: nothing could possibly be any bigger than what they're going through at that moment.
I slumped back into the room. "You figure it out yet?" Mat asked. He seemed to be enjoying this.
"Not really," I said. Then, on impulse, "You know what? Screw it. I'm picking Aimee."
"You sure 'bout dat?" Mat said.
"Yeah. Yeah, I think I am."
I called Aimee back. I gave her my answer. We talked love and relationships late into the night.
That was Monday, November 1st. As luck would have it, Aimee had an upperclassman friend who was dating someone at my school. More importantly, that girl, Colleen, had a car and was visiting her boyfriend that Friday night. She had agreed to bring Aimee with her so we could see each other as boyfriend/girlfriend for the first time.
I was so excited that I immediately told Mat about her visit, mostly because he was the closest and most convenient human being available. "That's cool," was all he said. I briefly considered asking him to make himself scarce when she arrived, but it hardly seemed necessary. He always disappeared on the weekends. That was one of the few things I could always count on with him.
The week passed with me in a state of agitated excitement. All I could think about was Aimee's visit. Classes seemed more boring than usual. The only point of interest that week was an odd moment in my calculus class. My professor, Mr. Swenson, was the world's biggest dork. He stood about 5"4, looked like he weighed 98 pounds (assuming he had bricks in his pockets), wore giant honkin' glasses, and sported an ugly comb-over/wispy mustache combo. Worse yet, he was terribly clumsy. Professor Swenson could barely walk from one end of the chalkboard to the other without tripping, dropping a piece of chalk or fumbling an eraser to the floor.
Now, a lot of times guy like that lack self-awareness. Not Professor Swenson. He realized he was a dork and seemed to live in a constant state of embarrassment due to that knowledge. But he was confident in one area: math. So during a recitation that week, one of my classmates asked some meaningless question about some meaningless problem from one of our assignments. I was only half paying attention, so I don't remember what the question was, but I do remember Swenson saying, "I could solve that problem in two, three, perhaps even four different ways. With my ability in mathematics, I can do almost anything!"
The whole class just stood and watched him for a moment. Once again self-conscious and embarrassed, Professor Swenson went back to scribbling out answers on the board.
Friday arrived. I had only one class and I was too jittery to sit around the room, so I wandered around campus for a while and met with my German Language Club for lunch. I stopped by the APO office, left a note on the message board for Susan, signed up for a couple service events, and then went to pick up a few things for Aimee's visit. And by a few things I mean one bottle of water, a bag of chips and some chocolate chip cookies (despite the fact that Aimee didn't particularly care for cookies). I was ready for some wild times. Er, make that mild times.
When Aimee was about an hour away, I returned to the dorm and took a shower. I got shaved, dressed and put on some cologne. I made my bed and straightened up my four or five possessions. I even swept the dust bunnies off the floor and out from under my bed. As I was finishing up, Mat walked in. I checked my watch. It was almost 7 p.m. on a Friday night. Except for the weekend that Shelly had visited, I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen Mat on a Friday night. What the hell was going on?
"What's up?" I asked.
"Nuthin'," he replied.
"I mean, what's up tonight? Like, what are you doing later?"
"I don't have any plans," he said.
What? How could he not have plans? I couldn't believe it. "Seriously?" I asked.
"Seriously," he said.
This wasn't happening. It couldn't be.
"Oh come on," I said, trying to lay on some bullshit, "as popular as you are, there's gotta be something going on somewhere. A frat party or something."
"Nope," he said. "Nuthin's going on dat I know of." With that he flipped on MTV and collapsed into his giant chair.
I checked my watch again. Aimee was going to show up any minute.
"You're sure there's nothing going on?" I asked one last, desperate time.
"I'm sure," he said without looking at me.
The phone rang. It was Aimee. She was down in the lobby. I sprinted down to get her. She didn't hesitate to hug me this time. "So," she said with a sly smile, "want to take me up to your room?"
"Yeah, about that," I said, "Mat's there."
"What? Seriously?" she said.
"Seriously," I said. "And he won't leave."
"I thought you told me he was never around on the weekends."
"He usually isn't," I said. "But he claims there's nothing going on tonight."
Aimee was incredulous. "It's Friday night at one of the biggest colleges in the state."
"Yeah, I know," I said. "Trust me, he'll get bored and leave eventually." I hoped so anyway.
Holding hands, we walked back to the room. Mat was still there watching MTV. He barely acknowledged us when we walked in. We sat on my bed talking quietly for a few minutes when an idea hit me. "Hey," I said, "let me introduce you to some of my friends."
Friday night was when my roleplaying group usually met. The roleplaying sessions almost always took place in Duke's room. Duke was an R.A. in a section of the dorm called "The Basement." That meant Duke had a bigger room than most other R.A.'s. He took advantage of the extra living space by bringing in a sectional couch, which made his room pretty awesome by dorm standards. Anyway, I took Aimee down there and introduced her to my motley crew of friends. Nathan was wearing shorts and suspenders. BadDave was in his ever-present sweat pants / t-shirt combo. And Ron -- the same fat guy who had accidentally walked into my room wearing a too-small towel on my first weekend at college -- had squeezed his extra-large caboose into black spandex pants with a large lavender stripe down the side of each leg. And he was wearing a skin-tight white t-shirt.
"Welcome to the den of rogues and fools," Ron said. That's nerd talk for "Hello." Then everybody took turns introducing themselves.
I have to admit, I was a little embarrassed. The group hadn't seemed quite this dorkrageous until there was a living, breathing girl in their midst. I was afraid Aimee would judge me by the appearance of the company I kept. But she didn’t. In fact, she thought the guys were funny and kind of cool. It shouldn’t have surprised me that she’d like geeks. She was now dating me, after all.
That visit killed about an hour, after which Aimee and I journeyed back up to my room in the hope that Mat had wandered off to wherever he usually wandered. No such luck. Apparently, he was serious about spending this Friday night -- of all Friday nights -- in our room.
Grasping at straws, I called my buddy Joe, who had himself recently started dating a girl named Andrea. I quickly explained the situation. He said, "Tell you what, why don't we do a double date?"
Aimee and I met Joe and Andrea at the Ben & Jerry's that used to be at the edge of campus. Each couple told the story of how we’d met and how we’d come to be dating (although Joe already knew most of my story) over the dreaded Vermonster. Then we took a nighttime stroll across campus.
All of a sudden, it was almost midnight. Aimee started tugging on my sleeve, which is the universal signal for "Let's ditch your friends and go back to your room." So we did.
When we got there, my room was empty. Mat was gone! I very nearly let out a whoop of joy. I snuck Aimee into the bathroom across the hall so she could brush her teeth and pee. I only had to forestall one bleary-eyed guy. "Hey, could you wait for a second? My girlfriend’s in there," I said, feeling a little too proud of myself. He just grunted and waited for her to finish what she was doing.
After Aimee came out of the bathroom, she said, "Can you give me a minute to go in and change?" All I could think of was her getting naked in my room. I literally felt like I was going to explode.
"Yeah," I said, trying my damnedest to play it cool, "no problem."
While I was standing outside my room wondering what she was planning to change into (or, hopefully, just out of), I heard something. A sound coming from down the stairs and one hallway over. It was somebody whistling. It was somebody whistling Bob Marley.
"No," I muttered. "No. It can’t be..."
But then the whistling stopped and became a telltale chanting: "You got da horse race, you got da human race, but dis is da rat race…raaaaaaaat raaaaaaaace."
And then Mat's huge, shaved head popped up out of the stairwell. All I could do was stare at him as he lumbered my way. He actually made it as far as reaching for the doorknob before I could say, "Whoa, wait! Aimee's changing in there!"
"Oh, sorry," he said, and he turned around and went into the bathroom.
I knocked on the door. Aimee popped her head out. "Mat's here."
"You're kidding," she said.
"I really wish I was."
Her head disappeared back into the room and the door closed. When Mat came out of the bathroom, I knocked and asked if she was decent. She said she was, so we both walked in. Aimee was now wearing a pair of my sweatpants and one of my sweatshirts. I had a feeling that wasn't her original plan.
"So," I said, and it was really hard to disguise my irritation, "couldn't find anything to do?"
"Nope," he said. Then he picked up a phone and ordered a pizza, a sure sign he wasn't going anywhere. Aimee and I just looked at each other. We spent the next hour just snuggling on my bed and talking quietly. When the pizza came, Mat offered us some. Aimee and I shared a piece. After he finished eating the rest of the pizza, he turned off the TV and said, "You goin' to bed?" We said we were, so he turned out the lights.
My roommate -- the man who had been livin' large all semester -- was at home and in bed by 1:30 a.m. on a Friday night. That had never happened before...and it never happened again while we lived together. If I could shoot lasers with my eyes, there would still be a burning crater where Mat had been that night.
Aimee laughed softly. "I can't believe he's still here," she whispered. "It's almost like he doesn't want to leave."
"I have no idea what's going on," I whispered back. "I hope he walks in front of a bus tomorrow."
"Ssssh," she said. "Let's just make the best of it." And we did. No, we didn't have sex. But we had one of those marathon, hours-long make out sessions that college kids are famous for. At one point, I remember thinking it was kind of ironic that, for once, I was in bed fooling around while Mat slept alone five feet away. But that thought was mercifully brief. The rest of the time, my mind was elsewhere.
The next morning, Aimee woke up sick as a dog. She had a sinus infection, although we didn't know it at the time. I didn't have any medicine in my room, so I had to wander around until I found a pharmacy. (I would late discover there was a small pharmacy only five minutes away.) I bought Robotussin, cough drops, decongestant, Kleenex…basically anything that had the words "cold" or "cough" on it.
I got back about 40 minutes later (I ran back from the pharmacy). Aimee was miserable. Mat was still asleep. I doctored my new girlfriend up as best I could and then watched her sleep a little more. That was a real novelty to me.
Aimee woke up around noon, and Mat work up shortly after her. He turned on the television and resumed his silent MTV vigil. Was he ever going to leave??
Collen called around one o'clock. She was heading back to Butler soon...and Aimee had to go with her. I ushered Mat out of the room so Aimee could change. The only thing she changed was her shirt. "I'm taking your sweats," she said, smiling. "They smell like you."
"I really hope that's a good thing," I said. She probably had no idea how many times I'd passed gas in those sweats, a fact I kept secret.
I walked her to the front of the dorm, where we hugged and kissed until Collen pulled up. We said our sad goodbyes and I watched my girlfriend drive off. I felt empty.
By the time I got back to the room, Mat was gone. He didn't return until Monday. I was furious all day on Saturday, wondering why in the hell he couldn't have disappeared on Friday so that Aimee and I could have had the room to ourselves.
Then it hit me. I thought about all those times I was home studying when Mat might have wanted a little solitude, the times I studied or tried to sleep through his many romantic encounters...encounters that might have been best enjoyed without me hanging around. By staying in the room the one and only chance I had to see my brand new girlfriend, was Mat getting me back for the many inconveniences I had put him through?
That was the first time it occurred to me: if Mat was the villain in my story, maybe I was the villain in his.
Part 18
Labels: college stories, Livin' Large
Previous installments: Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15. Also check out the official Livin' Large FAQ, Cast List, Flow Chart 1.0, and Flow Chart 2.0.
"A dance?" I asked. "What kind of dance?"
"IUK is throwing a Halloween party," Cindy said. "There's going to be dancing, a bonfire, a hayride, stuff like that."
"Are people dressing up?"
"Oh geez, yeah, I can't believe I forgot to mention that part," she said. "Yeah, everybody is supposed to come in costume."
"Sounds pretty cool," I said.
"Yeah, it really does," she said. "So...will you be my date?"
She said it. She used the D-word. I could tell this was serious. Not necessarily because of her vocabulary choice, but based on the way she said it: with an equal combination of pointed emphasis and fear of rejection. I knew that two-hit combo well. This wasn't just one of those "I don't want to go by myself so I'm going to ask a friend to come along" things. This was a date date.
I didn't respond immediately, and she started to get nervous. "That's a 'no' isn't it?"
"No. I mean, no, it's not a 'no' exactly," I said. "I just...can I call you back?"
"Uh, yeah, sure, that's fine," she said, sounding confused and a little hurt.
"Great, call you right back. Bye." I hung up.
I hated to leave Cindy hanging like that, but I needed a minute to recover. Aimee had just dropped the L-bomb on me, and then Cindy immediately followed it up with a D-bomb. All things being equal, Aimee's admission by far trumped Cindy's request. But I had no idea what Aimee actually meant when she said she loved me. Was it a friendly love? A romantic love? A "I don't want to commit to you but I don't want to lose you to somebody else" love? I needed more information before I could proceed.
"I didn't expect to hear from you again tonight," Aimee said. "But I'm happy to hear your voice."
"Yeah, I know, I'm totally unpredictable," I said. I felt rushed. For some reason, I could hear a clock ticking on Cindy's date offer. Would she ask somebody else if I didn't get back to her pretty soon? Did I care? I mean, I wanted to date Aimee. Not just date, either, I wanted her to be my girlfriend. But if she wouldn't commit to me, then I had to start moving on...and a date with Cindy might be the baby steps I needed. It was time to get down to brass tacks.
"So look," I started, "I'm not trying to make a big deal out of this, but when you said you loved me earlier tonight, what did you mean exactly?"
"Love means love, Matt," she said. I thought she sounded wary.
"Right, sure, okay," I said. "But seriously, what does that mean?"
"I don't know what you're asking," she said. Okay, she definitely sounded wary.
"It's like this," I said, undaunted by her wariness, "there are two different kinds of love. One kind of love is the same as liking somebody, only you like them a lot. The other kind makes you want to kiss and hug and have sex and get married and live happily ever after. So when you say you love me, I need to know which one it is."
"Why are you making a big deal out of this?" she asked, and I could tell she didn't want to answer.
"Because I need to know. Right now."
"You know, things were just getting better between us..." she began.
"Right now, Aimee. Tell me."
"I don't know, okay!" she blurted out. "I don't know."
"Well," I said, feeling like I'd just been punched in the face, "that kind of answers my question. Doesn't it?"
"I don't know," she said again, and her voice sounded very small.
A few minutes later, I was back on the phone with Cindy. "I'd love to go to that Halloween dance with you."
The dance was the following Saturday, so I called my mom and arranged for her to bring me home for the weekend. The only problem now was what to do about a costume. I hadn't celebrated Halloween since I was 11 or 12 years old, and my last few costumes had been me dressing up as me and asking for candy. I didn't even know where to get a costume. These days, Halloween stores pop up all over the place during October and even as early as September. In fact, Chicago has a few Halloween stores that are open all year. But back in the early 90s, the options were limited to a half dozen generic selections at the local grocery store or Target. And most of those didn't stock merchandise until a week or two in advance.
It's kind of funny, considering I've spent the last few years assembling movie-accurate reproductions of Ghostbusters, Indiana Jones and Captain Jack Sparrow costumes, but I was at a complete and total loss. Fortunately, my mom had a custom-made Dracula cape left over from her younger days. It had been a little too big for her, which meant it was only slightly too small for me. I combined that with a red silk shirt and a pair of black dress pants I already had, and my mom made me a cummerbund out of some material she picked up from JoAnne Fabrics. Just like that, I had a vampire costume made easy.
In the meantime, I explained the whole situation to Mat, mostly because I was obsessed by it and needed to get things off my chest. "Dese girls don't know each other, do dey?" He asked.
"Well, yeah. We all went to high school together," I said.
"But do dey talk?"
"No."
"And will dey ever talk?"
"I don't think so," I said.
"Perfect," he said. "Always keep at least two girls on de line. That way, you always have a backup."
I was tempted to laugh, but Mat was being completely serious. Then too, he wasn't just giving out advice...he was living it.
The week dragged by as slowly as possible. Around the middle of the week, Susan and I met for lunch at her dorm. She was going on and on about her new boyfriend Rick when I dropped the fact that I was going out on a date with Cindy.
"Who's that?" she asked.
"A friend from high school," I said.
"What happened to Aimee?" she asked.
"Dead. Tragic smelting accident."
"Shut up," Susan said. She didn't sound nearly as amused by my joke as I thought she should be.
"I guess I just got tired of waiting around for her," I said. "I figured it was time to start dating other people."
"Huh," Susan said. "Well, good for you." She didn't sound nearly as happy for me as thought she should be.
On Thursday night, Aimee made one of her rare phone calls. "What are you doing this weekend?" she asked.
To that point, I had been pretty open with Aimee about what I did and didn't do with other girls, but I figured she'd freak if I told her I was going on a date with Cindy. So just I told her I was going home for the weekend.
"Great," she said. "I'm going home too!"
"Oh, uh, really?" I said.
"Yeah," she said. "I was hoping you'd say you were going home. I just had a feeling."
"Right. Well, just so you know, I'm hanging out with Greg and Gauvin on Saturday night."
"Oh," she said. "Well, we can hang out Friday night though, right?"
"Yeah, absolutely."
I hung up and struggled with this strange new reality: in a matter of days, I had effectively gone from no girls to one too many.
On Friday night, I drove my old '78 Plymouth Fury over to Aimee's house. That car was so incredibly loud -- the entire exhaust system had fallen out durinng my senior year in high school -- that I used to put it in neutral, kill the engine and let it coast the last block or so to her house, just so her parents wouldn't think my piece of shit car was a piece of shit car. When I left, I would put it in neutral and push it a block or two before starting it back up. Believe me, that wasn't easy. But I loved that car.
Anyway, Aimee and I went for a walk in nearby Highland Park, then spent the rest of the evening sitting on her front porch and talking about this and that. Neither of us brought up the subjects of love or dating, although it was on both of our minds.
On Saturday night, I got dressed up in my vampire costume and then asked my mom how it looked.
"It needs makeup," she said.
"Makeup?"
"Yeah, white face makeup," she said.
"I don't want to wear makeup."
"You have to, or you won't look very vampire-like," she said. "Don't worry, I'll help you."
"Mom, I really don't want to wear makeup."
"I'm not giving you a choice," she said.
So my mom painted my face bone white. "Now," she said, "a little red lipstick."
"What?! Why?"
"It'll make it look like you just bit somebody," she answered.
"Or it'll make me look like a cross dresser."
She signed. "You won't look like a cross dresser. Trust me."
I trusted her...and ended up looking like a cross dresser in a vampire costume. To her credit, though, she did make some fake blood out of corn syrup and red food coloring. She used it to make a fake blood trail from the side of my mouth down my chin. That helped, although I still wasn't thrilled with my new look.
Cindy, however, loved it. "You look awesome!" she said. I figured either she was lying or somebody had just jammed their thumbs in her eyes, resulting in temporary blindness or at the very least blurred vision.
Sadly, this was before Halloween costumers had perfected the Slutty [Whatever] costume. You know: Slutty Nurse, Slutty Librarian, Slutty Cat Girl, Slutty Information Development Specialist. So Cindy was dressed as a mime, which I have to admit was pretty terrifying. Her costume consisted of black pants, a black, long-sleeved t-shirt, white clown gloves, and face makeup. Ah, the glory of the homemade costume. Did I mention I find mimes terrifying?
The dance turned out to be almost entirely dance-free. As in, nobody wanted to actually get down and boogey. Instead, we contented ourselves with wolfing down candy and snacks (well, I did anyway) and mingling with the other partygoers around the bonfire. Cindy introduced me to several of her classmates, and the introductions were telling. She wasn't introducing me as some random friend. She was introducing me in that super-excited we-might-be-dating-soon voice that people get when they're on the verge of a new relationship. I found I was kind of okay with that.
Since this was Indiana, the night ended with a hayride. In case you grew up within 100 miles of civilization and therefore have never been on or heard of a hayride, it's when several people clamber up into a wagon full of hay and just ride around in it. I know. Quaint, right?
During the ride, Cindy leaned against me and put her head on my shoulder in what I would eventually learn is the universal sign of the smitten girl. Again, I was okay with that.
I drove Cindy home with the intention of just dropping her off. After all, it was late (a little after 1 a.m.) and I didn't want to disturb her parents. However, she insisted I come inside for a few minutes. It turned out her parents were still up, because her mother greeted us at the door. I will always remember that her mom had this knowing look on her face, because, of course, she knew something I didn't: that I was about to get The Pitch.
We sat down on the couch in Cindy's living room. She took my hand but looked down at the ground. "Matt," she began, "I know you've got a lot going on. I know there may be other people you want to date. I know we have a history where I didn't always appreciate you the way that I should have. But I have very deep feelings for you. I can't deny them anymore and I don't want to. I want to be with you, Matt. I want us to be together." She then looked at me with her dark brown eyes. They were glistening.
Despite the drama of the moment, I almost laughed because of the bizarre tableau stretching out before me. A white-faced mime was making romantic overtures to a white-faced vampire on the couch at her parent's house. And the mime looked so very solemn. If I could go back in time, I'd totally ask why so serious?
"Cindy, that's very flattering," I said, trying to be delicate. "But I'm going to have to think about this."
"I understand," she said. "And I'll wait as long as it takes."
She then moved in to kiss me, but I pulled away. Not because I didn't want to kiss her at that moment, but because I was afraid doing so would seal the deal so to speak. I felt like kissing her would more or less mean to her that we were dating seriously. That's just how she was (or so I thought). I wasn't quite ready to go there just yet. Instead we just hugged, said our goodnights, and I went home in a daze.
Aimee called the next morning and asked if I'd come by her place before I returned to school. I agreed, mostly because I thought (or hoped) that she'd say or do something to help resolve this mess. Of course, that didn't happen. All that happened is that we ate breakfast while chatting about meaningless whatevers as I became increasingly tense.
When it came time for me to leave, Aimee walked me to my car. I tried to give her a hug but she pulled back. "You're not going to hug me? Seriously?!" I was really offended.
"I don't feel comfortable doing that," she said.
"Jesus Christ! You've got to be kidding me. That's it. I'm done. I'm done waiting for you to make up your mind. I love you, but this has gotten too ridiculous to put up with. Have a nice trip back to school." I was so angry I not only started my too-loud car in front of her house, I gunned the engine as I drove away.
My mom took me back to school. When I returned to the room, Mat wasn't there. Thankfully, none of my things had been disturbed. I tried to study, but I couldn't. I thought about calling somebody, but I didn't want to talk to anyone. Instead, I went down to the dorm grill, bought a couple hamburgers and spent the evening watching old Celtics games. Mat got home around 2 a.m. He wasn't alone. I wrapped my pillow around my head and did my best to sleep through it.
I walked through the next day in a fog. That evening, I was studying (as usual) while Mat was spending one of his rare evenings chilling in the room by himself. The phone rang, and it was Cindy. She just wanted to check in and see how I was doing...and ask whether I'd thought any more about what we'd talked about. I told her I had but still hadn't made a decision.
It occurred to me after I'd hung up that I needed to tell Cindy yes or no very soon. Otherwise, I would be stringing her around the same way Aimee had been stringing me around. I didn't want to do that to anybody else. It hurt too much. I resolved to sleep on it and make my final decision the next day. At that moment, I was starting to seriously consider doing it. However, I never got the chance to sleep on my decision, because a little while later the phone rang. It was Aimee.
"I want us to be together," she said.
Part 17
"A dance?" I asked. "What kind of dance?"
"IUK is throwing a Halloween party," Cindy said. "There's going to be dancing, a bonfire, a hayride, stuff like that."
"Are people dressing up?"
"Oh geez, yeah, I can't believe I forgot to mention that part," she said. "Yeah, everybody is supposed to come in costume."
"Sounds pretty cool," I said.
"Yeah, it really does," she said. "So...will you be my date?"
She said it. She used the D-word. I could tell this was serious. Not necessarily because of her vocabulary choice, but based on the way she said it: with an equal combination of pointed emphasis and fear of rejection. I knew that two-hit combo well. This wasn't just one of those "I don't want to go by myself so I'm going to ask a friend to come along" things. This was a date date.
I didn't respond immediately, and she started to get nervous. "That's a 'no' isn't it?"
"No. I mean, no, it's not a 'no' exactly," I said. "I just...can I call you back?"
"Uh, yeah, sure, that's fine," she said, sounding confused and a little hurt.
"Great, call you right back. Bye." I hung up.
I hated to leave Cindy hanging like that, but I needed a minute to recover. Aimee had just dropped the L-bomb on me, and then Cindy immediately followed it up with a D-bomb. All things being equal, Aimee's admission by far trumped Cindy's request. But I had no idea what Aimee actually meant when she said she loved me. Was it a friendly love? A romantic love? A "I don't want to commit to you but I don't want to lose you to somebody else" love? I needed more information before I could proceed.
"I didn't expect to hear from you again tonight," Aimee said. "But I'm happy to hear your voice."
"Yeah, I know, I'm totally unpredictable," I said. I felt rushed. For some reason, I could hear a clock ticking on Cindy's date offer. Would she ask somebody else if I didn't get back to her pretty soon? Did I care? I mean, I wanted to date Aimee. Not just date, either, I wanted her to be my girlfriend. But if she wouldn't commit to me, then I had to start moving on...and a date with Cindy might be the baby steps I needed. It was time to get down to brass tacks.
"So look," I started, "I'm not trying to make a big deal out of this, but when you said you loved me earlier tonight, what did you mean exactly?"
"Love means love, Matt," she said. I thought she sounded wary.
"Right, sure, okay," I said. "But seriously, what does that mean?"
"I don't know what you're asking," she said. Okay, she definitely sounded wary.
"It's like this," I said, undaunted by her wariness, "there are two different kinds of love. One kind of love is the same as liking somebody, only you like them a lot. The other kind makes you want to kiss and hug and have sex and get married and live happily ever after. So when you say you love me, I need to know which one it is."
"Why are you making a big deal out of this?" she asked, and I could tell she didn't want to answer.
"Because I need to know. Right now."
"You know, things were just getting better between us..." she began.
"Right now, Aimee. Tell me."
"I don't know, okay!" she blurted out. "I don't know."
"Well," I said, feeling like I'd just been punched in the face, "that kind of answers my question. Doesn't it?"
"I don't know," she said again, and her voice sounded very small.
A few minutes later, I was back on the phone with Cindy. "I'd love to go to that Halloween dance with you."
The dance was the following Saturday, so I called my mom and arranged for her to bring me home for the weekend. The only problem now was what to do about a costume. I hadn't celebrated Halloween since I was 11 or 12 years old, and my last few costumes had been me dressing up as me and asking for candy. I didn't even know where to get a costume. These days, Halloween stores pop up all over the place during October and even as early as September. In fact, Chicago has a few Halloween stores that are open all year. But back in the early 90s, the options were limited to a half dozen generic selections at the local grocery store or Target. And most of those didn't stock merchandise until a week or two in advance.
It's kind of funny, considering I've spent the last few years assembling movie-accurate reproductions of Ghostbusters, Indiana Jones and Captain Jack Sparrow costumes, but I was at a complete and total loss. Fortunately, my mom had a custom-made Dracula cape left over from her younger days. It had been a little too big for her, which meant it was only slightly too small for me. I combined that with a red silk shirt and a pair of black dress pants I already had, and my mom made me a cummerbund out of some material she picked up from JoAnne Fabrics. Just like that, I had a vampire costume made easy.
In the meantime, I explained the whole situation to Mat, mostly because I was obsessed by it and needed to get things off my chest. "Dese girls don't know each other, do dey?" He asked.
"Well, yeah. We all went to high school together," I said.
"But do dey talk?"
"No."
"And will dey ever talk?"
"I don't think so," I said.
"Perfect," he said. "Always keep at least two girls on de line. That way, you always have a backup."
I was tempted to laugh, but Mat was being completely serious. Then too, he wasn't just giving out advice...he was living it.
The week dragged by as slowly as possible. Around the middle of the week, Susan and I met for lunch at her dorm. She was going on and on about her new boyfriend Rick when I dropped the fact that I was going out on a date with Cindy.
"Who's that?" she asked.
"A friend from high school," I said.
"What happened to Aimee?" she asked.
"Dead. Tragic smelting accident."
"Shut up," Susan said. She didn't sound nearly as amused by my joke as I thought she should be.
"I guess I just got tired of waiting around for her," I said. "I figured it was time to start dating other people."
"Huh," Susan said. "Well, good for you." She didn't sound nearly as happy for me as thought she should be.
On Thursday night, Aimee made one of her rare phone calls. "What are you doing this weekend?" she asked.
To that point, I had been pretty open with Aimee about what I did and didn't do with other girls, but I figured she'd freak if I told her I was going on a date with Cindy. So just I told her I was going home for the weekend.
"Great," she said. "I'm going home too!"
"Oh, uh, really?" I said.
"Yeah," she said. "I was hoping you'd say you were going home. I just had a feeling."
"Right. Well, just so you know, I'm hanging out with Greg and Gauvin on Saturday night."
"Oh," she said. "Well, we can hang out Friday night though, right?"
"Yeah, absolutely."
I hung up and struggled with this strange new reality: in a matter of days, I had effectively gone from no girls to one too many.
On Friday night, I drove my old '78 Plymouth Fury over to Aimee's house. That car was so incredibly loud -- the entire exhaust system had fallen out durinng my senior year in high school -- that I used to put it in neutral, kill the engine and let it coast the last block or so to her house, just so her parents wouldn't think my piece of shit car was a piece of shit car. When I left, I would put it in neutral and push it a block or two before starting it back up. Believe me, that wasn't easy. But I loved that car.
Anyway, Aimee and I went for a walk in nearby Highland Park, then spent the rest of the evening sitting on her front porch and talking about this and that. Neither of us brought up the subjects of love or dating, although it was on both of our minds.
On Saturday night, I got dressed up in my vampire costume and then asked my mom how it looked.
"It needs makeup," she said.
"Makeup?"
"Yeah, white face makeup," she said.
"I don't want to wear makeup."
"You have to, or you won't look very vampire-like," she said. "Don't worry, I'll help you."
"Mom, I really don't want to wear makeup."
"I'm not giving you a choice," she said.
So my mom painted my face bone white. "Now," she said, "a little red lipstick."
"What?! Why?"
"It'll make it look like you just bit somebody," she answered.
"Or it'll make me look like a cross dresser."
She signed. "You won't look like a cross dresser. Trust me."
I trusted her...and ended up looking like a cross dresser in a vampire costume. To her credit, though, she did make some fake blood out of corn syrup and red food coloring. She used it to make a fake blood trail from the side of my mouth down my chin. That helped, although I still wasn't thrilled with my new look.
Cindy, however, loved it. "You look awesome!" she said. I figured either she was lying or somebody had just jammed their thumbs in her eyes, resulting in temporary blindness or at the very least blurred vision.
Sadly, this was before Halloween costumers had perfected the Slutty [Whatever] costume. You know: Slutty Nurse, Slutty Librarian, Slutty Cat Girl, Slutty Information Development Specialist. So Cindy was dressed as a mime, which I have to admit was pretty terrifying. Her costume consisted of black pants, a black, long-sleeved t-shirt, white clown gloves, and face makeup. Ah, the glory of the homemade costume. Did I mention I find mimes terrifying?
The dance turned out to be almost entirely dance-free. As in, nobody wanted to actually get down and boogey. Instead, we contented ourselves with wolfing down candy and snacks (well, I did anyway) and mingling with the other partygoers around the bonfire. Cindy introduced me to several of her classmates, and the introductions were telling. She wasn't introducing me as some random friend. She was introducing me in that super-excited we-might-be-dating-soon voice that people get when they're on the verge of a new relationship. I found I was kind of okay with that.
Since this was Indiana, the night ended with a hayride. In case you grew up within 100 miles of civilization and therefore have never been on or heard of a hayride, it's when several people clamber up into a wagon full of hay and just ride around in it. I know. Quaint, right?
During the ride, Cindy leaned against me and put her head on my shoulder in what I would eventually learn is the universal sign of the smitten girl. Again, I was okay with that.
I drove Cindy home with the intention of just dropping her off. After all, it was late (a little after 1 a.m.) and I didn't want to disturb her parents. However, she insisted I come inside for a few minutes. It turned out her parents were still up, because her mother greeted us at the door. I will always remember that her mom had this knowing look on her face, because, of course, she knew something I didn't: that I was about to get The Pitch.
We sat down on the couch in Cindy's living room. She took my hand but looked down at the ground. "Matt," she began, "I know you've got a lot going on. I know there may be other people you want to date. I know we have a history where I didn't always appreciate you the way that I should have. But I have very deep feelings for you. I can't deny them anymore and I don't want to. I want to be with you, Matt. I want us to be together." She then looked at me with her dark brown eyes. They were glistening.
Despite the drama of the moment, I almost laughed because of the bizarre tableau stretching out before me. A white-faced mime was making romantic overtures to a white-faced vampire on the couch at her parent's house. And the mime looked so very solemn. If I could go back in time, I'd totally ask why so serious?
"Cindy, that's very flattering," I said, trying to be delicate. "But I'm going to have to think about this."
"I understand," she said. "And I'll wait as long as it takes."
She then moved in to kiss me, but I pulled away. Not because I didn't want to kiss her at that moment, but because I was afraid doing so would seal the deal so to speak. I felt like kissing her would more or less mean to her that we were dating seriously. That's just how she was (or so I thought). I wasn't quite ready to go there just yet. Instead we just hugged, said our goodnights, and I went home in a daze.
Aimee called the next morning and asked if I'd come by her place before I returned to school. I agreed, mostly because I thought (or hoped) that she'd say or do something to help resolve this mess. Of course, that didn't happen. All that happened is that we ate breakfast while chatting about meaningless whatevers as I became increasingly tense.
When it came time for me to leave, Aimee walked me to my car. I tried to give her a hug but she pulled back. "You're not going to hug me? Seriously?!" I was really offended.
"I don't feel comfortable doing that," she said.
"Jesus Christ! You've got to be kidding me. That's it. I'm done. I'm done waiting for you to make up your mind. I love you, but this has gotten too ridiculous to put up with. Have a nice trip back to school." I was so angry I not only started my too-loud car in front of her house, I gunned the engine as I drove away.
My mom took me back to school. When I returned to the room, Mat wasn't there. Thankfully, none of my things had been disturbed. I tried to study, but I couldn't. I thought about calling somebody, but I didn't want to talk to anyone. Instead, I went down to the dorm grill, bought a couple hamburgers and spent the evening watching old Celtics games. Mat got home around 2 a.m. He wasn't alone. I wrapped my pillow around my head and did my best to sleep through it.
I walked through the next day in a fog. That evening, I was studying (as usual) while Mat was spending one of his rare evenings chilling in the room by himself. The phone rang, and it was Cindy. She just wanted to check in and see how I was doing...and ask whether I'd thought any more about what we'd talked about. I told her I had but still hadn't made a decision.
It occurred to me after I'd hung up that I needed to tell Cindy yes or no very soon. Otherwise, I would be stringing her around the same way Aimee had been stringing me around. I didn't want to do that to anybody else. It hurt too much. I resolved to sleep on it and make my final decision the next day. At that moment, I was starting to seriously consider doing it. However, I never got the chance to sleep on my decision, because a little while later the phone rang. It was Aimee.
"I want us to be together," she said.
Part 17
Labels: college stories, Livin' Large
points negotiator (pointz ni-goh'-shee-eyt'-uhr) noun. The player or players in a pickup basketball game who are trusted and allowed to pass judgment on any scoring discrepancies.
Usage example: Many times, older players are given the role of points negotiator.
Word usage: It never ceases to amaze me how difficult it is for people to keep track of the score during a pickup game. As far as I've been able to determine, the whole 1-pointer/2-pointer scoring system was invented for the sole purpose of making it easier to score the games. Despite the use of the most basic math possible, scoring discrepancies occur with ridiculous frequency...and few things cause more heated conflict on the pickup court.
When a scoring discrepancy happens, both sides feel they're getting screwed. Nobody ever just laughs it off as a simple mistake that can be easily remedied. The interpretation is that points are being stolen, and with the way people behave during the ensuring debate, you'd think the fate of humankind was riding on the outcome. And I'm not even talking about the outcome of the game. I mean who gets to win the argument about what the "correct" score is.
Many times, these disputes are settled by which team screams the loudest or acts the most ready to solve things through a fistfight. Other times, both teams choose to abide by the ruling of a points negotiator. The points negotiator typically is someone who is known, liked and respected by most of the players. As such, points negotiation usually happens in weekly pickup leagues. It can also happen in generic pickup games with savvy players who give off an aura of authority.
Points negotiators are usually older players, the general assumption being that they are wiser and more mature, and therefore better able to think and react logically. This isn't true whatsoever, but cultural ideology often takes over when conflict resolution is necessary.
Aside from the age factor (which isn't a constant), a points negotiator must have a reputation for making fair calls most of the time. Furthermore, they should have a history free of being on the wrong side of point shaving incidents. Once a player has bungled the score a few times, they lose all point tracking credibility until player turnover reaches 80 to 90 percent.
Moreover, points negotiators must have the ability to remain calm in the face of conflict. If they start cussing and yelling, the other players will lose faith in their ability to remain logical and emotionally detached from the eventual outcome. A single sneer or chuckle of disgust can appear sinister, which will lead some players to conclude that the points negotiator has some specific vested interest in the final decision. And even though that is often the case, people are often comforted by the delusion of impartiality.
Now this final point is very important. A points negotiator will many times be forced to make a ruling he either isn't sure about or knows is incorrect. Dubious decisions are made because a points negotiator is, after all, human and might not have been closely tracking the score. Incorrect rulings are made because sometimes the only way to keep the peace is to let a given team have their way, either because they've been losing all night or because most of the calls have been going against them. Sometimes making everybody happy is more important than the final score.
Unless you're on the team that got hosed.
Labels: pickup basketball, Word of the Day
Everybody and his or her little brother has covered Stephon Marbury's rambling Web stream, so I won't bother to provide additional commentary on his continuing decent into babbling madness. What I will provide, however, is a few of my favorite quotes from World Wide Steph. I invite you to submit your own favorite quotable(s) from his recent Internet rant. I'll collect the best submissions and append them to this post in a special fan section."No, I'm not the best player in the NBA. Kobe Bryant is the best player. I don't care about the NBA Those days are over with."
"I'm going to set up a foundation for the world. I'm going to take the money and start building cities all over the world. I'm a comet. My man told me I'm a comet. I said, 'I’m a comet?'"
"My kids are like: Daddy, why are you on the bench? Why ain't daddy in the game?"
"I had to overconversate."
"Where would I want my jersey retired? Boston."
"Chris Paul, he got power and he slither, he slither...he move real silky like a snake."
"I'll be a bum for seven dollars and a blowjob? Hahahahaaha. They tryin to put me in a box! Its impossible!"
"Jeanie Buss, I love her with all my heart. I’d take my heart out and give it to her. That’s how ill she is. I love that lady."
"I love Canada. Ohhhh Can-a-da.... I love that song. I love your anthem. I love hearing it. Its fresh."
"You've gotta thank 'em for a bowel movement. You've gotta thank 'em for a bowel movement."
"Am I jealous of Tracy McGrady and Jason Kidd? Jealous of what?"
"Marbury you suck and won't win a championship? Ok, you still talking about basketball and I'm talking about LIFE."
Labels: I actually love Little Caesars, mmmmm Crazy Bread, quotables, Stephon Marbury
Previous installments: Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14. Also check out the official Livin' Large FAQ, Cast List, Flow Chart 1.0, and Flow Chart 2.0.
For the next few days, I was still stunned by from Mat's near fail-out-of-school experience. The whole situation was bizarre to me: the dude hadn't been going to class, turning in homework or taking tests. And yet, against all reason, he'd been allowed back into all his courses with a "C" so long as he attended "most" of the rest of his classes and did his homework. It was cheating. It was wrong.
It's also the way the world works, which is a lesson I had to learn sooner or later. We live in a society where, for example, a professional athlete can receive a mere slap on the wrist for running down a meter maid in a car with marijuana in it. Simply put, there are different sets of rules for different kinds of people. And right then, Mat was the kind of person for whom the rules were extra bendy.
Meanwhile, I watched one of my fellow non-athletes get kicked out of freshman calculus for missing three classes despite the fact that he was pulling a solid "B" at the time.
Now, it was true that I hated the Heineken light, the constant sexcapades, the fact that Mat stayed up all night while I was trying to sleep, etc. However, I was beginning to realize that the primary reason I didn't like my roommate was because his very existence violated my sense of right and wrong. Mat wasn't evil. He wasn't drowning kittens or drop-kicking babies. (Not as far as I knew anyway.) But he was perfectly content to lie, cheat and/or steal to get what he wanted regardless of who got hurt...which was exactly the opposite of how I was trying to live my own life. In the words of Dr. Perry Cox, Mat was a bastard-coated bastard with bastard filling. This point was driven home shortly after the near fail-out.
I had been wondering how Mat was able to call Shelly long distance so often. I was working about 20 hours a week for the dorm's food service and I could barely cover my long distance calls to Aimee (along with a few other petty expenses). Mat wasn't working at all. Sure, he'd gotten a handful of cash gifts from "concerned" alumni, but he was always buying things. How could he afford it all?
Petty larceny, that's how.
At the time, the dorms at my college assigned each student a long distance security code through AT&T. This code could be used on any phone at any dorm. Whenever you dialed a long distance number, the phone system prompted you to enter your 10-digit security code. At the end of each month, you received the bill based on the calls made using that code. If you didn't pay, the service was cut off.
Well, unbeknownst to me, Mat had maxed out his own long distance service the first month of school and simply hadn't paid the bill. Suddenly, he couldn't call his girlfriend in California (or his girlfriend in Conneticut, or his friends and family in Holland, etc.). So what's a ballah to do?
Here's what: he stole somebody else's security code. Not mine. I would have figured that out almost immediately. So if it wasn't me, then who? Well, remember when I bailed on Mat on Labor Day weekend and he had some guy from down the hall "fill in" for me? Sometime after that incident, Mat was hanging out with him in his room and, you know, snuck off with the guy's security code card.
Apparently, this guy didn't make many long distance calls, so it took him a while to realize there was a problem. When he finally opened his bill, it was several hundred dollars. Naturally, he freaked. The guy called AT&T and reported that his security code had been stolen. This initated an investigation into the calls that had been made...a few of which (short ones) had been to Holland. To his credit, the guy was able to put two and two together, so he called off the AT&T hounds and confronted Mat directly.
At first, Mat flatly denied doing anything. But when the guy threatened to report the theft of his security code to the campus police, Mat quickly agreed to pay the bill. (Of course, he had to use the poor guy's code one last time so he could call his parents and ask for the money.) Mat seemed a little shaken up by the incident, possibly because it happened right after he'd almost failed out of all his classes (which would have resulted in the loss of his scholarship).
Once he'd recovered a little, Mat said (mostly to himself I think), "I gotta get my shit in order." At first, I took that to mean he was going to start, I don't know, working hard and acting more responsibly. (Getting a job was supposedly out of the question; he claimed that his scholarship restrictions prevented him from seeking employment.) I really should have known better by that point.
Here's what Mat did about his money situation. First, he told Shelly she was gong to have to make all the phone calls from now on. He did the same thing for anyone else who called him long distance. Mat also asked his parents for a little cash influx, and he got Jennifer to make some of his semi-regular purchases.
With the money problem solved, Mat turned his attention to his studies. There was no way to get out of attending his classes, but he apparently had no intention of doing his homework. Like, none at all. So Mat found a handful of little workarounds. For instance, he traced a picture out of a comic book to complete an art class assignment. He copied -- word-for-word -- the lyrics for a song out of a Dutch rock album to complete a poetry assignment for his English class. He found a few girls willing to complete his math homework and various other assignments. These girls even did their best to mimic his clumsy scrawl.
As he cobbled together his little system, I was equal parts disgusted and amused. Disgusted at the academic dishonesty and amused by the fact that he was expending almost as much energy cheating as it would take to just get everything done himself.
While all this was going on, I received a jarring bit of news: Susan had started dating somebody. Like, seriously dating. His name was Rick, and I hated him sight unseen. I had no right to feel this way, of course. It's not like I'd done, well, anything at all. Susan wasn't someone who was going to remain single for very long, so I'm not sure what I expected. Still, her sudden attached status combined with the chilly relations with Aimee did a number on me. I was totally bummed.
That night, I asked Nathan if I could use his computer. I logged on and started chatting with Latrisse. Aimee didn't come up. The chat lasted so long that Nathan and his roommate Ron went to bed about halfway through. (Nathan told me I could continue using the computer as long as I wanted.) The chat became very flirtatious, particularly after Latrisse showed me how to chat in a private room. Flirting led to a little game of roleplaying. I don't remember all the details, but I do remember that her "character" was dressed as Shanna the She-Devil. That and the roleplaying became a wee bit naughty.
Eventually, the computer lab Latrisse was using kicked her out, so I started browsing the alt.sex newsgroups, which I had only recently discovered. I was about two pages into a particularly steamy story when Nathan's voice drifted down from the darkness of his loft.
"Matt," he said, "I know what you're doing. I understand why you're doing it, and I admit I've done the same thing. However, those newsgroups are bad for your mind and soul. I would strongly advise you to stop reading them."
I turned off his computer and slunk out of the room without a word. I didn't ask to use his computer again for a few weeks.
The next evening, I was in the room working on a paper about medieval witchcraft when I got two phone calls.
The first call was from Aimee. "Latrisse was telling me you guys chatted for a couple hours last night."
"Oh...really?" I said. All Latrisse and I had done was some naughty flirting (and it was actually pretty innocent by today's standards), it wasn't out-and-out chat sex or anything, but I still felt guilty.
"Yeah," she said, and it became clear she wasn't upset or angry. If anything, she sounded sad. "It made me realize that...I miss you. I miss you a lot."
"Uh, that's...cool," I said.
"Cool, right. Anyway, can we please start talking again?"
Please? She was asking me to please start talking to her again?
"Yeah, I think we can do that," I said.
"Yay!" she said in a girly squeal.
So we caught up on recent events -- she was thrilled to hear Susan was dating someone -- and then, shortly before we hung up, she said, "Matt, I do love you, you know."
I was floored. "I...I love you too."
"I probably won't say it all the time or anything, but I wanted you to know," she said. "Anyway, I need to study. Talk tomorrow?"
"Yeah, yeah for sure," I said, and we hung up.
I was still recovering from that call, just sitting at the desk and staring into space, when the phone rang again. It was Cindy.
"So," she said, sounding as if she was working up some major courage, "would you be interested in going to a dance with me?"
Part 16
For the next few days, I was still stunned by from Mat's near fail-out-of-school experience. The whole situation was bizarre to me: the dude hadn't been going to class, turning in homework or taking tests. And yet, against all reason, he'd been allowed back into all his courses with a "C" so long as he attended "most" of the rest of his classes and did his homework. It was cheating. It was wrong.
It's also the way the world works, which is a lesson I had to learn sooner or later. We live in a society where, for example, a professional athlete can receive a mere slap on the wrist for running down a meter maid in a car with marijuana in it. Simply put, there are different sets of rules for different kinds of people. And right then, Mat was the kind of person for whom the rules were extra bendy.
Meanwhile, I watched one of my fellow non-athletes get kicked out of freshman calculus for missing three classes despite the fact that he was pulling a solid "B" at the time.
Now, it was true that I hated the Heineken light, the constant sexcapades, the fact that Mat stayed up all night while I was trying to sleep, etc. However, I was beginning to realize that the primary reason I didn't like my roommate was because his very existence violated my sense of right and wrong. Mat wasn't evil. He wasn't drowning kittens or drop-kicking babies. (Not as far as I knew anyway.) But he was perfectly content to lie, cheat and/or steal to get what he wanted regardless of who got hurt...which was exactly the opposite of how I was trying to live my own life. In the words of Dr. Perry Cox, Mat was a bastard-coated bastard with bastard filling. This point was driven home shortly after the near fail-out.
I had been wondering how Mat was able to call Shelly long distance so often. I was working about 20 hours a week for the dorm's food service and I could barely cover my long distance calls to Aimee (along with a few other petty expenses). Mat wasn't working at all. Sure, he'd gotten a handful of cash gifts from "concerned" alumni, but he was always buying things. How could he afford it all?
Petty larceny, that's how.
At the time, the dorms at my college assigned each student a long distance security code through AT&T. This code could be used on any phone at any dorm. Whenever you dialed a long distance number, the phone system prompted you to enter your 10-digit security code. At the end of each month, you received the bill based on the calls made using that code. If you didn't pay, the service was cut off.
Well, unbeknownst to me, Mat had maxed out his own long distance service the first month of school and simply hadn't paid the bill. Suddenly, he couldn't call his girlfriend in California (or his girlfriend in Conneticut, or his friends and family in Holland, etc.). So what's a ballah to do?
Here's what: he stole somebody else's security code. Not mine. I would have figured that out almost immediately. So if it wasn't me, then who? Well, remember when I bailed on Mat on Labor Day weekend and he had some guy from down the hall "fill in" for me? Sometime after that incident, Mat was hanging out with him in his room and, you know, snuck off with the guy's security code card.
Apparently, this guy didn't make many long distance calls, so it took him a while to realize there was a problem. When he finally opened his bill, it was several hundred dollars. Naturally, he freaked. The guy called AT&T and reported that his security code had been stolen. This initated an investigation into the calls that had been made...a few of which (short ones) had been to Holland. To his credit, the guy was able to put two and two together, so he called off the AT&T hounds and confronted Mat directly.
At first, Mat flatly denied doing anything. But when the guy threatened to report the theft of his security code to the campus police, Mat quickly agreed to pay the bill. (Of course, he had to use the poor guy's code one last time so he could call his parents and ask for the money.) Mat seemed a little shaken up by the incident, possibly because it happened right after he'd almost failed out of all his classes (which would have resulted in the loss of his scholarship).
Once he'd recovered a little, Mat said (mostly to himself I think), "I gotta get my shit in order." At first, I took that to mean he was going to start, I don't know, working hard and acting more responsibly. (Getting a job was supposedly out of the question; he claimed that his scholarship restrictions prevented him from seeking employment.) I really should have known better by that point.
Here's what Mat did about his money situation. First, he told Shelly she was gong to have to make all the phone calls from now on. He did the same thing for anyone else who called him long distance. Mat also asked his parents for a little cash influx, and he got Jennifer to make some of his semi-regular purchases.
With the money problem solved, Mat turned his attention to his studies. There was no way to get out of attending his classes, but he apparently had no intention of doing his homework. Like, none at all. So Mat found a handful of little workarounds. For instance, he traced a picture out of a comic book to complete an art class assignment. He copied -- word-for-word -- the lyrics for a song out of a Dutch rock album to complete a poetry assignment for his English class. He found a few girls willing to complete his math homework and various other assignments. These girls even did their best to mimic his clumsy scrawl.
As he cobbled together his little system, I was equal parts disgusted and amused. Disgusted at the academic dishonesty and amused by the fact that he was expending almost as much energy cheating as it would take to just get everything done himself.
While all this was going on, I received a jarring bit of news: Susan had started dating somebody. Like, seriously dating. His name was Rick, and I hated him sight unseen. I had no right to feel this way, of course. It's not like I'd done, well, anything at all. Susan wasn't someone who was going to remain single for very long, so I'm not sure what I expected. Still, her sudden attached status combined with the chilly relations with Aimee did a number on me. I was totally bummed.
That night, I asked Nathan if I could use his computer. I logged on and started chatting with Latrisse. Aimee didn't come up. The chat lasted so long that Nathan and his roommate Ron went to bed about halfway through. (Nathan told me I could continue using the computer as long as I wanted.) The chat became very flirtatious, particularly after Latrisse showed me how to chat in a private room. Flirting led to a little game of roleplaying. I don't remember all the details, but I do remember that her "character" was dressed as Shanna the She-Devil. That and the roleplaying became a wee bit naughty.
Eventually, the computer lab Latrisse was using kicked her out, so I started browsing the alt.sex newsgroups, which I had only recently discovered. I was about two pages into a particularly steamy story when Nathan's voice drifted down from the darkness of his loft.
"Matt," he said, "I know what you're doing. I understand why you're doing it, and I admit I've done the same thing. However, those newsgroups are bad for your mind and soul. I would strongly advise you to stop reading them."
I turned off his computer and slunk out of the room without a word. I didn't ask to use his computer again for a few weeks.
The next evening, I was in the room working on a paper about medieval witchcraft when I got two phone calls.
The first call was from Aimee. "Latrisse was telling me you guys chatted for a couple hours last night."
"Oh...really?" I said. All Latrisse and I had done was some naughty flirting (and it was actually pretty innocent by today's standards), it wasn't out-and-out chat sex or anything, but I still felt guilty.
"Yeah," she said, and it became clear she wasn't upset or angry. If anything, she sounded sad. "It made me realize that...I miss you. I miss you a lot."
"Uh, that's...cool," I said.
"Cool, right. Anyway, can we please start talking again?"
Please? She was asking me to please start talking to her again?
"Yeah, I think we can do that," I said.
"Yay!" she said in a girly squeal.
So we caught up on recent events -- she was thrilled to hear Susan was dating someone -- and then, shortly before we hung up, she said, "Matt, I do love you, you know."
I was floored. "I...I love you too."
"I probably won't say it all the time or anything, but I wanted you to know," she said. "Anyway, I need to study. Talk tomorrow?"
"Yeah, yeah for sure," I said, and we hung up.
I was still recovering from that call, just sitting at the desk and staring into space, when the phone rang again. It was Cindy.
"So," she said, sounding as if she was working up some major courage, "would you be interested in going to a dance with me?"
Part 16
Labels: college stories, Livin' Large
Previous installments: Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13. Also check out the official Livin' Large FAQ, Cast List, Flow Chart 1.0, and Flow Chart 2.0.
"These breadsticks are the best," Susan said. As if to drive home that point, she tore off another piece of one, stirred it around in some cheese sauce, and popped it in her mouth. It probably says something about me at the time that I found watching her eat breadsticks mildly erotic. Of course, I was 18 years old. The way my hormones were raging back then, I would have found watching Susan floss or perform simple math to be a turn on.
She was right though: those breadsticks were the best. Back when I was at college, there was a humble little pizza place called the Stripe Shop located in the basement of the Memorial Union. It was classic, and a favorite of the students who camped out in the Union all day to study. It has since been replaced by a diner, which I felt (and still feel) was an affront to humanity. Things change, I guess. Hell, there's even a freaking Starbucks in the Union now. That's not right.
But the here and now is not part of this story. And back in the day, Susan loved to study in the basement of the Union, munching breadsticks and kicking back in one of the many uncomfortable all-wood booths located across from the Stripe Shop. Although I much preferred to study in my room, the chance to hang out with my pledge sister occasionally lured me out of the Mat Cave for some very valuable fresh air. If you could call the confines of that slightly musty basement "fresh air."
"So," Susan asked as I crammed most of a breadstick into my mouth (she had a real talent for making inquiries when my mouth was full), "what's going on with Aimee?"
I had told Susan all about Aimee of course. I suppose a smoother cat would have played coy (read that: lied) and told the girl he was crushing on that he was single and in no particular hurry to be tied down. Not me. No sir, most definitely not me. About a half-second after Susan had asked me if I was dating anybody, I spilled my guts, telling her The Aimee Saga from beginning to end. Not only was this move self-defeating -- there's no better way to kill a girl's interest than to tell her you're in all-out, crazy love with someone else -- it was way too much information. The end result was that Susan developed an instant dislike for Aimee (as did most people I explained the situation to), although she would sometimes ask about the status of our relationship out of what I'm guessing was morbid curiosity. After all, monitoring the situation was like watching a clown car smash headfirst into an oncoming train.
I hesitated. Aimee and I hadn't spoken since our little blowup, and it was embarrassing to admit that what we had might be over for good, both because I had gone on and on and on about how much I loved her and because what we'd had was, well, nothing. It felt like we'd broken up, but, generally speaking, you have to be dating somebody to have a breakup. It's sort of like how you can't play a game of basketball without a basketball.
"Uh, well, we're not exactly talking right now," I said.
"Is there a difference between 'not talking' and 'not exactly talking' or am I missing something?" Susan asked. I couldn't tell if she was curious or being sarcastic. Looking back, it might have been a little of both.
"No. We're just not talking," I admitted reluctantly.
I wouldn't say Susan looked happy, but she certainly appeared satisfied by the news. "That's a relief."
"What's that supposed to mean?" I said, getting offended. Again, someone with even a hint of smoothness might have tried to turn this situation to his advantage while talking to the girl he was crushing on. Instead, I got angry and defensive.
"Well, she wasn't very nice to you. She wasn't horrible to you or anything, but she didn't act like someone who wanted to date you, which is what you wanted. Isn't it better to get all that out of the way so you can move on and date someone else?"
Again, this was a perfect opportunity. Not only was she right, she was also the girl I was crushing on. But instead of hitting on her, I insulted her. "You don't understand what I'm going through. I bet you've never even been in love," I said.
Yeah. That was the wrong thing to say.
"Uh, I think I have a little more experience with love than you do," she said. Then she whacked me between the eyes: "And I've actually been loved back."
I deserved that, of course, but I wish she would have done something more merciful, like kick me in the groin.
I must have looked stricken, because Susan immediately apologized and tried to make me feel better by offering me the rest of the breadsticks. It was too late, though. My mood was now a particularly dark shade of black, so I returned to the dorm feeling much, much worse than the shit I'd been feeling like when I left.
When I got back to the room, Mat was in a state of manic panic. He was pacing around our tiny living space saying "Fuck me fuck me fuck me fuck me" over and over again like a mantra. Whatever was up had him so distracted he didn't even notice me come in. (Or maybe he noticed and just didn't car). He kicked over the trash can. He dug his fingers into the top of his head, which was slick with sweat. He screamed out loud.
Meanwhile, I stood in the doorway transfixed. My giant-of-a-man roommate looked like Scooby Doo during a chase scene. All I could think was: what could possibly freak out a seven-foot, 300-pound black belt in Judo? Was there a band of ninja assassins on the way? Killer robots? Godzilla?
"Dude," I said finally, unable to control my burgeoning curiosity, "are you okay? What's up?"
"Aw, fuck me!" Mat said. He looked totally helpless, on the verge of tears even. "I'm out. I'm kicked out!"
He'd been kicked out?! I felt this crazy surge of excitement. "What? Why?" I asked. I needed all the details. Not because I cared or anything like that, but because I wanted to make sure he'd really been kicked out before I got my hopes up.
"My teachers called, all of dem," he said. "I guess dey've been calling for duh last couple weeks. Dey failed me, man. Dey failed me out for not going to class!"
"All of them?" I asked.
"Yes!" he said and I honestly thought he was going to cry. "I didn't know, man, I didn't know!"
"Didn't know you were supposed to go to class?"
"I didn't know you could get kicked out for not going!" he said, knocking some books off his desk.
"What are you going to do?" I asked, hoping that he'd say something like "pack my things and take the next flight back to Holland."
"Aw, fuck me, I gotta call Coach D." Coach D was the assistant coach in charge of recruiting. From what I'd gathered by talking to Mat, he also spent a fair amount of time monitoring the freshman players because, well, he'd recruited them.
Mat made the call. He had to try a few different numbers, but he finally got a hold of Coach D.
"Coach D," he said, "aw man, Coach D, I'm in big trouble!" He then spent several minutes awkwardly trying to explain a situation that boiled down to "I failed all my classes because I never showed up to any of them."
Once Mat was done explaining, he said, "Coach D, I'm sorry. It's my fault, it's all my fault, but it's so confusing. I don't understand what I'm s'posed to do 'cause I'm not from here."
Wait...was he playing the "I'm a foreigner" card? Really?!
"Okay, okay I understand," he said, after which he hung up and resumed pacing around the room. I was mildly disappointed that his panic seemed slightly less panicky.
"So, uh, what's up?" I asked.
"Coach D said he's gotta make some calls," Mat replied.
Then all we could do was wait. After another half hour or so of pacing, Mat finally turned on MTV and collapsed into his giant chair. He wasn't watching TV though, not really. He was totally zoned out. It looked like he was trying to accept his fate.
A little over an hour later, the phone rang. Mat just stared at it for a moment, then leapt to his feet to answer it. "Hello?" he said. Then he listened very intently for the next several minutes.
Finally, and to my great disappointment, Mat hooted in triumph. "Aw, thank you, Coach D! Aw, thanks, man! You saved my life!"
Coach D said something that caused Mat to calm down. "Yeah, Coach D. Yeah, I understand. Yeah, I will. I will. I know. I will. Aw, thank you, Coach D. Thank you so much. Okay. Tomorrow. Yeah." Then he hung up.
"Yeah!" he screamed, pumping his fist in the air.
"What happened?" I asked. The curiosity was killing me.
"I'm not failed out!" he yelled. "I'm back in all my classes with a 'C' as long as I do my homework and go to most of the rest of duh classes dat are left."
"Are you kidding me?!" I said. My disappointment was probably pretty obvious, but he didn't notice. He was too busy celebrating.
"Nope!" he said in answer to my question. "No joke!" Then he put his hand up for a high-five, which I did, mostly because I was in shock.
"Wow," I said. "that's...amazing."
"I know," Mat said, dropping back into his chair with a deep, self-satisfied sigh. "It's good to be a baller!" He pronounced it "ballah."
I sat back down at my desk. I was stunned. Forget the fact that my roommate had been saved from his own laziness and stupidity. I couldn't believe that my school's athletic program would engage in that kind of academic dishonesty. Changing five grades from an "F" to a "C" was a pretty big switcharoo. I suddenly realized I'd been naive to assume that this sort of cheating only went on at the "bad" schools.
Once the relief had fully set in, Mat started making some phone calls so he could relate his Near Fail Experience. I had to listen to him retell the story a half dozen times, and each time he made himself sound like some sort of conquering hero. He was so happy that, after he finished his last phone call, he showered, got dressed up and went out, presumably to party.
I guess it really was good to be a baller.
Part 15
"These breadsticks are the best," Susan said. As if to drive home that point, she tore off another piece of one, stirred it around in some cheese sauce, and popped it in her mouth. It probably says something about me at the time that I found watching her eat breadsticks mildly erotic. Of course, I was 18 years old. The way my hormones were raging back then, I would have found watching Susan floss or perform simple math to be a turn on.
She was right though: those breadsticks were the best. Back when I was at college, there was a humble little pizza place called the Stripe Shop located in the basement of the Memorial Union. It was classic, and a favorite of the students who camped out in the Union all day to study. It has since been replaced by a diner, which I felt (and still feel) was an affront to humanity. Things change, I guess. Hell, there's even a freaking Starbucks in the Union now. That's not right.
But the here and now is not part of this story. And back in the day, Susan loved to study in the basement of the Union, munching breadsticks and kicking back in one of the many uncomfortable all-wood booths located across from the Stripe Shop. Although I much preferred to study in my room, the chance to hang out with my pledge sister occasionally lured me out of the Mat Cave for some very valuable fresh air. If you could call the confines of that slightly musty basement "fresh air."
"So," Susan asked as I crammed most of a breadstick into my mouth (she had a real talent for making inquiries when my mouth was full), "what's going on with Aimee?"
I had told Susan all about Aimee of course. I suppose a smoother cat would have played coy (read that: lied) and told the girl he was crushing on that he was single and in no particular hurry to be tied down. Not me. No sir, most definitely not me. About a half-second after Susan had asked me if I was dating anybody, I spilled my guts, telling her The Aimee Saga from beginning to end. Not only was this move self-defeating -- there's no better way to kill a girl's interest than to tell her you're in all-out, crazy love with someone else -- it was way too much information. The end result was that Susan developed an instant dislike for Aimee (as did most people I explained the situation to), although she would sometimes ask about the status of our relationship out of what I'm guessing was morbid curiosity. After all, monitoring the situation was like watching a clown car smash headfirst into an oncoming train.
I hesitated. Aimee and I hadn't spoken since our little blowup, and it was embarrassing to admit that what we had might be over for good, both because I had gone on and on and on about how much I loved her and because what we'd had was, well, nothing. It felt like we'd broken up, but, generally speaking, you have to be dating somebody to have a breakup. It's sort of like how you can't play a game of basketball without a basketball.
"Uh, well, we're not exactly talking right now," I said.
"Is there a difference between 'not talking' and 'not exactly talking' or am I missing something?" Susan asked. I couldn't tell if she was curious or being sarcastic. Looking back, it might have been a little of both.
"No. We're just not talking," I admitted reluctantly.
I wouldn't say Susan looked happy, but she certainly appeared satisfied by the news. "That's a relief."
"What's that supposed to mean?" I said, getting offended. Again, someone with even a hint of smoothness might have tried to turn this situation to his advantage while talking to the girl he was crushing on. Instead, I got angry and defensive.
"Well, she wasn't very nice to you. She wasn't horrible to you or anything, but she didn't act like someone who wanted to date you, which is what you wanted. Isn't it better to get all that out of the way so you can move on and date someone else?"
Again, this was a perfect opportunity. Not only was she right, she was also the girl I was crushing on. But instead of hitting on her, I insulted her. "You don't understand what I'm going through. I bet you've never even been in love," I said.
Yeah. That was the wrong thing to say.
"Uh, I think I have a little more experience with love than you do," she said. Then she whacked me between the eyes: "And I've actually been loved back."
I deserved that, of course, but I wish she would have done something more merciful, like kick me in the groin.
I must have looked stricken, because Susan immediately apologized and tried to make me feel better by offering me the rest of the breadsticks. It was too late, though. My mood was now a particularly dark shade of black, so I returned to the dorm feeling much, much worse than the shit I'd been feeling like when I left.
When I got back to the room, Mat was in a state of manic panic. He was pacing around our tiny living space saying "Fuck me fuck me fuck me fuck me" over and over again like a mantra. Whatever was up had him so distracted he didn't even notice me come in. (Or maybe he noticed and just didn't car). He kicked over the trash can. He dug his fingers into the top of his head, which was slick with sweat. He screamed out loud.
Meanwhile, I stood in the doorway transfixed. My giant-of-a-man roommate looked like Scooby Doo during a chase scene. All I could think was: what could possibly freak out a seven-foot, 300-pound black belt in Judo? Was there a band of ninja assassins on the way? Killer robots? Godzilla?
"Dude," I said finally, unable to control my burgeoning curiosity, "are you okay? What's up?"
"Aw, fuck me!" Mat said. He looked totally helpless, on the verge of tears even. "I'm out. I'm kicked out!"
He'd been kicked out?! I felt this crazy surge of excitement. "What? Why?" I asked. I needed all the details. Not because I cared or anything like that, but because I wanted to make sure he'd really been kicked out before I got my hopes up.
"My teachers called, all of dem," he said. "I guess dey've been calling for duh last couple weeks. Dey failed me, man. Dey failed me out for not going to class!"
"All of them?" I asked.
"Yes!" he said and I honestly thought he was going to cry. "I didn't know, man, I didn't know!"
"Didn't know you were supposed to go to class?"
"I didn't know you could get kicked out for not going!" he said, knocking some books off his desk.
"What are you going to do?" I asked, hoping that he'd say something like "pack my things and take the next flight back to Holland."
"Aw, fuck me, I gotta call Coach D." Coach D was the assistant coach in charge of recruiting. From what I'd gathered by talking to Mat, he also spent a fair amount of time monitoring the freshman players because, well, he'd recruited them.
Mat made the call. He had to try a few different numbers, but he finally got a hold of Coach D.
"Coach D," he said, "aw man, Coach D, I'm in big trouble!" He then spent several minutes awkwardly trying to explain a situation that boiled down to "I failed all my classes because I never showed up to any of them."
Once Mat was done explaining, he said, "Coach D, I'm sorry. It's my fault, it's all my fault, but it's so confusing. I don't understand what I'm s'posed to do 'cause I'm not from here."
Wait...was he playing the "I'm a foreigner" card? Really?!
"Okay, okay I understand," he said, after which he hung up and resumed pacing around the room. I was mildly disappointed that his panic seemed slightly less panicky.
"So, uh, what's up?" I asked.
"Coach D said he's gotta make some calls," Mat replied.
Then all we could do was wait. After another half hour or so of pacing, Mat finally turned on MTV and collapsed into his giant chair. He wasn't watching TV though, not really. He was totally zoned out. It looked like he was trying to accept his fate.
A little over an hour later, the phone rang. Mat just stared at it for a moment, then leapt to his feet to answer it. "Hello?" he said. Then he listened very intently for the next several minutes.
Finally, and to my great disappointment, Mat hooted in triumph. "Aw, thank you, Coach D! Aw, thanks, man! You saved my life!"
Coach D said something that caused Mat to calm down. "Yeah, Coach D. Yeah, I understand. Yeah, I will. I will. I know. I will. Aw, thank you, Coach D. Thank you so much. Okay. Tomorrow. Yeah." Then he hung up.
"Yeah!" he screamed, pumping his fist in the air.
"What happened?" I asked. The curiosity was killing me.
"I'm not failed out!" he yelled. "I'm back in all my classes with a 'C' as long as I do my homework and go to most of the rest of duh classes dat are left."
"Are you kidding me?!" I said. My disappointment was probably pretty obvious, but he didn't notice. He was too busy celebrating.
"Nope!" he said in answer to my question. "No joke!" Then he put his hand up for a high-five, which I did, mostly because I was in shock.
"Wow," I said. "that's...amazing."
"I know," Mat said, dropping back into his chair with a deep, self-satisfied sigh. "It's good to be a baller!" He pronounced it "ballah."
I sat back down at my desk. I was stunned. Forget the fact that my roommate had been saved from his own laziness and stupidity. I couldn't believe that my school's athletic program would engage in that kind of academic dishonesty. Changing five grades from an "F" to a "C" was a pretty big switcharoo. I suddenly realized I'd been naive to assume that this sort of cheating only went on at the "bad" schools.
Once the relief had fully set in, Mat started making some phone calls so he could relate his Near Fail Experience. I had to listen to him retell the story a half dozen times, and each time he made himself sound like some sort of conquering hero. He was so happy that, after he finished his last phone call, he showered, got dressed up and went out, presumably to party.
I guess it really was good to be a baller.
Part 15
Labels: college stories, Livin' Large, they never should have closed the Stripe Shop
Hey Basketbawful readers! Matt is busy crossing the Atlantic, so here's a weekend treat: Service Pack 1 on my Livin Large flow chart! Lots of upgrades in this one, keep your eyes peeled for additions and changes. Saavy readers may recognize the color scheme...
Can't see the text? Clicky for big 1024x869 version.
Part 14
Can't see the text? Clicky for big 1024x869 version.
Part 14
Labels: amazing flow charts, college stories, guest author, Livin' Large
Previous installments: Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12. Also check out the official Livin' Large FAQ, Cast List and Flow Chart.
Well, dear readers, I have another confession to make. Identifying Aimee as my high school sweetheart was not, technically speaking, totally and 100 percent accurate. But it was never my intention to deceive you. No, really.
When Livin' Large began, I honestly had no specific plans for how long the story would last or how detailed it would become. I figured I'd write five or six posts worth of anecdotes and that would be it. At best, I hoped to milk a couple weeks worth of content out of it before the well ran dry.
However, I miscalculated in two ways. First, I somehow forgot that I'm a natural storyteller. And I'm not necessarily talking about my ability to spin a yarn -- although I do have something of a knack for it. The fact is, I love telling stories. That's part of why I started Basketbawful in the first place: to have a forum for sharing the basketball-related stories that had been back-and-forthing their way among my friends for years.
Now, as BadDave will no doubt attest, my tendency has always been to over-tell stories, cramming in as many little details as possible. Specific words and phrases, gestures, facial expressions, clothing choices, times and places. It's like Grandma Bawful's famous homemade spaghetti sauce. The more herbs and spices she used, the better it tasted. Just as long as she went light on the bay leaves.
My second misunderestimation had to do with reader interest. I figured the hard core bawfulites would enjoy this series...period. But it seems my narrative has struck a chord with a lot of people. The funny thing is, back when I was working for Deadspin, I pitched the idea of running this series on that site. Will Leitch, who was still the high muckety-muck at the time, was like, "Whoa there, settle down, young fella. Let's stick with the content people want to read."
I was actually kind of embarrassed. I mean, here was Will frickin' Leitch more or less telling me the story wouldn't "sell." I'd gone into that pitch with the intent of running the story here if Will turned it down, but the way he turned it down killed my enthusiasm. So that's part of the reason you all had to wait for something you didn't even know you were waiting for.
Now...where was I? Oh, right. So I didn't know how much of my sad and awkward past I'd be sharing in these posts. It was easy and convenient to say Aimee was my high school sweetheart. It kept things clean and allowed me to move on to the meat and potatoes of the story. And she was my high school sweetheart...at the very tail end of things. But in reality, the girl who had me in the grip of irrational infatuation for most of my high school career was a girl named Cindy.
The bad news: she had a boyfriend until the last half of our senior year. I just kind of hung around waiting for her to break up with him. When she finally did, I was helplessly trapped in what my buddy Statbuster calls "The Nice Guy Zone." Statbuster's theory goes thusly. Women have four types of men in their lives:
1. The guy they're f***ing.
2. The rich guy.
3. The gay guy.
4. The nice guy.
The guy they're f***ing, that's self-explanatory. The rich guy is the person they turn to when they need help (and by "help" I mean "money"). The gay friend is the person they feel safe snuggling, shopping and talking about guys with.
The nice guy, however, is the one who gets stuck with all the responsibilities of being a boyfriend without getting any of the nookie. The nice guy helps the girl move, stays up until 3 a.m. listening to her problems, eats an entire carton of chocolate ice cream with her after she's broken up with the guy she was f***ing, etc. The nice guy believes in his heart of misguided hearts that dogged determination and just plain old being there for her will eventually make the girl fall madly in love with him.
Sucker.
For two years of high school, I was Cindy's nice guy. When she and Carl -- who was an utter tool, by the way, even more so than me at that time -- went splitsville, I assumed I would just swoop in and pick up the pieces. But as we said back then: psyche! Cindy wanted no part of dating me, despite having spent a year or more claiming that, "If I hadn't met Carl first, we'd be dating."
The worst part? She almost immediately fell for and started dating a guy who came out of the closet right after we graduated. She chose the gay guy over me. Ouchies.
We actually did go on a few dates, which included the Senior Dinner Dance, after which I told my mom we had shared "a really great hug." And it was a great hug...but it was also a sure sign that I was the nice guy. (And maybe even the gay guy for getting my panties in a bunch over a damn hug.)
Fast forward to my freshman year in college. Cindy actually did send me a letter during the first or second week. But it was one of those "Oh, gee, it's so nice to have a pen pal who went away to college!" kind of things. Like Greg and Gauvin, Cindy chose not to leave Kokomo. Like Greg, she was attending classes at IUK, the local community college. Her letter was nothing but trivial banter like IUK is good, hope you're enjoying classes, the family cat had kittens, I dusted my room today, my sister just got her braces off...you know, stuff I couldn't have cared less about. You see, I had made a conscious choice: I was no longer Cindy's nice guy.
Meanwhile, Cindy went from getting all my love and affection to getting none of it. Suddenly, she didn't have me around to provide sympathy or arm candy if she wanted to go to her sister's school play or whatever. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, and that may well be the case, because now, deprived of my constant and unrelenting presence, Cindy missed me. A lot.
And so it was that she called me.
Her call was so totally out of the blue that I almost didn't call her back. My first instinct was, "Okay, what does she want? What went wrong? How much crying am I going to have to listen to?" But the flipside of my budding cynicism was the very real desire to have human connections. I had started to become a hermit during the first few weeks of school, and it sucked. Big time. So there was no harm, it seemed, in revisiting an old friendship.
At least, that's what I thought. Of course, this misconception proved that I hadn't been listening to my more worldly roommate when he very wisely (and surprisingly) told me, "Guys and girls can be a lot of t'ings, but dey cannot be friends."
I called Cindy back. She was thrilled to hear from me. After some idle chitchat -- things here are fine, how are things there? -- things got serious.
"Matt, I've been doing a lot of thinking," she said, and men of the world should beware when a woman starts a new conversation thread by telling you she's been thinking a lot. "Sometimes you don't know what you have until it's gone."
To my credit, I sensed what was going on. For once. My first instinct was to avoid, so I said, "I know what you mean. That's always the first thing I think when I realize I don't have any more clean underwear."
"Wh...what?"
"Sorry," I said. "You were saying?"
"Uh, right, okay" she stammered, caught somewhat off her guard by the mention of my soiled undergarments. "Anyway, I've been really missing you. Missing you so much that sometimes I can barely stand it."
"Huh," I said. "That sounds pretty unhealthy."
"I know," she said, either ignoring my sarcasm or just not getting it. "I talked to my mom about it, and she said I needed to call you. So...I called."
Silence. Wait, make that uncomfortable silence.
"Matt," she said with a deep sigh, "I have no right to ask this. You were always really patient with me, and I know I screwed things up, but if you're still interested, if you still want to, I mean, I don't even know if you're dating anybody, we haven't really talked in a long time, I have no idea what's going on in your life, and we used to talk so much, and..."
"Whoa, wait, calm down," I said. "That sentence would send Mrs. Stepp (our old English teacher at Kokomo High School) into cardiac arrest. Just, you know, calm down, use a few periods, and tell me what's on your mind."
Now, see, those are the kinds of pithy things you can say when you just don't give a you-know-what. Again, I had escaped the Nice Guy Zone, and I wasn't going back behind those iron bars.
"What I want," she said, and it sounded like she was choking back a sob, "what I want...is for you to give me another chance."
More uncomfortable silence. This time, I was the one to break it.
"Look, Cindy," I said, "I have to be honest with you. I'm trying to date Aimee right now."
"Aimee," she said. Despite the fact that she had just been on the verge of tears, she made the name sound like a hiss. See, here's the thing. Aimee and Cindy had a very interesting little rivalry during high school. Neither one of them was willing to be my girlfriend, but they both wanted to be the primary (maybe even the only) girl in my life. So naturally they hated each other. And I mean with a red-hot, fiery passion.
The funny thing is, I'm not sure they ever even spoke directly to each other when we were in high school. I don't know that they ever actually met. They didn't know each other. The only thing Aimee knew about Cindy was what I told her, and vice versa. That was enough to create a dark and festering dislike. When I brought one up to the other, it was like I was pouring a bucket full of crawling insects on them.
"Well, I think that's a mistake," Cindy said.
"Thanks for your concern," I said, feeling genuinely offended. "But like you said earlier, you have any right to pass any judgment on my personal life. You had your chance and blew it."
Once again, she sounded like she was going to cry. And of course I felt bad. I had been harsh. Maybe not harsh by normal standards, but Cindy was an emotional girl. Telling her that she'd blown her chance with me was like kicking her in the baby maker.
"Look," I said, "I'm sorry..."
"No," she interrupted, "no, you're right. And I probably deserve it."
"Still, there's no reason for me to be a jerk about it," I countered. "All that's in the past now. I mean, based on my reaction, I think I must have had some leftover bitterness. But I'm over it. So, you know, let's start fresh."
I could almost feel her smile over the phone. "Sounds like a good idea."
"But," I said in warning, "I still want to date Aimee, and if that happens, and if you really want to have a fresh start, you've gotta be cool about it."
"I understand," she said, although I could tell she wasn't happy about it.
We finished up with some light chatter. When I finally hung up, Mat started laughing, and I mean laughing hard.
"Aw f*** me, man" he said between guffaws, "that was some serious shit, wasn't it?"
"Yeah," I said, plopping onto my bed. "It sure was."
"Now I feel a little better about missing Shelly," he said. "At least I don't have to put up wit all dat."
"Well, I'm so glad I could help you out."
I tried to study but it was pointless. The conversation with Cindy had left me drained. However, it had also filled me with a little piss and vinegar. Here was Cindy, a girl I had spent years longing for, finally coming around and realizing I was worth dating. What the hell, then, was Aimee's problem? I was getting tired of waiting, tired of her excuses, just flat out tired.
When I called Aimee that night, she was in a crappy mood. That sealed it. It was time to go on the offensive. "You know what," I said at one point, "this is bullshit."
"Whoa, what?" she said, clearly shocked. I never cussed to her. "What's bullshit?"
"This whole mess of a relationship we're in," I said. "Wait, I'm sorry, we're not in a relationship are we? And why is that again? Oh, right, because you can't figure out what in the hell you want. Well, guess what? Whatever you may think, I'm not going to wait around for you forever. And trust me, when I'm gone and dating someone else, you're going to regret it."
"Dating someone else?" she said, and it sounded like she was reeling. "Why, is there someone you want to date?"
"Well I sure as hell want to date someone," I said, practically yelling. "If you're not interested, maybe I'll ask Susan out."
"I knew it!" she said. "I knew Susan liked you."
"Oh, come off it," I said. "I was just using her as an example. But who knows? Maybe she does like me. And if she doesn't, I bet I can find someone else who does."
Now it was time to drop the hammer.
"Hell," I said, "maybe Cindy wants to give things a try."
That did it. Now Aimee was pissed. "I can't believe you just said that," she spit out. "After all the crap Cindy put you through, you'd really consider dating her?"
"How is what she did to me any different than what you're doing?"
Ah yes...even more uncomfortable silence.
"You did not just compare me to Cindy," she said in a voice of forced calm.
"Actually, I did," I said. "And you don't like it 'cause you know I'm right."
"I don't like it," she said, "because Cindy's a bitch."
I'm sure you can guess how I felt about that comment. And let's just say that the conversation didn't improve any after that. Eventually it ended with bad feelings and slamming phones. And I thought, very seriously, that me and Aimee might never talk again.
"Damn, dude," Mat said, laughing once again at my expense. "You're having a rough night."
I didn't have the strength of will to respond. I slipped into some shorts and a t-shirt, and then crawled into bed. Even Mat's damn Heineken light couldn't keep me up that night. I didn't stir when Jennifer showed up and (one assumes) pleasured Mat in her own special way. I was dead to the world.
But the last thought I had before drifting off to sleep was that maybe it was time to move on. Meanwhile, the the answering machine was blinking with messages that Mat probably shouldn't have ignored...
Livin Large: the official Flow Chart 2.0
Well, dear readers, I have another confession to make. Identifying Aimee as my high school sweetheart was not, technically speaking, totally and 100 percent accurate. But it was never my intention to deceive you. No, really.
When Livin' Large began, I honestly had no specific plans for how long the story would last or how detailed it would become. I figured I'd write five or six posts worth of anecdotes and that would be it. At best, I hoped to milk a couple weeks worth of content out of it before the well ran dry.
However, I miscalculated in two ways. First, I somehow forgot that I'm a natural storyteller. And I'm not necessarily talking about my ability to spin a yarn -- although I do have something of a knack for it. The fact is, I love telling stories. That's part of why I started Basketbawful in the first place: to have a forum for sharing the basketball-related stories that had been back-and-forthing their way among my friends for years.
Now, as BadDave will no doubt attest, my tendency has always been to over-tell stories, cramming in as many little details as possible. Specific words and phrases, gestures, facial expressions, clothing choices, times and places. It's like Grandma Bawful's famous homemade spaghetti sauce. The more herbs and spices she used, the better it tasted. Just as long as she went light on the bay leaves.
My second misunderestimation had to do with reader interest. I figured the hard core bawfulites would enjoy this series...period. But it seems my narrative has struck a chord with a lot of people. The funny thing is, back when I was working for Deadspin, I pitched the idea of running this series on that site. Will Leitch, who was still the high muckety-muck at the time, was like, "Whoa there, settle down, young fella. Let's stick with the content people want to read."
I was actually kind of embarrassed. I mean, here was Will frickin' Leitch more or less telling me the story wouldn't "sell." I'd gone into that pitch with the intent of running the story here if Will turned it down, but the way he turned it down killed my enthusiasm. So that's part of the reason you all had to wait for something you didn't even know you were waiting for.
Now...where was I? Oh, right. So I didn't know how much of my sad and awkward past I'd be sharing in these posts. It was easy and convenient to say Aimee was my high school sweetheart. It kept things clean and allowed me to move on to the meat and potatoes of the story. And she was my high school sweetheart...at the very tail end of things. But in reality, the girl who had me in the grip of irrational infatuation for most of my high school career was a girl named Cindy.
The bad news: she had a boyfriend until the last half of our senior year. I just kind of hung around waiting for her to break up with him. When she finally did, I was helplessly trapped in what my buddy Statbuster calls "The Nice Guy Zone." Statbuster's theory goes thusly. Women have four types of men in their lives:
1. The guy they're f***ing.
2. The rich guy.
3. The gay guy.
4. The nice guy.
The guy they're f***ing, that's self-explanatory. The rich guy is the person they turn to when they need help (and by "help" I mean "money"). The gay friend is the person they feel safe snuggling, shopping and talking about guys with.
The nice guy, however, is the one who gets stuck with all the responsibilities of being a boyfriend without getting any of the nookie. The nice guy helps the girl move, stays up until 3 a.m. listening to her problems, eats an entire carton of chocolate ice cream with her after she's broken up with the guy she was f***ing, etc. The nice guy believes in his heart of misguided hearts that dogged determination and just plain old being there for her will eventually make the girl fall madly in love with him.
Sucker.
For two years of high school, I was Cindy's nice guy. When she and Carl -- who was an utter tool, by the way, even more so than me at that time -- went splitsville, I assumed I would just swoop in and pick up the pieces. But as we said back then: psyche! Cindy wanted no part of dating me, despite having spent a year or more claiming that, "If I hadn't met Carl first, we'd be dating."
The worst part? She almost immediately fell for and started dating a guy who came out of the closet right after we graduated. She chose the gay guy over me. Ouchies.
We actually did go on a few dates, which included the Senior Dinner Dance, after which I told my mom we had shared "a really great hug." And it was a great hug...but it was also a sure sign that I was the nice guy. (And maybe even the gay guy for getting my panties in a bunch over a damn hug.)
Fast forward to my freshman year in college. Cindy actually did send me a letter during the first or second week. But it was one of those "Oh, gee, it's so nice to have a pen pal who went away to college!" kind of things. Like Greg and Gauvin, Cindy chose not to leave Kokomo. Like Greg, she was attending classes at IUK, the local community college. Her letter was nothing but trivial banter like IUK is good, hope you're enjoying classes, the family cat had kittens, I dusted my room today, my sister just got her braces off...you know, stuff I couldn't have cared less about. You see, I had made a conscious choice: I was no longer Cindy's nice guy.
Meanwhile, Cindy went from getting all my love and affection to getting none of it. Suddenly, she didn't have me around to provide sympathy or arm candy if she wanted to go to her sister's school play or whatever. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, and that may well be the case, because now, deprived of my constant and unrelenting presence, Cindy missed me. A lot.
And so it was that she called me.
Her call was so totally out of the blue that I almost didn't call her back. My first instinct was, "Okay, what does she want? What went wrong? How much crying am I going to have to listen to?" But the flipside of my budding cynicism was the very real desire to have human connections. I had started to become a hermit during the first few weeks of school, and it sucked. Big time. So there was no harm, it seemed, in revisiting an old friendship.
At least, that's what I thought. Of course, this misconception proved that I hadn't been listening to my more worldly roommate when he very wisely (and surprisingly) told me, "Guys and girls can be a lot of t'ings, but dey cannot be friends."
I called Cindy back. She was thrilled to hear from me. After some idle chitchat -- things here are fine, how are things there? -- things got serious.
"Matt, I've been doing a lot of thinking," she said, and men of the world should beware when a woman starts a new conversation thread by telling you she's been thinking a lot. "Sometimes you don't know what you have until it's gone."
To my credit, I sensed what was going on. For once. My first instinct was to avoid, so I said, "I know what you mean. That's always the first thing I think when I realize I don't have any more clean underwear."
"Wh...what?"
"Sorry," I said. "You were saying?"
"Uh, right, okay" she stammered, caught somewhat off her guard by the mention of my soiled undergarments. "Anyway, I've been really missing you. Missing you so much that sometimes I can barely stand it."
"Huh," I said. "That sounds pretty unhealthy."
"I know," she said, either ignoring my sarcasm or just not getting it. "I talked to my mom about it, and she said I needed to call you. So...I called."
Silence. Wait, make that uncomfortable silence.
"Matt," she said with a deep sigh, "I have no right to ask this. You were always really patient with me, and I know I screwed things up, but if you're still interested, if you still want to, I mean, I don't even know if you're dating anybody, we haven't really talked in a long time, I have no idea what's going on in your life, and we used to talk so much, and..."
"Whoa, wait, calm down," I said. "That sentence would send Mrs. Stepp (our old English teacher at Kokomo High School) into cardiac arrest. Just, you know, calm down, use a few periods, and tell me what's on your mind."
Now, see, those are the kinds of pithy things you can say when you just don't give a you-know-what. Again, I had escaped the Nice Guy Zone, and I wasn't going back behind those iron bars.
"What I want," she said, and it sounded like she was choking back a sob, "what I want...is for you to give me another chance."
More uncomfortable silence. This time, I was the one to break it.
"Look, Cindy," I said, "I have to be honest with you. I'm trying to date Aimee right now."
"Aimee," she said. Despite the fact that she had just been on the verge of tears, she made the name sound like a hiss. See, here's the thing. Aimee and Cindy had a very interesting little rivalry during high school. Neither one of them was willing to be my girlfriend, but they both wanted to be the primary (maybe even the only) girl in my life. So naturally they hated each other. And I mean with a red-hot, fiery passion.
The funny thing is, I'm not sure they ever even spoke directly to each other when we were in high school. I don't know that they ever actually met. They didn't know each other. The only thing Aimee knew about Cindy was what I told her, and vice versa. That was enough to create a dark and festering dislike. When I brought one up to the other, it was like I was pouring a bucket full of crawling insects on them.
"Well, I think that's a mistake," Cindy said.
"Thanks for your concern," I said, feeling genuinely offended. "But like you said earlier, you have any right to pass any judgment on my personal life. You had your chance and blew it."
Once again, she sounded like she was going to cry. And of course I felt bad. I had been harsh. Maybe not harsh by normal standards, but Cindy was an emotional girl. Telling her that she'd blown her chance with me was like kicking her in the baby maker.
"Look," I said, "I'm sorry..."
"No," she interrupted, "no, you're right. And I probably deserve it."
"Still, there's no reason for me to be a jerk about it," I countered. "All that's in the past now. I mean, based on my reaction, I think I must have had some leftover bitterness. But I'm over it. So, you know, let's start fresh."
I could almost feel her smile over the phone. "Sounds like a good idea."
"But," I said in warning, "I still want to date Aimee, and if that happens, and if you really want to have a fresh start, you've gotta be cool about it."
"I understand," she said, although I could tell she wasn't happy about it.
We finished up with some light chatter. When I finally hung up, Mat started laughing, and I mean laughing hard.
"Aw f*** me, man" he said between guffaws, "that was some serious shit, wasn't it?"
"Yeah," I said, plopping onto my bed. "It sure was."
"Now I feel a little better about missing Shelly," he said. "At least I don't have to put up wit all dat."
"Well, I'm so glad I could help you out."
I tried to study but it was pointless. The conversation with Cindy had left me drained. However, it had also filled me with a little piss and vinegar. Here was Cindy, a girl I had spent years longing for, finally coming around and realizing I was worth dating. What the hell, then, was Aimee's problem? I was getting tired of waiting, tired of her excuses, just flat out tired.
When I called Aimee that night, she was in a crappy mood. That sealed it. It was time to go on the offensive. "You know what," I said at one point, "this is bullshit."
"Whoa, what?" she said, clearly shocked. I never cussed to her. "What's bullshit?"
"This whole mess of a relationship we're in," I said. "Wait, I'm sorry, we're not in a relationship are we? And why is that again? Oh, right, because you can't figure out what in the hell you want. Well, guess what? Whatever you may think, I'm not going to wait around for you forever. And trust me, when I'm gone and dating someone else, you're going to regret it."
"Dating someone else?" she said, and it sounded like she was reeling. "Why, is there someone you want to date?"
"Well I sure as hell want to date someone," I said, practically yelling. "If you're not interested, maybe I'll ask Susan out."
"I knew it!" she said. "I knew Susan liked you."
"Oh, come off it," I said. "I was just using her as an example. But who knows? Maybe she does like me. And if she doesn't, I bet I can find someone else who does."
Now it was time to drop the hammer.
"Hell," I said, "maybe Cindy wants to give things a try."
That did it. Now Aimee was pissed. "I can't believe you just said that," she spit out. "After all the crap Cindy put you through, you'd really consider dating her?"
"How is what she did to me any different than what you're doing?"
Ah yes...even more uncomfortable silence.
"You did not just compare me to Cindy," she said in a voice of forced calm.
"Actually, I did," I said. "And you don't like it 'cause you know I'm right."
"I don't like it," she said, "because Cindy's a bitch."
I'm sure you can guess how I felt about that comment. And let's just say that the conversation didn't improve any after that. Eventually it ended with bad feelings and slamming phones. And I thought, very seriously, that me and Aimee might never talk again.
"Damn, dude," Mat said, laughing once again at my expense. "You're having a rough night."
I didn't have the strength of will to respond. I slipped into some shorts and a t-shirt, and then crawled into bed. Even Mat's damn Heineken light couldn't keep me up that night. I didn't stir when Jennifer showed up and (one assumes) pleasured Mat in her own special way. I was dead to the world.
But the last thought I had before drifting off to sleep was that maybe it was time to move on. Meanwhile, the the answering machine was blinking with messages that Mat probably shouldn't have ignored...
Livin Large: the official Flow Chart 2.0
Labels: college stories, Livin' Large
I should really be in bed right now, but Basketbawful reader Utahraptor sent in this video of the Lakers' contract negotiations with Lamar Odom and I had share it. I don't have many rules in life, but one of them is that if a YouTube video makes me giggle like a little girl, I post it. So...here you go.
Labels: fan submissions, Jerry Buss, Lamar Odom, Los Angeles Lakers
Previous installments: Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11. Also check out the official Livin' Large FAQ, Cast List and Flow Chart.
Mat was in a very happy mood this particular week, and with good reason: Shelly was coming for a visit. During our time together, it seemed like Mat had three basic moods. Occasionally, he got pissed about something. That was scary but rare. Most of the time, he stalked around with an air of bored indifference. At least when I saw him, which was almost exclusively in our dorm room. When Mat was happy, you knew it because he would sing. In the room, in the shower, in the hallway on his way to the cafeteria, while sitting in his giant chair watching MTV. He'd usually croon something by Bob Marley, which was as funny a sound as you were likely to hear. I mean, imagine Arnold Schwarzenegger singing reggae and you'll know what I'm talking about.
With Shelly's arrival only a few short days away, Mat was singing all week. Normally, the constant rasta chants would have grated on my nerves, but I actually found his behavior a little endearing. Remember, I was still a sucker back then, so I became filled with hope any time Mat displayed what I considered to be normal human emotions. Shelly brought that out of him, and it made me think maybe he wasn't some big, dumb ogre after all.
Mat was so jolly he took a minute to look out for me. He checked our mailbox one evening and discovered yet another card from Latrisse.. "You need to cut that shit off, man," he said as he handed the card to me.. "Aimee's gonna flip her shit if this don't stop."
I still didn't see the problem with getting cards from Latrisse. Of course, it had progressed a little past that. We were now e-mailing each other every day. We had even "met up" in an Internet chat room. Mind you, Internet chatting back then wasn't what it is today. The "Coffee House" (which is what this particular chat portal was called) used the same VI editor that the e-mail system used. It was basically a big free-for-all with everybody chatting away like mad at the same time. You just had to kind of try and pick out the lines being typed by the person you were chatting with...and it wasn't always easy to do. Still, it was entertaining in a "brand new technology nobody really knows about" kind of way.
Meanwhile, I had only received one e-mail from Aimee: "Hey checking to see if email works - Aimee." I guess you could say I wasn't exactly feeling the love.
Jennifer stayed away that week, probably on Mat's orders. He wasn't taking any chances of Jennifer and Shelly crossing paths. Mat only disappeared for one night during the middle of the week. In his absence, he missed a phone call from one of the assistant coaches of the basketball team. The players had been given a couple days off from practicing, but he was expected to show up for practice at 4 p.m. (one hour earlier than normal) the next day. I took a very careful message and left it on Mat's desk next to his beloved container of animal crackers. I then left a second note with arrows pointing to the first note so he'd realize it was important.
When I got home from working at the food service the next night, Mat was in the room and on the phone apologizing furiously...for missing practice of course. I was chuckling quietly to myself until the end of the conversation, at which point Mat glanced at me and said, "No, coach. You don't need to say anything to him. I'll take care of it. No, it's okay, I'll talk to him. Yeah, I know. Okay, bye."
My eyes narrowed. "Who was that?"
"Coach," he said, referring to the head coach of the mens basketball team. The head coach was pretty famous at our school and even kind of famous away from it too, both because he was a great coach and because he looked like an angry, marauding troll. He also happened to have the worst hair in college basketball, maybe even in the entire world. And that's not hyperbole either.
"Who didn't he need to say anything too?" I asked, suspicion oozing out of my pores.
Matt shrugged. "He wanted to talk to you about not giving me my messages."
"WHAT?"
"I get home until a few minutes ago, so I didn't see your note until I'd already missed practice," Mat said. "Coach was pissed, but I just told him you didn't leave me a message, 'cause we're not supposed to stay out all night. Man, he really wanted to tell you off."
Mat just laughed as I gaped at him. "You're gonna tell him the truth, right? You're gonna tell him you found the message...aren't you?"
"F*** no," he said, waving me off. "It's not a big deal. It probably won't even happen again."
Probably. Great.
That was Mat. He didn't care who got blamed as long as it wasn't him. For some reason, I felt nervous about the fact that my school's head basketball coach wanted to tell me off. I mean, I didn't do anything wrong, so I shouldn't have been in any danger. But rules kept getting bent and broken in Mat's favor, often at my expense. My dorm manager had taught me that lesson all too well. What if the basketball coach got me kicked out of the dorm? Or even out of school? I know it sounds silly, but at that time anything seemed possible.
Shelly arrived on Friday afternoon. I happened to be at the dorm because Friday was a one-class day for me. She burst into the room -- as beautiful and busty as ever -- and jumped into Mat's waiting arms. They didn't waste any time on conversation (unless you count her girly "squee!" conversation) and instead immediately started making out. I left to give them time alone for, you know, whatever. I came back a couple hours later, but the door was locked and barricaded from the inside. That annoyed me a little bit, but I tried to remind myself this was a special occasion.
I tried again after another hour had passed. (I had made the mistake of leaving without either my wallet or my bookbag.) This time the door was unlocked. Shelly was sleeping alone on Mat's bed. He was gone, most likely at practice. Shelly woke up when I came into the room.
"Hey baby," she said in her telltale raspy voice. After stretching and wiping the sleep from her eyes, she said, "Sorry about kicking you out earlier, but Mat and I were really excited to see each other. It's been forever!"
"No problem," I said, trying to play the role of cool roommate guy. "I totally understand."
"You're soooooo sweet. Mat's lucky to have a roommate like you," she said. I knew she was buttering me up, and there was definitely a calculating gleam in her eyes. "So...tell me about how Mat spends his time."
"I'm sorry, what?" I asked, attempting to play dumb even though I knew exactly what she was getting at.
"Oh, you know, like, what does he do when I'm not around?" Her voice was light and playful, but there was an edge to it.
"Well, that's really most of the time isn't it? I mean, since you don't live here and all." Rule Number One of Evasive Conversation: Answer questions with questions and try to redirect.
"Oh, I know that, silly," she said. Her eyes hardened. "You know what I mean. It's just that, there's a lot of time in Mat's life I can't account for."
"Account for?" I asked. I was starting to get really uncomfortable now.
"Well, listen to him tell it," she began, "he spends all his time practicing, going to class and sleeping. Seriously, who goes to bed at 11 or 12 every night? Who needs that much sleep?"
How I kept from laughing I will never know. Going to class? In bed by midnight? She could not be talking about my roommate. But she was. And she could tell something was up when I didn't answer immediately.
"Matt," she said, and there was fear and anger in her voice, "something's up, isn't it? He's lying to me isn't he? He's cheating on me. Oh my God he's cheating on me isn't he? Matt, you have to tell me what's going on."
There was no way in the nine levels of hell I was going to tell her what was going on. I valued breathing and being able to walk without assistance too much to have Mat come home and find out I'd told his girlfriend he was an unfaithful liar. And yet Shelly was starting to freak out. I had to calm her down, and I had to do it fast.
At first, I had no idea what to say. Then it hit me, like a bolt from the blue. "Shelly, there's something you need to understand," I said. "Student athletes are...special people. Mat's under a lot of stress. Balancing classes and practice and stuff, it's really hard. You've got to be patient with him. Remember, he's giving of his mind and body every day, you know, to be a student and play basketball. Don't you think that the least you can do is give Mat a little patience and understanding?"
It was a slightly less articulate version of the speech the hall manager had given me when I requested a room change.. And it worked like a charm. Shelly burst into tears, then came over and hugged me. She smelled like wildflowers.
"Oh God, thank you, Matt," she whimpered into my shoulder. "It's just that I love that big guy so much, and I'm afraid. Like, I don't want to get screwed over. I just want to believe he really loves me, that somebody loves me. How stupid is that, right?"
I suddenly felt like a first-class douchebag. But I was already committed to covering for Mat. There was no turning back now. "It's not stupid at all," I told her in my most sympathetic and comforting voice. "Everybody wants to be loved."
"You really are a sweetheart," she said, gulping back a new wave of tears. "That Annie girl is really stupid for not wanting to be with you."
Now I really did laugh. "It's Aimee, actually," I corrected, "but yeah, she is pretty stupid. Then again, that 'Little Matt' nickname you stuck me with hasn't exactly been helping me with the ladies." Now we both laughed and everything felt better. You know, except for the fact that I had totally lied to her.
I tried to make myself scarce for the rest of the weekend. I had a few APO activities to attend, and I spent time with Nathan and the roleplaying group. Part of me wanted to call my mom and ask her to bring me home for a day or two, but I was trying to force myself to stay at school. I didn't want to look back on my freshman year and regret spending my time in Kokomo.
Mat and Shelly didn't leave the room all weekend. Pizza boxes and LaBamba's bags piled up next to the door. I walked in on them having sex once, and I walked in on them fighting twice. I never figured out what they were fighting about, because I didn't stick around to find out (nor did I ask about it later). I didn't come home before 2 a.m. on Friday or Saturday night. I got up as early as I could on Saturday and Sunday morning and left almost immediately.
By the time I returned from the library on Sunday night, Mat was in bed alone and looking thoroughly bummed out.
"Is Shelly gone?" I asked.
Mat heaved a deep sigh. "Yeah. She left like an hour ago."
"Looks like you're pretty sad about it."
"F*** me, that's the truth," he said. "Shit's f***ing crazy.."
Well, he certainly could emote.
"Hey," he said, "did you tell her anything about me?"
Uh oh. "No. Why?"
"I dunno," he said. "She was acting all weird, like she thinks I'm cheating on her or something."
"Well...you are cheating on her, Mat," I said.
He blanched. "Yeah, well, she don't know dat. How can she pissed at me for some shit she don't even know about? Innocent 'til proven guilty, right?"
I shook my head. "I guess women are just a mystery."
"That's the f***ing truth," he agreed, completely missing the sarcasm.
"Is Shelly coming back any time soon?" I asked.
"I dunno," he said. "She wants me to visit her in California."
"Are you going to?"
"Maybe," he said. "It depends." He never said what it depended on, although I assumed the deciding factor would be whether she'd pay for his trip.
"Oh, by de way," he said. "Some girl called for you."
Some girl? "Was it Aimee?" I asked.
"No."
"Susan?"
"No."
"Latrisse?"
"Nope."
"Carolyn or Tiffany?"
"No, not them."
"Nancy?"
"No."
I was stumped. "Was it my mom, Mat?"
"It wasn't your mom," he said.
"Dude, that's, like, every woman I know. Why didn't you write it down?"
"I thought I'd remember," he said.
I wondered briefly if I could sic the head coach on him for forgetting my messages.
Mat's brain was working so hard I could almost smell toast burning. Finally, the light bulb went on. "Oh, right! She said she was 'Cindy from Kokomo.'"
Cindy from Kokomo. She was the last person I expected to call.
"Well," I said. "F*** me."
Part 13
Mat was in a very happy mood this particular week, and with good reason: Shelly was coming for a visit. During our time together, it seemed like Mat had three basic moods. Occasionally, he got pissed about something. That was scary but rare. Most of the time, he stalked around with an air of bored indifference. At least when I saw him, which was almost exclusively in our dorm room. When Mat was happy, you knew it because he would sing. In the room, in the shower, in the hallway on his way to the cafeteria, while sitting in his giant chair watching MTV. He'd usually croon something by Bob Marley, which was as funny a sound as you were likely to hear. I mean, imagine Arnold Schwarzenegger singing reggae and you'll know what I'm talking about.
With Shelly's arrival only a few short days away, Mat was singing all week. Normally, the constant rasta chants would have grated on my nerves, but I actually found his behavior a little endearing. Remember, I was still a sucker back then, so I became filled with hope any time Mat displayed what I considered to be normal human emotions. Shelly brought that out of him, and it made me think maybe he wasn't some big, dumb ogre after all.
Mat was so jolly he took a minute to look out for me. He checked our mailbox one evening and discovered yet another card from Latrisse.. "You need to cut that shit off, man," he said as he handed the card to me.. "Aimee's gonna flip her shit if this don't stop."
I still didn't see the problem with getting cards from Latrisse. Of course, it had progressed a little past that. We were now e-mailing each other every day. We had even "met up" in an Internet chat room. Mind you, Internet chatting back then wasn't what it is today. The "Coffee House" (which is what this particular chat portal was called) used the same VI editor that the e-mail system used. It was basically a big free-for-all with everybody chatting away like mad at the same time. You just had to kind of try and pick out the lines being typed by the person you were chatting with...and it wasn't always easy to do. Still, it was entertaining in a "brand new technology nobody really knows about" kind of way.
Meanwhile, I had only received one e-mail from Aimee: "Hey checking to see if email works - Aimee." I guess you could say I wasn't exactly feeling the love.
Jennifer stayed away that week, probably on Mat's orders. He wasn't taking any chances of Jennifer and Shelly crossing paths. Mat only disappeared for one night during the middle of the week. In his absence, he missed a phone call from one of the assistant coaches of the basketball team. The players had been given a couple days off from practicing, but he was expected to show up for practice at 4 p.m. (one hour earlier than normal) the next day. I took a very careful message and left it on Mat's desk next to his beloved container of animal crackers. I then left a second note with arrows pointing to the first note so he'd realize it was important.
When I got home from working at the food service the next night, Mat was in the room and on the phone apologizing furiously...for missing practice of course. I was chuckling quietly to myself until the end of the conversation, at which point Mat glanced at me and said, "No, coach. You don't need to say anything to him. I'll take care of it. No, it's okay, I'll talk to him. Yeah, I know. Okay, bye."
My eyes narrowed. "Who was that?"
"Coach," he said, referring to the head coach of the mens basketball team. The head coach was pretty famous at our school and even kind of famous away from it too, both because he was a great coach and because he looked like an angry, marauding troll. He also happened to have the worst hair in college basketball, maybe even in the entire world. And that's not hyperbole either.
"Who didn't he need to say anything too?" I asked, suspicion oozing out of my pores.
Matt shrugged. "He wanted to talk to you about not giving me my messages."
"WHAT?"
"I get home until a few minutes ago, so I didn't see your note until I'd already missed practice," Mat said. "Coach was pissed, but I just told him you didn't leave me a message, 'cause we're not supposed to stay out all night. Man, he really wanted to tell you off."
Mat just laughed as I gaped at him. "You're gonna tell him the truth, right? You're gonna tell him you found the message...aren't you?"
"F*** no," he said, waving me off. "It's not a big deal. It probably won't even happen again."
Probably. Great.
That was Mat. He didn't care who got blamed as long as it wasn't him. For some reason, I felt nervous about the fact that my school's head basketball coach wanted to tell me off. I mean, I didn't do anything wrong, so I shouldn't have been in any danger. But rules kept getting bent and broken in Mat's favor, often at my expense. My dorm manager had taught me that lesson all too well. What if the basketball coach got me kicked out of the dorm? Or even out of school? I know it sounds silly, but at that time anything seemed possible.
Shelly arrived on Friday afternoon. I happened to be at the dorm because Friday was a one-class day for me. She burst into the room -- as beautiful and busty as ever -- and jumped into Mat's waiting arms. They didn't waste any time on conversation (unless you count her girly "squee!" conversation) and instead immediately started making out. I left to give them time alone for, you know, whatever. I came back a couple hours later, but the door was locked and barricaded from the inside. That annoyed me a little bit, but I tried to remind myself this was a special occasion.
I tried again after another hour had passed. (I had made the mistake of leaving without either my wallet or my bookbag.) This time the door was unlocked. Shelly was sleeping alone on Mat's bed. He was gone, most likely at practice. Shelly woke up when I came into the room.
"Hey baby," she said in her telltale raspy voice. After stretching and wiping the sleep from her eyes, she said, "Sorry about kicking you out earlier, but Mat and I were really excited to see each other. It's been forever!"
"No problem," I said, trying to play the role of cool roommate guy. "I totally understand."
"You're soooooo sweet. Mat's lucky to have a roommate like you," she said. I knew she was buttering me up, and there was definitely a calculating gleam in her eyes. "So...tell me about how Mat spends his time."
"I'm sorry, what?" I asked, attempting to play dumb even though I knew exactly what she was getting at.
"Oh, you know, like, what does he do when I'm not around?" Her voice was light and playful, but there was an edge to it.
"Well, that's really most of the time isn't it? I mean, since you don't live here and all." Rule Number One of Evasive Conversation: Answer questions with questions and try to redirect.
"Oh, I know that, silly," she said. Her eyes hardened. "You know what I mean. It's just that, there's a lot of time in Mat's life I can't account for."
"Account for?" I asked. I was starting to get really uncomfortable now.
"Well, listen to him tell it," she began, "he spends all his time practicing, going to class and sleeping. Seriously, who goes to bed at 11 or 12 every night? Who needs that much sleep?"
How I kept from laughing I will never know. Going to class? In bed by midnight? She could not be talking about my roommate. But she was. And she could tell something was up when I didn't answer immediately.
"Matt," she said, and there was fear and anger in her voice, "something's up, isn't it? He's lying to me isn't he? He's cheating on me. Oh my God he's cheating on me isn't he? Matt, you have to tell me what's going on."
There was no way in the nine levels of hell I was going to tell her what was going on. I valued breathing and being able to walk without assistance too much to have Mat come home and find out I'd told his girlfriend he was an unfaithful liar. And yet Shelly was starting to freak out. I had to calm her down, and I had to do it fast.
At first, I had no idea what to say. Then it hit me, like a bolt from the blue. "Shelly, there's something you need to understand," I said. "Student athletes are...special people. Mat's under a lot of stress. Balancing classes and practice and stuff, it's really hard. You've got to be patient with him. Remember, he's giving of his mind and body every day, you know, to be a student and play basketball. Don't you think that the least you can do is give Mat a little patience and understanding?"
It was a slightly less articulate version of the speech the hall manager had given me when I requested a room change.. And it worked like a charm. Shelly burst into tears, then came over and hugged me. She smelled like wildflowers.
"Oh God, thank you, Matt," she whimpered into my shoulder. "It's just that I love that big guy so much, and I'm afraid. Like, I don't want to get screwed over. I just want to believe he really loves me, that somebody loves me. How stupid is that, right?"
I suddenly felt like a first-class douchebag. But I was already committed to covering for Mat. There was no turning back now. "It's not stupid at all," I told her in my most sympathetic and comforting voice. "Everybody wants to be loved."
"You really are a sweetheart," she said, gulping back a new wave of tears. "That Annie girl is really stupid for not wanting to be with you."
Now I really did laugh. "It's Aimee, actually," I corrected, "but yeah, she is pretty stupid. Then again, that 'Little Matt' nickname you stuck me with hasn't exactly been helping me with the ladies." Now we both laughed and everything felt better. You know, except for the fact that I had totally lied to her.
I tried to make myself scarce for the rest of the weekend. I had a few APO activities to attend, and I spent time with Nathan and the roleplaying group. Part of me wanted to call my mom and ask her to bring me home for a day or two, but I was trying to force myself to stay at school. I didn't want to look back on my freshman year and regret spending my time in Kokomo.
Mat and Shelly didn't leave the room all weekend. Pizza boxes and LaBamba's bags piled up next to the door. I walked in on them having sex once, and I walked in on them fighting twice. I never figured out what they were fighting about, because I didn't stick around to find out (nor did I ask about it later). I didn't come home before 2 a.m. on Friday or Saturday night. I got up as early as I could on Saturday and Sunday morning and left almost immediately.
By the time I returned from the library on Sunday night, Mat was in bed alone and looking thoroughly bummed out.
"Is Shelly gone?" I asked.
Mat heaved a deep sigh. "Yeah. She left like an hour ago."
"Looks like you're pretty sad about it."
"F*** me, that's the truth," he said. "Shit's f***ing crazy.."
Well, he certainly could emote.
"Hey," he said, "did you tell her anything about me?"
Uh oh. "No. Why?"
"I dunno," he said. "She was acting all weird, like she thinks I'm cheating on her or something."
"Well...you are cheating on her, Mat," I said.
He blanched. "Yeah, well, she don't know dat. How can she pissed at me for some shit she don't even know about? Innocent 'til proven guilty, right?"
I shook my head. "I guess women are just a mystery."
"That's the f***ing truth," he agreed, completely missing the sarcasm.
"Is Shelly coming back any time soon?" I asked.
"I dunno," he said. "She wants me to visit her in California."
"Are you going to?"
"Maybe," he said. "It depends." He never said what it depended on, although I assumed the deciding factor would be whether she'd pay for his trip.
"Oh, by de way," he said. "Some girl called for you."
Some girl? "Was it Aimee?" I asked.
"No."
"Susan?"
"No."
"Latrisse?"
"Nope."
"Carolyn or Tiffany?"
"No, not them."
"Nancy?"
"No."
I was stumped. "Was it my mom, Mat?"
"It wasn't your mom," he said.
"Dude, that's, like, every woman I know. Why didn't you write it down?"
"I thought I'd remember," he said.
I wondered briefly if I could sic the head coach on him for forgetting my messages.
Mat's brain was working so hard I could almost smell toast burning. Finally, the light bulb went on. "Oh, right! She said she was 'Cindy from Kokomo.'"
Cindy from Kokomo. She was the last person I expected to call.
"Well," I said. "F*** me."
Part 13
Labels: college stories, Livin' Large
Editor's note: This flow chart and the following breakdown (girls only) are the work of Basketbawful's own AnacondaHL. It was far too brilliant not to get its own post.
The Breakdown:
Jennifer Aniston: Gives the hometown girl feeling, maybe even a shade bitchy. Looks great at certain camera angles. Here's hoping Matt becomes the "Brad Pitt" and finds his "Angelina", or something. (Extra note: I don't find Angelina Jolie attractive really.)
Jennifer Connelly: Also looks GREAT at some angles, but not so much at others, hence explaining why Matt was usually confused at her advances.
Jennifer Garner: I don't think she's attractive, but some people think she is, so hence why Nancy got a full dose of Matt awkwardness.
Jennifer Love Hewitt: I think she's hot, and would be an upgrade over Aimee, and in my view, the decision between Latrisse and Susan was supposed to be close, had Matt not been numb and all.
Jennifer Morrison: Ah, now this is the sweet girl next door. Remember your reaction when she did this FHM photoshoot? My list really came together when I remembered her, especially the parallels with her character in House as a mild sauce Taco Bell Jennifer.
Jennifer Hawkins: Reserved as the hottest of the list, the most "California looking" (my apologies, Aussies). If you don't know who she is, perhaps a look back on Google Trends of Miss Universe 2004 will remind you (videos that may be found in links from this link may be NSFW).
J-lol: Again, I don't find her attractive, but she is "hot," and is the clear candidate for the category.
DVD Bonus: If I had to edit it for ver.2, I'd put Jennifer Hudson as Latrisse, probably move/recast Garner and Connelly, add the word "fugly" to Susan's friend, add a d20 next to Nathan and Ron, and move the word "Mat" over to the right bit just so you could get an eyefull of Vin Diesel tit. (Do you know how stupid it was to Google Image Search for a Mat picture? "Dutch actor" got nothing, "young Arnold Schwarzenegger" had too much hair, "bald actor" got lots of modern day Bruce Willis, I was about ready to query "bald young topless actor" before the final pic showed up. The pain I go through just for you guys.)
Part 12
Labels: amazing flow charts, college stories, guest author, Livin' Large
Okay, it's confession time, dear readers. Logging 13-hour days at my company's Italian office -- which is like something out of an Orwellian nightmare -- is starting to get to me. For this reason, you'll have to wait another day for the next installment of Livin' Large. However, for poops and chuckles I went ahead and put together a cast list to help you follow the unfolding drama. Ironically, this ended up taking more time than just writing the next installment. It's like 10,000 spoons when all I needed was a knife...to stab out Alanis Morissette's eyes with.
Many thanks to NarSARSsist and AnacondaHL for inspiring/starting this post.
Update! This posts actually pales in comparison to AnacondaHL's brilliant flow chart. And, strangely enough, the woman he picked to represent Shelly looks more like Shelly right now. Dismissed...as coincidence?
Little Matt: The blog author of Basketbawful and By The Horns. In other words: me. I'm the co-main character and "hero" of this comic-drama. The primary purpose of this story was simply to describe what it was like to be a freshman who had a varsity baller for a roommate.
Now it's evolved (or devolved) into my rather awkward coming-of-age story. Celebrity lookalike: Jeffrey Combs.
Big Mat: The co-main character and "villain" of this tale. Mat was a Dutch-born basketball player -- and I use that term very loosely -- who by some strange twist of fate was paired with a geeky freshman for a living experience like no other. Mat drank Heineken, said yes to the sweet cheeba, cut classes and had sex with countless women. He also made my life a living (if thoroughly entertaining) hell.
Mat failed utterly at basketball, but he did graduate in four years with an art degree, which has absolutely no bearing whatsoever in his current career as a professional ass-beater. Celebrity lookalike: Richard Moll.
Aimee: My high school crush, my college romance, my first love. She attended Butler University in Indianapolis, where she was a Pre-Law student majoring in History. She didn't want to be my girlfriend, but she didn't want me dating anybody else either. And I swear that statement was almost 87 percent bitterness-free.
At the time, I was really frustrated by her merciless resistance to my romantic advances. After recounting this story, I kind of see her point. Celebrity lookalike: Charisma Carpenter.
Shelly: Mat's primary romantic interest and the cousin of our R.A., Brett. She was a hot and busty party girl. Exceptionally busty. Busty, busty, busty. Boobs. Wait, what...where was I?
Oh, right. Shelly lived in California. And what's California known for? Hollywood. And what's Hollywood known for? Drama. Shelly proved that the most intense drama usually comes in a sexy and seemingly carefree package. From California. Celebrity lookalike: Emma O'Neil.
Brett: He was my freshman year R.A. Eventually he became one of my best lifelong friends. Sure, he wrote me up for violations Mat committed (with his cousin Shelly no less), it took him 10 years to tell me he's blind in one eye, and he flaked out on meeting me in Florence last weekend. But, well, that's Brett. You can't blame the rain for being wet, you know?
Brett is one of the most brilliant space cadets you'll ever meet. Assuming he shows up. Celebrity lookalike: None. This is him.
Susan: My Alpha Phi Omega Pledge sister. She was a junior when I was a freshman, so she also functioned as my surrogate big sister, secondary crush, and, eventually, my second college romance.
I made a fool of myself the first time we met and I never recovered, proving you really never get a second chance to make a first impression. Celebrity lookalike: Jennifer Grey.
Latrisse: Aimee's freshman year roommate. She developed a crush on me that I didn't see until it was too late. And even then I didn't see it. Latrisse came to symbolize (in my mind anyway) the utter cluelessness of my 18-year-old self.
Seriously, cards and care packages...how did I miss that? Celebrity lookalike: None. This is some girl I found using Google search.
Nathan: My next door neighbor during freshman year. Nathan was fearless, believing he was immortal and could not die. I'm not making this up. And maybe he was right...he took some really stupid chances during our friendship and yet lived to tell about them. Including shooting me in the ass with a potato gun.
Nathan once waged spiritual battle with his computer. Really. Celebrity lookalike: I'm not saying this is him...but it's him.
Jennifer: Also known as "Taco Bell Jennifer" because she dropped out of school and started working at Taco Bell full time in order to support Mat. Presumably, she would have done this for the entirety of Mat's college career had he not totally screwed her over.
Mat kept her around because she was convenient...and she swallowed. Celebrity lookalike: Some girl I found using Google search.
Nancy: I met her during an APO service activity. She approached me because I was alone, and I was alone because Susan ditched the activity due to a massive hangover.
Nancy trapped me into a Shanghai Date. I had no idea we were "going out," so I ended up embarrassing myself and hurting her feelings. Celebrity lookalike: Some girl I found using Google search.
BadDave: My once and future roommate. My best friend. The man who has seen me pee on a Subway sandwich shop in front of 10,000 people. He...he completes me.
He doesn't really come into this story until the very end, but I had to include him because I love this picture. Celebrity lookalike: None needed. Although he sometimes bears a striking resemblence to Tony Parker...
Future NBA All-Star: The greatest college basketball player in the country during my freshman year. He had a semi-distinguished NBA career, but he could never live up to his college exploits.
Future NBA All-Star tried to convince Mat to play during his freshman year, believing the two of them would make the team a true national championship contender. Celebrity lookalike: Hmmm...
Heineken sign: The mother fucking Heineken sign. This thing burned like the summer sun and kept me up night after night after cursed night. Mat insisted on leaving it on 24-7. When he was in the room, this sign was shining bright. It was not negotiable. Looking back, I'm surprised I didn't sabotage the thing.
To this day, I smash every one I see.
Minor Characters:
Chad: My dorm manager. He played up to the student athletes and expected everybody else to do the same. Chad couldn't have cared less that I was miserable being Mat's roommate and refused to move me to another room. Moreover, he suggested I be more sensitive to Mat's needs.
Greg and Gauvin: Two of my best high school buds. Greg went to IUK in Kokomo while Gauvin became a "student of life." I hung out with them whenever I went home for a weekend. They visited me once while I was living with Mat. They stuck around long enough to see the campus, but they ditched me when Mat was going to take us to a frat party.
Jason: A sort-of friend from high school. Actually, Jason and I were pretty close during middle school when we both acted as student helpers to a boy who had muscular dystrophy. He played a mean game of ping pong. He lived in the same dorm as Zach (see below).
Jen: Susan's roommate. She developed a fixation on Mat that would last for years, and she tried to use me to get close to him.
Jodie: Susan's incredibly ugly friend. She would eventually sleep with Steve (see below).
Joe: My basketball buddy. I developed my jump hook by playing against him.
Professor Webster: My freshman year English professor. He took time out from doing laundry to impart some wisdom ("Life is a series of self-limiting choices") and tell me he was sleeping with his boss's wife. He loved my paper on gender construction in Ghostbusters.
Ron: Nathan's friendly, spaced-out, and overweight roomie. He once walked into my room wrapped in a too-small towel. Some things can't be unseen. Let's leave it at that.
Steve: A slimy bastard who spent years trying to get into Susan's pants. He cockblocked me at every opportunity. I still hate him this rat bastard. Still, he ended up sleeping with Susan's hag-like friend, Jodie, so I kind of had the last laugh.
Tiffany and Carolyn: My APO pledge mothers. Their function as pledge parents was to guide me and Susan through pledgeship. Tiffany picked me because I had written on my pledge form that soccer was a hobby of mine. If I hadn't told that out-of-nowhere lie, I never would have met Susan.
Zach: A sort-of friend from high school. I hung out with him when I first got to school because I didn't know anybody else. Zach became dead to me when Jason (see above) told me Zach said I was "kind of pathetic for always trying to hang around with him." Eventually, he dropped out of college and returned to Kokomo to work at the local Chrysler plant.
And finally a random (but astute) observation from AnacondaHL:
Livin' Large: the official Flow Chart 1.0
Many thanks to NarSARSsist and AnacondaHL for inspiring/starting this post.
Update! This posts actually pales in comparison to AnacondaHL's brilliant flow chart. And, strangely enough, the woman he picked to represent Shelly looks more like Shelly right now. Dismissed...as coincidence?
Little Matt: The blog author of Basketbawful and By The Horns. In other words: me. I'm the co-main character and "hero" of this comic-drama. The primary purpose of this story was simply to describe what it was like to be a freshman who had a varsity baller for a roommate.Now it's evolved (or devolved) into my rather awkward coming-of-age story. Celebrity lookalike: Jeffrey Combs.
Big Mat: The co-main character and "villain" of this tale. Mat was a Dutch-born basketball player -- and I use that term very loosely -- who by some strange twist of fate was paired with a geeky freshman for a living experience like no other. Mat drank Heineken, said yes to the sweet cheeba, cut classes and had sex with countless women. He also made my life a living (if thoroughly entertaining) hell.Mat failed utterly at basketball, but he did graduate in four years with an art degree, which has absolutely no bearing whatsoever in his current career as a professional ass-beater. Celebrity lookalike: Richard Moll.
Aimee: My high school crush, my college romance, my first love. She attended Butler University in Indianapolis, where she was a Pre-Law student majoring in History. She didn't want to be my girlfriend, but she didn't want me dating anybody else either. And I swear that statement was almost 87 percent bitterness-free.At the time, I was really frustrated by her merciless resistance to my romantic advances. After recounting this story, I kind of see her point. Celebrity lookalike: Charisma Carpenter.
Shelly: Mat's primary romantic interest and the cousin of our R.A., Brett. She was a hot and busty party girl. Exceptionally busty. Busty, busty, busty. Boobs. Wait, what...where was I?Oh, right. Shelly lived in California. And what's California known for? Hollywood. And what's Hollywood known for? Drama. Shelly proved that the most intense drama usually comes in a sexy and seemingly carefree package. From California. Celebrity lookalike: Emma O'Neil.
Brett: He was my freshman year R.A. Eventually he became one of my best lifelong friends. Sure, he wrote me up for violations Mat committed (with his cousin Shelly no less), it took him 10 years to tell me he's blind in one eye, and he flaked out on meeting me in Florence last weekend. But, well, that's Brett. You can't blame the rain for being wet, you know?Brett is one of the most brilliant space cadets you'll ever meet. Assuming he shows up. Celebrity lookalike: None. This is him.
Susan: My Alpha Phi Omega Pledge sister. She was a junior when I was a freshman, so she also functioned as my surrogate big sister, secondary crush, and, eventually, my second college romance.I made a fool of myself the first time we met and I never recovered, proving you really never get a second chance to make a first impression. Celebrity lookalike: Jennifer Grey.
Latrisse: Aimee's freshman year roommate. She developed a crush on me that I didn't see until it was too late. And even then I didn't see it. Latrisse came to symbolize (in my mind anyway) the utter cluelessness of my 18-year-old self.Seriously, cards and care packages...how did I miss that? Celebrity lookalike: None. This is some girl I found using Google search.
Nathan: My next door neighbor during freshman year. Nathan was fearless, believing he was immortal and could not die. I'm not making this up. And maybe he was right...he took some really stupid chances during our friendship and yet lived to tell about them. Including shooting me in the ass with a potato gun.Nathan once waged spiritual battle with his computer. Really. Celebrity lookalike: I'm not saying this is him...but it's him.
Jennifer: Also known as "Taco Bell Jennifer" because she dropped out of school and started working at Taco Bell full time in order to support Mat. Presumably, she would have done this for the entirety of Mat's college career had he not totally screwed her over.Mat kept her around because she was convenient...and she swallowed. Celebrity lookalike: Some girl I found using Google search.
Nancy: I met her during an APO service activity. She approached me because I was alone, and I was alone because Susan ditched the activity due to a massive hangover.Nancy trapped me into a Shanghai Date. I had no idea we were "going out," so I ended up embarrassing myself and hurting her feelings. Celebrity lookalike: Some girl I found using Google search.
BadDave: My once and future roommate. My best friend. The man who has seen me pee on a Subway sandwich shop in front of 10,000 people. He...he completes me.He doesn't really come into this story until the very end, but I had to include him because I love this picture. Celebrity lookalike: None needed. Although he sometimes bears a striking resemblence to Tony Parker...
Future NBA All-Star: The greatest college basketball player in the country during my freshman year. He had a semi-distinguished NBA career, but he could never live up to his college exploits.Future NBA All-Star tried to convince Mat to play during his freshman year, believing the two of them would make the team a true national championship contender. Celebrity lookalike: Hmmm...
Heineken sign: The mother fucking Heineken sign. This thing burned like the summer sun and kept me up night after night after cursed night. Mat insisted on leaving it on 24-7. When he was in the room, this sign was shining bright. It was not negotiable. Looking back, I'm surprised I didn't sabotage the thing.To this day, I smash every one I see.
Minor Characters:
Chad: My dorm manager. He played up to the student athletes and expected everybody else to do the same. Chad couldn't have cared less that I was miserable being Mat's roommate and refused to move me to another room. Moreover, he suggested I be more sensitive to Mat's needs.
Greg and Gauvin: Two of my best high school buds. Greg went to IUK in Kokomo while Gauvin became a "student of life." I hung out with them whenever I went home for a weekend. They visited me once while I was living with Mat. They stuck around long enough to see the campus, but they ditched me when Mat was going to take us to a frat party.
Jason: A sort-of friend from high school. Actually, Jason and I were pretty close during middle school when we both acted as student helpers to a boy who had muscular dystrophy. He played a mean game of ping pong. He lived in the same dorm as Zach (see below).
Jen: Susan's roommate. She developed a fixation on Mat that would last for years, and she tried to use me to get close to him.
Jodie: Susan's incredibly ugly friend. She would eventually sleep with Steve (see below).
Joe: My basketball buddy. I developed my jump hook by playing against him.
Professor Webster: My freshman year English professor. He took time out from doing laundry to impart some wisdom ("Life is a series of self-limiting choices") and tell me he was sleeping with his boss's wife. He loved my paper on gender construction in Ghostbusters.
Ron: Nathan's friendly, spaced-out, and overweight roomie. He once walked into my room wrapped in a too-small towel. Some things can't be unseen. Let's leave it at that.
Steve: A slimy bastard who spent years trying to get into Susan's pants. He cockblocked me at every opportunity. I still hate him this rat bastard. Still, he ended up sleeping with Susan's hag-like friend, Jodie, so I kind of had the last laugh.
Tiffany and Carolyn: My APO pledge mothers. Their function as pledge parents was to guide me and Susan through pledgeship. Tiffany picked me because I had written on my pledge form that soccer was a hobby of mine. If I hadn't told that out-of-nowhere lie, I never would have met Susan.
Zach: A sort-of friend from high school. I hung out with him when I first got to school because I didn't know anybody else. Zach became dead to me when Jason (see above) told me Zach said I was "kind of pathetic for always trying to hang around with him." Eventually, he dropped out of college and returned to Kokomo to work at the local Chrysler plant.
And finally a random (but astute) observation from AnacondaHL:
Not to raise any expectations of this story even higher, but there's an ongoing theme to each one of these installments: food. Taco Bell leads with 5 mentions, hamburger is mentioned in 4 parts, and pizza is in 3. Here's the list so far:To be continued...
1. Taco Bell
2. Taco Bell/hamburger
3. Dining Hall/hamburger
4. McDonald's/hamburger
5. Heineken
6. TACO BELL JENNIFER
7. Pizza
8. Pizza (Chuck E. Cheese)
9. Gelato/Pizza
10. Cookies (chocolate chip)/Taco Bell/hamburger
11. Taco Bell
Livin' Large: the official Flow Chart 1.0
Labels: casting call, college stories, Livin' Large
Previous installments: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10. And check out the official Livin' Large FAQ.
Mat didn't return until the next night. I wasted no time in giving him the good news.
"Aw, f*** me, Shelly's coming? That's great!"
Yep, Mat was pretty thrilled about Shelly's impending visit, which would occur in two weekends. He was so thrilled, in fact, that he went ahead and had five minutes of sweaty relations with Jennifer later that night. Say what you will about him, but Mat knew how to celebrate good news.
Now, my friends will tell you that I have a habit -- good or bad, depending on your point of view -- of giving unsolicited advice when I see someone doing something stupid. Normally, I'll open with a statement like, "Dude, that's stupid," and follow it up with a list of the reasons I think it's stupid.
This advice usually goes over about as well as a peanut butter and human feces sandwich. I've come to realize over the years that when a person behaves stupidly, they (usually) already know somewhere deep (or not-so-deep) inside they're being stupid but don't want to give up whatever selfish desire they're going after. Therefore pointing out the stupidity isn't helping them so much as reminding them of something they were trying to repress. And nobody likes that.
For example, I have a friend who's head-over-heels in debt, but he recently insisted on renting a two-story condo with a basement (despite the fact that he lives alone) and buying both a new Mustang and a new special edition Triumph Trophy motorcycle similar to the one Steve McQueen rode in The Great Escape. Now he's talking about buying a house, although I have no idea how he'd do it. (This "I'll accumulate as much insurmountable debt as lending institutions will let me" model is a big reason why our economy has failed by the way.) This is the same guy who had to cancel a recent visit because he couldn't afford gas money for the trip from Indianapolis to Chicago. Yet when I try to council him to financial caution, he gets pissy.
At any rate, with Shelly coming to town and Mat having both a regular girlfriend and a continuing series of one-night hookups, I saw the potential for disaster. Forget the fact that lying to all the women involved was wrong, I couldn't see how he was going to keep the girls from crossing paths in some way. I mean, what if Jennifer called and left a message while Mat and Shelly were getting it on? (We still had the free-standing answering machine that played messages out loud as they were being left.)
Of course, Mat had a plan. He wasn't going to make any dates. (Mighty considerate of him, huh?) He was going to tell Jennifer he'd be busy all weekend. As for the phone, he was going to turn off the ringer and disconnect the answering machine. There was at least one problem with that plan.
"Uh, how am I going to get my calls and messages?" I asked.
"Aw, you can help a brother out for the weekend, right?" (Yes, he occasionally referred to himself as "a brother" and on rare occasions the N-word.) This wasn't a threat. He was actually asking me. Nicely even. And it totally worked. It's kind of like when an abusive husband brings his wife flowers. She's so used to being treated like a dog that any sign of human kindness makes her melt. Mat spent so much time ignoring me and my feelings that when he acted like he cared just a little, it made me feel a surge of fraternity with him. Because, of course, I was a sucker.
I was still dubious about whether Jennifer would really stay away from the room. She often stopped by even when she knew Mat wasn't going to be there. Believe it or not, she didn't seem to be trying to catch him cheating on her. She just really hoped she'd be able to see him, and maybe surprise him with a gift or some Taco Bell. (Jennifer never gave me the Taco Bell intended for Mat when he wasn't there, and I often wondered what she did with a huge bag filled with tacos and burritos. That stuff doesn't reheat well. It's barely edible when it's fresh.)
"She'll stay away because I tell her to stay away," Mat said, and that did sound like a threat.
The days passed by. Mat's professors were starting to call and leave messages for him, requesting that he call them back. He never did. I figured the calls likely had something to do with the fact that he never attended classes. At least, as far as I could tell. I was usually on campus all day and working at the food service in the early evening. But on the rare days I had a break or a class got canceled, I would come back to the room to find him sleeping until an hour or so before practice.
Meanwhile, I was spending more time with Susan. We figured the best way to get through our pledgeship was to do all our hours together. Of course, she had ditched our last service activity. Apparently, she'd been nursing a huge hangover and couldn't get out of bed.
"You drink?" I asked, somewhat surprised because I was an idiot.
"Uh, yeah. You don't?" She said.
"Er...no, not very often." Not very often? I never drank! (At that time, anyway.) But I didn't want to sound like a complete lameass, even if I was.
"Well, if we're going to spend this much time together, that's got to change. Me and my roommate are having a room party on Friday. You should come by."
Since I was a complete nerd, I brought up the fact that we both had to be up early the next day to pass out flyers outside the football stadium. It was actually a pretty sweet deal, because this particular service event earned us free tickets to the game. The game was against Notre Dame, and the tickets were impossible to get. (I wasn't that into football at the time, so I had no idea how big this was until someone at the food service offered me $100 for my ticket.)
"You don't think you'll be able to wake up the next day if you party?" she asked.
"I'm actually more worried about whether you can wake up."
"Then just crash in my room and wake me up yourself," she said. "I'll even let you get me coffee."
If I remember correctly, I forgot to breath for the next minute or so. Still, I assumed that Susan's comment was entirely innocent -- and it may well have been, I never asked -- but when I told Aimee about it during our nightly phone conversation, she freaked out a little. "I don't like Susan," she said.
"You don't even know her," I countered.
"Yeah, well, I still don't like her," she said in a pouty way. "I think she has a crush on you."
"Based on what?" I asked. Then I said, "It doesn't really matter anyway, does it? You still don't want to be my girlfriend, right?" I had her in a checkmate there, and she wasn't happy about it. Nor was she pleased that I had received another card from Latrisse. Still, she got along with her roommate so well she didn't say anything for fear of damaging their relationship. But all in all, she was wary of any women who gave me attention.
That's why I didn't tell her about getting a call from Nancy. I didn't call her after Sunday's service event, so she got my number from the student directory. She asked if I wanted to hang out at her place on Saturday night, maybe watch a movie. I had nothing else to do, so I agreed. It didn't occur to me then, but for such a "lonely" guy, I somehow ended up getting my share of attention from girls.
Shelly's phone calls were increasing in frequency and length, which required Mat to be home during the week more often than he typically preferred. It also blew his booty call schedule all to hell. Fortunately, Jennifer was willing to come over whenever he asked. That's probably another reason she became his only regular thing: she was terribly convenient.
Although Mat was always excited to hear from Shelly, there was something almost ominous about the phone calls. The conversations were becoming more serious. There was more pillow talk than there had been. Instead of beer and pot, they had started discussing the future and the possibility of taking trips together. Her visiting him Holland the next summer was brought up. Mat started occasionally using the L-word. Only in a "Love you too" kind of way, but it was stunning nonetheless.
"So," I asked one night, "things getting serious with Shelly?"
"F*** me, man," he said, "I have no f***ing idea." Experience has since taught me that particular answer to that particular question in those particular circumstances is a man's way of saying, "Yes, they are becoming more serious, and I am helpless to stop it. Also, I am scared shitless."
Friday night arrived. I went to Susan's party and found her dorm room stuffed with people I didn't know. There was her roommate Jen (a true BBW), her friend Jodie (an unfortunate girl who looked like the Rocky character from Mask), and some other guys and girls I didn't know and never bothered to get to know.
When I walked in, Susan -- already well on her way to "very drunk" -- ran across the room (which took all of three steps) and jumped into my arms. "My pledge brother...WOOOOO!" she screamed as she slopped beer on me.
One by one, Susan introduced me to the partygoers. When she offered me a beer, I politely declined. This was met with a chorus of boos, after which Susan kept attempting to feed me her beer every chance she got. "Oh yeah," she said, "getting my pledge brother drunk! I'm gonna corrupt you yet."
Jen took me aside the first chance she got. She wanted me to tell her everything I knew about Mat. "Oh my God, he's so gorgeous," she said in that breathless, "his mere existence makes my panties wet" way. "What's he like? Is he cool? Is he funny? Is he dating anybody?" I went ahead and told her everything I knew, most of which was not very complimentary. She eyed me suspiciously after that, as if she couldn't imagine Mat being anything less than super-awesome.
Unlike the frat party I went to, I made a real effort to mingle at this party. But chatting up a bunch of drunk people you don't know when you're not getting drunk yourself becomes increasingly difficult as the night goes on. Plus, at the time, my mingle gland was two sizes too small. So, after an hour or so, I excused myself. Susan was very disappointed.
"You have to staaaaaay," she moaned. "How am I going to get up tomorrow morning if you leave?"
"I'll come by and pick you up. I promise." I really put the "me" in "lame" didn't I?
Susan wasn't happy with the resolution, but she reluctantly accepted it. On the way out, Jen gave me her number on a scrap of paper and asked me to give it to Mat. I said, "Okay, I'll put it next to all the other girls' numbers." She gave me a beady look of pure dislike.
When I got back to the room, Mat was pacing around waiting for Shelly's call. It came shortly thereafter, and Mat rushed through it. "Baby," he said. "I's got to get up early tomorrow morning. De coaches are holding practice extra early. I have get my sleep."
He was out of the room less than 20 seconds after hanging up the phone. I dropped Jen's number on his desk amidst the rest of the mess there knowing he'd never find it.
I was about to put on an old Celtics game, but I forced myself to go down to hang out with the D&D group for a while. Sadly, I spent more time roleplaying that night than partying with a girl I was destined to fall in love with. Have I mentioned that retelling these stories makes me hate myself a little bit?
The next morning I went to Susan's dorm to wake her up. I called from the courtesy phone downstairs and had to let it ring 20 or 30 times before she finally picked up. "I'll be right down," she grumped and hung up.
Susan was cranky and dragging ass, but she came. We arrived at the football stadium 10 minutes early and she complained that I could have let her sleep at least nine more minutes. After everybody arrived, the event organizer started splitting us into pairs. Just as Susan and I were about to get paired off, this greasy guy named Steve said, "Oh, I'm Susan's friend, I'll go with her."
Not only did this piss me off, it left me as an odd number, and ended up having to pass out flyers by myself. I put "Kill this Steve guy" near the top of my to-do list.
Steve continued to dominate Susan's attention during the game. His method was to cover her like a blanket and block everyone else from talking to her. If this had happened a year or two later, I would have chewed the guy up and spit him out. At the time, all I could do was sit back, watch, and mentally kick myself in the ass.
The game was an embarrassing blowout at our team's expense (we didn't even score a point), so the three of us left early. To Steve's great dismay, Susan wanted to go back to her room and take a nap. I offered to walk her home, but Steve said, "Don't worry about it kid, I've got it" and off they went. I spent the next few hours fuming silently but bitterly.
However, I had plans that night, which meant I didn't have to sit around by myself, and that was a good thing. Nancy and I watched a movie, although I can't for the life of me remember what it was. Girls she knew kept coming by and saying things like, "Oh, that's Matt?" or "Is that the guy who likes pro wrestling?" and then giggling like crazy. That -- along with the fact that she had looked my number up and invited me to her room for a movie night -- would have tipped off someone with even the smallest shred of social aptitude. But I had none, and so I noticed nothing.
At the end of the night, Nancy said, "So, what would you like to do now?"
I was tired, so I told her that and said I'd probably just go home and go to bed. She seemed disappointed, but said she understood. "But hey," she said as I she walked me out of the building, "a group of us are going to Olive Garden tomorrow afternoon. Would you like to go with us?"
The dorms didn't serve dinner on Sunday, so I said that sounded great.
On the way back to my room, I saw Nathan's door was open. He was praying or something like that, so I asked if I could use his computer to check my e-mail. This was a novelty for me. I had gotten my e-mail account a few weeks prior, and it was my first. Mind you, personal Internet usage was still very new, and my school's e-mail system used a VI editor. I might as well have been carving onto stone and tossing it in the direction of whoever I was writing to.
I knew checking e-mail was probably a waste of time, but I had given Aimee my e-mail address earlier in the week and was hoping she might have e-mailed me. She hadn't...but Latrisse had. The message said something like, "Hey baby. Aimee gave me your e-mail address so I thought I'd send a note to say hello. Write back soon!" I sent her a note thanking her for e-mailing me, then left Nathan to his prayers.
Mat was not in the room nor did he return that night.
The next day I went to Nancy's room for this group trip to the Olive Garden. Kokomo didn't have an Olive Garden the time. In fact, I'd never even heard of the place before, so this was a novelty for me. I assumed it was some fast food place somewhere off campus. I wore my default outfit, which consisted of a t-shirt, jeans and my basketball shoes. When Nancy opened the door, I realized that was a mistake.
Including Nancy, there were three girls and two guys. The girls were wearing dresses an the guys were in khaki pants and button-down shirts. At first, I was like, Everybody dressed really nice today. That's weird. Then it hit me...this was a couples thing. This was a date!
Nancy looked scandalized by my attire, and the other girls looked at her sympathetically. The guys looked at me like as if to say, "Damn, I didn't know I could have worn jeans."
Suffice it to say, it was a terribly uncomfortable dinner for everyone involved. I felt like a schmuck for not realizing this was a date, even though there was no way I could have known. When the bill came, I only paid for myself, and Nancy looked stricken. The car ride back to campus was deathly quiet. They dropped me off at my dorm and Nancy mumbled something like, "Talk to you later."
I shuffled back to my room feeling like the world's biggest fool. My every experience with women felt like an exercise in humiliation and futility. I once again thought to myself that I'd probably die a virgin.
Mat still wasn't home. He had a dozen or more messages on the answering machine, and half of them were from Shelly. It sounded like he would be in trouble when he got home. I spent the rest of the day studying, taking breaks to call Susan (to see if she'd recovered from her hangover), Joe (to set up a time to play basketball), and Aimee (to increase my frustration with the opposite sex). I asked Aimee to thank Latrisse for e-mailing me hoping it would make her feel guilty for not doing it herself. Instead it made her suspicious. "Don’t you think it’s weird that Latrisse keeps sending you cards and e-mails?"
"One e-mail," I corrected, not even remotely seeing her point.
I hadn't been in bed for very long when Mat returned. He kicked open the door, flipped on the Heineken light, turned on MTV and flopped into his giant chair. "F*** me," he said to no one in particular. "Long f***ing weekend." Shelly called shortly thereafter, and I eventually fell asleep to the sound of Mat talking dirty to her.
Livin' Large: The official Cast List
Mat didn't return until the next night. I wasted no time in giving him the good news.
"Aw, f*** me, Shelly's coming? That's great!"
Yep, Mat was pretty thrilled about Shelly's impending visit, which would occur in two weekends. He was so thrilled, in fact, that he went ahead and had five minutes of sweaty relations with Jennifer later that night. Say what you will about him, but Mat knew how to celebrate good news.
Now, my friends will tell you that I have a habit -- good or bad, depending on your point of view -- of giving unsolicited advice when I see someone doing something stupid. Normally, I'll open with a statement like, "Dude, that's stupid," and follow it up with a list of the reasons I think it's stupid.
This advice usually goes over about as well as a peanut butter and human feces sandwich. I've come to realize over the years that when a person behaves stupidly, they (usually) already know somewhere deep (or not-so-deep) inside they're being stupid but don't want to give up whatever selfish desire they're going after. Therefore pointing out the stupidity isn't helping them so much as reminding them of something they were trying to repress. And nobody likes that.
For example, I have a friend who's head-over-heels in debt, but he recently insisted on renting a two-story condo with a basement (despite the fact that he lives alone) and buying both a new Mustang and a new special edition Triumph Trophy motorcycle similar to the one Steve McQueen rode in The Great Escape. Now he's talking about buying a house, although I have no idea how he'd do it. (This "I'll accumulate as much insurmountable debt as lending institutions will let me" model is a big reason why our economy has failed by the way.) This is the same guy who had to cancel a recent visit because he couldn't afford gas money for the trip from Indianapolis to Chicago. Yet when I try to council him to financial caution, he gets pissy.
At any rate, with Shelly coming to town and Mat having both a regular girlfriend and a continuing series of one-night hookups, I saw the potential for disaster. Forget the fact that lying to all the women involved was wrong, I couldn't see how he was going to keep the girls from crossing paths in some way. I mean, what if Jennifer called and left a message while Mat and Shelly were getting it on? (We still had the free-standing answering machine that played messages out loud as they were being left.)
Of course, Mat had a plan. He wasn't going to make any dates. (Mighty considerate of him, huh?) He was going to tell Jennifer he'd be busy all weekend. As for the phone, he was going to turn off the ringer and disconnect the answering machine. There was at least one problem with that plan.
"Uh, how am I going to get my calls and messages?" I asked.
"Aw, you can help a brother out for the weekend, right?" (Yes, he occasionally referred to himself as "a brother" and on rare occasions the N-word.) This wasn't a threat. He was actually asking me. Nicely even. And it totally worked. It's kind of like when an abusive husband brings his wife flowers. She's so used to being treated like a dog that any sign of human kindness makes her melt. Mat spent so much time ignoring me and my feelings that when he acted like he cared just a little, it made me feel a surge of fraternity with him. Because, of course, I was a sucker.
I was still dubious about whether Jennifer would really stay away from the room. She often stopped by even when she knew Mat wasn't going to be there. Believe it or not, she didn't seem to be trying to catch him cheating on her. She just really hoped she'd be able to see him, and maybe surprise him with a gift or some Taco Bell. (Jennifer never gave me the Taco Bell intended for Mat when he wasn't there, and I often wondered what she did with a huge bag filled with tacos and burritos. That stuff doesn't reheat well. It's barely edible when it's fresh.)
"She'll stay away because I tell her to stay away," Mat said, and that did sound like a threat.
The days passed by. Mat's professors were starting to call and leave messages for him, requesting that he call them back. He never did. I figured the calls likely had something to do with the fact that he never attended classes. At least, as far as I could tell. I was usually on campus all day and working at the food service in the early evening. But on the rare days I had a break or a class got canceled, I would come back to the room to find him sleeping until an hour or so before practice.
Meanwhile, I was spending more time with Susan. We figured the best way to get through our pledgeship was to do all our hours together. Of course, she had ditched our last service activity. Apparently, she'd been nursing a huge hangover and couldn't get out of bed.
"You drink?" I asked, somewhat surprised because I was an idiot.
"Uh, yeah. You don't?" She said.
"Er...no, not very often." Not very often? I never drank! (At that time, anyway.) But I didn't want to sound like a complete lameass, even if I was.
"Well, if we're going to spend this much time together, that's got to change. Me and my roommate are having a room party on Friday. You should come by."
Since I was a complete nerd, I brought up the fact that we both had to be up early the next day to pass out flyers outside the football stadium. It was actually a pretty sweet deal, because this particular service event earned us free tickets to the game. The game was against Notre Dame, and the tickets were impossible to get. (I wasn't that into football at the time, so I had no idea how big this was until someone at the food service offered me $100 for my ticket.)
"You don't think you'll be able to wake up the next day if you party?" she asked.
"I'm actually more worried about whether you can wake up."
"Then just crash in my room and wake me up yourself," she said. "I'll even let you get me coffee."
If I remember correctly, I forgot to breath for the next minute or so. Still, I assumed that Susan's comment was entirely innocent -- and it may well have been, I never asked -- but when I told Aimee about it during our nightly phone conversation, she freaked out a little. "I don't like Susan," she said.
"You don't even know her," I countered.
"Yeah, well, I still don't like her," she said in a pouty way. "I think she has a crush on you."
"Based on what?" I asked. Then I said, "It doesn't really matter anyway, does it? You still don't want to be my girlfriend, right?" I had her in a checkmate there, and she wasn't happy about it. Nor was she pleased that I had received another card from Latrisse. Still, she got along with her roommate so well she didn't say anything for fear of damaging their relationship. But all in all, she was wary of any women who gave me attention.
That's why I didn't tell her about getting a call from Nancy. I didn't call her after Sunday's service event, so she got my number from the student directory. She asked if I wanted to hang out at her place on Saturday night, maybe watch a movie. I had nothing else to do, so I agreed. It didn't occur to me then, but for such a "lonely" guy, I somehow ended up getting my share of attention from girls.
Shelly's phone calls were increasing in frequency and length, which required Mat to be home during the week more often than he typically preferred. It also blew his booty call schedule all to hell. Fortunately, Jennifer was willing to come over whenever he asked. That's probably another reason she became his only regular thing: she was terribly convenient.
Although Mat was always excited to hear from Shelly, there was something almost ominous about the phone calls. The conversations were becoming more serious. There was more pillow talk than there had been. Instead of beer and pot, they had started discussing the future and the possibility of taking trips together. Her visiting him Holland the next summer was brought up. Mat started occasionally using the L-word. Only in a "Love you too" kind of way, but it was stunning nonetheless.
"So," I asked one night, "things getting serious with Shelly?"
"F*** me, man," he said, "I have no f***ing idea." Experience has since taught me that particular answer to that particular question in those particular circumstances is a man's way of saying, "Yes, they are becoming more serious, and I am helpless to stop it. Also, I am scared shitless."
Friday night arrived. I went to Susan's party and found her dorm room stuffed with people I didn't know. There was her roommate Jen (a true BBW), her friend Jodie (an unfortunate girl who looked like the Rocky character from Mask), and some other guys and girls I didn't know and never bothered to get to know.
When I walked in, Susan -- already well on her way to "very drunk" -- ran across the room (which took all of three steps) and jumped into my arms. "My pledge brother...WOOOOO!" she screamed as she slopped beer on me.
One by one, Susan introduced me to the partygoers. When she offered me a beer, I politely declined. This was met with a chorus of boos, after which Susan kept attempting to feed me her beer every chance she got. "Oh yeah," she said, "getting my pledge brother drunk! I'm gonna corrupt you yet."
Jen took me aside the first chance she got. She wanted me to tell her everything I knew about Mat. "Oh my God, he's so gorgeous," she said in that breathless, "his mere existence makes my panties wet" way. "What's he like? Is he cool? Is he funny? Is he dating anybody?" I went ahead and told her everything I knew, most of which was not very complimentary. She eyed me suspiciously after that, as if she couldn't imagine Mat being anything less than super-awesome.
Unlike the frat party I went to, I made a real effort to mingle at this party. But chatting up a bunch of drunk people you don't know when you're not getting drunk yourself becomes increasingly difficult as the night goes on. Plus, at the time, my mingle gland was two sizes too small. So, after an hour or so, I excused myself. Susan was very disappointed.
"You have to staaaaaay," she moaned. "How am I going to get up tomorrow morning if you leave?"
"I'll come by and pick you up. I promise." I really put the "me" in "lame" didn't I?
Susan wasn't happy with the resolution, but she reluctantly accepted it. On the way out, Jen gave me her number on a scrap of paper and asked me to give it to Mat. I said, "Okay, I'll put it next to all the other girls' numbers." She gave me a beady look of pure dislike.
When I got back to the room, Mat was pacing around waiting for Shelly's call. It came shortly thereafter, and Mat rushed through it. "Baby," he said. "I's got to get up early tomorrow morning. De coaches are holding practice extra early. I have get my sleep."
He was out of the room less than 20 seconds after hanging up the phone. I dropped Jen's number on his desk amidst the rest of the mess there knowing he'd never find it.
I was about to put on an old Celtics game, but I forced myself to go down to hang out with the D&D group for a while. Sadly, I spent more time roleplaying that night than partying with a girl I was destined to fall in love with. Have I mentioned that retelling these stories makes me hate myself a little bit?
The next morning I went to Susan's dorm to wake her up. I called from the courtesy phone downstairs and had to let it ring 20 or 30 times before she finally picked up. "I'll be right down," she grumped and hung up.
Susan was cranky and dragging ass, but she came. We arrived at the football stadium 10 minutes early and she complained that I could have let her sleep at least nine more minutes. After everybody arrived, the event organizer started splitting us into pairs. Just as Susan and I were about to get paired off, this greasy guy named Steve said, "Oh, I'm Susan's friend, I'll go with her."
Not only did this piss me off, it left me as an odd number, and ended up having to pass out flyers by myself. I put "Kill this Steve guy" near the top of my to-do list.
Steve continued to dominate Susan's attention during the game. His method was to cover her like a blanket and block everyone else from talking to her. If this had happened a year or two later, I would have chewed the guy up and spit him out. At the time, all I could do was sit back, watch, and mentally kick myself in the ass.
The game was an embarrassing blowout at our team's expense (we didn't even score a point), so the three of us left early. To Steve's great dismay, Susan wanted to go back to her room and take a nap. I offered to walk her home, but Steve said, "Don't worry about it kid, I've got it" and off they went. I spent the next few hours fuming silently but bitterly.
However, I had plans that night, which meant I didn't have to sit around by myself, and that was a good thing. Nancy and I watched a movie, although I can't for the life of me remember what it was. Girls she knew kept coming by and saying things like, "Oh, that's Matt?" or "Is that the guy who likes pro wrestling?" and then giggling like crazy. That -- along with the fact that she had looked my number up and invited me to her room for a movie night -- would have tipped off someone with even the smallest shred of social aptitude. But I had none, and so I noticed nothing.
At the end of the night, Nancy said, "So, what would you like to do now?"
I was tired, so I told her that and said I'd probably just go home and go to bed. She seemed disappointed, but said she understood. "But hey," she said as I she walked me out of the building, "a group of us are going to Olive Garden tomorrow afternoon. Would you like to go with us?"
The dorms didn't serve dinner on Sunday, so I said that sounded great.
On the way back to my room, I saw Nathan's door was open. He was praying or something like that, so I asked if I could use his computer to check my e-mail. This was a novelty for me. I had gotten my e-mail account a few weeks prior, and it was my first. Mind you, personal Internet usage was still very new, and my school's e-mail system used a VI editor. I might as well have been carving onto stone and tossing it in the direction of whoever I was writing to.
I knew checking e-mail was probably a waste of time, but I had given Aimee my e-mail address earlier in the week and was hoping she might have e-mailed me. She hadn't...but Latrisse had. The message said something like, "Hey baby. Aimee gave me your e-mail address so I thought I'd send a note to say hello. Write back soon!" I sent her a note thanking her for e-mailing me, then left Nathan to his prayers.
Mat was not in the room nor did he return that night.
The next day I went to Nancy's room for this group trip to the Olive Garden. Kokomo didn't have an Olive Garden the time. In fact, I'd never even heard of the place before, so this was a novelty for me. I assumed it was some fast food place somewhere off campus. I wore my default outfit, which consisted of a t-shirt, jeans and my basketball shoes. When Nancy opened the door, I realized that was a mistake.
Including Nancy, there were three girls and two guys. The girls were wearing dresses an the guys were in khaki pants and button-down shirts. At first, I was like, Everybody dressed really nice today. That's weird. Then it hit me...this was a couples thing. This was a date!
Nancy looked scandalized by my attire, and the other girls looked at her sympathetically. The guys looked at me like as if to say, "Damn, I didn't know I could have worn jeans."
Suffice it to say, it was a terribly uncomfortable dinner for everyone involved. I felt like a schmuck for not realizing this was a date, even though there was no way I could have known. When the bill came, I only paid for myself, and Nancy looked stricken. The car ride back to campus was deathly quiet. They dropped me off at my dorm and Nancy mumbled something like, "Talk to you later."
I shuffled back to my room feeling like the world's biggest fool. My every experience with women felt like an exercise in humiliation and futility. I once again thought to myself that I'd probably die a virgin.
Mat still wasn't home. He had a dozen or more messages on the answering machine, and half of them were from Shelly. It sounded like he would be in trouble when he got home. I spent the rest of the day studying, taking breaks to call Susan (to see if she'd recovered from her hangover), Joe (to set up a time to play basketball), and Aimee (to increase my frustration with the opposite sex). I asked Aimee to thank Latrisse for e-mailing me hoping it would make her feel guilty for not doing it herself. Instead it made her suspicious. "Don’t you think it’s weird that Latrisse keeps sending you cards and e-mails?"
"One e-mail," I corrected, not even remotely seeing her point.
I hadn't been in bed for very long when Mat returned. He kicked open the door, flipped on the Heineken light, turned on MTV and flopped into his giant chair. "F*** me," he said to no one in particular. "Long f***ing weekend." Shelly called shortly thereafter, and I eventually fell asleep to the sound of Mat talking dirty to her.
Livin' Large: The official Cast List
Labels: college stories, Livin' Large
Previous installments: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9. And check out the official Livin' Large FAQ.
The next week was a real whirligig of activity. For me at that time, anyway. In addition to classes, homework and kitchen duties at the dorm's food service, I played pickup ball with my buddy Joe, got together with Nathan for lunch a couple times, and started hanging out at the APO office between classes. Susan and I met there to sign up for some community service activities together. We had to complete 30 hours of service by the end of the semester to become active members. That sounded easy at first, but once we started trying to schedule those hours, it began to look pretty challenging.
On Wednesday, Susan and I put in our first hour of pledgeship by working at a signup table for...something. I have no idea what it was for. But I do remember that I brought a bag of freshly baked cookies, which Susan happily shared with me. "Oh my God, I love cookies," she said, nibbling on one as she spoke. "Keep bringing cookies, and we're going to be really good friends."
I sure hoped so.
Later that night, my buddy Greg from Kokomo called. "Dude," he said, adopting a hillbilly accent as he went on, "we country boys are gonna come visit your big ol' college this weekend." Gauvin was the other half of Greg's "we." I told Greg I was all for a visit.
Greg and Gauvin wanted to crash in my room, but I decided to check with Mat first. Otherwise, things could get awkward. When he finally returned to the room, I asked if he minded my friends staying the night on Saturday.
"Dat's cool," he rumbled. "Tell you what. I'll get you guys into a frat party."
Wow, I thought. That's pretty cool of him.
Honestly, I wasn't sure I wanted to go to a frat party. Like many things in those early days at college, the idea of large social situations freaked me out. But I figured I'd leave it to my buds to decide.
I called Greg back. "A frat party?" he said. "Awesome! Let's do it!"
Alrighty then. We were going to a frat party then. I didn't argue. After all, I kind of wanted my friends from back home to believe I was living a crazy, fast-paced college life. I figured taking them (via Mat) to a frat party would further that notion. At any rate, I was so grateful to my roommate I hardly noticed the nasty things he did to Jennifer that night.
On Thursday afternoon, Susan and I once again met at the APO office. We signed up for an activity that was taking place at 1 p.m. on Sunday. Greg had told me he needed to leave early Sunday morning, which meant I wouldn't have any trouble making it to the local campground, where we'd be building shelters for campers.
That night, Aimee actually called me for a change. (She usually had me call her, because she didn't have a job and couldn't afford the long distance.) There was a reason for that, of course. "I've got tickets for a showing of The Secret Garden on Friday night," she said. "I'd really like you to go with me."
"Is this a date?" I asked hopefully.
"I wouldn't say that exactly," she mused. "But I wouldn't say it's not a date, either."
I realized, for like the thousandth time, that women could be immensely frustrating. Still...I felt like this could be a golden opportunity. And yet it was really complicating my weekend plans.
"You realize I don't have a car, right?" I asked.
"Not a problem," she replied. "You can take the Greyhound to downtown Indianapolis and then take a bus to Butler."
"Well, how'm I gonna get back?"
She laughed. "On the Greyhound, silly!"
Oh. Right. "They run that late?"
"No," she said. "You'll have to stay overnight."
Overnight? Overnight?! I had to act cool.
"Oh, sure, right. Where am I going to stay?"
"In my room." She giggled, and then said, "You can sleep on the floor."
Great.
"Uh, there's another problem," I said. "Greg and Gauvin are coming to visit me on Saturday."
"When are they going to be there?" she asked.
"One o'clock, I think."
"That's fine," she said. "I've got the Greyhound schedule right here. There's a shuttle that'll get you back with a half hour to spare."
A half hour was cutting it pretty close. But this was a solid chance to go out with Aimee on something she wouldn't say wasn't a date! Yeah, I know. I was pathetic. I was also locked in.
Fortunately, despite the fact that I was taking 18 credit hours, I had only one morning class on Friday. I ran home after class to pack my things, and while I was doing that, Zach called and asked if I wanted to get lunch. We met at Taco Bell, which was on my way to the Greyhound station.
Life was getting hectic. I had friends and a schedule packed full of things to do. I danced a little jig as I left Taco Bell. I felt, for the very first time, like a real, honest-to-goodness college student.
True to form, I arrived at the Greyhound station an hour and a half early. After buying my ticket, I had nothing to do but wait. I was outside wandering the parking lot with no real goal when I ran into my English professor. He was doing his laundry at the Laundromat next door. I didn't notice him at first, but he waved me down.
"Matt, how are you?" he said. "I wanted to tell you, I really liked that paper you wrote on the construction of gender in Ghostbusters. Honestly, it was one of the best freshman papers I've seen."
Now I was getting compliments from my professors?! Things were really looking up. "Thanks, Professor Webster."
"Call me Bill," he said.
We chatted for a bit about his class, and then he asked me what I was doing. I explained I was going to visit my non-girlfriend in Indianapolis.
"Ah," he said knowingly. "A long-distance relationship. Sweet torment, right?"
"I'll let you know if it ever gets to the 'relationship' part," I said. We both laughed.
I really liked Prof. Webster. He was one of those cool teachers who wore jeans and talked like one of the guys (although, admittedly, with a slightly enhanced vocabulary). Maybe that's why I opened up to him about my feelings for Aimee, my crush on Susan, and how those two things left me feeling very confused and unsure of what to do.
"Matt," he said, "life is a series of self-limiting decisions. For each path you walk down, there are several others you have to bypass. Maybe walking those paths would have made you happy, maybe they wouldn't have. You'll never know. Choose your path, walk it, and make the best of it."
I remember thinking that was really deep.
I then told him about my roommate Mat, and about all the women he slept with. "I don't see how he can do that," I said. "He doesn't care about these girls. He's just using them. I couldn't do that. It shows poor moral character."
Professor Webster laughed. "I know you feel that way now," he said, "no, don't look at me like that. Hear me out. Like I was saying, I know you feel that way now, but as you grow older and your life becomes more complicated, you'll sometimes find yourself making decisions and acting on impulses that are strange, irrational and even dangerous."
I looked at him skeptically.
"Take myself for instance," he continued. "I'm currently having an affair with the wife of the dean of the School of Liberal Arts. In other words, the wife of my boss. Not only am I in peril emotionally, I'm putting my career on the line...all because I fell in love with a married woman."
I was absolutely floored. Not only by the situation, which was one of the craziest things I'd heard by that point in my life, but also because of the fact that he was sharing something so deeply personal with some freshman kid he barely knew. In hindsight, I figure it was because he simply needed to tell somebody. And there I was.
We talked for a while longer, and then it was time to catch my bus. I bid farewell to Professor Webster and got on a Greyhound for the first time. It wasn't so bad. Of course, I would feel very differently a few years later when I took a 24-hour Greyhound ride to Washington D.C. -- still one of the worst experiences of my life -- but this ride was short and uneventful.
About and hour and a half later, I arrived in the "big city" of Indianapolis. With some effort, I found the bus that took me to Butler. When I got there, Aimee and Latrisse were waiting for me with smiles and hugs. We dropped my things off at their room and then the girls showed me around campus. It was quite a bit smaller than my school's campus, but it was still pretty nice.
We went back to their room to relax until it was time to leave for the play. Latrisse said, "I hope you have fun sleeping on the floor." Right. The floor. Yippee.
I plopped down on Aimee's bed and she snuggled up against me. Actual physical contact! My heart started pounding like crazy. It was pounding so hard, in fact, that it shot a geyser of blood down to my man region. To my great embarrassment, Aimee noticed. Fortunately, it didn't seem to bother her. She simply said, "Why Matt, I've never seen you like this." I could feel my face burning.
The hours passed until it was time to see The Secret Garden. I don't remember a single thing about that play other than the name. I just went to the wiki page and nothing in the plot summary is even remotely familiar. Oh well. I had other things on my mind.
Aimee held my hand during the play. It made my palms sweaty. During intermission, we shared a soft drink and sat in this little cubbyhole in the theater wall. She asked me about basketball, so I told her about playing with Joe earlier in the week and mentioned how I'd tweaked my lower back during the final game. I fully (but not proudly) admit that I brought up my back in the hopes that she wouldn't make me sleep on the floor. In fact, my exact words were, "I hope sleeping on the floor doesn't make it worse."
She looked at me with a devilish grin. "You don't have to sleep on the floor."
Given the situation and my complete and total lack of experience, that was the sexiest thing anybody had ever said to me. (Well, with the possible exception of the time in high school when an underclassman girl had offered to give me a blowjob. I declined, in case you're wondering.)
The play ended in a blur. Then we were back at her room. Latrisse was already asleep...or pretending to be. I changed into (you guessed it!) my Larry Bird shorts and a t-shirt. Aimee put on sweat pants and a t-shirt. We crawled into bed. I was so nervous I thought I was going to pee myself, which would prove to be a mild form of foreshadowing.
I'll cut to the chase: all we did was kiss for a few minutes. But it went much better than the first time. Then we stopped, wrapped our arms around each other, and got an exceedingly uncomfortable night's sleep.
We woke up late the next morning. I had to throw my things together and run down the street to catch the bus to downtown Indy. But, for whatever reason, the bus never showed up even though it was scheduled to. I started to wig out. Aimee took quick action. We sprinted back to her room and she called a taxi.
I jumped in the cab and the first thing the driver said was: "Are you a patriot? Because if you don't love America, you ca get the hell outta my cab!"
Ooookay. I gave the right answer ("yes") and we were off. I made it to the Greyhound station with only minutes to spare. Once the ride began, I realized I had to pee. Like, really, really bad. After a moment of reflection, it occurred to me that I hadn't relieved myself since the previous night...before the play. It's like I'd been blocking the need out of my mind. That was impossible now. My bladder felt like it was going to explode in a red-and-yellow rainbow, and this particular Greyhound bus didn't have a bathroom.
The bus was late getting to my school's town, naturally. By the time I stepped gingerly (to avoid bladder detonation) off the bus, it was 12:46. I had 14 minutes to get back to my dorm. That happened to be almost the exact amount of time it would take me to walk back. In other words, I couldn't stop for a toilet break. It never even occurred to me that Greg and Gauvin would wait.
That walk back to my dorm almost killed me. Okay, that's an exaggeration. But I'm certain it nearly did permanent damage to my bladder. I screamed once or twice while walking the final block or two. Out loud. For real. I got to my room, pushed the door wide open, and then wobbled across the hall to the bathroom...where I had what may have been the most wonderful pee of my life.
I had barely walked back into the room when Greg and Gauvin showed up. We exchanged shugs, and the guys asked for the grand tour. We walked all over campus. I showed them the cool buildings, took them to the APO office, and introduced them to the cool little strip mall just off campus.
As the day went on, the tension started to grow. It became clear that whatever excitement they had felt about the frat party was transforming into fear. But, being 18-year-old males, we were physically and psychologically unable to divulge our vulnerability for fear of mockery.
We avoided my room for as long as we could, but there were only so many things to do on campus for students (and non-students) who hadn't reached drinking age. When we got back to my room, Mat was waiting for us. "You guys ready for da party?" he asked.
Greg and Gauvin could only stare. Sure, I had described Mat's size, but that hadn't prepared them for the stunning reality. All they could do was stare at him with their mouths hanging open. Finally, Greg said, "Uh, you know what, I just remembered some stuff I have to take care of back in Kokomo. It's been good seeing you, Matt. You ready Gauvin?"
Gauvin nodded, and they practically ran from my room.
"Your friends are leaving?" Mat asked. I nodded, and he said, "I guess it's just you and me den." Oh boy.
Mat and I walked to the party in silence. We didn't really have anything to talk about when we were in the room together, and we certainly didn't have anything more to discuss now. I felt like I was walking to the gallows.
We got to the party and a crowd formed around Mat instantly. Guys, girls, everybody wanted a piece of Big Mat. Meanwhile, Little Matt slunk off by himself. I walked over to a table full of food and started munching away. There was a group of guys sitting on some couches nearby. They eyed me suspiciously, no doubt wondering what the nerd was doing at their party. They asked me who I was, and I explained I was Mat's roommate.
"No shit," one of them said. "Cool. What's he like?"
"Uh, I...don't really know. I mean, we don't hang out much."
"Oh," he said, looking at me like someone who had no idea how lucky he was. "Well, you want a beer or something?"
"No, thanks. I don't drink."
Now he just looked at me like I'd gone crazy. "You don't drink? Why go to a party then?"
It was a reasonable question, even if he delivered it like a douchebag.
I milled around for a 20 minutes or so hoping somebody who didn't look (or act) like an Alpha Beta would come up and talk. It never happened. I finally resorted to walking by Mat, but he was way too busy talking to this throng of "fans" to talk to or even notice me hanging around. Finally, I had no choice but to leave. I was miserable there.
Fortunately, I always had my old fallback: a hamburger from the dorm grill and my beloved basketball tapes. Mat didn't come home that night.
I trudged over to the APO office the next day to take the shuttle to the campground. Susan never showed. She had a car, so I figured she might meet us at the campground. She didn't. I really hated going into social situations by myself, but I was "adopted" by a girl named Nancy and her group of friends. Nancy got on my good side immediately by engaging me in a conversation about professional wrestling. She even mimicked Hulk Hogan's hand-to-the-ear thing. I ended up having a great time. After the shuttle took us back to campus, Nancy gave me her number before we all went our separate ways.
By the time I got home, I was exhausted. I flopped down on the bed. There was no sign of Mat. He never came home that night, which meant he missed Shelly's call...but I was there to take it. "Where's Big Mat?" she asked playfully.
"He's probably at a team function," I said, covering for him reflexively even though no team function could possibly have been going on at that time of night. Certainly not on a Sunday. But Shelly either bought my story or didn't care.
I figure it was the latter, because she said, "Well you tell him he'd better call me the first chance he gets. I've got exciting news."
She tried but couldn't hold it in. "I'm coming back for a visit!"
Part 11
The next week was a real whirligig of activity. For me at that time, anyway. In addition to classes, homework and kitchen duties at the dorm's food service, I played pickup ball with my buddy Joe, got together with Nathan for lunch a couple times, and started hanging out at the APO office between classes. Susan and I met there to sign up for some community service activities together. We had to complete 30 hours of service by the end of the semester to become active members. That sounded easy at first, but once we started trying to schedule those hours, it began to look pretty challenging.
On Wednesday, Susan and I put in our first hour of pledgeship by working at a signup table for...something. I have no idea what it was for. But I do remember that I brought a bag of freshly baked cookies, which Susan happily shared with me. "Oh my God, I love cookies," she said, nibbling on one as she spoke. "Keep bringing cookies, and we're going to be really good friends."
I sure hoped so.
Later that night, my buddy Greg from Kokomo called. "Dude," he said, adopting a hillbilly accent as he went on, "we country boys are gonna come visit your big ol' college this weekend." Gauvin was the other half of Greg's "we." I told Greg I was all for a visit.
Greg and Gauvin wanted to crash in my room, but I decided to check with Mat first. Otherwise, things could get awkward. When he finally returned to the room, I asked if he minded my friends staying the night on Saturday.
"Dat's cool," he rumbled. "Tell you what. I'll get you guys into a frat party."
Wow, I thought. That's pretty cool of him.
Honestly, I wasn't sure I wanted to go to a frat party. Like many things in those early days at college, the idea of large social situations freaked me out. But I figured I'd leave it to my buds to decide.
I called Greg back. "A frat party?" he said. "Awesome! Let's do it!"
Alrighty then. We were going to a frat party then. I didn't argue. After all, I kind of wanted my friends from back home to believe I was living a crazy, fast-paced college life. I figured taking them (via Mat) to a frat party would further that notion. At any rate, I was so grateful to my roommate I hardly noticed the nasty things he did to Jennifer that night.
On Thursday afternoon, Susan and I once again met at the APO office. We signed up for an activity that was taking place at 1 p.m. on Sunday. Greg had told me he needed to leave early Sunday morning, which meant I wouldn't have any trouble making it to the local campground, where we'd be building shelters for campers.
That night, Aimee actually called me for a change. (She usually had me call her, because she didn't have a job and couldn't afford the long distance.) There was a reason for that, of course. "I've got tickets for a showing of The Secret Garden on Friday night," she said. "I'd really like you to go with me."
"Is this a date?" I asked hopefully.
"I wouldn't say that exactly," she mused. "But I wouldn't say it's not a date, either."
I realized, for like the thousandth time, that women could be immensely frustrating. Still...I felt like this could be a golden opportunity. And yet it was really complicating my weekend plans.
"You realize I don't have a car, right?" I asked.
"Not a problem," she replied. "You can take the Greyhound to downtown Indianapolis and then take a bus to Butler."
"Well, how'm I gonna get back?"
She laughed. "On the Greyhound, silly!"
Oh. Right. "They run that late?"
"No," she said. "You'll have to stay overnight."
Overnight? Overnight?! I had to act cool.
"Oh, sure, right. Where am I going to stay?"
"In my room." She giggled, and then said, "You can sleep on the floor."
Great.
"Uh, there's another problem," I said. "Greg and Gauvin are coming to visit me on Saturday."
"When are they going to be there?" she asked.
"One o'clock, I think."
"That's fine," she said. "I've got the Greyhound schedule right here. There's a shuttle that'll get you back with a half hour to spare."
A half hour was cutting it pretty close. But this was a solid chance to go out with Aimee on something she wouldn't say wasn't a date! Yeah, I know. I was pathetic. I was also locked in.
Fortunately, despite the fact that I was taking 18 credit hours, I had only one morning class on Friday. I ran home after class to pack my things, and while I was doing that, Zach called and asked if I wanted to get lunch. We met at Taco Bell, which was on my way to the Greyhound station.
Life was getting hectic. I had friends and a schedule packed full of things to do. I danced a little jig as I left Taco Bell. I felt, for the very first time, like a real, honest-to-goodness college student.
True to form, I arrived at the Greyhound station an hour and a half early. After buying my ticket, I had nothing to do but wait. I was outside wandering the parking lot with no real goal when I ran into my English professor. He was doing his laundry at the Laundromat next door. I didn't notice him at first, but he waved me down.
"Matt, how are you?" he said. "I wanted to tell you, I really liked that paper you wrote on the construction of gender in Ghostbusters. Honestly, it was one of the best freshman papers I've seen."
Now I was getting compliments from my professors?! Things were really looking up. "Thanks, Professor Webster."
"Call me Bill," he said.
We chatted for a bit about his class, and then he asked me what I was doing. I explained I was going to visit my non-girlfriend in Indianapolis.
"Ah," he said knowingly. "A long-distance relationship. Sweet torment, right?"
"I'll let you know if it ever gets to the 'relationship' part," I said. We both laughed.
I really liked Prof. Webster. He was one of those cool teachers who wore jeans and talked like one of the guys (although, admittedly, with a slightly enhanced vocabulary). Maybe that's why I opened up to him about my feelings for Aimee, my crush on Susan, and how those two things left me feeling very confused and unsure of what to do.
"Matt," he said, "life is a series of self-limiting decisions. For each path you walk down, there are several others you have to bypass. Maybe walking those paths would have made you happy, maybe they wouldn't have. You'll never know. Choose your path, walk it, and make the best of it."
I remember thinking that was really deep.
I then told him about my roommate Mat, and about all the women he slept with. "I don't see how he can do that," I said. "He doesn't care about these girls. He's just using them. I couldn't do that. It shows poor moral character."
Professor Webster laughed. "I know you feel that way now," he said, "no, don't look at me like that. Hear me out. Like I was saying, I know you feel that way now, but as you grow older and your life becomes more complicated, you'll sometimes find yourself making decisions and acting on impulses that are strange, irrational and even dangerous."
I looked at him skeptically.
"Take myself for instance," he continued. "I'm currently having an affair with the wife of the dean of the School of Liberal Arts. In other words, the wife of my boss. Not only am I in peril emotionally, I'm putting my career on the line...all because I fell in love with a married woman."
I was absolutely floored. Not only by the situation, which was one of the craziest things I'd heard by that point in my life, but also because of the fact that he was sharing something so deeply personal with some freshman kid he barely knew. In hindsight, I figure it was because he simply needed to tell somebody. And there I was.
We talked for a while longer, and then it was time to catch my bus. I bid farewell to Professor Webster and got on a Greyhound for the first time. It wasn't so bad. Of course, I would feel very differently a few years later when I took a 24-hour Greyhound ride to Washington D.C. -- still one of the worst experiences of my life -- but this ride was short and uneventful.
About and hour and a half later, I arrived in the "big city" of Indianapolis. With some effort, I found the bus that took me to Butler. When I got there, Aimee and Latrisse were waiting for me with smiles and hugs. We dropped my things off at their room and then the girls showed me around campus. It was quite a bit smaller than my school's campus, but it was still pretty nice.
We went back to their room to relax until it was time to leave for the play. Latrisse said, "I hope you have fun sleeping on the floor." Right. The floor. Yippee.
I plopped down on Aimee's bed and she snuggled up against me. Actual physical contact! My heart started pounding like crazy. It was pounding so hard, in fact, that it shot a geyser of blood down to my man region. To my great embarrassment, Aimee noticed. Fortunately, it didn't seem to bother her. She simply said, "Why Matt, I've never seen you like this." I could feel my face burning.
The hours passed until it was time to see The Secret Garden. I don't remember a single thing about that play other than the name. I just went to the wiki page and nothing in the plot summary is even remotely familiar. Oh well. I had other things on my mind.
Aimee held my hand during the play. It made my palms sweaty. During intermission, we shared a soft drink and sat in this little cubbyhole in the theater wall. She asked me about basketball, so I told her about playing with Joe earlier in the week and mentioned how I'd tweaked my lower back during the final game. I fully (but not proudly) admit that I brought up my back in the hopes that she wouldn't make me sleep on the floor. In fact, my exact words were, "I hope sleeping on the floor doesn't make it worse."
She looked at me with a devilish grin. "You don't have to sleep on the floor."
Given the situation and my complete and total lack of experience, that was the sexiest thing anybody had ever said to me. (Well, with the possible exception of the time in high school when an underclassman girl had offered to give me a blowjob. I declined, in case you're wondering.)
The play ended in a blur. Then we were back at her room. Latrisse was already asleep...or pretending to be. I changed into (you guessed it!) my Larry Bird shorts and a t-shirt. Aimee put on sweat pants and a t-shirt. We crawled into bed. I was so nervous I thought I was going to pee myself, which would prove to be a mild form of foreshadowing.
I'll cut to the chase: all we did was kiss for a few minutes. But it went much better than the first time. Then we stopped, wrapped our arms around each other, and got an exceedingly uncomfortable night's sleep.
We woke up late the next morning. I had to throw my things together and run down the street to catch the bus to downtown Indy. But, for whatever reason, the bus never showed up even though it was scheduled to. I started to wig out. Aimee took quick action. We sprinted back to her room and she called a taxi.
I jumped in the cab and the first thing the driver said was: "Are you a patriot? Because if you don't love America, you ca get the hell outta my cab!"
Ooookay. I gave the right answer ("yes") and we were off. I made it to the Greyhound station with only minutes to spare. Once the ride began, I realized I had to pee. Like, really, really bad. After a moment of reflection, it occurred to me that I hadn't relieved myself since the previous night...before the play. It's like I'd been blocking the need out of my mind. That was impossible now. My bladder felt like it was going to explode in a red-and-yellow rainbow, and this particular Greyhound bus didn't have a bathroom.
The bus was late getting to my school's town, naturally. By the time I stepped gingerly (to avoid bladder detonation) off the bus, it was 12:46. I had 14 minutes to get back to my dorm. That happened to be almost the exact amount of time it would take me to walk back. In other words, I couldn't stop for a toilet break. It never even occurred to me that Greg and Gauvin would wait.
That walk back to my dorm almost killed me. Okay, that's an exaggeration. But I'm certain it nearly did permanent damage to my bladder. I screamed once or twice while walking the final block or two. Out loud. For real. I got to my room, pushed the door wide open, and then wobbled across the hall to the bathroom...where I had what may have been the most wonderful pee of my life.
I had barely walked back into the room when Greg and Gauvin showed up. We exchanged shugs, and the guys asked for the grand tour. We walked all over campus. I showed them the cool buildings, took them to the APO office, and introduced them to the cool little strip mall just off campus.
As the day went on, the tension started to grow. It became clear that whatever excitement they had felt about the frat party was transforming into fear. But, being 18-year-old males, we were physically and psychologically unable to divulge our vulnerability for fear of mockery.
We avoided my room for as long as we could, but there were only so many things to do on campus for students (and non-students) who hadn't reached drinking age. When we got back to my room, Mat was waiting for us. "You guys ready for da party?" he asked.
Greg and Gauvin could only stare. Sure, I had described Mat's size, but that hadn't prepared them for the stunning reality. All they could do was stare at him with their mouths hanging open. Finally, Greg said, "Uh, you know what, I just remembered some stuff I have to take care of back in Kokomo. It's been good seeing you, Matt. You ready Gauvin?"
Gauvin nodded, and they practically ran from my room.
"Your friends are leaving?" Mat asked. I nodded, and he said, "I guess it's just you and me den." Oh boy.
Mat and I walked to the party in silence. We didn't really have anything to talk about when we were in the room together, and we certainly didn't have anything more to discuss now. I felt like I was walking to the gallows.
We got to the party and a crowd formed around Mat instantly. Guys, girls, everybody wanted a piece of Big Mat. Meanwhile, Little Matt slunk off by himself. I walked over to a table full of food and started munching away. There was a group of guys sitting on some couches nearby. They eyed me suspiciously, no doubt wondering what the nerd was doing at their party. They asked me who I was, and I explained I was Mat's roommate.
"No shit," one of them said. "Cool. What's he like?"
"Uh, I...don't really know. I mean, we don't hang out much."
"Oh," he said, looking at me like someone who had no idea how lucky he was. "Well, you want a beer or something?"
"No, thanks. I don't drink."
Now he just looked at me like I'd gone crazy. "You don't drink? Why go to a party then?"
It was a reasonable question, even if he delivered it like a douchebag.
I milled around for a 20 minutes or so hoping somebody who didn't look (or act) like an Alpha Beta would come up and talk. It never happened. I finally resorted to walking by Mat, but he was way too busy talking to this throng of "fans" to talk to or even notice me hanging around. Finally, I had no choice but to leave. I was miserable there.
Fortunately, I always had my old fallback: a hamburger from the dorm grill and my beloved basketball tapes. Mat didn't come home that night.
I trudged over to the APO office the next day to take the shuttle to the campground. Susan never showed. She had a car, so I figured she might meet us at the campground. She didn't. I really hated going into social situations by myself, but I was "adopted" by a girl named Nancy and her group of friends. Nancy got on my good side immediately by engaging me in a conversation about professional wrestling. She even mimicked Hulk Hogan's hand-to-the-ear thing. I ended up having a great time. After the shuttle took us back to campus, Nancy gave me her number before we all went our separate ways.
By the time I got home, I was exhausted. I flopped down on the bed. There was no sign of Mat. He never came home that night, which meant he missed Shelly's call...but I was there to take it. "Where's Big Mat?" she asked playfully.
"He's probably at a team function," I said, covering for him reflexively even though no team function could possibly have been going on at that time of night. Certainly not on a Sunday. But Shelly either bought my story or didn't care.
I figure it was the latter, because she said, "Well you tell him he'd better call me the first chance he gets. I've got exciting news."
She tried but couldn't hold it in. "I'm coming back for a visit!"
Part 11
Labels: college stories, Livin' Large
What a bawful summer this is turning out to be. Antoine Walker is facing three felony counts for writing $1 million in bad checks to three Las Vegas casinos, Eddy Curry showed up in Vegas to work out for the Knicks but forgot his shoes, and the Clippers want to sign Allen Iverson.
And I didn't leave work until after 9:30 last night.
It goes without saying that I had no energy to write another Livin' Large post last night. By the time I got back to my flat (that is, apartment), I crawled into bed and softly cried myself to sleep. So...this is what you get: an old video of the Clippers former mascot, the San Diego Chicken, trying to distract Larrry Bird with swimsuit posters. Oh, and of course the Clippers get hosed at the end of the game by a superstar call that goes in Larry's favor. Even in the past, they were who we thought they were.
And I didn't leave work until after 9:30 last night.
It goes without saying that I had no energy to write another Livin' Large post last night. By the time I got back to my flat (that is, apartment), I crawled into bed and softly cried myself to sleep. So...this is what you get: an old video of the Clippers former mascot, the San Diego Chicken, trying to distract Larrry Bird with swimsuit posters. Oh, and of course the Clippers get hosed at the end of the game by a superstar call that goes in Larry's favor. Even in the past, they were who we thought they were.
Labels: Larry Bird, Los Angeles Clippers, NBA mascots, San Diego Chicken, Videos
Previous installments: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8. And check out the official Livin' Large FAQ.
Okay, before beginning this installment, I have a few things to say about Pisa, Italy. Yeah, I know it has nothing whatsoever to do with this story, but it's my blog. So there.
First off, Evil Ted and I went for a run after our grueling 11-hour workday. We jogged by the Leaning Tower of Pisa...I have to admit, that was pretty cool. Now, an interesting thing about Pisa is that everybody eats ice cream. Like, all the time. I'm talking once or twice a day. And every place you go to sells ice cream. Pharmacies, pizza places, cafes, bars, etc. And that's in addition to all the gelato (that is, ice cream) parlors that dot the landscape. Seriously, the gelato stands are to Pisa what Starbucks is to anywhere in the United States.
Our hosts explained that, in Pisa, ice cream is considered to be medicinal. That's because it's hot as balls here and there's no human way to escape the heat. The pitiful little air conditioner in my flat (that is, apartment) sits over the front door and expels enough frigid air to cool off, well, the front door. If I could sleep standing up and propped against the door, I might actually stay asleep for more than 25 minutes at a time. That and not wake up in a pool of my own sweat.
The extreme heat has apparently made sensations of "cold" or even "cool" intolerable to the Pisans. So much so that most places don't serve ice in drinks. And if you ask, you get funny looks. (But not as funny as the look Evil Ted got when he asked a barista for milk in his coffee. The dude looked at ET like he'd asked for a cow urine frapacheeny.) True story. We were having lunch with our co-workers yesterday, and one of them ordered "ice water." When it arrived, our Italian boss, Richard, grabbed it and said (in a British accent), "Dear God, it's freezing. Be careful, gents. It's so cold it might burn your mouth. I can barely touch my glass it's so cold." ET and I were actually afraid to take a drink...then discovered it was barely above room temperature.
Let's see, what else. Cars are tiny. And I mean all of 'em. Most people just walk in the middle of the tiny streets because cars tend to remain parked in favor or scooters or what look like 1950s era bicycles. Almost 80 percent of the women wear sexy sundresses, and most of the guys dress like, uh, I believe the word ET used was "dingleberries." Oh, and there are NO fat people. Seriously. It's bizarre, because in America, you can hardly turn around without stumbling into a huge, giggling belly or tripping into the fatty's wading pool of delicious gravy.
But enough about foreign lands. You're here for stories.
Okay, so I failed miserably in my attempt to get a room reassignment. I was stuck with Mat, and he was stuck with me. Things seemed tense at the time, but in retrospect they were still pretty cordial. It wouldn't stay that way, but at the time, I didn't think things could get any worse.
That didn't keep me from plotting his death.
I'm exaggerating of course. Well, mostly. I did have some rather dark and unsavory fantasies. But most of them involved him accidentally walking into a bus or slipping on a banana peel and falling directly into a wood chipper. I had to hope the fates would do him in, because I sure couldn't do it. I've always felt I could probably hold my own in most fights, but I had no illusions whatsoever about what would happen if I tangled with my roommate. Maybe I would have had a fighting chance if I was wearing a shark protection suit made out of actual sharks, or poisonous grizzly bears or something. As it was, my best instrument of revenge...was the mind.
Unfortunately, I hadn't lived with BadDave yet, so I wasn't very cunning. So I started out small. You know, accidentally-on-purpose forgetting to write down messages about important phone calls, including a few from his professors. (It seemed meaningless at the time, but trust me, it bore fruit later.) I drank his last couple sodas. I stuffed his pillow case under his bed, where I knew he would never find it among the bizarre debris field there. (Yes, he missed it, and yes it pissed him off.)
Sadly, these tiny victories brought me little joy. I took the problem to my role-playing group. One thing about these guys: they may have been geeky -- almost retardedly so -- but they were smart and devious. One in particular was a brilliant kid who was studying chemical engineering. BadDave will have to remind me what his name was, but let's call him "Four-Eyes." Four-Eyes devised several insidious plans for slowly poisoning Mat anywhere from mild illness to death. It was both frightening and rather tempting, which probably tells you how fed up I was getting.
But murder is murder, and as much as I didn't like him, he wasn't that evil. Besides, I would not do well in prison.
Midweek I received another card from Aimee's roommate, Latrisse. But she went one better than that and sent me a care package too. I was really moved. It was my first care package. Several of the guys I'd met had already gotten one from their parents, and I had been mildly bummed about not having received one myself. It made me feel kind of unloved, and I was already have that stupid freshman "I'm just a number now!" feeling.
That night I called Aimee's room, but not to talk to Aimee. I called for Latrisse. I wanted to thank her for the care package. This drove Aimee a little nuts. A few years later and I might have been crafty enough to use that to my advantage, but I was way to inexperienced and innocent to play games. But it got Aimee's attention, and she really warmed up to me that week.
Mat overheard much of my conversation. Despite his constant liaisons, he seemed fascinated by my budding love life. He always paid close attention to my discussions with Aimee, and he was monitoring the situation with Latrisse too.
"Dude," he said, "you need to be f***ing careful. Dat's some dangerous sh*t, playing up to duh girl you wanna date and her roommate. Dat sh*t will get you f***ed up if you're not careful."
I almost laughed in his giant face. This was strange advice coming from a guy who would make a booty call five minutes after finishing with his last booty call. Then again, I had to admit, he seemed to know more about woman than I did (or at least that's how it seemed to my 18-year-old self). Could he have a point?
"Nah," I said after a few moments of hard thought. "It's not like that. Latrisse and I are just really friendly. Guys and girls can be friends."
Mat then uttered perhaps the wisest thing I would ever hear him say. "Guys and girls can be a lot of t'ings, but dey cannot be friends."
Let's be frank here: Mat said and did a lot of stupid, thoughtless, cruel and incomprehensible things while we were living together. But he was almost 100 percent bang on about that. I would learn this many, many times in the coming years, as many a friendship ended in dramatic comedy. However, at that time, it was very easy to dismiss any and everything he tried to tell me.
The next night, I was hip-deep in an English paper in -- I kid you not -- gender construction in the movie Ghostbusters when the phone rang. Mat answered it, as he almost always did when he was actually in the room, expecting it to be Shelly. But, shock of shocks, it was for me.
"It's dat girl Tiffany again," he said.
"Uh...okay," I said. He handed me the phone. "Hello?"
"Hi Matt! My name's Tiffany!" one voice said.
"And I'm Carolyn!" said another.
"We're your new pledge mothers!" they said together.
"My, excuse me, what?" I was dumbfounded.
"Silly boy," Carolyn said. "Don't you remember filling out a rush form for Alpha Phi Omega."
I don't remember whether I slapped myself in the forehead right then, but I wouldn't be surprised if that was my reaction. I had forgotten all about APO probably less than five minutes after I'd filled that form out. Well, that solved the mystery of why two girls would be calling a socially awkward freshman who rarely left his dorm room.
"The pledge ceremony is this Sunday," Tiffany continued. "It's kind of like an orientation, but it's a ceremony too, so you'll want to dress nice. Dress pants and a shirt, maybe a tie if you're into that."
"You'll get to meet your fellow pledges, ask questions, all that stuff," Carolyn said. "Oh, I almost forgot. You have a pledge sister. Her name's Susan."
It's funny, but even that small handful of information left me a little dumbstruck. I wrote it all down on a notepad and just sort of stared at it.
"If you have any questions before Sunday, or if you want to meet us before hand, maybe get something to eat, don't hesitate to call us," Tiffany said. "In fact, we'd love to have lunch with you. Do you have any free time in the next couple days?"
"Uh, I'm kinda busy this week," I said, palms sweating. "I probably won't have any time until Sunday." What a laugh. I had nothing BUT time at that point in my college life. But the idea of meeting two strange girls for lunch intimidated me.
We agreed to meet at the student center on Sunday at 12:45 p.m. The ceremony was at one.
"So," Mat said with some interest, "what was all dat about?"
I explained it too him and he immediately lost interest. To him, it was probably just another geeky thing his dweeb roommate was doing.
The week passed as weeks tend to do. I was delighted when Mat disappeared on Friday. He had that "two-day disappearance" look about him, and I was almost right. He didn't return until really late on Saturday night, maybe around 4 a.m., when he showed up drunk and alone. He was so beat he actually dropped right into bed without turning on his Heineken light or watching a single minute of MTV. I passed the time playing pick-up ball at the co-rec, hanging out with Nathan, and meeting up with the roleplaying group on Saturday night.
On Sunday I got dressed up, Little Matt style. Unfortunately, I'm trapped in Italy thousands of miles away from my scrapbook, or I'd post a picture of me and my pledge family. Anyway, I wore black dress pants, a dark purple dress shirt and a thin black tie. I thought I looked pretty pimpin'. I mean, I was no Wally "Eskimo Pimp" Szczerbiak or anything, but I was stylin' for me at the time.
I met up with my pledge moms in the designated place at the designated time, and while I was genuinely happy to meet them, I couldn't take my eyes of my pledge sister. I thought she was adorable. I also thought she was hot. Susan was short, a little busty, with not-quite shoulder-length brown hair and twinkling brown eyes. She also had a nose like Jennifer Grey, which kinda did it for me. (Remember, I had just had my first serious kiss the previous weekend after watching Dirty Dancing.) She decked out in a very flattering lavender dress and wearing a black choker with a white porcelain cross affixed to it.
I stuck out my hand to shake and blurted out, "HellonicetomeetyouareyouCatholic?"
Hello mouth, I am the foot. Allow me to insert myself.
Susan looked at me like a third eye had just popped out of my forehead. "Uh, yeah, I am Catholic. Why do you ask?"
"Oh, uh, well, you're wearing that cross and everything."
"Yeah. I just think it's cool."
"Oh, yeah, yeah sure, it is. Like, very cool. I really like it."
As awkward as that little exchange may seem on your computer screen, I promise you it was ten times more awkward than that. At least. It was a stumbling, bumbling first impression. And it set a precedent: I would continue to be painfully and sometimes hilariously awkward in Susan's presence.
I sat through the pledging ceremony in a daze. I was really smitten with Susan. Every few seconds I'd sneak a quick peek at her. I guess someone must have slipped some infatuation juice into my cereal that morning.
After the ceremony, our little pledge family went out for lunch at a popular pizza place right off campus. My awkwardness continued unabated, but I managed to sort of contain it. During the discussion, Tiffany explained why she and Carolyn had chosen me as their pledge son. "Well," Tiffany said, "I saw you put down soccer as one of your hobbies. I was really excited about that, because I played soccer for, like, seven years. Most guys put down football or basketball. When I saw soccer on your pledge form, I knew I had to pick you."
It's really funny how things turn out. Some crazy whim had taken over my mind that day and caused me to put down soccer instead of basketball. I never quite understood how or why that happened, considering my obsession with watching and playing basketball. But some strange twist of fate had moved my pen, and so I ended up meeting Susan, who would become the second love of my college life.
Of course, I'd blown the first impression. But I'd get other chances.
When I got back to the room, Mat was still out like a light. I had nervous energy to burn off, so I changed into workout gear and went for a run. When I came back, I heard Mat singing in the shower across the hall from our room. Bob Marley of course. When he wasn't watching MTV, Mat was either listening to or singing Bob Marley. Or both. I reached for the doorknob and found it was unlocked.
Now let me explain something. The whole door locking thing was a real hangup for me. Things were a little rough in my neighborhood while I was growing up. Rough enough that my mom repeatedly stressed the importance of locking your door. On top of that, school officials, members of the dorm government, writers in the school paper, everybody was issuing dire warnings for students to lock up, even if they were just going down the hall to talk to a friend. I took this advice to heart, and I wanted Mat to do it too...but that was like asking Lindsey Lohan to lay off the magic sauce.
Finding the door unlocked yet again made me snap. It wasn't just the door locking thing, it was all of Mat's shenanigans. I just wanted to get him, really embarrass him, just once.
I locked the door and left the dorm.
An hour later, I returned. The door was locked. I let myself in and the room was empty. However, there was a note on my desk. I still have this note somewhere, and I swear if I find it I will scan it and post it here on the site. Anyway, it was from Mat, and it said, "You locked me out of the room. I'm going to fucking kill you."
Okay, I'll admit: I was terrified. But I also got this totally wild thrill. Oh, and it gets better. By the time Mat got home, he had calmed down a little bit. He still wanted to kick my ass, but not badly enough to actually do it. This is what happened. Mat came out of the shower to find the door locked, of course, and he didn't have his key. He was forced to go down to the main office, which is in a large common room area.
There was some kind of event going on -- to this day, I don't know exactly what it was -- but the common room was filled with students and their families: dads, moms, brothers and sisters. Even some grandparents. And here comes this lumbering giant, soaking wet and wearing a teeny-tiny towel that barely fit halfway around his massive trunk. If you want to know how small that towel was on him, go get a hand towel from your bathroom, fold it in half, and then try to wrap it around your waist. Yeah.
Mat walked up to the front desk, which was manned by a student worker. He explained that he was locked out of his room and requested a spare key. The student worker, citing protocol, said Mat would have to produce his dorm ID before he could get a spare key. Mat not-so-calmly explained he didn't have his key. The student worker insisted. People started gathering around, fascinated by this freakish standoff.
Now, I had believed to that point that Mat had no shame. But apparently he did, and this situation evoked it. He was embarrassed, humiliated, so he began screaming at the student worker. The student worker got scared and supposedly threatened to call the police. Finally, the hall assistant manager showed up and gave Mat the spare key, after which he shambled, still mostly naked, past dozens of staring eyes back to our room.
He was still steamed about it...still embarrassed even. I apologized without meaning it. Then we kind of laughed about it together. Oddly enough, it felt like one of those moments when roommates bond a little. But it was just an illusion.
Part 10
Okay, before beginning this installment, I have a few things to say about Pisa, Italy. Yeah, I know it has nothing whatsoever to do with this story, but it's my blog. So there.
First off, Evil Ted and I went for a run after our grueling 11-hour workday. We jogged by the Leaning Tower of Pisa...I have to admit, that was pretty cool. Now, an interesting thing about Pisa is that everybody eats ice cream. Like, all the time. I'm talking once or twice a day. And every place you go to sells ice cream. Pharmacies, pizza places, cafes, bars, etc. And that's in addition to all the gelato (that is, ice cream) parlors that dot the landscape. Seriously, the gelato stands are to Pisa what Starbucks is to anywhere in the United States.
Our hosts explained that, in Pisa, ice cream is considered to be medicinal. That's because it's hot as balls here and there's no human way to escape the heat. The pitiful little air conditioner in my flat (that is, apartment) sits over the front door and expels enough frigid air to cool off, well, the front door. If I could sleep standing up and propped against the door, I might actually stay asleep for more than 25 minutes at a time. That and not wake up in a pool of my own sweat.
The extreme heat has apparently made sensations of "cold" or even "cool" intolerable to the Pisans. So much so that most places don't serve ice in drinks. And if you ask, you get funny looks. (But not as funny as the look Evil Ted got when he asked a barista for milk in his coffee. The dude looked at ET like he'd asked for a cow urine frapacheeny.) True story. We were having lunch with our co-workers yesterday, and one of them ordered "ice water." When it arrived, our Italian boss, Richard, grabbed it and said (in a British accent), "Dear God, it's freezing. Be careful, gents. It's so cold it might burn your mouth. I can barely touch my glass it's so cold." ET and I were actually afraid to take a drink...then discovered it was barely above room temperature.
Let's see, what else. Cars are tiny. And I mean all of 'em. Most people just walk in the middle of the tiny streets because cars tend to remain parked in favor or scooters or what look like 1950s era bicycles. Almost 80 percent of the women wear sexy sundresses, and most of the guys dress like, uh, I believe the word ET used was "dingleberries." Oh, and there are NO fat people. Seriously. It's bizarre, because in America, you can hardly turn around without stumbling into a huge, giggling belly or tripping into the fatty's wading pool of delicious gravy.
But enough about foreign lands. You're here for stories.
Okay, so I failed miserably in my attempt to get a room reassignment. I was stuck with Mat, and he was stuck with me. Things seemed tense at the time, but in retrospect they were still pretty cordial. It wouldn't stay that way, but at the time, I didn't think things could get any worse.
That didn't keep me from plotting his death.
I'm exaggerating of course. Well, mostly. I did have some rather dark and unsavory fantasies. But most of them involved him accidentally walking into a bus or slipping on a banana peel and falling directly into a wood chipper. I had to hope the fates would do him in, because I sure couldn't do it. I've always felt I could probably hold my own in most fights, but I had no illusions whatsoever about what would happen if I tangled with my roommate. Maybe I would have had a fighting chance if I was wearing a shark protection suit made out of actual sharks, or poisonous grizzly bears or something. As it was, my best instrument of revenge...was the mind.
Unfortunately, I hadn't lived with BadDave yet, so I wasn't very cunning. So I started out small. You know, accidentally-on-purpose forgetting to write down messages about important phone calls, including a few from his professors. (It seemed meaningless at the time, but trust me, it bore fruit later.) I drank his last couple sodas. I stuffed his pillow case under his bed, where I knew he would never find it among the bizarre debris field there. (Yes, he missed it, and yes it pissed him off.)
Sadly, these tiny victories brought me little joy. I took the problem to my role-playing group. One thing about these guys: they may have been geeky -- almost retardedly so -- but they were smart and devious. One in particular was a brilliant kid who was studying chemical engineering. BadDave will have to remind me what his name was, but let's call him "Four-Eyes." Four-Eyes devised several insidious plans for slowly poisoning Mat anywhere from mild illness to death. It was both frightening and rather tempting, which probably tells you how fed up I was getting.
But murder is murder, and as much as I didn't like him, he wasn't that evil. Besides, I would not do well in prison.
Midweek I received another card from Aimee's roommate, Latrisse. But she went one better than that and sent me a care package too. I was really moved. It was my first care package. Several of the guys I'd met had already gotten one from their parents, and I had been mildly bummed about not having received one myself. It made me feel kind of unloved, and I was already have that stupid freshman "I'm just a number now!" feeling.
That night I called Aimee's room, but not to talk to Aimee. I called for Latrisse. I wanted to thank her for the care package. This drove Aimee a little nuts. A few years later and I might have been crafty enough to use that to my advantage, but I was way to inexperienced and innocent to play games. But it got Aimee's attention, and she really warmed up to me that week.
Mat overheard much of my conversation. Despite his constant liaisons, he seemed fascinated by my budding love life. He always paid close attention to my discussions with Aimee, and he was monitoring the situation with Latrisse too.
"Dude," he said, "you need to be f***ing careful. Dat's some dangerous sh*t, playing up to duh girl you wanna date and her roommate. Dat sh*t will get you f***ed up if you're not careful."
I almost laughed in his giant face. This was strange advice coming from a guy who would make a booty call five minutes after finishing with his last booty call. Then again, I had to admit, he seemed to know more about woman than I did (or at least that's how it seemed to my 18-year-old self). Could he have a point?
"Nah," I said after a few moments of hard thought. "It's not like that. Latrisse and I are just really friendly. Guys and girls can be friends."
Mat then uttered perhaps the wisest thing I would ever hear him say. "Guys and girls can be a lot of t'ings, but dey cannot be friends."
Let's be frank here: Mat said and did a lot of stupid, thoughtless, cruel and incomprehensible things while we were living together. But he was almost 100 percent bang on about that. I would learn this many, many times in the coming years, as many a friendship ended in dramatic comedy. However, at that time, it was very easy to dismiss any and everything he tried to tell me.
The next night, I was hip-deep in an English paper in -- I kid you not -- gender construction in the movie Ghostbusters when the phone rang. Mat answered it, as he almost always did when he was actually in the room, expecting it to be Shelly. But, shock of shocks, it was for me.
"It's dat girl Tiffany again," he said.
"Uh...okay," I said. He handed me the phone. "Hello?"
"Hi Matt! My name's Tiffany!" one voice said.
"And I'm Carolyn!" said another.
"We're your new pledge mothers!" they said together.
"My, excuse me, what?" I was dumbfounded.
"Silly boy," Carolyn said. "Don't you remember filling out a rush form for Alpha Phi Omega."
I don't remember whether I slapped myself in the forehead right then, but I wouldn't be surprised if that was my reaction. I had forgotten all about APO probably less than five minutes after I'd filled that form out. Well, that solved the mystery of why two girls would be calling a socially awkward freshman who rarely left his dorm room.
"The pledge ceremony is this Sunday," Tiffany continued. "It's kind of like an orientation, but it's a ceremony too, so you'll want to dress nice. Dress pants and a shirt, maybe a tie if you're into that."
"You'll get to meet your fellow pledges, ask questions, all that stuff," Carolyn said. "Oh, I almost forgot. You have a pledge sister. Her name's Susan."
It's funny, but even that small handful of information left me a little dumbstruck. I wrote it all down on a notepad and just sort of stared at it.
"If you have any questions before Sunday, or if you want to meet us before hand, maybe get something to eat, don't hesitate to call us," Tiffany said. "In fact, we'd love to have lunch with you. Do you have any free time in the next couple days?"
"Uh, I'm kinda busy this week," I said, palms sweating. "I probably won't have any time until Sunday." What a laugh. I had nothing BUT time at that point in my college life. But the idea of meeting two strange girls for lunch intimidated me.
We agreed to meet at the student center on Sunday at 12:45 p.m. The ceremony was at one.
"So," Mat said with some interest, "what was all dat about?"
I explained it too him and he immediately lost interest. To him, it was probably just another geeky thing his dweeb roommate was doing.
The week passed as weeks tend to do. I was delighted when Mat disappeared on Friday. He had that "two-day disappearance" look about him, and I was almost right. He didn't return until really late on Saturday night, maybe around 4 a.m., when he showed up drunk and alone. He was so beat he actually dropped right into bed without turning on his Heineken light or watching a single minute of MTV. I passed the time playing pick-up ball at the co-rec, hanging out with Nathan, and meeting up with the roleplaying group on Saturday night.
On Sunday I got dressed up, Little Matt style. Unfortunately, I'm trapped in Italy thousands of miles away from my scrapbook, or I'd post a picture of me and my pledge family. Anyway, I wore black dress pants, a dark purple dress shirt and a thin black tie. I thought I looked pretty pimpin'. I mean, I was no Wally "Eskimo Pimp" Szczerbiak or anything, but I was stylin' for me at the time.
I met up with my pledge moms in the designated place at the designated time, and while I was genuinely happy to meet them, I couldn't take my eyes of my pledge sister. I thought she was adorable. I also thought she was hot. Susan was short, a little busty, with not-quite shoulder-length brown hair and twinkling brown eyes. She also had a nose like Jennifer Grey, which kinda did it for me. (Remember, I had just had my first serious kiss the previous weekend after watching Dirty Dancing.) She decked out in a very flattering lavender dress and wearing a black choker with a white porcelain cross affixed to it.
I stuck out my hand to shake and blurted out, "HellonicetomeetyouareyouCatholic?"
Hello mouth, I am the foot. Allow me to insert myself.
Susan looked at me like a third eye had just popped out of my forehead. "Uh, yeah, I am Catholic. Why do you ask?"
"Oh, uh, well, you're wearing that cross and everything."
"Yeah. I just think it's cool."
"Oh, yeah, yeah sure, it is. Like, very cool. I really like it."
As awkward as that little exchange may seem on your computer screen, I promise you it was ten times more awkward than that. At least. It was a stumbling, bumbling first impression. And it set a precedent: I would continue to be painfully and sometimes hilariously awkward in Susan's presence.
I sat through the pledging ceremony in a daze. I was really smitten with Susan. Every few seconds I'd sneak a quick peek at her. I guess someone must have slipped some infatuation juice into my cereal that morning.
After the ceremony, our little pledge family went out for lunch at a popular pizza place right off campus. My awkwardness continued unabated, but I managed to sort of contain it. During the discussion, Tiffany explained why she and Carolyn had chosen me as their pledge son. "Well," Tiffany said, "I saw you put down soccer as one of your hobbies. I was really excited about that, because I played soccer for, like, seven years. Most guys put down football or basketball. When I saw soccer on your pledge form, I knew I had to pick you."
It's really funny how things turn out. Some crazy whim had taken over my mind that day and caused me to put down soccer instead of basketball. I never quite understood how or why that happened, considering my obsession with watching and playing basketball. But some strange twist of fate had moved my pen, and so I ended up meeting Susan, who would become the second love of my college life.
Of course, I'd blown the first impression. But I'd get other chances.
When I got back to the room, Mat was still out like a light. I had nervous energy to burn off, so I changed into workout gear and went for a run. When I came back, I heard Mat singing in the shower across the hall from our room. Bob Marley of course. When he wasn't watching MTV, Mat was either listening to or singing Bob Marley. Or both. I reached for the doorknob and found it was unlocked.
Now let me explain something. The whole door locking thing was a real hangup for me. Things were a little rough in my neighborhood while I was growing up. Rough enough that my mom repeatedly stressed the importance of locking your door. On top of that, school officials, members of the dorm government, writers in the school paper, everybody was issuing dire warnings for students to lock up, even if they were just going down the hall to talk to a friend. I took this advice to heart, and I wanted Mat to do it too...but that was like asking Lindsey Lohan to lay off the magic sauce.
Finding the door unlocked yet again made me snap. It wasn't just the door locking thing, it was all of Mat's shenanigans. I just wanted to get him, really embarrass him, just once.
I locked the door and left the dorm.
An hour later, I returned. The door was locked. I let myself in and the room was empty. However, there was a note on my desk. I still have this note somewhere, and I swear if I find it I will scan it and post it here on the site. Anyway, it was from Mat, and it said, "You locked me out of the room. I'm going to fucking kill you."
Okay, I'll admit: I was terrified. But I also got this totally wild thrill. Oh, and it gets better. By the time Mat got home, he had calmed down a little bit. He still wanted to kick my ass, but not badly enough to actually do it. This is what happened. Mat came out of the shower to find the door locked, of course, and he didn't have his key. He was forced to go down to the main office, which is in a large common room area.
There was some kind of event going on -- to this day, I don't know exactly what it was -- but the common room was filled with students and their families: dads, moms, brothers and sisters. Even some grandparents. And here comes this lumbering giant, soaking wet and wearing a teeny-tiny towel that barely fit halfway around his massive trunk. If you want to know how small that towel was on him, go get a hand towel from your bathroom, fold it in half, and then try to wrap it around your waist. Yeah.
Mat walked up to the front desk, which was manned by a student worker. He explained that he was locked out of his room and requested a spare key. The student worker, citing protocol, said Mat would have to produce his dorm ID before he could get a spare key. Mat not-so-calmly explained he didn't have his key. The student worker insisted. People started gathering around, fascinated by this freakish standoff.
Now, I had believed to that point that Mat had no shame. But apparently he did, and this situation evoked it. He was embarrassed, humiliated, so he began screaming at the student worker. The student worker got scared and supposedly threatened to call the police. Finally, the hall assistant manager showed up and gave Mat the spare key, after which he shambled, still mostly naked, past dozens of staring eyes back to our room.
He was still steamed about it...still embarrassed even. I apologized without meaning it. Then we kind of laughed about it together. Oddly enough, it felt like one of those moments when roommates bond a little. But it was just an illusion.
Part 10
Labels: college stories, Livin' Large
Previous installments: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7. Also check out the official Livin' Large FAQ
The next week with Mat was more of the same: he'd come home a little (or a lot) drunk, stay up all night, and partake in the carnal glory of random hookups. I was studying for a Calculus quiz one evening when he and some girl practically fell through the door together, laughing and talking like their eardrums were busted. Let me tell you, it isn't easy to work out the derivative of a function when there's a naked girl five feet away screaming about the size of your roommate’s genitalia. Sometimes all I could do was give up studying to go next door and visit Nathan until the shrieking stopped. I tried to tell myself it was only one year, but I still hade most of that year left to go. I really didn't want to keep living like that.
Mat, meanwhile, was having the time of his life. People loved him...and not just the ladies on campus. One day he received some gifts in the mail from "concerned alumni" who understood how "lonely and isolated" a foreign student could feel. He got a portable CD player, some cash, and a few other things I can't remember. Talk about isolation busters. I was pretty sure that kind of treatment violated several NCAA rules, but rules only apply if you get caught, right?
Free gifts weren't enough though. He had come up with a new gimmick: stealing CDs from frat parties. Mat's pockets were huge. So huge he could slip two or three CDs in them at at time. He returned to the dorm one particular evening flush with the excitement of a master thief. "Look at this shit," he exclaimed as he emptied his pockets.
"Don't you think those frat guys are going to miss their CDs?" I asked.
"Hell, are you kidding?" he bellowed. "Dey got so many CDs, dey'll never even know dese are gone. Besides," he said with a hint of menace, "nobody's gonna say shit to me, you know?"
Probably not. But still.
On Thursday, I decided it was time to become pro-active. I went to Brett and requested a room change, immediately if not sooner. He eyed me warily for a few ticks and then said, "I don't know if that's going to work. We don't have any vacancies in this wing."
"Fine," I said. "Move me anywhere. I don't care where. Up. Down. Over and around. There has to be an opening somewhere, right?"
Brett thought about it. "I don't know, tell you the truth."
I groaned.
"Look," Brett said, "talk to Mat again. I know, I know," he said as I glared daggers at him. "But just try. Give it the weekend. See if he responds. If he doesn't, I'll get you an appointment to talk to the hall manager."
"Okay, fine" I said. But I didn't like his plan. In fact, I hated it.
It was with a heavy heart that I approached Mat later that night. Jennifer was on her way over, so I had to work fast.
"Mat" I said. "How are, uh, things going?"
"Fine," he said, apathy and irritation oozing from his giant pores. I felt like a telemarketer or something.
"Look, man, here's the thing," I blurted out. "I just need a break from the all-nighters. And, like, if you want to have sex in the room, can you just let me know ahead of time. I'll make plans or something."
"Yeah, sure, whatever," he said.
Yeah. Sure. Whatever. Nothing was going to change.
"By duh way, a couple girls called for you," he said, and he looked about as surprised as I felt. "Carolyn and Tiffany." He then handed me a piece of paper with their numbers on it.
Carolyn and Tiffany? Had I ever met a Carolyn, let alone a Tiffany? I had no idea. I was and still am terrible with names. There was this one girl in German class I'd been talking to, and I'd met another girl during a fountain run. (There's a large fountain in the middle of the campus, and there's a long and storied tradition of students running through it. Sadly, a litigation-conscious former university president conspired to enclose the water jet inside a large metal tube. Very lame.) So yeah, I knew two girls, but chances were they didn't know each other. I couldn't figure it out, and I was too nervous to call them back. I passed it off as a wrong number.
"Dude," Mat said. "It wasn't a wrong number. Dey asked for you by name." He seemed to want to get to the bottom of this great mystery: why girls would be calling his dweeby roommate.
I refused to give him the satisfaction. I didn't call back. You know, the old "cut off your nose to spite your face" routine.
Despite not getting much sleep, as usual, I woke up refreshed and invigorated. I was going home that weekend. Not just going home, either. I was getting face time with Aimee. It might have been my imagination, but I really believed she was warming up to the idea of being my girlfriend and not just my girl friend. I figured it was time to make my move. Only...I had no moves. Gulp.
On Friday night, I had dinner with my mom and hung out with my hometown buddies Greg and Gauvin. Those two guys had never really gotten along, but they tolerated each other when I was around. However, a fight almost broke out when we were cruising around in Greg's car, a sweet-ass 1957 Chevy Impala. Meat Loaf's "Paradise By The Dashboard Lights" came on, and we all sung it together up until the woman's part. At which point Gauvin continued singing. By the time Gauvin belted out, "would you take me away, will you make me your wife," Greg was freaking out.
"DUDE," he yelled. "YOU DO NOT SING THE CHICK'S PART!"
Gauvin realized his faux pas but refused to back down. "Whatever. I can sing whatever part I want."
Greg's eyes bulged. "THE GIRL'S PART? SERIOUSLY?!"
Things didn't improve. Not until the next night, anyway. Aimee's family was celebrating her brother's birthday at Chuck E. Cheese. We ate pizza, played skee ball, and killed time until we could go hang out on our own. To this day, I still remember the absolutely hideous outfit I had on: blue jeans, brown weave belt (too long and tied into a little loop), and this long sleeve t-shirt that was made up of thick, alternating, horizontal purple stripes. If I ever finish my time machine, I'm going back to that night to kick myself in the groin for dressing like that.
Aimee and I went back to my house to watch a movie. Mercifully, my mom stayed in her room to give us some privacy. We ended up watching a chick flick: Dirty Dancing. This was not a new situation. Aimee had brought her friend Heather over the previous summer so we could all watch The Bodyguard together. One thing led to another and we took turns giving two-on-one massages in what was probably the most erotic moment of my life to that point. Not that anything sexy happened...it was all very above-the-clothes and chaste. But I was an 18-year-old virgin. Kitchen tile was erotic to me. Sadly, the fun ended when Heather started getting a little too frisky with me and Aimee cooled me off with a couple ice cubes down the pants.
On this night, there was no Heather and no ice. We watched the movie without really watching the movie. You probably know how that is. After it ended, I turned off the TV and we just talked for a while. The conversation eventually turned to my feelings for her. She smiled and blushed and tried to hide behind her hair. Then, and I don't remember exactly how it began, we kissed for the very first time.
I was terrible.
Seriously, it was like I lost all control of my lips. They became these thick, rubbery, lifeless things. Honestly, it was humiliating. I pulled back to apologize for sucking at the whole kissing thing, but Aimee said, "Sssh. Just relax. It's okay." And we tried again. And again. I didn't get any better.
At some point, I pulled back and said, softly, "Where do we go from here?" What I meant was, "Does this mean we're a couple now?" Aimee took it to mean, "Wanna have sex?"
She jumped up and said, "Uh, I go home and you go to bed!"
It took me a second, but I figured out what she was thinking. "No," I said, a little flustered. "I mean, where does our relationship go from here. Like, are we dating? I mean, like a couple."
She looked very tiny and afraid at that moment. So unsure. For some reason, seeing her look so vulnerable made my heart pound even harder against my chest.
"I don't know, Matthew McHale," she said. I knew it was serious when she pulled out my full name. "I...really don't know."
Then we hugged and she walked out to her car -- this huge, rusty old Ford truck -- and motored away. Don't laugh at this, but I honest-to-God watched her drive away and thought, in complete seriousness, "I screwed that up...and I might never get the chance to kiss a girl again." What a schmuck.
I went over to Aimee's house for lunch the next day. I was hoping the previous night's passion would still be alive, but Aimee was moody and distant. She also took great pains to avoid discussing anything romantic. I somehow ended up feeing both incredibly excited and utterly frustrated. Such is the life of a teenager in love.
The ride back to school was steeped in gloom. My mom became concerned over my dreary silence, so I told her I was just bummed about Aimee. In reality, I was filled with dread. I didn't want to go back to living with Mat.
When I stepped into our room, I discovered my fears were totally justified. Once again, the place was trashed. All my food and soda had been consumed. (My Kleenex, however, were untouched.) My bed had been stripped and my sheets were gone...to where, exactly, I never discovered. I ended up pulling Mat's mangy sheets off his bed and exchanging them for fresh linen. The only saving grace was that Mat didn't return that night. I figured, with any luck, I'd never have to spend another night sleeping across from him.
Brett got me in to see the hall manager the very next day. At first, I tried to be cool. I explained to Chad that me and Mat didn't have much in common, and that it would probably be best for both of us if I moved out.
"I'm really sorry, Matt," Chad said, "but that's impossible. The hall if full. I don't have a single opening in any room, on any floor, of any wing. But look," he continued, "Mat's a great guy. I'm sure if you talk to him, you can work everything out."
"No, it won't." I said. Then I spilled my guts. I talked about the booze, the occasional drug use, the fact that he slept with a different woman every night. I told Chad that Mat never went to class, that he stayed up all night, that he ignored me when I asked for compromise. I didn't want to get Mat in trouble. I didn't want revenge. All I wanted was a new room assignment. And I really figured that what I told Chad would seal the deal...and maybe even get Mat kicked out (even though I didn't want that to happen, if only so that I could avoid his wrath).
"Matt, there's something you need to understand," Chad said. "Student athletes are special people. They're under a tremendous amount of stress. It isn't easy balancing school work and classes and all their responsibilities to the team. We have to be patient with them, and very understanding. We have to make special allowances for them because student athletes make our lives better. They represent the university. They give of their bodies and minds so we can feel happy and excited about our teams. Don't you think that the least you can do in repayment is give Mat a little of that patience and understanding I was talking about?"
He phrased it like a question, but it wasn't one.
I walked back to my room feeling completely defeated. Mat was my roommate, and he would continue to be my roommate whether I liked it or not. I briefly considered asking my mom to get involved, but that would have been way too humiliating. All I could do was endure and count down the days.
And maybe plot a little revenge...
Part 9
The next week with Mat was more of the same: he'd come home a little (or a lot) drunk, stay up all night, and partake in the carnal glory of random hookups. I was studying for a Calculus quiz one evening when he and some girl practically fell through the door together, laughing and talking like their eardrums were busted. Let me tell you, it isn't easy to work out the derivative of a function when there's a naked girl five feet away screaming about the size of your roommate’s genitalia. Sometimes all I could do was give up studying to go next door and visit Nathan until the shrieking stopped. I tried to tell myself it was only one year, but I still hade most of that year left to go. I really didn't want to keep living like that.
Mat, meanwhile, was having the time of his life. People loved him...and not just the ladies on campus. One day he received some gifts in the mail from "concerned alumni" who understood how "lonely and isolated" a foreign student could feel. He got a portable CD player, some cash, and a few other things I can't remember. Talk about isolation busters. I was pretty sure that kind of treatment violated several NCAA rules, but rules only apply if you get caught, right?
Free gifts weren't enough though. He had come up with a new gimmick: stealing CDs from frat parties. Mat's pockets were huge. So huge he could slip two or three CDs in them at at time. He returned to the dorm one particular evening flush with the excitement of a master thief. "Look at this shit," he exclaimed as he emptied his pockets.
"Don't you think those frat guys are going to miss their CDs?" I asked.
"Hell, are you kidding?" he bellowed. "Dey got so many CDs, dey'll never even know dese are gone. Besides," he said with a hint of menace, "nobody's gonna say shit to me, you know?"
Probably not. But still.
On Thursday, I decided it was time to become pro-active. I went to Brett and requested a room change, immediately if not sooner. He eyed me warily for a few ticks and then said, "I don't know if that's going to work. We don't have any vacancies in this wing."
"Fine," I said. "Move me anywhere. I don't care where. Up. Down. Over and around. There has to be an opening somewhere, right?"
Brett thought about it. "I don't know, tell you the truth."
I groaned.
"Look," Brett said, "talk to Mat again. I know, I know," he said as I glared daggers at him. "But just try. Give it the weekend. See if he responds. If he doesn't, I'll get you an appointment to talk to the hall manager."
"Okay, fine" I said. But I didn't like his plan. In fact, I hated it.
It was with a heavy heart that I approached Mat later that night. Jennifer was on her way over, so I had to work fast.
"Mat" I said. "How are, uh, things going?"
"Fine," he said, apathy and irritation oozing from his giant pores. I felt like a telemarketer or something.
"Look, man, here's the thing," I blurted out. "I just need a break from the all-nighters. And, like, if you want to have sex in the room, can you just let me know ahead of time. I'll make plans or something."
"Yeah, sure, whatever," he said.
Yeah. Sure. Whatever. Nothing was going to change.
"By duh way, a couple girls called for you," he said, and he looked about as surprised as I felt. "Carolyn and Tiffany." He then handed me a piece of paper with their numbers on it.
Carolyn and Tiffany? Had I ever met a Carolyn, let alone a Tiffany? I had no idea. I was and still am terrible with names. There was this one girl in German class I'd been talking to, and I'd met another girl during a fountain run. (There's a large fountain in the middle of the campus, and there's a long and storied tradition of students running through it. Sadly, a litigation-conscious former university president conspired to enclose the water jet inside a large metal tube. Very lame.) So yeah, I knew two girls, but chances were they didn't know each other. I couldn't figure it out, and I was too nervous to call them back. I passed it off as a wrong number.
"Dude," Mat said. "It wasn't a wrong number. Dey asked for you by name." He seemed to want to get to the bottom of this great mystery: why girls would be calling his dweeby roommate.
I refused to give him the satisfaction. I didn't call back. You know, the old "cut off your nose to spite your face" routine.
Despite not getting much sleep, as usual, I woke up refreshed and invigorated. I was going home that weekend. Not just going home, either. I was getting face time with Aimee. It might have been my imagination, but I really believed she was warming up to the idea of being my girlfriend and not just my girl friend. I figured it was time to make my move. Only...I had no moves. Gulp.
On Friday night, I had dinner with my mom and hung out with my hometown buddies Greg and Gauvin. Those two guys had never really gotten along, but they tolerated each other when I was around. However, a fight almost broke out when we were cruising around in Greg's car, a sweet-ass 1957 Chevy Impala. Meat Loaf's "Paradise By The Dashboard Lights" came on, and we all sung it together up until the woman's part. At which point Gauvin continued singing. By the time Gauvin belted out, "would you take me away, will you make me your wife," Greg was freaking out.
"DUDE," he yelled. "YOU DO NOT SING THE CHICK'S PART!"
Gauvin realized his faux pas but refused to back down. "Whatever. I can sing whatever part I want."
Greg's eyes bulged. "THE GIRL'S PART? SERIOUSLY?!"
Things didn't improve. Not until the next night, anyway. Aimee's family was celebrating her brother's birthday at Chuck E. Cheese. We ate pizza, played skee ball, and killed time until we could go hang out on our own. To this day, I still remember the absolutely hideous outfit I had on: blue jeans, brown weave belt (too long and tied into a little loop), and this long sleeve t-shirt that was made up of thick, alternating, horizontal purple stripes. If I ever finish my time machine, I'm going back to that night to kick myself in the groin for dressing like that.
Aimee and I went back to my house to watch a movie. Mercifully, my mom stayed in her room to give us some privacy. We ended up watching a chick flick: Dirty Dancing. This was not a new situation. Aimee had brought her friend Heather over the previous summer so we could all watch The Bodyguard together. One thing led to another and we took turns giving two-on-one massages in what was probably the most erotic moment of my life to that point. Not that anything sexy happened...it was all very above-the-clothes and chaste. But I was an 18-year-old virgin. Kitchen tile was erotic to me. Sadly, the fun ended when Heather started getting a little too frisky with me and Aimee cooled me off with a couple ice cubes down the pants.
On this night, there was no Heather and no ice. We watched the movie without really watching the movie. You probably know how that is. After it ended, I turned off the TV and we just talked for a while. The conversation eventually turned to my feelings for her. She smiled and blushed and tried to hide behind her hair. Then, and I don't remember exactly how it began, we kissed for the very first time.
I was terrible.
Seriously, it was like I lost all control of my lips. They became these thick, rubbery, lifeless things. Honestly, it was humiliating. I pulled back to apologize for sucking at the whole kissing thing, but Aimee said, "Sssh. Just relax. It's okay." And we tried again. And again. I didn't get any better.
At some point, I pulled back and said, softly, "Where do we go from here?" What I meant was, "Does this mean we're a couple now?" Aimee took it to mean, "Wanna have sex?"
She jumped up and said, "Uh, I go home and you go to bed!"
It took me a second, but I figured out what she was thinking. "No," I said, a little flustered. "I mean, where does our relationship go from here. Like, are we dating? I mean, like a couple."
She looked very tiny and afraid at that moment. So unsure. For some reason, seeing her look so vulnerable made my heart pound even harder against my chest.
"I don't know, Matthew McHale," she said. I knew it was serious when she pulled out my full name. "I...really don't know."
Then we hugged and she walked out to her car -- this huge, rusty old Ford truck -- and motored away. Don't laugh at this, but I honest-to-God watched her drive away and thought, in complete seriousness, "I screwed that up...and I might never get the chance to kiss a girl again." What a schmuck.
I went over to Aimee's house for lunch the next day. I was hoping the previous night's passion would still be alive, but Aimee was moody and distant. She also took great pains to avoid discussing anything romantic. I somehow ended up feeing both incredibly excited and utterly frustrated. Such is the life of a teenager in love.
The ride back to school was steeped in gloom. My mom became concerned over my dreary silence, so I told her I was just bummed about Aimee. In reality, I was filled with dread. I didn't want to go back to living with Mat.
When I stepped into our room, I discovered my fears were totally justified. Once again, the place was trashed. All my food and soda had been consumed. (My Kleenex, however, were untouched.) My bed had been stripped and my sheets were gone...to where, exactly, I never discovered. I ended up pulling Mat's mangy sheets off his bed and exchanging them for fresh linen. The only saving grace was that Mat didn't return that night. I figured, with any luck, I'd never have to spend another night sleeping across from him.
Brett got me in to see the hall manager the very next day. At first, I tried to be cool. I explained to Chad that me and Mat didn't have much in common, and that it would probably be best for both of us if I moved out.
"I'm really sorry, Matt," Chad said, "but that's impossible. The hall if full. I don't have a single opening in any room, on any floor, of any wing. But look," he continued, "Mat's a great guy. I'm sure if you talk to him, you can work everything out."
"No, it won't." I said. Then I spilled my guts. I talked about the booze, the occasional drug use, the fact that he slept with a different woman every night. I told Chad that Mat never went to class, that he stayed up all night, that he ignored me when I asked for compromise. I didn't want to get Mat in trouble. I didn't want revenge. All I wanted was a new room assignment. And I really figured that what I told Chad would seal the deal...and maybe even get Mat kicked out (even though I didn't want that to happen, if only so that I could avoid his wrath).
"Matt, there's something you need to understand," Chad said. "Student athletes are special people. They're under a tremendous amount of stress. It isn't easy balancing school work and classes and all their responsibilities to the team. We have to be patient with them, and very understanding. We have to make special allowances for them because student athletes make our lives better. They represent the university. They give of their bodies and minds so we can feel happy and excited about our teams. Don't you think that the least you can do in repayment is give Mat a little of that patience and understanding I was talking about?"
He phrased it like a question, but it wasn't one.
I walked back to my room feeling completely defeated. Mat was my roommate, and he would continue to be my roommate whether I liked it or not. I briefly considered asking my mom to get involved, but that would have been way too humiliating. All I could do was endure and count down the days.
And maybe plot a little revenge...
Part 9
Labels: college stories, Livin' Large
Previous installments: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7
Never let it be said that I don't love you people. Instead of getting sweet, sweet sleep, I've just spent the last few hours answering (I think) every FAQ question that was submitted. Hopefully these answers will sate everyone's burning curiosity. If not, I'll do my best to give follow-up answers.
If comments aren't published immediately, it's because I'm in Italy and might not have access to a computer and/or the Internet. I will complete Part 8 of Livin' Large tomorrow...sometime.
The only thing I want to know is whether or not you have any pictures of Jennifer and/or Shelly: Alas no. Neither Mat nor I owned a camera. He took one round of pictures with a disposable, and strangely enough none of the pictures he took were of his girls. I could probably use stealth and cunning to obtain some current pictures of Shelly...but she's had seven kids. So, uh, yeah.
Do you remember what character you played in D&D? Class? Name? Any other geeky games played? Oh, man. I'd tried to avoid this, but apparently my geek past is catching up with me. Sadly, I was a goody-goody back then, so I typically had lawful good or neutral good characters, usually straight-up fighters. I did so much thinking in real life that when I role-played I just wanted to hit things.
And: Can you give us a numerical estimate as to just how many VHS tapes were in this mystical pile of old basketball games? I didn't see them in the pictures, were they flowing from underneath your bed? Rough guess: Around 200-ish. Some of them had only one game, others had as many as three.
Did Mat at least use some sort of contraception during his many random sexual encounters? God knows we don't want any of his bastard offspring wandering the planet. I actually had to squeeze some thought juice on this one. I must have tried to erase all thoughts of anything relating to his penis from my mind. At first, I didn't think he used protection because I couldn't remember seeing any used condoms in the trash. But upon further consideration, I do recall seeing condom boxes in the debris covering his desk...12-packs of course.
Yeah, I have a question: what happened after what happened in part 7 (and before what will happen in part 9)? Okay, okay, I get it! I'm behind! Part 8 will be published tomorrow. I promise.
What kind of impact, if any, did watching Mat's sexual exploits have on your future relations with women? None whatsoever. Mat was a selfish and careless lover. And I have to say using the word "lover" in reference to my old roomie gave me a bit of a wiggins. But even though I was, ahem, less experienced than Big Mat, I wanted to be nothing like him, sexually or otherwise.
Do you realize how easy it was for anyone who's a decent fan of basketball to figure out the school, your roommate, and the former NBA All-Star from the last post? I cannot control the amazing powers of deduction you people possess.
Are Matt and Mat actually just 1 person, ala Fight Club? Nope. Or, at least, I don't think so. Would I even know if we were?
Did you end up screwing that girl's friend? The one that Mat ordered you to bang? No. But somebody else in my hall did. And he continued to hang around all year hoping Mat would throw some more scraps his way. Never happened.
You were pretty active on the pick-up basketball scene. You even gave us your height and weight. How would you describe your game? Strengths and Weaknesses? In a full court game to 21, how many points can I expect you to score? If both teams had captains picking, where would you be chosen? Since this FAQ is intended to cover my time in college, I'm going to describe my game from that era. If anybody wants me to expand on this answer in the comments to describe my current game, I will.
In college, I became an offensive machine. I never stopped running, and I picked up a lot of easy buckets by sprinting downcourt on every possession. I developed a nearly unstoppable post game (assuming I wasn't fouled or double-teamed) and an awkward but efficient turn-around three-point shot. I could also stick the mid-range shot from the foul line area with regularity. I had a really good first step. I was a very aggressive rebounder, especially on the defensive glass. In a game to 21, I usually scored at least 10 points, and sometimes I would score 15 or more. I was known for hitting an extremely high percentage. There were games in which I didn't miss a shot (as BadDave will attest).
However...I had some gaping holes in my game. My defense was aggressive but sorely lacking in fundamentals. Honestly, because I became an accomplished scorer, I wasn't that concerned with defense. That would come later. My passing was, at best, okay. I wasn't a black hole, exactly, but I was looking to score first (and sometimes second). My handles were okay for scoring in the post or making quick moves to the basket, but I could not bring the ball upcourt without getting picked. I was also a bit of a hothead, and my temper occasionally took me out of the game.
In retrospect, is there anything you remember about Future NBA All-Star that totally makes sense now considering his career? You know, kinda like how crabdribble-gate was just kind of funny at the time, but now was clearly just the tip of the iceberg as LeBron keeps topping himself as a prima donna. Looking back, it's rather obvious that Future NBA All-Star relied heavily on his natural physical gifts. Too much so. He had other high-level skills, but he was the kind of ball player who never had the kind of mental toughness and inner reserve that the true greats had. That was proven in his final college game in the NCAA tournament. At the time, I thought it was an abberation. Now I realize that Future NBA All-Star feasted when he had a clear physical advantage over his opponents...and he starved when he did not.
How noisy was the sex? Are we talking porn overdubs...gasping moans? Tell it in detail. Then describe how the ladies looked. It totally depended on the girls. All Mat ever did was grunt. If the girl of the moment wanted to put on a show, it got crazy...gasps, moans, screams, laughing, squealing, name-calling, praying, speaking in tongues, you name it. If the girl was nervous or modest in any way, it stayed relatively quiet.
As for looks, the girls were usually either hot or very hot. Jennifer was the least attractive of the batch, and she would have been considered very attractive, especially for a freshman. I never saw Mat tap an ugly girl. I never even saw him tap an average one.
So, when did you first see your roomie go ballin', and realize that he wasn't ever going to amount to anything other than Tremendous Upside Potential? I attended a practice during the semester we lived together and watched him working one-on-one with an assistant coach. At one point, he bricked a dozen or so short hook shots and then bonked a couple reverse layups. He even blew a dunk. That's when I started to get worried.
I still would like to know what your Clark Kent job is. I think you may have mentioned being some kind of programmer, but I'm not too sure. Like I said above, I'm trying to limit questions to my college life, But I'll give a quick answer to this one. I'm a technical writer for a global computer software firm. I write release notes, help text and user guides for various software packages. You know, that boring stuff that everyone ignores and throws away without ever reading.
Our software is specific to the financial industry, so most people will never user or even hear about it in casual conversation.
Did you ever play a game with/against your roommate? Sort of. That will be explained in a future installment.
What is your roomie doing in 2009? I don't want to give away too much information about his current whereabouts, but it seems as though he has become a professional ass-kicker. No, really. The big liger. That's all I'm saying.
Besides himself, who were Mat's basektball heros? Or was he too egocentric to have any? As far as I can remember, he didn't have any. Mat wasn't interested in basketball. He never wanted to watch it with me. He really didn't discuss anything outside of our men's team and his past as a prep school baller. He knew some pro players, but he more or less only knew their names. I have always believed that his disinterest in the sport is why he failed at it.
This is two sided. 1) Did you ever take the sloppy seconds? 2) You always mention how you buried your head under your pillow while he was with one of his girls, did you ever watch? Sorry for the loaded questions but I am curious as to how a hormone enraged 18-year-old reacts to that kind of situation. I never took sloppy seconds. I never even considered it. However, I will admit that there were a few times I was unable to prevent myself from sneaking a peek at the girls. And I took a few long, lingering eyefuls of Shelly, both during her initial visit and her follow-up trip. I tried not to. I did. But I was 18, I was male, and, well, that pretty much sums it up.
To go along with chris's question, once you realized Mat was basketbawful and would never measure up to his potential, did you ever feel guilty for not passing this info along to the thronging horde of young ladies who were throwing themselves at him for a shot at someday being an NBA wife or girlfriend? No. For the most part, I felt like they were idiots for being interested in the guy. I only ever felt sorry for Jennifer.
Now for my own question: was Mat's weirdness well known among the other people in your dorm or on your floor at least, or did you keep it mainly to yourself? Like, did you go vent to anyone else about the Heineken sign or tell people about how Mat stole that giant chair from a sorority, or did you ever bring anyone else in to listen to the phone messages girls left for him? Or did you just keep it all bottled up inside not knowing who to confide in? I told my R.A., Brett, and my next door neighbor, Nathan. But I didn't tell anyone else on the floor because I didn't know who I could trust. Mat was semi-famous. It wasn't that guys on the floor liked him, exactly, but many of them were angling for perks: girls, entry into frat parties, etc. And some of those guys thought there was something wrong with me for not doing the same thing.
Did you ever play Mat one on one in hoops? If so, did his size negate your skills? If you never played, do you think you could have taken him? We never played one-on-one, but I did play in a pickup game with him. More on that in a future installment.
Did Mat ever try on the Larry Bird shorts? If so, did he look like Shaq when he put on John Stockton's shorts? Mat was big, and he was strong. However, it would have taken a nuclear blast to break into the safe in which I kept the Larry Bird shorts.
I assumed you played second edition D&D rules, god what a nightmare. Sadly, yes.
Follow up on Wild Yams question on Mat's weirdness -- just what was Mat's reputation around school? Was he generally well liked? Put up with? Did he have actual friends, or was he too busy working his way through the groupies to even care? Mat never had any close friends that I was aware of. But he had plenty of people who wanted to hang around with him because of his status as a school athlete. However, most students were aware of him as a flop and failure in terms of actually playing basketball. Sometimes I would overhear him being mocked in casual conversation in coming years. For example: "Hey, [Mat's last name] scored a point last night. Must be a season-high." Stuff like that.
Do you like the cocktail that shares its name with your school's sports teams? Not really. But I have to drink it, you know?
Whenever I see a blog post about any hot girl, it's frustrating without pics. Do you have ANY pics of ANY of Mat's conquests? If so, can you post? Of course, you can blur out their face or whatever to protect their identity. No. Keep in mind, this was pre-cellular phone days. Not everybody had cameras. There were exactly three PCs on my floor during freshman year. It basically worked out that everybody had one specific piece of technology they used to barter the use of someone else's piece of tech.
Now that you mention it, what were Mat's favorite foods? The only thing I ever saw him eat was pizza. Dude ordered pizza almost every day. I know he had to eat other things...he had to. But I never saw it.
Did you ever see Mat play? Yes. It was...not pretty.
Who got more punani in college, Mat, or the Future NBA All-Star? I don't know anything about Future NBA All-Star's sex life in college...but I'm certain he got at least 10x the punani.
Why was "Future NBA All-Star" (By the way i watched some you-tube clips of him in college last night, he was a true talent) so keen on having him play that season? Was his defensive presence that intimidating? I picture Mat as the perfect alternate candidate for the 7 footer Vince Carter dunked over in Sydney Olympic Ball 2000. Why was Bryant Reeves a lottery pick? Why was Darko Milicic chosen over Dwyane Wade and Carmelo Anthony? Why did guys like Greg Ostertag hang around the Association for 10+ years? The allure of the Big White Guy is strong. Our basketball team didn't have size. Mat did have size. It was just assumed someone big, strong and athletically gifted -- remember, he was a black belt -- would come in and dominate. I mean, he was Shaq-sized! How could he fail?!
How come you haven't had any posts about the recent signings, trades, free agents, summer league, and new players/potentials to the NBA? My time is limited. I can write Livin' Large or I can cover all the other stuff. And, in general, my readers seem to prefer one to the other...
Did your roommate use protection? Seriously, because how he missed out on Herpes and AIDS is beyond my belief with no "glove". I never saw him use condoms. I don't know how he disposed of them. But he had them. Since he never knocked anybody up, he either used them or was/is mercifully sterile.
Did girls ever catch on to Mat's game? As in, did word spread that maybe they should stop throwing themselves at Mat, either because of his basketbawfulness or because of how he treated women? Apparently not. Even during his fourth year on campus, I would see him out at the bars every weekend with hot chicks.
Did the Jennifer story spread? No. It would seem that the only people who knew were Mat, Jennifer and me. And now anybody who reads this site.
Did Mat have any friends outside of basketball or his hookups? If so, were they like him? Not close friends, not at school. He had a group of close friends from back home (Holland). More on that in a future installment.
I know you love pick up games, so when was the first time you got to actually play basketball with your roommate? How did you do? (Don't be modest) and did he have any more respect for you after playing or less? Did you get the chance to play against the Future NBA All-Star? This will all be covered in a future installment. I didn't do much. And the Future NBA All-Star dunked on me. With prejudice.
I'm impressed by the details you provide in this 15 year old account. Out of curiosity, did you keep a journal or something, or do you have an unusually good memory, or were these events so permanently seared into your brain you couldn't possibly forget them? Actually, the answer is: all of the above. I kept journals from the beginning of my freshman year with the intention of writing a book. I also have a mutant memory, especially for interpersonal events. Most importantly, I have told and retold Mat stories so many times over the years, I couldn't forget them if I wanted to. It has become an oral tradition among my friends.
Did Mat have any redeemable skill relating to basketball other than being a gigantic ham beast and just generally clogging the lane? Mat had no game whatsoever. If you've ever played ball with someone who has never played basketball before, then you know what it was like watching him try to play. He had no sense of the game.
Do you think you would've told Mat off had you both been built similarly? Oh, I tried telling Mat off. You'll have to keep reading to find out how that went.
How long did it take for the coaches to find out Mat was rather useless on the floor? He hardly ever played, so I'm guessing they figured it out pretty quickly. But they never cut him. I guess hope springs eternal.
What was Mat's favorite NBA team/player if any? He liked Michael Jordan and the Bulls. That was pretty much it. He knew Rik Smits personally, but he never spoke of him in glowing terms.
Using the power of 20-20 hindsight, do you think the mere fact you attended the same university as the Future NBA All Star, particularly during an important run (not to mention the college experience itself, once it stopped blowing) inflated your opinion of his abilities in any way? Absolutely. Keep in mind, I had season tickets that season. Watching a guy AVERAGE 30/10 and just destroy people live, with everybody freaking out and high-fiving all the while, made me crazy. Plus, I had a lot to learn about the game. I still do, as a matter of fact.
why did you decide to release the story now? I have intended to release it the previous three summers...and I talked myself out of it every time. It felt too opportunistic. I wanted people to read this blog because they enjoy it for what it is. Using this experience too early felt like cheating. I don't know if that makes any sense, but I'm weird about Basketbawful. It's my baby.
Did you ever ask Mat what had happened when you were gone that weekend that he wanted you to sleep with his girlfriend's friend? Did he ask someone else to fill in for you or did he just take care of both of them? I never asked, but I found out that he had a guy down the hall stay in the room -- in my bed -- to "entertain" his ladyfriend's friend. So I figured out who soiled my sheets. Yay.
So did you ever actually get laid in the time you lived with Mat? ... No.
Can you tell me why everyone wanted Mat to play when he couldn't even...play?! It was all about his Tremendous Upside Potential. People figured that he HAD to be good. You can't teach size! People figured it out eventually, but when he first arrived, there was talk about him being the next Shaq. Seriously. All because he was big.
Did you ever use being Mat's roommate to get something? I used him to get into a frat party. Didn't go so well. More on that soon.
Did you meet your current wife/girlfriend while you were roommates with Mat? The only girl for me at that time was Aimee. We did not end up together.
How big was Mat's penis? I have seriously considered contacting Shelly to find out. After all these years of repression, I'm finally curious.
From your story you never seemed to think much of 'wow, I am rooming with a potential NBA player' -- did you ever have this thought, or were you not so easily swayed by a man's size? From day one, his lack of interest in the sport worried me. I honestly thought he'd make it to the NBA. Why? See the collected works of Kite, Greg. But I never thought he'd be good. He didn't care about or respect the game. Plus, he was an ass. I was pretty happy when he have me the practice shorts though.
Another question: what were Shelly's measurements? More information please. And a pic if you've got one. What kind of panties did she wear (or DID she?). Odds are they are probably basic white, cotton, underpants. But I sort of think well, maybe they're silk panties...maybe it's a thong. Maybe it's something really cool that I don't even know about. Hm. It's been a long time, but I would guess she was a...hey! You perv! I can't believe you asked that. I can't put that in a FAQ! (Ask again in the comments, though, and I might answer.)
Did you two ever go out to parties together? I went out with him once.
Are you still in touch with Mat? Nope. I never spoke with him again after freshman year.
Did Mat ever get with Aimee? No. Thank Zeus.
Did Mat ever watch the old basketball tapes with you? He sat through maybe five minutes of one game before he got bored. Mat didn't enjoy basketball. At least, not when we lived together.
Did you ever get into a physical altercation with Mat? Almost.
What is the motivation behind the greatness that is "Livin Large"? Was there any intention of revenge or was it just flat-out funny that you were compelled to post this? I don't want revenge. I've been telling friends these stories for years and years. Never once have they failed to entertain a group. I had to share that with my readers.
What happened to Jennifer? Did she end up back in college? Move home? Start dating another athlete??? I never found out. I can only hope she made better dating decisions.
What was your major? I started out in journalism, moved to public relations, and eventually picked up a double major in PR and tech writing.
Why 5 years of college? Ooooh boy. Well...I was set to get my PR degree in four years. I was going to get my masters while I was there because, by the time I left, I was going for free. However, there was this whole flap with Aimee and marriage and her going to law school and not wanting to wait two years. I had accepted a job for my fifth year, so I had to stay. Instead of going to graduate school, I crammed all the classes necessary for a tech writing degree into one year. Aimee was going to get a job until I finished up, then I was going to support her during law school, then I was going to go back to school. Only shortly before we graduated, she started a conversation with, "Oh, by the way, I'm moving to Texas..."
Did you ever get the Future NBA All Star's autograph that you were so afraid to ask for? Never got it. Afraid to ask.
Do you know the words to nearly every Michael Jackson song? (MJ owned MTV in the early 90's did he not? I would expect his music to be playing constantly in your room what with Mat's MTV obsession.) No. But I karaoke a mean "Beat It."
You said you had a CD player -- what kind of music did you listen to and did Mat approve? At the time, I listened almost exclusively to Joe Satriani. I also got into Meat Loaf that year.
Why didn't you ever buy ear plugs? Or a blindfold? Because I became a master of the wrap-around pillow.
Did you actually enjoy D&D, or did you only play because you had nothing else to do? I enjoyed it.
Did you ever request to move out of your dorm room? Or were you afraid of angering Mat/getting him in trouble? I did. More on that soon.
Was there any point in "Fifth Year", Matholomew, where you realized some of your habits were starting to channel those of your first-year roommate?! Yes. When I had successfully used the same incredibly lame "get it on" line for the umpteenth time. I literally woke up one day and went "uh oh..."
You'll probably cover this in the last chapter of the story, but where is Mat now, or when/where/what was the last you heard of him? Some resourceful readers dug him up for me during this series. All I can say is, check out some YouTube links in the comments sections...
"Little Mat and Big Mat"? Why? Was "Poindexter and The Ogre" taken? A Revenge of the Nerds reference?! Ouch. Major ouch.
How, in the name of Steve Austin, did you even bother to attempt sleeping from a dude banging chicks 5 METRES AWAY?!? As a non-U.S. citizen, who didn't attend an all-gay boarding school, i just find it impossible to comprehend that a) you didn't leave the room everytime, b) the girl involved would be uncomfortable with the nerd in the corner wacking off, and c) this is some kind of common practice you just 'have to live with' when your not even drunk or stoned?!? I was awkward and inexperienced. Looking back, I should have just left for the five minutes it took for him to finish and go to sleep.
Have you considered turning this story into a novel or movie script? There is some serious film potential here. Basketball nerd goes to college, has asshole student-athlete roommate, meets some quirky nerd friends, tries to hold things together with his girl back home (while roommate gets it on with numerous girls). I'd watch that. I honestly had never thought of it before writing this series. I might have to add it to my "To Do" list though.
Did little Mat ever get involved in any sexual activity / menage e trois with Big Mat's lady friends? No. As it was, I was terrified their herpes would leap across the room and crawl in my mouth while I slept. I would have let Shelly wrap me around a tree though.
Did Mat ever talk about his home country? Where he lived, his basketball club, family et cetera. Did it change your opinion about The Netherlands? He did. He spoke about his family, is group of friends, things he did, stuff like that. Mind you, I was a country bumpkin back then, so it was the first time I realized that, wow, people in other countries are just like us! Only, you know, different.
How about the raunchiest sexcapade night you had to deal with. Mat wasn't particularly creative at that time. The only raunch happened when the girls talked dirty...and it was basically porn script stuff.
I was wondering how far apart time-wise the pictures of you in your room and with your buddies outside were taken. You look really different in the two pictures, as you no doubt already know. Those pictures were one year apart. I grew up a lot in a year.
Was there ever a role-reversal: you hooking up in the room while Mat watched MTV? Actually, yes. And that will be an entire installment of its own.
Did Taco Bell Jennifer move to Atlanta or Connecticut? I don't know, but my money's on Atlanta.
Did you ever use Mat's courtship advice, and, if so, what were the results? Never. And I did go to him for advice exactly once. His answer: "F*** them both." Keep reading for the full story.
Was Mat friends with Future Runner-Up To The NFL Champions? No, but he did hang out with some of the football players from time to time. Just not that one.
Did Mat ever do the girl that Brett had to follow into Future Runner-Up To The NFL Champions' room? Not that I know of. She was African American, and I never saw Mat hook up with anyone who wasn't Caucasian. It's possible, I suppose, but doubtful.
When did you finally say, "yes," to the sweet cheeba? (Understanding that your answer would, in no way, imply that you do or have done anything like that since the first time; and, also, understanding that you'd be a lot cooler if you do). I...I'm not sure what you're asking. Don't make me Google this. I feel so uncool for not knowing. Am I just getting old or something?
Did you only have tapes of Celtics games? You were a Pacers fan at the time, too, right? I taped everything I could. Mostly Pacers, Bulls and Hawks, because those teams were shown on local stations. That and anything shown on CBS or NBC.
In school, did Mat look exactly the same as he does in the YouTube video? He was younger and fitter, but otherwise he appears unchanged.
How many times did Brett write you up before you became friends with him? How many of those times were deserved? And, were you eventually his boss? He wrote me up three times, none of which were deserved. Of course, once BadDave and I started drinking in the room, he turned a blind eye many times. Of course, Brett IS blind in one eye...so...yeah.
Did you ever talk about the Mat/Shelly situation with Brett afterwards? What sort of discussion was that? Did Brett laugh about it, eventually? Brett has done nothing BUT laugh about it since. When I see him in Florence next weekend, I'm going to bring it up again.
Did you ever see Mat just flat-out pummel anyone, a la his muay thai video? No. But he threatened to do it to me.
Any fall-out from the game when he popped a 15-foot jumper off the shot clock? I remember my trainer buddy saying he was nearly in tears in the locker room after that game. Alas, that happened long after Mat and I parted ways. But BadDave and I laughed our asses off over it.
How much money did Jennifer spend on Mat? I don't have an exact number, but hundreds of dollars, maybe a couple thousand. She brought him food on nightly basis, bought him gifts, paid his phone bill once and gave him money.
Did Mat ever get/give from/to STDs? Not that I know of, but I wouldn't bet against it.
Part 8
Never let it be said that I don't love you people. Instead of getting sweet, sweet sleep, I've just spent the last few hours answering (I think) every FAQ question that was submitted. Hopefully these answers will sate everyone's burning curiosity. If not, I'll do my best to give follow-up answers.
If comments aren't published immediately, it's because I'm in Italy and might not have access to a computer and/or the Internet. I will complete Part 8 of Livin' Large tomorrow...sometime.
The only thing I want to know is whether or not you have any pictures of Jennifer and/or Shelly: Alas no. Neither Mat nor I owned a camera. He took one round of pictures with a disposable, and strangely enough none of the pictures he took were of his girls. I could probably use stealth and cunning to obtain some current pictures of Shelly...but she's had seven kids. So, uh, yeah.
Do you remember what character you played in D&D? Class? Name? Any other geeky games played? Oh, man. I'd tried to avoid this, but apparently my geek past is catching up with me. Sadly, I was a goody-goody back then, so I typically had lawful good or neutral good characters, usually straight-up fighters. I did so much thinking in real life that when I role-played I just wanted to hit things.
And: Can you give us a numerical estimate as to just how many VHS tapes were in this mystical pile of old basketball games? I didn't see them in the pictures, were they flowing from underneath your bed? Rough guess: Around 200-ish. Some of them had only one game, others had as many as three.
Did Mat at least use some sort of contraception during his many random sexual encounters? God knows we don't want any of his bastard offspring wandering the planet. I actually had to squeeze some thought juice on this one. I must have tried to erase all thoughts of anything relating to his penis from my mind. At first, I didn't think he used protection because I couldn't remember seeing any used condoms in the trash. But upon further consideration, I do recall seeing condom boxes in the debris covering his desk...12-packs of course.
Yeah, I have a question: what happened after what happened in part 7 (and before what will happen in part 9)? Okay, okay, I get it! I'm behind! Part 8 will be published tomorrow. I promise.
What kind of impact, if any, did watching Mat's sexual exploits have on your future relations with women? None whatsoever. Mat was a selfish and careless lover. And I have to say using the word "lover" in reference to my old roomie gave me a bit of a wiggins. But even though I was, ahem, less experienced than Big Mat, I wanted to be nothing like him, sexually or otherwise.
Do you realize how easy it was for anyone who's a decent fan of basketball to figure out the school, your roommate, and the former NBA All-Star from the last post? I cannot control the amazing powers of deduction you people possess.
Are Matt and Mat actually just 1 person, ala Fight Club? Nope. Or, at least, I don't think so. Would I even know if we were?
Did you end up screwing that girl's friend? The one that Mat ordered you to bang? No. But somebody else in my hall did. And he continued to hang around all year hoping Mat would throw some more scraps his way. Never happened.
You were pretty active on the pick-up basketball scene. You even gave us your height and weight. How would you describe your game? Strengths and Weaknesses? In a full court game to 21, how many points can I expect you to score? If both teams had captains picking, where would you be chosen? Since this FAQ is intended to cover my time in college, I'm going to describe my game from that era. If anybody wants me to expand on this answer in the comments to describe my current game, I will.
In college, I became an offensive machine. I never stopped running, and I picked up a lot of easy buckets by sprinting downcourt on every possession. I developed a nearly unstoppable post game (assuming I wasn't fouled or double-teamed) and an awkward but efficient turn-around three-point shot. I could also stick the mid-range shot from the foul line area with regularity. I had a really good first step. I was a very aggressive rebounder, especially on the defensive glass. In a game to 21, I usually scored at least 10 points, and sometimes I would score 15 or more. I was known for hitting an extremely high percentage. There were games in which I didn't miss a shot (as BadDave will attest).
However...I had some gaping holes in my game. My defense was aggressive but sorely lacking in fundamentals. Honestly, because I became an accomplished scorer, I wasn't that concerned with defense. That would come later. My passing was, at best, okay. I wasn't a black hole, exactly, but I was looking to score first (and sometimes second). My handles were okay for scoring in the post or making quick moves to the basket, but I could not bring the ball upcourt without getting picked. I was also a bit of a hothead, and my temper occasionally took me out of the game.
In retrospect, is there anything you remember about Future NBA All-Star that totally makes sense now considering his career? You know, kinda like how crabdribble-gate was just kind of funny at the time, but now was clearly just the tip of the iceberg as LeBron keeps topping himself as a prima donna. Looking back, it's rather obvious that Future NBA All-Star relied heavily on his natural physical gifts. Too much so. He had other high-level skills, but he was the kind of ball player who never had the kind of mental toughness and inner reserve that the true greats had. That was proven in his final college game in the NCAA tournament. At the time, I thought it was an abberation. Now I realize that Future NBA All-Star feasted when he had a clear physical advantage over his opponents...and he starved when he did not.
How noisy was the sex? Are we talking porn overdubs...gasping moans? Tell it in detail. Then describe how the ladies looked. It totally depended on the girls. All Mat ever did was grunt. If the girl of the moment wanted to put on a show, it got crazy...gasps, moans, screams, laughing, squealing, name-calling, praying, speaking in tongues, you name it. If the girl was nervous or modest in any way, it stayed relatively quiet.
As for looks, the girls were usually either hot or very hot. Jennifer was the least attractive of the batch, and she would have been considered very attractive, especially for a freshman. I never saw Mat tap an ugly girl. I never even saw him tap an average one.
So, when did you first see your roomie go ballin', and realize that he wasn't ever going to amount to anything other than Tremendous Upside Potential? I attended a practice during the semester we lived together and watched him working one-on-one with an assistant coach. At one point, he bricked a dozen or so short hook shots and then bonked a couple reverse layups. He even blew a dunk. That's when I started to get worried.
I still would like to know what your Clark Kent job is. I think you may have mentioned being some kind of programmer, but I'm not too sure. Like I said above, I'm trying to limit questions to my college life, But I'll give a quick answer to this one. I'm a technical writer for a global computer software firm. I write release notes, help text and user guides for various software packages. You know, that boring stuff that everyone ignores and throws away without ever reading.
Our software is specific to the financial industry, so most people will never user or even hear about it in casual conversation.
Did you ever play a game with/against your roommate? Sort of. That will be explained in a future installment.
What is your roomie doing in 2009? I don't want to give away too much information about his current whereabouts, but it seems as though he has become a professional ass-kicker. No, really. The big liger. That's all I'm saying.
Besides himself, who were Mat's basektball heros? Or was he too egocentric to have any? As far as I can remember, he didn't have any. Mat wasn't interested in basketball. He never wanted to watch it with me. He really didn't discuss anything outside of our men's team and his past as a prep school baller. He knew some pro players, but he more or less only knew their names. I have always believed that his disinterest in the sport is why he failed at it.
This is two sided. 1) Did you ever take the sloppy seconds? 2) You always mention how you buried your head under your pillow while he was with one of his girls, did you ever watch? Sorry for the loaded questions but I am curious as to how a hormone enraged 18-year-old reacts to that kind of situation. I never took sloppy seconds. I never even considered it. However, I will admit that there were a few times I was unable to prevent myself from sneaking a peek at the girls. And I took a few long, lingering eyefuls of Shelly, both during her initial visit and her follow-up trip. I tried not to. I did. But I was 18, I was male, and, well, that pretty much sums it up.
To go along with chris's question, once you realized Mat was basketbawful and would never measure up to his potential, did you ever feel guilty for not passing this info along to the thronging horde of young ladies who were throwing themselves at him for a shot at someday being an NBA wife or girlfriend? No. For the most part, I felt like they were idiots for being interested in the guy. I only ever felt sorry for Jennifer.
Now for my own question: was Mat's weirdness well known among the other people in your dorm or on your floor at least, or did you keep it mainly to yourself? Like, did you go vent to anyone else about the Heineken sign or tell people about how Mat stole that giant chair from a sorority, or did you ever bring anyone else in to listen to the phone messages girls left for him? Or did you just keep it all bottled up inside not knowing who to confide in? I told my R.A., Brett, and my next door neighbor, Nathan. But I didn't tell anyone else on the floor because I didn't know who I could trust. Mat was semi-famous. It wasn't that guys on the floor liked him, exactly, but many of them were angling for perks: girls, entry into frat parties, etc. And some of those guys thought there was something wrong with me for not doing the same thing.
Did you ever play Mat one on one in hoops? If so, did his size negate your skills? If you never played, do you think you could have taken him? We never played one-on-one, but I did play in a pickup game with him. More on that in a future installment.
Did Mat ever try on the Larry Bird shorts? If so, did he look like Shaq when he put on John Stockton's shorts? Mat was big, and he was strong. However, it would have taken a nuclear blast to break into the safe in which I kept the Larry Bird shorts.
I assumed you played second edition D&D rules, god what a nightmare. Sadly, yes.
Follow up on Wild Yams question on Mat's weirdness -- just what was Mat's reputation around school? Was he generally well liked? Put up with? Did he have actual friends, or was he too busy working his way through the groupies to even care? Mat never had any close friends that I was aware of. But he had plenty of people who wanted to hang around with him because of his status as a school athlete. However, most students were aware of him as a flop and failure in terms of actually playing basketball. Sometimes I would overhear him being mocked in casual conversation in coming years. For example: "Hey, [Mat's last name] scored a point last night. Must be a season-high." Stuff like that.
Do you like the cocktail that shares its name with your school's sports teams? Not really. But I have to drink it, you know?
Whenever I see a blog post about any hot girl, it's frustrating without pics. Do you have ANY pics of ANY of Mat's conquests? If so, can you post? Of course, you can blur out their face or whatever to protect their identity. No. Keep in mind, this was pre-cellular phone days. Not everybody had cameras. There were exactly three PCs on my floor during freshman year. It basically worked out that everybody had one specific piece of technology they used to barter the use of someone else's piece of tech.
Now that you mention it, what were Mat's favorite foods? The only thing I ever saw him eat was pizza. Dude ordered pizza almost every day. I know he had to eat other things...he had to. But I never saw it.
Did you ever see Mat play? Yes. It was...not pretty.
Who got more punani in college, Mat, or the Future NBA All-Star? I don't know anything about Future NBA All-Star's sex life in college...but I'm certain he got at least 10x the punani.
Why was "Future NBA All-Star" (By the way i watched some you-tube clips of him in college last night, he was a true talent) so keen on having him play that season? Was his defensive presence that intimidating? I picture Mat as the perfect alternate candidate for the 7 footer Vince Carter dunked over in Sydney Olympic Ball 2000. Why was Bryant Reeves a lottery pick? Why was Darko Milicic chosen over Dwyane Wade and Carmelo Anthony? Why did guys like Greg Ostertag hang around the Association for 10+ years? The allure of the Big White Guy is strong. Our basketball team didn't have size. Mat did have size. It was just assumed someone big, strong and athletically gifted -- remember, he was a black belt -- would come in and dominate. I mean, he was Shaq-sized! How could he fail?!
How come you haven't had any posts about the recent signings, trades, free agents, summer league, and new players/potentials to the NBA? My time is limited. I can write Livin' Large or I can cover all the other stuff. And, in general, my readers seem to prefer one to the other...
Did your roommate use protection? Seriously, because how he missed out on Herpes and AIDS is beyond my belief with no "glove". I never saw him use condoms. I don't know how he disposed of them. But he had them. Since he never knocked anybody up, he either used them or was/is mercifully sterile.
Did girls ever catch on to Mat's game? As in, did word spread that maybe they should stop throwing themselves at Mat, either because of his basketbawfulness or because of how he treated women? Apparently not. Even during his fourth year on campus, I would see him out at the bars every weekend with hot chicks.
Did the Jennifer story spread? No. It would seem that the only people who knew were Mat, Jennifer and me. And now anybody who reads this site.
Did Mat have any friends outside of basketball or his hookups? If so, were they like him? Not close friends, not at school. He had a group of close friends from back home (Holland). More on that in a future installment.
I know you love pick up games, so when was the first time you got to actually play basketball with your roommate? How did you do? (Don't be modest) and did he have any more respect for you after playing or less? Did you get the chance to play against the Future NBA All-Star? This will all be covered in a future installment. I didn't do much. And the Future NBA All-Star dunked on me. With prejudice.
I'm impressed by the details you provide in this 15 year old account. Out of curiosity, did you keep a journal or something, or do you have an unusually good memory, or were these events so permanently seared into your brain you couldn't possibly forget them? Actually, the answer is: all of the above. I kept journals from the beginning of my freshman year with the intention of writing a book. I also have a mutant memory, especially for interpersonal events. Most importantly, I have told and retold Mat stories so many times over the years, I couldn't forget them if I wanted to. It has become an oral tradition among my friends.
Did Mat have any redeemable skill relating to basketball other than being a gigantic ham beast and just generally clogging the lane? Mat had no game whatsoever. If you've ever played ball with someone who has never played basketball before, then you know what it was like watching him try to play. He had no sense of the game.
Do you think you would've told Mat off had you both been built similarly? Oh, I tried telling Mat off. You'll have to keep reading to find out how that went.
How long did it take for the coaches to find out Mat was rather useless on the floor? He hardly ever played, so I'm guessing they figured it out pretty quickly. But they never cut him. I guess hope springs eternal.
What was Mat's favorite NBA team/player if any? He liked Michael Jordan and the Bulls. That was pretty much it. He knew Rik Smits personally, but he never spoke of him in glowing terms.
Using the power of 20-20 hindsight, do you think the mere fact you attended the same university as the Future NBA All Star, particularly during an important run (not to mention the college experience itself, once it stopped blowing) inflated your opinion of his abilities in any way? Absolutely. Keep in mind, I had season tickets that season. Watching a guy AVERAGE 30/10 and just destroy people live, with everybody freaking out and high-fiving all the while, made me crazy. Plus, I had a lot to learn about the game. I still do, as a matter of fact.
why did you decide to release the story now? I have intended to release it the previous three summers...and I talked myself out of it every time. It felt too opportunistic. I wanted people to read this blog because they enjoy it for what it is. Using this experience too early felt like cheating. I don't know if that makes any sense, but I'm weird about Basketbawful. It's my baby.
Did you ever ask Mat what had happened when you were gone that weekend that he wanted you to sleep with his girlfriend's friend? Did he ask someone else to fill in for you or did he just take care of both of them? I never asked, but I found out that he had a guy down the hall stay in the room -- in my bed -- to "entertain" his ladyfriend's friend. So I figured out who soiled my sheets. Yay.
So did you ever actually get laid in the time you lived with Mat? ... No.
Can you tell me why everyone wanted Mat to play when he couldn't even...play?! It was all about his Tremendous Upside Potential. People figured that he HAD to be good. You can't teach size! People figured it out eventually, but when he first arrived, there was talk about him being the next Shaq. Seriously. All because he was big.
Did you ever use being Mat's roommate to get something? I used him to get into a frat party. Didn't go so well. More on that soon.
Did you meet your current wife/girlfriend while you were roommates with Mat? The only girl for me at that time was Aimee. We did not end up together.
How big was Mat's penis? I have seriously considered contacting Shelly to find out. After all these years of repression, I'm finally curious.
From your story you never seemed to think much of 'wow, I am rooming with a potential NBA player' -- did you ever have this thought, or were you not so easily swayed by a man's size? From day one, his lack of interest in the sport worried me. I honestly thought he'd make it to the NBA. Why? See the collected works of Kite, Greg. But I never thought he'd be good. He didn't care about or respect the game. Plus, he was an ass. I was pretty happy when he have me the practice shorts though.
Another question: what were Shelly's measurements? More information please. And a pic if you've got one. What kind of panties did she wear (or DID she?). Odds are they are probably basic white, cotton, underpants. But I sort of think well, maybe they're silk panties...maybe it's a thong. Maybe it's something really cool that I don't even know about. Hm. It's been a long time, but I would guess she was a...hey! You perv! I can't believe you asked that. I can't put that in a FAQ! (Ask again in the comments, though, and I might answer.)
Did you two ever go out to parties together? I went out with him once.
Are you still in touch with Mat? Nope. I never spoke with him again after freshman year.
Did Mat ever get with Aimee? No. Thank Zeus.
Did Mat ever watch the old basketball tapes with you? He sat through maybe five minutes of one game before he got bored. Mat didn't enjoy basketball. At least, not when we lived together.
Did you ever get into a physical altercation with Mat? Almost.
What is the motivation behind the greatness that is "Livin Large"? Was there any intention of revenge or was it just flat-out funny that you were compelled to post this? I don't want revenge. I've been telling friends these stories for years and years. Never once have they failed to entertain a group. I had to share that with my readers.
What happened to Jennifer? Did she end up back in college? Move home? Start dating another athlete??? I never found out. I can only hope she made better dating decisions.
What was your major? I started out in journalism, moved to public relations, and eventually picked up a double major in PR and tech writing.
Why 5 years of college? Ooooh boy. Well...I was set to get my PR degree in four years. I was going to get my masters while I was there because, by the time I left, I was going for free. However, there was this whole flap with Aimee and marriage and her going to law school and not wanting to wait two years. I had accepted a job for my fifth year, so I had to stay. Instead of going to graduate school, I crammed all the classes necessary for a tech writing degree into one year. Aimee was going to get a job until I finished up, then I was going to support her during law school, then I was going to go back to school. Only shortly before we graduated, she started a conversation with, "Oh, by the way, I'm moving to Texas..."
Did you ever get the Future NBA All Star's autograph that you were so afraid to ask for? Never got it. Afraid to ask.
Do you know the words to nearly every Michael Jackson song? (MJ owned MTV in the early 90's did he not? I would expect his music to be playing constantly in your room what with Mat's MTV obsession.) No. But I karaoke a mean "Beat It."
You said you had a CD player -- what kind of music did you listen to and did Mat approve? At the time, I listened almost exclusively to Joe Satriani. I also got into Meat Loaf that year.
Why didn't you ever buy ear plugs? Or a blindfold? Because I became a master of the wrap-around pillow.
Did you actually enjoy D&D, or did you only play because you had nothing else to do? I enjoyed it.
Did you ever request to move out of your dorm room? Or were you afraid of angering Mat/getting him in trouble? I did. More on that soon.
Was there any point in "Fifth Year", Matholomew, where you realized some of your habits were starting to channel those of your first-year roommate?! Yes. When I had successfully used the same incredibly lame "get it on" line for the umpteenth time. I literally woke up one day and went "uh oh..."
You'll probably cover this in the last chapter of the story, but where is Mat now, or when/where/what was the last you heard of him? Some resourceful readers dug him up for me during this series. All I can say is, check out some YouTube links in the comments sections...
"Little Mat and Big Mat"? Why? Was "Poindexter and The Ogre" taken? A Revenge of the Nerds reference?! Ouch. Major ouch.
How, in the name of Steve Austin, did you even bother to attempt sleeping from a dude banging chicks 5 METRES AWAY?!? As a non-U.S. citizen, who didn't attend an all-gay boarding school, i just find it impossible to comprehend that a) you didn't leave the room everytime, b) the girl involved would be uncomfortable with the nerd in the corner wacking off, and c) this is some kind of common practice you just 'have to live with' when your not even drunk or stoned?!? I was awkward and inexperienced. Looking back, I should have just left for the five minutes it took for him to finish and go to sleep.
Have you considered turning this story into a novel or movie script? There is some serious film potential here. Basketball nerd goes to college, has asshole student-athlete roommate, meets some quirky nerd friends, tries to hold things together with his girl back home (while roommate gets it on with numerous girls). I'd watch that. I honestly had never thought of it before writing this series. I might have to add it to my "To Do" list though.
Did little Mat ever get involved in any sexual activity / menage e trois with Big Mat's lady friends? No. As it was, I was terrified their herpes would leap across the room and crawl in my mouth while I slept. I would have let Shelly wrap me around a tree though.
Did Mat ever talk about his home country? Where he lived, his basketball club, family et cetera. Did it change your opinion about The Netherlands? He did. He spoke about his family, is group of friends, things he did, stuff like that. Mind you, I was a country bumpkin back then, so it was the first time I realized that, wow, people in other countries are just like us! Only, you know, different.
How about the raunchiest sexcapade night you had to deal with. Mat wasn't particularly creative at that time. The only raunch happened when the girls talked dirty...and it was basically porn script stuff.
I was wondering how far apart time-wise the pictures of you in your room and with your buddies outside were taken. You look really different in the two pictures, as you no doubt already know. Those pictures were one year apart. I grew up a lot in a year.
Was there ever a role-reversal: you hooking up in the room while Mat watched MTV? Actually, yes. And that will be an entire installment of its own.
Did Taco Bell Jennifer move to Atlanta or Connecticut? I don't know, but my money's on Atlanta.
Did you ever use Mat's courtship advice, and, if so, what were the results? Never. And I did go to him for advice exactly once. His answer: "F*** them both." Keep reading for the full story.
Was Mat friends with Future Runner-Up To The NFL Champions? No, but he did hang out with some of the football players from time to time. Just not that one.
Did Mat ever do the girl that Brett had to follow into Future Runner-Up To The NFL Champions' room? Not that I know of. She was African American, and I never saw Mat hook up with anyone who wasn't Caucasian. It's possible, I suppose, but doubtful.
When did you finally say, "yes," to the sweet cheeba? (Understanding that your answer would, in no way, imply that you do or have done anything like that since the first time; and, also, understanding that you'd be a lot cooler if you do). I...I'm not sure what you're asking. Don't make me Google this. I feel so uncool for not knowing. Am I just getting old or something?
Did you only have tapes of Celtics games? You were a Pacers fan at the time, too, right? I taped everything I could. Mostly Pacers, Bulls and Hawks, because those teams were shown on local stations. That and anything shown on CBS or NBC.
In school, did Mat look exactly the same as he does in the YouTube video? He was younger and fitter, but otherwise he appears unchanged.
How many times did Brett write you up before you became friends with him? How many of those times were deserved? And, were you eventually his boss? He wrote me up three times, none of which were deserved. Of course, once BadDave and I started drinking in the room, he turned a blind eye many times. Of course, Brett IS blind in one eye...so...yeah.
Did you ever talk about the Mat/Shelly situation with Brett afterwards? What sort of discussion was that? Did Brett laugh about it, eventually? Brett has done nothing BUT laugh about it since. When I see him in Florence next weekend, I'm going to bring it up again.
Did you ever see Mat just flat-out pummel anyone, a la his muay thai video? No. But he threatened to do it to me.
Any fall-out from the game when he popped a 15-foot jumper off the shot clock? I remember my trainer buddy saying he was nearly in tears in the locker room after that game. Alas, that happened long after Mat and I parted ways. But BadDave and I laughed our asses off over it.
How much money did Jennifer spend on Mat? I don't have an exact number, but hundreds of dollars, maybe a couple thousand. She brought him food on nightly basis, bought him gifts, paid his phone bill once and gave him money.
Did Mat ever get/give from/to STDs? Not that I know of, but I wouldn't bet against it.
Part 8
Labels: college stories, FAQ, Livin' Large
I was away from any and all things Interweb and could not publish comments. My bad. Publishing them now.
Labels: Apology
A while back, we here at Basketbawful pondered a list of the worst NBA video games. And by pondered, I mean stole the list from another blog and put it on this one. Anyways, those that know me know I'm all about the irony and schadenfreude, so I set out to play some of these games. And by that, I mean I'm too lazy to fire up an SNES emulator, but that's okay since the only actually free game on the list was the one who's presence on a worst ever list was most questionable.
Have you ever thought to yourself: "Self, wouldn't this thing would be way more awesome if it had basketball somehow involved"? Then do I have an epic something for you. Tales of Game's Studios Presents Chef Boyardee's Barkley, Shut Up & Jam: Gaiden, Chapter 1 of the Hoopz Barkley SaGa (yes, the G is capitalized) does just this with the classic Square-Enix RPG video game formula. So if you're bored from the summer NBA off-season, or tired from stealing chairs from sorority houses, and need to zone out away from your geeky roommate, read onwards.
Once again, if you haven't already downloaded this free game, here's the plot introduction courtesy of Wikipedia. I should mention that right when you load it up, the game clearly states that this story IS canon:
Protip: Remember the game is canon, so don't waste money upgrading Vinceborg's gear. He's obviously going to desert your team after moderately trying.
The combat system was simple and fun, considering the last RPG I played was Chrono Trigger like 8 years ago. You'll meet and battle plenty of other characters along the way:
Luke Walton was cut last second as a playable character.
Even videogame KG is still an ass.
Thousands of epic years.
In addition to the epic basketball tale, there's an underground town of furries, diabetes sugar land, racist genies, Incan gold, and even a horrifying dating sim section. Of course, what would an RPG be without those few unforgettable moments:
Final verdict: If I had to give any existing videogame the prestegious award of being named Basketbawful: The Game, it would be Barkley, Shut Up & Jam: Gaiden, hands down.
About the author: AnacondaHL is the Chief Internet Media Relations and Security Officer for Basketbawful and a grizzled Internet veteran who watches in despair as his favorite team, the Phoenix Suns, prepare for the Pavlovic/Ben Wallace era. When not wasting time at his Clark Kent job to read BasketBawful, he can be found playing the Internet computer game du jour, still watching animes about robots in Nikes playing basketball, wondering why the Diamondbacks have seven team colors, living vicariously through other people's way cooler stories from college, and browsing other obscure things on the Internet. He hopes someday to learn four languages, name the largest number in the world after himself, and to eat a crab grown in Akron.
Have you ever thought to yourself: "Self, wouldn't this thing would be way more awesome if it had basketball somehow involved"? Then do I have an epic something for you. Tales of Game's Studios Presents Chef Boyardee's Barkley, Shut Up & Jam: Gaiden, Chapter 1 of the Hoopz Barkley SaGa (yes, the G is capitalized) does just this with the classic Square-Enix RPG video game formula. So if you're bored from the summer NBA off-season, or tired from stealing chairs from sorority houses, and need to zone out away from your geeky roommate, read onwards.
Once again, if you haven't already downloaded this free game, here's the plot introduction courtesy of Wikipedia. I should mention that right when you load it up, the game clearly states that this story IS canon:
The game takes place in a post-cyberpocalyptic New York called "Neo New York", after a "chaos dunk" causes the death of millions.
Twelve years prior to the game, Charles Barkley, in an attempt to impress his son Hoopz Barkley, performs a Chaos Dunk -- and inadvertently kills almost everyone present. As a result, basketball was made illegal and nearly all great players were killed in "The Great B-Ball Purge of 2041" (a.k.a "B-Ballnacht").
In 2053, another Chaos Dunk rocks Manhattan, killing fifteen million, and the blame falls on Charles, who is believed to be the only human capable of performing the Chaos Dunk. With the help of the Ultimate Hellbane, Charles escapes his pursuers: the B-Ball Removal Department, led by ex-NBA all-star Michael Jordan. Charles follows Ultimate Hellbane through the B-Ball Catacombs to the tomb of LeBron James, discovering that the Ultimate Hellbane is actually Balthios - the Octoroon great grandson of LeBron James. James contacts Charles from the B-ball dimension, offering him a warning which tells him to "seek the Cyberdwarf."
Protip: Remember the game is canon, so don't waste money upgrading Vinceborg's gear. He's obviously going to desert your team after moderately trying.
The combat system was simple and fun, considering the last RPG I played was Chrono Trigger like 8 years ago. You'll meet and battle plenty of other characters along the way:
In addition to the epic basketball tale, there's an underground town of furries, diabetes sugar land, racist genies, Incan gold, and even a horrifying dating sim section. Of course, what would an RPG be without those few unforgettable moments:
Final verdict: If I had to give any existing videogame the prestegious award of being named Basketbawful: The Game, it would be Barkley, Shut Up & Jam: Gaiden, hands down.
About the author: AnacondaHL is the Chief Internet Media Relations and Security Officer for Basketbawful and a grizzled Internet veteran who watches in despair as his favorite team, the Phoenix Suns, prepare for the Pavlovic/Ben Wallace era. When not wasting time at his Clark Kent job to read BasketBawful, he can be found playing the Internet computer game du jour, still watching animes about robots in Nikes playing basketball, wondering why the Diamondbacks have seven team colors, living vicariously through other people's way cooler stories from college, and browsing other obscure things on the Internet. He hopes someday to learn four languages, name the largest number in the world after himself, and to eat a crab grown in Akron.
Labels: chaos dunk, Charles Barkley, epic, Gaiden, Shut Up and Jam, video games, Vinceborg 2050
Hey everybody. I was too swamped last night/this morning to finish the next installment of the Livin' Large series. Yeah, sorry about that.
Anyway, today's post is a request. I'm going to create a list of Frequently Asked Questions for Livin' Large. That's where you, the readers, come in: You have to submit the question. I will NOT answer questions regarding the name of the school, my roommate or the Future NBA All-Star. But short of incriminating details, I'll answer just about any other reasonable question, either about my roommate or myself during the time I was living with him (or even afterward but while I was still in college).
So if you've been wondering how I remember things or what Mat's favorite foods were, now's the time to ask.
Tomorrow I'll post the next installment of Livin' Large and Monday I'll post the FAQ. Note that the FAQ may expand as the story goes on.
Anyway, today's post is a request. I'm going to create a list of Frequently Asked Questions for Livin' Large. That's where you, the readers, come in: You have to submit the question. I will NOT answer questions regarding the name of the school, my roommate or the Future NBA All-Star. But short of incriminating details, I'll answer just about any other reasonable question, either about my roommate or myself during the time I was living with him (or even afterward but while I was still in college).
So if you've been wondering how I remember things or what Mat's favorite foods were, now's the time to ask.
Tomorrow I'll post the next installment of Livin' Large and Monday I'll post the FAQ. Note that the FAQ may expand as the story goes on.
Labels: college stories, Livin' Large, submission request
Execute order 66! Or something like that. This one is straight from the "couldn't make it up" files: According to Gary Parrish of CBS Sports, Nike is supposedly blocking any and all taped footage of Xavier's Jordan Crawford posterizing LeBron James, which happened at the LeBron James Skills Academy earlier this week.
Turns out, there were at least two cameras rolling Monday night when Crawford dunked on James during a pick-up game here at the LeBron James Skills Academy. It was a two-handed jam, the kind that would've circulated quickly on YouTube. But Nike officials eliminated that possibility shortly after the dunk happened by allegedly confiscating tapes from various cameramen.Wait, what? Mr. Check My $tats, Mr. Look-At-Me-I'm-The-MVP doesn't want video circulating on YouTube of him being jammed on by some college kid?! I can't tell you how NOT shocked I am. Let's just say that sound you just heard certainly wasn't my jaw hitting the floor. Between this situation, the egomania t-shirts and that whole "I'm a winner and winners don't have to shake hands" thing, LeBron sure is coming off as kind of a douche lately.
Freelance photographer Ryan Miller was one of the cameramen shooting the game.
He told CBSSports.com that Nike Basketball Senior Director Lynn Merritt took his tape.
"He just said, 'We have to take your tape,'" Miller said. "They took it from other guys, too."
Worth noting is that there is no policy against filming at the LeBron James Skills Academy, and Miller said he had been filming all day without incident. Nobody ever told him to stop. Nobody ever said there was a problem...until after Crawford dunked on James.
"LeBron called Lynn over and told him something," Miller said. "That's how I knew his name was Lynn. LeBron said, 'Hey, Lynn. Come here.'"
Minutes later, Miller said Merritt demanded his tape.
"There's nothing I can think of besides LeBron just not wanting it online," Miller said. "It's a good story to tell people, I guess. But then again, I'm kind of pissed. I lost my tape."
[Hat Tip: Brandon Hoffman of BallerBlogger.]
Labels: gratuitous Star Wars references, Lebron James, Nike
Previous installments: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6.
A running subplot from the beginning of my first semester at college was whether my roommate would actually play for the school's basketball team once the season began. The team was nationally ranked and expectations were sky-high. There were a handful of solid players on that squad, but those rankings and expectations were due almost entirely to the presence of the Future NBA All-Star. The general feeling at the time was that the Future NBA All-Star could do almost anything and everything by himself, but the team was too small to be a true contender. There were other ranked teams in our conference, and they all appeared to have a size advantage over our team. Even assuming we could win our conference, there was plenty of size outside of it as well. That's where Mat came in.
The assumption was that if he chose to play, he would get significant minutes and play a major role. Even if he had no offensive game whatsoever -- and trust me, he didn't -- that wouldn't matter. All the team needed him to do was control the boards, block some shots and clog the paint. Everyone, even casual fans, believed his ability to accomplish those tasks was a given. After all, he was HUGE. With that kind of size, any idiot should be able to rebound and block shots, even if only by accident...right? Yeah, right. Anyone who believed that probably should have spent a few nights watching Mat's fellow countryman, Rik Smits, consistently fail to do those things for the Indiana Pacers. Maybe then what happened later would have been less of a shock.
But as I mentioned in a previous installment, a basketball player is often judged by his Tremendous Upside Potential, and Mat had that coming out of his freakishly big ears. Somehow, he became The Final Piece in everybody's mind, the difference between our team being an also-ran and a national champion. In retrospect, that might have been part of the reason women were flocking to his bed as if their vaginas were ticking time bombs that only his genitals could defuse.
There was only one wee-little speed bump on this presumed road to glory: Mat didn't want to play.
Mat and I had little (read that: no) common ground outside of basketball, so that was almost all we ever talked about. I have to admit, even I was obsessed with the notion that Mat could put our team over the top, so I asked nearly every day whether he'd made a decision. The answer was always no, he had not, and providing that information always left him looking somewhat drained and defeated.
The reality was, Mat did not feel ready to play competitive college ball, especially not for a nationally ranked team. Furthermore, his prep school coach had strongly advised him NOT to play, to spend his freshman year as a redshirt. Not only would that provide Mat with the time necessary to develop some actual basketball skills, it would also give him a full four years of NCAA eligibility going into his sophomore year. That was important, because it would allow him to follow a five-year course plan. That meant fewer classes per semester, which is invaluable to a student athlete, particularly when said athlete didn't particularly care for attending classes anyway.
However, Mat was meeting some heated resistance to his redshirt plans. The coaches were whispering in his ear. His teammates were screaming into it. Everybody he met and talked to on a daily basis -- including his many hookups -- wanted to know whether he was going to play. The questions were coming from every direction, and Mat was getting sick of it. He wanted to end the farce and just say no, but the coaching staff wanted him to wait a little longer to make the final decision. (Or so I was told. This information all came second-hand from Mat.)
One of the major movers in the "Get Mat To Friggin' Play" campaign was the Future NBA All-Star. He had confided to Mat that he might declare himself eligible for the NBA draft after the college season ended. Once that happened, the team's championship window would slam shut. This, then, might be the team's (and, by extension, Mat's) last and only chance for a national title.
Now a few words about our Future NBA All-Star. By the numbers, he had an above-average pro career. He played 11 seasons, averaging just over 20 points and 6 rebounds per game while shooting 46 percent from the field, 34 percent in threes and 82 percent from the line. (For the sake of comparison, Dominique Wilkins' career averages are 24.8/6.7 and 46/31/81.) He made two All-Star teams. He even won a league championship, kinda-sorta.
Despite all that, the Future NBA All-Star was generally considered a disappointment at best and a flop at worst. Those feelings were based mostly on how amazing he was in college. And he truly was spectacular to behold, particularly on offense. He was strong, fast and outrageously athletic. He could dunk on anyone and stick jumpers from anywhere. I watched him throw it down over seven-footers. I saw him stick threes from just inside half court. He scored 49 points in a conference title clincher. He led the nation in scoring. He led the conference in rebounding. He became the only player in school history to record more than 1,000 career points, 500 rebounds, 100 steals, 100 assists and 50 blocked shots. And he did that in two seasons. Seriously, he could do anything. I cannot stress this enough: It was like watching a basketball superhero, and I honestly thought: "Here's somebody who could become as exciting on offense as Michael Jordan." I really believed that. And trust me, if you'd been watching him live at 18 years old, you probably would have believed it too.
I don't know what happened when he got to the NBA, but I can tell you this: The intensity he played with in college disappeared. He didn't appear to be trying as hard on a nightly basis (although he had some monster games). His body started to look soft. (Ben, my first post-college roommate, suggested that, "He got a $100 million contract and spent $80 million of it on Twinkies.") I once got to see him play against the Pacers in Indiana. He scored 20 points on 8-for-18 shooting and his team lost 108-97. His shots appeared casual and careless. (I seem to remember him attempting four or five slow-footed reverse layups.) The buddy who went with me to the game said, "That's the laziest 20 points I've ever seen." To give you an idea of the kind of effort he put forth, he was outrebounded 8-5 by his team's point guard.
But none of that matters. In college, he was a certified basketball stud and his exploits -- both in games and during practice -- were instant legends on campus. In fact, Mat swore he watched Future NBA All-Star grab a dollar bill off the top of the backboard. He even described the moment in graphic detail. I believed Mat's story for years, until Henry Abbott exposed the whole "makin' change off the backboard" myth for what it really is. But the point is: Future NBA All-Star captured everyone's imagination. Mat's included.
One night, we were both in the room. I was studying, Mat was sitting in his giant chair watching MTV and listening to music at the same time. (He seemed to crave overstimulation.) The door was open, and, out of nowhere, in walked Future NBA All-Star.
I held my breath.
"Hey dog," Future NBA All-Star said. "Whatchoo doin'?"
"Nuttin'," Mat said. "Just watchin' some TV."
They continued to chit-chat for a couple minutes, and then Future NBA All-Star made the pitch.
"Look," he began, "you know I might not be comin' back. This is our chance. You play, we win it all. It's that simple."
Mat looked stressed. "I dunno, man."
"You play, we win it all," Future NBA All-Star said.
And that was pretty much it. Future NBA All-Star left and Mat didn't speak for the rest of the night. He even went to bed early by his standards, like 1 a.m.-ish. All I could do was kick myself for not...doing something. I figured I'd just ask Mat later to get me Future NBA All-Star's autograph.
The weekend arrived and Mat disappeared. He was gone when I came home from class on Friday afternoon and didn't return until after I'd gone to bed on Sunday night. I had a mildly entertaining weekend. Zach and I ordered pizza on Friday night. I met up with another refugee from Kokomo, Jason, for a few games of ping pong on Saturday morning. I also ventured next door to talk to Ron and his roommate, Nathan. Ron -- who had accidentally walked into my room mostly naked -- was spacy and eccentric. Nathan was just eccentric. Despite his oddities (such as spiritual battles with his computer and a habit of singing Bible hymns into a handheld recorder), Nathan and I hit it off and became fast friends.
Nathan and Ron were part of a group of guys who got together every weekend to play Dungeons & Dragons. They invited me to the Saturday night gaming session. That was the first time I met BadDave. I say "met" because we barely spoke, either that night or any other night I roleplayed with this group. Ironically (but not surprisingly for that time), we just didn't click.
On Sunday morning I got up and played some pickup basketball. I even ran into one of the guys I'd played ball with on my first morning at school. His name was Joe. He had graduated several years before that, but instead of seeking gainful employment he went to Russia as a Christian missionary. Joe eventually decided that wasn't for him and returned to the states only to find out his degree was obsolete. For this reason, he had to go back to school for his master's.
Wow. I was being social, meeting people, making friends. It had taken a few weeks, but I was starting to get the hang of this college thing. The weekend was capped off by a particularly affectionate phone call from Aimee. She was going home the next weekend to celebrate her brother's birthday...and she wanted me to go home too so we could spend time together. Hoo-ah! I was in such a good mood that when Mat showed up with Jennifer, I didn't mind sandwiching my head in a pillow as they had noisy sex across the room.
The official Livin' Large FAQ: Part 1
Labels: college stories, Future NBA All-Star, Livin' Large
Previous installments: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5.
At times, being Mat's roommate was an exercise in helpless frustration. At other times, it was a source of endless hilarity. As much as I hated the unceasing sexcapades going on across the room for me, I was constantly amazed at the lengths girls would go to in order to sleep with my roommate. They were willing to be put on display, offered up as sloppy seconds, forced to drive halfway across the country for a booty call, so on and so forth. Some even did his homework for him. I had always assumed that this sort of treatment was reserved for men who were already rich and famous. Now I was learning that some women are willing to demean themselves based solely on a man's Tremendous Upside Potential. Mat was undeniably huge, and, as basketball scouts and experts love to say, you can't teach size. It was therefore widely assumed that he'd immediately become a great college player, after which he'd naturally transition into a long and productive NBA career.
Yeah. That didn't happen. But nobody could have known at the time.
Girls were in and out of Mat's bed so fast you'd think his genitals were the baton in some sort of secret (and bizarre) relay race. It got so out of hand at one point early in the semester that girls were cold calling him with offers of casual sex. I am not kidding. One day I came home from class to discover the following message on our answering machine: "Hi, Mat. [giggle]. My name's [whatever]. I've never met you before, but I know you're really [giggle] big, and I bet that means you have a big [deep breath] penis [giggle]. And I was hoping you might want to [deep breath] put it in me. If you're interested, please call me at [phone number]. Byeeee!"
In case you're wondering, the answers are: yes, he called her; yes, she came over; and yes, they had sex. (I'm sure it was three and a half minutes she will forever treasure.) That wasn't the only call of its kind. These weren't trolls or beastly goblin-women, either. These were hot girls. Some of them were actually intelligent and well-read. I know this only because sometimes they would chat me up after Mat had rolled over and gone to sleep. (I never discovered whether he was genuinely tired or that was his method of dismissal.) Not because they found me interesting or anything like that. They simply wanted to pump me for information about Mat.
I soon became, more or less by default, Mat's accomplice and sex secretary. I kept his secrets, covered his ass, and made sure his various "dates" (which were usually nothing more than hookups or booty calls) never overlapped. This was not something Mat and I agreed on, or something we ever even discussed openly. It just sort of evolved out of the unspoken Bro Code that guys live by. I didn't enjoy it, but soon I was in so deep there was no way out...other than pulling down the house of cards that Mat had been so carelessly building around him. And it felt wrong to do that to him. What a laugh, right?
It wasn't always easy, either. I often became the focus of womanly wrath. And let me tell you, hell hath no fury like it. Unable to get to Mat, many of these girls -- who were usually jilted and ignored after the first date -- chose to vent their rage at me. In fact, some of them blamed me outright. "Why didn't you tell me he was such a selfish pig?!" one of them screamed at me over the phone. Another showed up at our door, shrieked "How could you let him do that to me?!" and demanded to go through his things. (To what purpose, I have no idea.) When I didn't let her in the room, she yelled through the door for a couple minutes before storming off. When I told Mat about these incidents, he'd just laugh.
So the f*ckbuddies and booty calls came and went. The only constant female presence in Mat's life was Shelly...until Jennifer came along.
Jennifer was a freshman who was planning to major in English. She was "only" slightly above average in appearance, which made her seem incredibly plain next to most of Mat's conquests. But she was the most persistent and patient of Mat's suitors. She also was the one who asked for the least. In most cases, girls became clingy and demanding almost immediately after they slept with Mat, which might be part of the reason why he ditched them so quickly. Jennifer, on the other hand, was eager and submissive. I'm not trying to be mean when I say this, but she reminded me of a dog that had been abused for so long that she was willing to endure anything for the teensiest scrap of human kindness.
And so she became Mat's first and only "regular." That's not to say that Mat stopped dating around and sleeping with other women, but Jennifer was the only girl who made return appearances. She was also the only girl, other than Shelly, whose phone calls Mat returned. Sometimes, he even called her on his own. Jennifer made the mistake of assuming this treatment meant Mat cared about her, maybe even loved her. I have to admit, I made the same mistake.
See, at the time, I couldn't believe that a guy would want to sleep around without commitment. To me, the only relationship model was: fall in love, have sex, get married, live happily ever after. And sometimes the "have sex" part came after the "get married" part. Yeah, I know. I was a schmuck.
As Mat's de facto sex secretary, dealing with Jennifer became a part-time job. She called frequently and, even more dangerously, showed up at random times. Unlike the other girls who tried to glom onto my roommate, she was never checking up on him or trying to catch him with someone else. Jennifer simply enjoyed being with Mat and wanted to shower him with love and affection. And gifts. She was always bringing him things. Food, CDs, jewelry, little knickknacks that reminded her of him. She truly loved Mat, or she believed she did anyway.
Things started to get very serious very fast. Within a few weeks of "dating" Mat, Jennifer dropped out of school to work at Taco Bell full time. Why? So she could provide economic support to Mat, who was unable to work due to his responsibilities to the men's basketball team. "He's under a lot of pressure," she explained to me. "And until he goes to the NBA, he's going to need a lot of emotional and financial help. That's where I come in." I still remember the sweet, stupid smile she had on her face when she said that. I honestly didn't know whether to pity her or try to slap her back to human reality. I opted for pity.
The situation started to wear on my conscience, though, because Jennifer was making some really bad life decisions for a guy who probably couldn't be counted on to do right by her in the long-run. Still, for some strange reason, I wanted to give Mat the benefit of the doubt. I wanted to believe he wasn't a complete douchebag. So one day when we were alone, I asked whether he wanted to date Jennifer long term.
"I dunno," he said, and it was pretty clear he didn't want to think about it.
I wouldn't relent, though. "Look, Mat," I said, "you realize Jennifer's in love with you, right?"
"Yeah, so?"
"And you also realize that she dropped out of school to support you, right?" I said, searching for any sign of humanity within him.
He said nothing.
"Mat, she's giving up her future for you," I said. "If you don't want to be with her, why are you stringing her along?"
He paused for a second, and then he said something I will never, ever forget. "Because she swallows."
He was being completely serious too.
So the weeks passed. Jennifer would come by every night or every other night. She'd bring Taco Bell, service Mat physically (by massaging him or whatever) and sexually (self-explanatory), and then she'd stay overnight or Mat would usher her out, either because he wanted time "alone" (except for me, because I was always in the room) or he had another date lined up.
It was a pretty sweet setup for Mat, because, again, she never once asked for anything except a little of his spare time here or there. But eventually, for whatever reason, Mat got tired of her. One day, he let me know, "I'm done with Jennifer."
I had figured the day was coming. And even though I felt Jennifer was stupid for not seeing Mat for who he was, I also had a lot of empathy for her. "Just let her down easy okay?"
"F*** that!" he said. "I'm gonna just ignore her 'til she goes away."
I couldn't believe it. Well, I could, sort of, but I still said, "Don't do that to her, man. She deserves better than that. Just tell her."
"No way," he said. And that was the end of the conversation.
The next two weeks were an exercise in avoidance. Mat wouldn't take her calls, nor would he return them. He actually left the door closed and locked until he figured it was too late for her to come by. And she did come by. Mat simply used the peephole to make sure the door never got opened when she knocked. It was surprisingly cowardly for such a big, scary man.
Near the end of the second week, she stopped by one evening when I was in the room alone. By this point, she was frantic. "Please," she pleaded, eyes brimming with tears, "just tell me what's going on."
I figured at this point there was no point beating around the bush or trying to keep Mat's secrets. He wanted her out of his life. "Okay," I replied, "but do you want me to let you down easy, or do you want the whole truth? Because the truth is pretty ugly."
"I want the truth," she said.
"And you're completely sure abo..."
"Tell me!" she screamed.
Part of me still wishes I hadn't made that offer. I would rather have told her that Mat simply didn't want to date her anymore and left it at that. Maybe she would have accepted it. Maybe she wouldn't have. But it sucked -- I mean really sucked -- being the one to have to break her heart so completely.
"Mat's avoiding you," I began. "He doesn't want to date you anymore, and he hopes that if he ignores you long enough you'll just go away. He doesn't love you and he never did. He's been dating and sleeping around the entire time he's been dating you. He kept you around because you were convenient and because you swallowed. But he's tired of you know, so whatever the two of you had, it's over."
"I was a virgin," she said quietly, almost to herself.
Uh oh.
Jennifer hiccupped a couple times and took a deep breath to steady herself. I was expecting more tears, maybe even a mild to moderate freakout. But she looked oddly calm, almost serene. She thanked me for my honesty, walked slowly away, and then disappeared down the stairs. I assumed I would never see her again.
Two nights later, around 1 a.m., I was in bed suffering through my usual half-sleep while Mat sat in his giant chair watching MTV in the glow of his Heineken light. The door to our room was wide open. Suddenly, even in my semi-consciousness, I became aware of a silhouette in the doorway. It was Jennifer. She had a grocery bag in one hand. The other hand was at her side, shaking and balled into a fist.
I sat up without a word and walked past her out of the room. I sat on the floor across the hall and waited. Jennifer turned off the Heineken sign and turned on the room's main light. She then proceeded to rip Mat a new asshole for the next hour. She recited all the things she'd done for him, all the sacrifices, not the least of which had been her college career. She tallied up the money she'd given him (which I hadn't known about until then). She described the whole lot of nothing Mat had done for her, which was capped off by the spineless way he'd tried to break up with her. I have to tell you, she was venomous and she was mean. And even though Mat totally deserved it, I couldn't help but feel a little sorry for the guy.
To wrap things up, she opened the grocery bag and dumped its contents onto the floor. It was all the remained of the gifts she had bought him in advance. I remember only two things from the pile: a Care Bear doll and a 14K gold earring of his jersey number that she'd had custom made.
"Take it," she said. "Take it all. I don't want it."
With that, she turned off the light. Then she broke down and began to sob. She covered her face with her hands and then ran from the room. I never saw her again. As far as I know, Mat didn't either. I have no idea what happened to her.
I got up and walked to the doorway. Mat was dead silent. The room was pitch black, and I could barely make out his outline in the glow of the hallway lights. Like I said, he had deserved the verbal beat down. There's no question about that. But he was also a human being, and he'd gotten blistered pretty badly. I felt my first major surge of compassion for him...a feeling that I would experience only one other time while we lived together.
"Dude," I said with all the empathy I could muster, "are you okay?"
He was quiet for another second or two, and then he started to laugh. It started out as a low chuckle and then built into a huge, full-forced howl.
"OH MY GOD," he bellowed, "I REALLY F*CKED HER OVER DIDN'T I?" And his laughter continued.
I know I keep using the phrase "I couldn't believe it" with regards to my old roommate, but I really couldn't believe it. Mat had broken a young girl as utterly and completely as she could be broken by her first serious romance, and he thought it was funny. I don't know. Maybe he was just putting up a front. Maybe that was his way of dealing with whatever guilt he felt. Or maybe he was just a rat bastard. I'll never know for sure.
Anyway, I'm done flash-forwarding for now. As this story continues, just know that Jennifer was always around, if not always noticed, a running subplot in the drama of that first semester. A subplot that ended badly and (to me) revealed a rather jarring truth about Mat's personality.
Now, back to the day after Mat stole that giant chair from some nameless sorority. I spent the day dreading the night, at which time I was sure he'd ask to bunk our beds. But now that he had the chair, he was exceptionally content with the room the way it was. And while the bed bunking would come up again, for now everything was copacetic. So much so, in fact, that he purchased a disposable camera to take pictures of the room that he could mail to his parents in Holland.
He then took two pictures of me. "My parents wanna know what my roommate looks like," he explained. I still remember what I was working on: an essay about gender construction in the advertisements shown in Cosmo. As you look at these pictures, you'll note that 1) I hadn't yet emerged from my "painfully nerdy" stage, 2) I hadn't yet found a barber in my new town and thus my hair was out-of-control long, 3) I studied in my glasses (the contacts came out promptly at 8 p.m.) which were laughably huge, and 4) I was wearing the immortal Larry Bird shorts that Wild Yams often gives me a hard time about. Not also the stark contrast between my side of the room and Mat's.
Dig my super-awesome entertainment center. Otherwise known as a desk chair.
And since I'm being completely self-indulgent, here's a picture of our floor's undefeated flag football team, the Smokers Club. You'll notice me in the back row on the far right, sans glasses and apparently after a haircut. Oh, and that guy giving the peace sign? That's none other than BadDave. I find the peace sign somewhat ironic since BadDave was known for knocking people on their ass. (BadDave's motto was: "The body's part of the flag.") He was a helluva block, and he led our team in quarter back sacks. A total flag football rockstar. Which very nearly excuses his super-mullet.
Next time: A brief visit from the Future NBA All-Star.
Part 7
At times, being Mat's roommate was an exercise in helpless frustration. At other times, it was a source of endless hilarity. As much as I hated the unceasing sexcapades going on across the room for me, I was constantly amazed at the lengths girls would go to in order to sleep with my roommate. They were willing to be put on display, offered up as sloppy seconds, forced to drive halfway across the country for a booty call, so on and so forth. Some even did his homework for him. I had always assumed that this sort of treatment was reserved for men who were already rich and famous. Now I was learning that some women are willing to demean themselves based solely on a man's Tremendous Upside Potential. Mat was undeniably huge, and, as basketball scouts and experts love to say, you can't teach size. It was therefore widely assumed that he'd immediately become a great college player, after which he'd naturally transition into a long and productive NBA career.
Yeah. That didn't happen. But nobody could have known at the time.
Girls were in and out of Mat's bed so fast you'd think his genitals were the baton in some sort of secret (and bizarre) relay race. It got so out of hand at one point early in the semester that girls were cold calling him with offers of casual sex. I am not kidding. One day I came home from class to discover the following message on our answering machine: "Hi, Mat. [giggle]. My name's [whatever]. I've never met you before, but I know you're really [giggle] big, and I bet that means you have a big [deep breath] penis [giggle]. And I was hoping you might want to [deep breath] put it in me. If you're interested, please call me at [phone number]. Byeeee!"
In case you're wondering, the answers are: yes, he called her; yes, she came over; and yes, they had sex. (I'm sure it was three and a half minutes she will forever treasure.) That wasn't the only call of its kind. These weren't trolls or beastly goblin-women, either. These were hot girls. Some of them were actually intelligent and well-read. I know this only because sometimes they would chat me up after Mat had rolled over and gone to sleep. (I never discovered whether he was genuinely tired or that was his method of dismissal.) Not because they found me interesting or anything like that. They simply wanted to pump me for information about Mat.
I soon became, more or less by default, Mat's accomplice and sex secretary. I kept his secrets, covered his ass, and made sure his various "dates" (which were usually nothing more than hookups or booty calls) never overlapped. This was not something Mat and I agreed on, or something we ever even discussed openly. It just sort of evolved out of the unspoken Bro Code that guys live by. I didn't enjoy it, but soon I was in so deep there was no way out...other than pulling down the house of cards that Mat had been so carelessly building around him. And it felt wrong to do that to him. What a laugh, right?
It wasn't always easy, either. I often became the focus of womanly wrath. And let me tell you, hell hath no fury like it. Unable to get to Mat, many of these girls -- who were usually jilted and ignored after the first date -- chose to vent their rage at me. In fact, some of them blamed me outright. "Why didn't you tell me he was such a selfish pig?!" one of them screamed at me over the phone. Another showed up at our door, shrieked "How could you let him do that to me?!" and demanded to go through his things. (To what purpose, I have no idea.) When I didn't let her in the room, she yelled through the door for a couple minutes before storming off. When I told Mat about these incidents, he'd just laugh.
So the f*ckbuddies and booty calls came and went. The only constant female presence in Mat's life was Shelly...until Jennifer came along.
Jennifer was a freshman who was planning to major in English. She was "only" slightly above average in appearance, which made her seem incredibly plain next to most of Mat's conquests. But she was the most persistent and patient of Mat's suitors. She also was the one who asked for the least. In most cases, girls became clingy and demanding almost immediately after they slept with Mat, which might be part of the reason why he ditched them so quickly. Jennifer, on the other hand, was eager and submissive. I'm not trying to be mean when I say this, but she reminded me of a dog that had been abused for so long that she was willing to endure anything for the teensiest scrap of human kindness.
And so she became Mat's first and only "regular." That's not to say that Mat stopped dating around and sleeping with other women, but Jennifer was the only girl who made return appearances. She was also the only girl, other than Shelly, whose phone calls Mat returned. Sometimes, he even called her on his own. Jennifer made the mistake of assuming this treatment meant Mat cared about her, maybe even loved her. I have to admit, I made the same mistake.
See, at the time, I couldn't believe that a guy would want to sleep around without commitment. To me, the only relationship model was: fall in love, have sex, get married, live happily ever after. And sometimes the "have sex" part came after the "get married" part. Yeah, I know. I was a schmuck.
As Mat's de facto sex secretary, dealing with Jennifer became a part-time job. She called frequently and, even more dangerously, showed up at random times. Unlike the other girls who tried to glom onto my roommate, she was never checking up on him or trying to catch him with someone else. Jennifer simply enjoyed being with Mat and wanted to shower him with love and affection. And gifts. She was always bringing him things. Food, CDs, jewelry, little knickknacks that reminded her of him. She truly loved Mat, or she believed she did anyway.
Things started to get very serious very fast. Within a few weeks of "dating" Mat, Jennifer dropped out of school to work at Taco Bell full time. Why? So she could provide economic support to Mat, who was unable to work due to his responsibilities to the men's basketball team. "He's under a lot of pressure," she explained to me. "And until he goes to the NBA, he's going to need a lot of emotional and financial help. That's where I come in." I still remember the sweet, stupid smile she had on her face when she said that. I honestly didn't know whether to pity her or try to slap her back to human reality. I opted for pity.
The situation started to wear on my conscience, though, because Jennifer was making some really bad life decisions for a guy who probably couldn't be counted on to do right by her in the long-run. Still, for some strange reason, I wanted to give Mat the benefit of the doubt. I wanted to believe he wasn't a complete douchebag. So one day when we were alone, I asked whether he wanted to date Jennifer long term.
"I dunno," he said, and it was pretty clear he didn't want to think about it.
I wouldn't relent, though. "Look, Mat," I said, "you realize Jennifer's in love with you, right?"
"Yeah, so?"
"And you also realize that she dropped out of school to support you, right?" I said, searching for any sign of humanity within him.
He said nothing.
"Mat, she's giving up her future for you," I said. "If you don't want to be with her, why are you stringing her along?"
He paused for a second, and then he said something I will never, ever forget. "Because she swallows."
He was being completely serious too.
So the weeks passed. Jennifer would come by every night or every other night. She'd bring Taco Bell, service Mat physically (by massaging him or whatever) and sexually (self-explanatory), and then she'd stay overnight or Mat would usher her out, either because he wanted time "alone" (except for me, because I was always in the room) or he had another date lined up.
It was a pretty sweet setup for Mat, because, again, she never once asked for anything except a little of his spare time here or there. But eventually, for whatever reason, Mat got tired of her. One day, he let me know, "I'm done with Jennifer."
I had figured the day was coming. And even though I felt Jennifer was stupid for not seeing Mat for who he was, I also had a lot of empathy for her. "Just let her down easy okay?"
"F*** that!" he said. "I'm gonna just ignore her 'til she goes away."
I couldn't believe it. Well, I could, sort of, but I still said, "Don't do that to her, man. She deserves better than that. Just tell her."
"No way," he said. And that was the end of the conversation.
The next two weeks were an exercise in avoidance. Mat wouldn't take her calls, nor would he return them. He actually left the door closed and locked until he figured it was too late for her to come by. And she did come by. Mat simply used the peephole to make sure the door never got opened when she knocked. It was surprisingly cowardly for such a big, scary man.
Near the end of the second week, she stopped by one evening when I was in the room alone. By this point, she was frantic. "Please," she pleaded, eyes brimming with tears, "just tell me what's going on."
I figured at this point there was no point beating around the bush or trying to keep Mat's secrets. He wanted her out of his life. "Okay," I replied, "but do you want me to let you down easy, or do you want the whole truth? Because the truth is pretty ugly."
"I want the truth," she said.
"And you're completely sure abo..."
"Tell me!" she screamed.
Part of me still wishes I hadn't made that offer. I would rather have told her that Mat simply didn't want to date her anymore and left it at that. Maybe she would have accepted it. Maybe she wouldn't have. But it sucked -- I mean really sucked -- being the one to have to break her heart so completely.
"Mat's avoiding you," I began. "He doesn't want to date you anymore, and he hopes that if he ignores you long enough you'll just go away. He doesn't love you and he never did. He's been dating and sleeping around the entire time he's been dating you. He kept you around because you were convenient and because you swallowed. But he's tired of you know, so whatever the two of you had, it's over."
"I was a virgin," she said quietly, almost to herself.
Uh oh.
Jennifer hiccupped a couple times and took a deep breath to steady herself. I was expecting more tears, maybe even a mild to moderate freakout. But she looked oddly calm, almost serene. She thanked me for my honesty, walked slowly away, and then disappeared down the stairs. I assumed I would never see her again.
Two nights later, around 1 a.m., I was in bed suffering through my usual half-sleep while Mat sat in his giant chair watching MTV in the glow of his Heineken light. The door to our room was wide open. Suddenly, even in my semi-consciousness, I became aware of a silhouette in the doorway. It was Jennifer. She had a grocery bag in one hand. The other hand was at her side, shaking and balled into a fist.
I sat up without a word and walked past her out of the room. I sat on the floor across the hall and waited. Jennifer turned off the Heineken sign and turned on the room's main light. She then proceeded to rip Mat a new asshole for the next hour. She recited all the things she'd done for him, all the sacrifices, not the least of which had been her college career. She tallied up the money she'd given him (which I hadn't known about until then). She described the whole lot of nothing Mat had done for her, which was capped off by the spineless way he'd tried to break up with her. I have to tell you, she was venomous and she was mean. And even though Mat totally deserved it, I couldn't help but feel a little sorry for the guy.
To wrap things up, she opened the grocery bag and dumped its contents onto the floor. It was all the remained of the gifts she had bought him in advance. I remember only two things from the pile: a Care Bear doll and a 14K gold earring of his jersey number that she'd had custom made.
"Take it," she said. "Take it all. I don't want it."
With that, she turned off the light. Then she broke down and began to sob. She covered her face with her hands and then ran from the room. I never saw her again. As far as I know, Mat didn't either. I have no idea what happened to her.
I got up and walked to the doorway. Mat was dead silent. The room was pitch black, and I could barely make out his outline in the glow of the hallway lights. Like I said, he had deserved the verbal beat down. There's no question about that. But he was also a human being, and he'd gotten blistered pretty badly. I felt my first major surge of compassion for him...a feeling that I would experience only one other time while we lived together.
"Dude," I said with all the empathy I could muster, "are you okay?"
He was quiet for another second or two, and then he started to laugh. It started out as a low chuckle and then built into a huge, full-forced howl.
"OH MY GOD," he bellowed, "I REALLY F*CKED HER OVER DIDN'T I?" And his laughter continued.
I know I keep using the phrase "I couldn't believe it" with regards to my old roommate, but I really couldn't believe it. Mat had broken a young girl as utterly and completely as she could be broken by her first serious romance, and he thought it was funny. I don't know. Maybe he was just putting up a front. Maybe that was his way of dealing with whatever guilt he felt. Or maybe he was just a rat bastard. I'll never know for sure.
Anyway, I'm done flash-forwarding for now. As this story continues, just know that Jennifer was always around, if not always noticed, a running subplot in the drama of that first semester. A subplot that ended badly and (to me) revealed a rather jarring truth about Mat's personality.
Now, back to the day after Mat stole that giant chair from some nameless sorority. I spent the day dreading the night, at which time I was sure he'd ask to bunk our beds. But now that he had the chair, he was exceptionally content with the room the way it was. And while the bed bunking would come up again, for now everything was copacetic. So much so, in fact, that he purchased a disposable camera to take pictures of the room that he could mail to his parents in Holland.
He then took two pictures of me. "My parents wanna know what my roommate looks like," he explained. I still remember what I was working on: an essay about gender construction in the advertisements shown in Cosmo. As you look at these pictures, you'll note that 1) I hadn't yet emerged from my "painfully nerdy" stage, 2) I hadn't yet found a barber in my new town and thus my hair was out-of-control long, 3) I studied in my glasses (the contacts came out promptly at 8 p.m.) which were laughably huge, and 4) I was wearing the immortal Larry Bird shorts that Wild Yams often gives me a hard time about. Not also the stark contrast between my side of the room and Mat's.
Dig my super-awesome entertainment center. Otherwise known as a desk chair.
And since I'm being completely self-indulgent, here's a picture of our floor's undefeated flag football team, the Smokers Club. You'll notice me in the back row on the far right, sans glasses and apparently after a haircut. Oh, and that guy giving the peace sign? That's none other than BadDave. I find the peace sign somewhat ironic since BadDave was known for knocking people on their ass. (BadDave's motto was: "The body's part of the flag.") He was a helluva block, and he led our team in quarter back sacks. A total flag football rockstar. Which very nearly excuses his super-mullet.
Next time: A brief visit from the Future NBA All-Star.
Part 7
Labels: college stories, Livin' Large
Previous installments: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4.
The following week with Mat was more of the same: casual hookups, late-night conversations with Shelly, and a schedule that regularly kept him up until around 5 a.m. He also developed the troubling habit of leaving the door to our room open all night (unless he was having sex), which meant everybody who walked by got an unobstructed view of our living quarters. And that happened a lot, by the way, since we were located directly across the hall from the bathroom. We were only a few weeks into the semester and Mat's lifestyle was already starting to get to me. It seemed as if I never got a full night's sleep, and I hardly ever felt completely comfortable in my own room. The situation was made even worse by a new item that arrived for Mat in the mail.
Mat's favorite beer was Heineken. He raved about that flavorless dreck, claiming it was the best beer in the world. That, of course, is scientifically impossible, since we all know that Guinness is the world's best beer. But if beauty is in the eye of the beholder, then drinkability is entirely in the taste buds of the beer drinker, so Mat maintained his delusion about Heineken for the duration of our time together. And that was fine. However, the way he was now able to express that delusion was not.
Mat had ordered a neon Heineken sign. The evil thing immediately went up on the wall over our phone, and that's where it stayed until he moved out of the room. I quickly learned to hate that sign with every last molecule of my being. It was actually pretty cool, as far as neon signs go, and it was a pretty sweet decorative accent to a dorm room. BUT...it was also as bright as the noon sun, and Mat never turned it off. Never. It was like having a spotlight shining in the room 24 hours a day.
I couldn't escape that dreaded light. Even when I wrapped a pillow around my head, I could detect a faint glow through the cheap foam. This made it even more difficult to get any sleep. Mind you, I turned the light off any time Mat left the room, even if he was only going across the hall to pee, but he'd simply turn it back on when he returned.
I didn't know what to do. Mat was intimidating. I must once again stress that he was almost unbelievably enormous. How enormous exactly? Let me put it this way. Early in the semester, the athletic director asked the basketball players for measurements so a warm-up suit could be ordered or, if necessary, custom-made. When it came time for Mat to measure himself, he asked me to write down the results while he wrapped a measuring tape up, over and around his vast girth. The only measurement I still remember is the one for his thighs. They were 34 inches around. For some perspective, that was (and still is) my waist size.
And as if that wasn't disturbing enough, I couldn't help but notice a huge, jagged scar on one of those mammoth legs. It was truly grisly, and I was being entirely serious when I asked him, "How'd that happen? Did you get attacked by a shark or something?"
"No," he said. "I got in a knife fight. The other guys got worse, though"
Guys, as in plural? And they got worse?! Oh God.
He was also a black belt in Judo and claimed to have once been the Dutch National Judo Champion of his age group. (For whatever reason, I never asked what age that was.) He even had a picture on his desk that was taken after he had won some kind of martial arts tournament (or at least that's what he told me it was a picture of.) So here was a gigantic man who was a black belt and got into (and presumably emerged victorious from) brutal knife fights. And I was going to tell him to turn off his damn beer sign?
Since I didn't know what to do, I went to my R.A., Brett, for advice. I hadn't really spoken to Brett after the first weekend. This was partly because he had written me a disciplinary report for something I hadn't done, and partly because my roommate had had sex with his hotty cousin, Shelly. But R.A.'s were supposed to deal with roommate conflicts, so I figured it was time to make Brett earn his free room and board.
Mind you, the Heineken sign wasn't The Problem. It was simply the latest problem. Mat's hours, the rampant sex in the room, the violations of my personal space, and my general lack of sleep because of it all...that combination of things was making me nervous and on edge. Worse, it was making me absolutely hate my life at college. And that's exactly what I told Brett.
Brett's "solution" was pretty much the last thing I wanted to hear. "You have to talk to him," Brett explained. "Sit down with him, explain your position, and ask him to make some changes. He's a great guy, the situation with my cousin notwithstanding. I bet he'll listen to you, and things will work themselves out. If they don't, let me know. But I really think they will."
It was like I'd told Brett there was a lion in my room, and he sent me back to tame the beast without a chair or whip. I figured I'd give it a try, though, but only because I didn't have any other choice. I just hoped the lion wouldn't bite off my head. Or anything else, for that matter.
I spent my evening shift at the dorm's food service rehearsing what I was going to say. In my mind, the speech was powerful and compelling, the kind of oration that no man could ignore. Unfortunately, it ended up being a complete waste of three hours worth of mental speechwriting. My mind went blank as soon as Mat walked in the door from his nightly wanderings. All I could do was improvise.
"Look, Mat," I started, "we need to talk."
He sat down on his bed and stared at me with quiet interest. At least he looked sort of receptive. I continued.
"This, uh, roommate relationship isn't working for me. Some of the things you do, like, you know, having sex in the room, staying up all night, leaving the door open all the time, keeping the Heineken light on, all those things are making me really uncomfortable. I'm not saying, you know, don't do them or whatever. It's just, like, could you not do them all the time? I mean, if you could just, you know, pull back a little, it would be really...help me out. So, uh, like, is that cool with you?"
He nodded slowly. "Yeah," he said. "Sure."
I know now I was being incredibly naive to believe it would be that easy, but relief washed over me in an awesome wave. "Wow. Thanks, Mat. I really appreciate it."
"No problem," he said. "Hey, while we talking, I was thinkin' we should bunk our beds."
One thing I haven't yet mentioned is that there was one seriously kickass benefit to rooming with Mat. Many student athletes, basketball and football players in particular, are simply too big for a standard dorm bed. For this reason, most dorms have special, extra-large beds for their special, extra-large residents. And since many residents bunk their beds to save room space, both beds had to be the same size. Therefore, my bed was eight feet long and wider than the standard dorm bed.
The downside, it seemed, was that Mat actually wanted to sleep either directly above or below me. I probably don't need to explain why the thought of that made me exceptionally uncomfortable.
My immediate reaction was, "Uh, why would you want to do that?"
"Well I was thinking," Mat replied, "it would be cool if we got some furniture. Like a couch or sumting."
Here was a dilemma. On the one hand, Mat had just seemingly agreed to some serious compromises in his lifestyle. On the other hand, I in no way wanted my bed coming into contact with his unless there was an explosion or natural disaster of some kind. However, in light of his apparent concessions, I didn't feel like I could say "no" without looking like a giant asshat. If only there was a way to say "no" but make it look like I was saying "yes"...
"Well," I began, mind racing, "I don't want to right now, but if we do get a couch or whatever, I'd probably do it."
That answer seemed to satisfy him. "Okay, cool," he said.
Whew. It seemed like a safe bet. I couldn't afford a couch, and Mat was always complaining that he had no money. It was like I'd perfected the art of fighting without fighting! I felt so like Bruce Lee. You know, except for the whole "not knowing martial arts" and "not being Asian" things.
"By the way," he said, "you got mail today. I put it on your desk."
Mail? Me?!
It turned out to be card from Aimee's roommate, Latrisse. I don't remember what the card said, exactly, but it was one of those noncommittal "thinking of you" cards, and it was filled with glitter and little pieces of confetti. It totally warmed my heart that somebody thought enough to send me something. It would have been even better if Aimee or maybe my mom had thought to do it, but beggars can't be choosers.
As I was looking over the card, Mat left the room and didn't come back for two days. It was weird. I actually got a little worried. At the time, I remember thinking, "Gosh, he gets drunk and uses drugs indiscriminately. He might be dead!" Shelly, who continued to call in Mat's absence, was sure he was fine. However, she let me know that I would have to be her substitute phone buddy until he got back. "You don't mind that, do you baby?" she cooed. Naturally, I couldn't say no to that. Then she said, "So, tell me what Mat does in his spare time? Is he seeing any other girls...?" Great. Now I was stuck lying for Mat, because there was no way I was going to face his wrath for telling Shelly the truth. I felt like such a sucker.
Anyway, this scenario would become a regular occurrence for the rest of my time with Mat: random, multi-day disappearances. Sometimes they happened during the week, sometimes they happened over the weekend. But they were never announced, and I never found out where he had been or what he had done. And I usually ended up covering for him with girls, teachers and coaches.
I did, however, find out at least one thing he'd done during this initial absence. It was around midnight. I was in bed, of course, and the room was mercifully dark and quiet. Suddenly, the door slammed open, and I saw Mat's huge silhouette framed in the light of the hallway. He had something with him. Something big.
He flipped on that damned Heineken sign and I saw what it was: a giant chair. I mean, this chair was so big it was practically a loveseat. Somehow, he had found a Mat-sized chair. I was stunned. Where the hell did he get that thing? Was "Big Chairs 'R Us" having a midnight liquidation sale or something?
Suddenly I noticed that Mat was sweaty and out of breath, two things I had never seen before. He forced the chair awkwardly through the door frame, scraping off paint and breaking off chunks of doorjamb in the process. Then he muscled the chair into the gap between our beds, after which he collapsed into it with a mighty sigh.
"What...where...?" I tried to ask.
"Oh, f*** me," he said with a laugh. "I just stole this chair from a sorority!"
"You did what?"
He let loose a rumbling belly laugh. "I was at a party at dis sorority, and I saw dis chair." He said. "I liked it. I mean, I really liked it. So I just picked it up and walked out with it."
I can only assume my eyes were popping out of my skull. "And...and they just let you leave with it?"
"Hell no, dey didn't let me!" he cracked. "A few girls came runnin' after me, yellin', 'Bring back our chair, bring back our chair!' But you tink sum girls are gonna stop me? Ha! I just kept walkin', and eventually dey stopped chasin' me."
"I...I can't believe it."
Mat just laughed. He was obviously very proud of himself. Then he flipped on the TV and said, "We'll have to bunk our beds tomorrow."
Uh oh.
Next time: Pictures of our room!
Part 6
The following week with Mat was more of the same: casual hookups, late-night conversations with Shelly, and a schedule that regularly kept him up until around 5 a.m. He also developed the troubling habit of leaving the door to our room open all night (unless he was having sex), which meant everybody who walked by got an unobstructed view of our living quarters. And that happened a lot, by the way, since we were located directly across the hall from the bathroom. We were only a few weeks into the semester and Mat's lifestyle was already starting to get to me. It seemed as if I never got a full night's sleep, and I hardly ever felt completely comfortable in my own room. The situation was made even worse by a new item that arrived for Mat in the mail.
Mat's favorite beer was Heineken. He raved about that flavorless dreck, claiming it was the best beer in the world. That, of course, is scientifically impossible, since we all know that Guinness is the world's best beer. But if beauty is in the eye of the beholder, then drinkability is entirely in the taste buds of the beer drinker, so Mat maintained his delusion about Heineken for the duration of our time together. And that was fine. However, the way he was now able to express that delusion was not.
Mat had ordered a neon Heineken sign. The evil thing immediately went up on the wall over our phone, and that's where it stayed until he moved out of the room. I quickly learned to hate that sign with every last molecule of my being. It was actually pretty cool, as far as neon signs go, and it was a pretty sweet decorative accent to a dorm room. BUT...it was also as bright as the noon sun, and Mat never turned it off. Never. It was like having a spotlight shining in the room 24 hours a day.
I couldn't escape that dreaded light. Even when I wrapped a pillow around my head, I could detect a faint glow through the cheap foam. This made it even more difficult to get any sleep. Mind you, I turned the light off any time Mat left the room, even if he was only going across the hall to pee, but he'd simply turn it back on when he returned.
I didn't know what to do. Mat was intimidating. I must once again stress that he was almost unbelievably enormous. How enormous exactly? Let me put it this way. Early in the semester, the athletic director asked the basketball players for measurements so a warm-up suit could be ordered or, if necessary, custom-made. When it came time for Mat to measure himself, he asked me to write down the results while he wrapped a measuring tape up, over and around his vast girth. The only measurement I still remember is the one for his thighs. They were 34 inches around. For some perspective, that was (and still is) my waist size.
And as if that wasn't disturbing enough, I couldn't help but notice a huge, jagged scar on one of those mammoth legs. It was truly grisly, and I was being entirely serious when I asked him, "How'd that happen? Did you get attacked by a shark or something?"
"No," he said. "I got in a knife fight. The other guys got worse, though"
Guys, as in plural? And they got worse?! Oh God.
He was also a black belt in Judo and claimed to have once been the Dutch National Judo Champion of his age group. (For whatever reason, I never asked what age that was.) He even had a picture on his desk that was taken after he had won some kind of martial arts tournament (or at least that's what he told me it was a picture of.) So here was a gigantic man who was a black belt and got into (and presumably emerged victorious from) brutal knife fights. And I was going to tell him to turn off his damn beer sign?
Since I didn't know what to do, I went to my R.A., Brett, for advice. I hadn't really spoken to Brett after the first weekend. This was partly because he had written me a disciplinary report for something I hadn't done, and partly because my roommate had had sex with his hotty cousin, Shelly. But R.A.'s were supposed to deal with roommate conflicts, so I figured it was time to make Brett earn his free room and board.
Mind you, the Heineken sign wasn't The Problem. It was simply the latest problem. Mat's hours, the rampant sex in the room, the violations of my personal space, and my general lack of sleep because of it all...that combination of things was making me nervous and on edge. Worse, it was making me absolutely hate my life at college. And that's exactly what I told Brett.
Brett's "solution" was pretty much the last thing I wanted to hear. "You have to talk to him," Brett explained. "Sit down with him, explain your position, and ask him to make some changes. He's a great guy, the situation with my cousin notwithstanding. I bet he'll listen to you, and things will work themselves out. If they don't, let me know. But I really think they will."
It was like I'd told Brett there was a lion in my room, and he sent me back to tame the beast without a chair or whip. I figured I'd give it a try, though, but only because I didn't have any other choice. I just hoped the lion wouldn't bite off my head. Or anything else, for that matter.
I spent my evening shift at the dorm's food service rehearsing what I was going to say. In my mind, the speech was powerful and compelling, the kind of oration that no man could ignore. Unfortunately, it ended up being a complete waste of three hours worth of mental speechwriting. My mind went blank as soon as Mat walked in the door from his nightly wanderings. All I could do was improvise.
"Look, Mat," I started, "we need to talk."
He sat down on his bed and stared at me with quiet interest. At least he looked sort of receptive. I continued.
"This, uh, roommate relationship isn't working for me. Some of the things you do, like, you know, having sex in the room, staying up all night, leaving the door open all the time, keeping the Heineken light on, all those things are making me really uncomfortable. I'm not saying, you know, don't do them or whatever. It's just, like, could you not do them all the time? I mean, if you could just, you know, pull back a little, it would be really...help me out. So, uh, like, is that cool with you?"
He nodded slowly. "Yeah," he said. "Sure."
I know now I was being incredibly naive to believe it would be that easy, but relief washed over me in an awesome wave. "Wow. Thanks, Mat. I really appreciate it."
"No problem," he said. "Hey, while we talking, I was thinkin' we should bunk our beds."
One thing I haven't yet mentioned is that there was one seriously kickass benefit to rooming with Mat. Many student athletes, basketball and football players in particular, are simply too big for a standard dorm bed. For this reason, most dorms have special, extra-large beds for their special, extra-large residents. And since many residents bunk their beds to save room space, both beds had to be the same size. Therefore, my bed was eight feet long and wider than the standard dorm bed.
The downside, it seemed, was that Mat actually wanted to sleep either directly above or below me. I probably don't need to explain why the thought of that made me exceptionally uncomfortable.
My immediate reaction was, "Uh, why would you want to do that?"
"Well I was thinking," Mat replied, "it would be cool if we got some furniture. Like a couch or sumting."
Here was a dilemma. On the one hand, Mat had just seemingly agreed to some serious compromises in his lifestyle. On the other hand, I in no way wanted my bed coming into contact with his unless there was an explosion or natural disaster of some kind. However, in light of his apparent concessions, I didn't feel like I could say "no" without looking like a giant asshat. If only there was a way to say "no" but make it look like I was saying "yes"...
"Well," I began, mind racing, "I don't want to right now, but if we do get a couch or whatever, I'd probably do it."
That answer seemed to satisfy him. "Okay, cool," he said.
Whew. It seemed like a safe bet. I couldn't afford a couch, and Mat was always complaining that he had no money. It was like I'd perfected the art of fighting without fighting! I felt so like Bruce Lee. You know, except for the whole "not knowing martial arts" and "not being Asian" things.
"By the way," he said, "you got mail today. I put it on your desk."
Mail? Me?!
It turned out to be card from Aimee's roommate, Latrisse. I don't remember what the card said, exactly, but it was one of those noncommittal "thinking of you" cards, and it was filled with glitter and little pieces of confetti. It totally warmed my heart that somebody thought enough to send me something. It would have been even better if Aimee or maybe my mom had thought to do it, but beggars can't be choosers.
As I was looking over the card, Mat left the room and didn't come back for two days. It was weird. I actually got a little worried. At the time, I remember thinking, "Gosh, he gets drunk and uses drugs indiscriminately. He might be dead!" Shelly, who continued to call in Mat's absence, was sure he was fine. However, she let me know that I would have to be her substitute phone buddy until he got back. "You don't mind that, do you baby?" she cooed. Naturally, I couldn't say no to that. Then she said, "So, tell me what Mat does in his spare time? Is he seeing any other girls...?" Great. Now I was stuck lying for Mat, because there was no way I was going to face his wrath for telling Shelly the truth. I felt like such a sucker.
Anyway, this scenario would become a regular occurrence for the rest of my time with Mat: random, multi-day disappearances. Sometimes they happened during the week, sometimes they happened over the weekend. But they were never announced, and I never found out where he had been or what he had done. And I usually ended up covering for him with girls, teachers and coaches.
I did, however, find out at least one thing he'd done during this initial absence. It was around midnight. I was in bed, of course, and the room was mercifully dark and quiet. Suddenly, the door slammed open, and I saw Mat's huge silhouette framed in the light of the hallway. He had something with him. Something big.
He flipped on that damned Heineken sign and I saw what it was: a giant chair. I mean, this chair was so big it was practically a loveseat. Somehow, he had found a Mat-sized chair. I was stunned. Where the hell did he get that thing? Was "Big Chairs 'R Us" having a midnight liquidation sale or something?
Suddenly I noticed that Mat was sweaty and out of breath, two things I had never seen before. He forced the chair awkwardly through the door frame, scraping off paint and breaking off chunks of doorjamb in the process. Then he muscled the chair into the gap between our beds, after which he collapsed into it with a mighty sigh.
"What...where...?" I tried to ask.
"Oh, f*** me," he said with a laugh. "I just stole this chair from a sorority!"
"You did what?"
He let loose a rumbling belly laugh. "I was at a party at dis sorority, and I saw dis chair." He said. "I liked it. I mean, I really liked it. So I just picked it up and walked out with it."
I can only assume my eyes were popping out of my skull. "And...and they just let you leave with it?"
"Hell no, dey didn't let me!" he cracked. "A few girls came runnin' after me, yellin', 'Bring back our chair, bring back our chair!' But you tink sum girls are gonna stop me? Ha! I just kept walkin', and eventually dey stopped chasin' me."
"I...I can't believe it."
Mat just laughed. He was obviously very proud of himself. Then he flipped on the TV and said, "We'll have to bunk our beds tomorrow."
Uh oh.
Next time: Pictures of our room!
Part 6
Labels: college stories, Livin' Large
Author's note: If your comment hasn't been published, it's because you correctly guessed the identity of one or more persons and/or places in the story. Congratulations, Scooby Doo. I would have gotten away with it if it wasn't for you and those meddling kids.
Previous installments: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3.
The next few days were relatively uneventful. I was busy going to class, working and studying. Mat, for his part, settled into a comfy-cozy schedule that consisted of: waking up around 2 p.m.; goofing off until he had to go to basketball practice at 5 p.m.; coming back to the dorm to eat his weight in dorm food; going out for a few hours; coming back home to call Shelly and/or one or more other girls; watching MTV until 4 a.m. or so; and then finally going to bed. Of course, sometimes the schedule was expanded to include a random hookup or two, but that was his life for most of that first semester. Meanwhile, his books, ignored and unmoving, gathered dust on his desk, slowly but inexorably disappearing under a growing collection of CDs and knickknacks.
I tried to keep up with Aimee by phone, but she was so on-the-go I rarely caught her in her room unless it was really, really late. That didn't keep me from calling incessantly, though. As a result, I started to get pretty chummy with her roommate, Latrisse, who by comparison was almost always available.
I actually had met Latrisse the previous summer when she visited Aimee in Kokomo. They had agreed to meet before moving in together to make the college transition a little easier. The three of us gathered at a McDonald's for burgers, fries and conversation. At one point, while Aimee was in the bathroom, I explained to Latrisse how much Aimee meant to me. I'm fairly certain I used the "L" word at one point. I wrapped up by saying, "It would make me feel better if you'd look after her for me." Latrisse agreed, and during one of our phone conversations, she confided, "You know, asking me to look after her really endeared you to me. You're a pretty special guy, Matt." It seemed like a fairly innocuous comment at the time, but it would lead to trouble later.
People on our floor started referring to us as "Big Mat and Little Matt." Shelly coined that double nickname during one of her many phone chats with my roommate. Mat mentioned it to somebody and it spread like wildfire. Soon people I didn't even know were saying, "What up, Little Matt?" when I passed them on my way out of the building. At 6'2" (6'3" in shoes) and almost 200 pounds, I hadn't been called "little" since elementary school. But now I was becoming universally known as Little Matt. That was...great.
On Thursday, Mat initiated conversation with me, which typically didn't happen unless I was standing between him and the bathroom. "Hey man," he said, "I got dis girl coming to visit me from Connecticut dis Friday cause we got dat extra day. (It was Labor Day weekend.) She gonna be staying here for de weekend. Dat cool wit you?"
I was pretty shocked, but I was also extremely pleased. That one little question was the most consideration he'd shown me since we'd met. To that point, I'd assumed he didn't care about my feelings regarding our shared living space. Or whether I lived or died, for that matter. Maybe he was human after all. "Yeah," I said, "that's cool. No problem."
"You know," Mat said, changing subjects, "I think you need more stuff. Your side of de room looks pretty boring."
He wasn't wrong. In addition to the furniture provided by the dorm, my side of the room had a small CD player (on my desk), a TV and VCR (both of which were sitting next to my bed on top of Mat's unused desk chair), a pile of old VHS tapes, three milk crates and a towel rack. That was it. I literally had nothing else, other than clothes and books.
By contrast, Mat's side of the room was totally pimped out. His desk was covered by house plants and street signs (origin unknown). He had a funky bar stool behind his desk (which is why he let me use his chair). There were posters on his walls, and he had CDs stacked everywhere. He had a mini-fridge (unshared). Oh, and he had converted his closet into a sort of entertainment center. Seriously, his side of the room was totally sweet. In fact, if you had drawn a line down the center of the room, the contrast would have looked like a before-and-after picture.
"Yeah," I said, "I really need to do something about that." I had no idea when, though. Maybe when I got my first food service check. Having no money sucked.
Mat wasn't finished. In what turned out to be the high point of our roommately camaraderie, Mat produced a box full of practice shorts and jerseys the school athletic director had given him. "You want one of dese?"
"Hell yeah," I said, taking one pair of shorts and a jersey from the box.
Naturally, the outfit was huge on me. I'm talking laughingly enormous. There was no way I could wear them to work out or play basketball in, but that shorts/jersey combo became my favorite lounge-around gear. One notable feature was that the school name was emblazoned on the butt of the shorts. Mind you, this was before it became en vogue to put words on the ass-end of a pair of shorts...which meant it was okay for guys to do it. You never see that these days. Butt-lettering is now the exclusive province of women's shorts. It's similar to the evolution of belly-exposing shirts. They made their debut in the 80's, and, originally, straight men were the ones who wore them. I'm serious. Go watch the movie Hunk if you don't believe me. Eventually, that type of shirt became "sexy" on women and "gay" on men.
Anyway, it was turning out to be a pretty good night for our roommate relationship. Then Mat lowered the boom.
"By de way," he began, "de girl who's visiting me, she's bringing a friend. I said you'd sleep wit her."
I skipped a beat. Then, "Huh?"
He looked confused, but answered, "I told her you'd sleep wit her friend."
Although I was pretty sure I understood the implication, I played dumb. "Like, you said she could sleep in my bed?"
"No," he said slowly and deliberately, as if speaking to a retarded child, "I said you would have sex wit de girl she's bringing wit her."
Okay. I was starting to freak. "Why did you do that?"
Now he was getting irritated. "What the hell else she gonna do while I'm hanging out wit her friend?" By "hanging out," I could only assume he meant "banging her five feet away from you."
"Uh, look, Mat," I said, the top of my head starting to sweat, "I don't think I can do that. You know, sleep with some girl sight unseen. I don't even know her."
His huge brow knitted. "Why does that matter?"
"Well, I, uh, you know that I love Aimee, right?"
"So?" He was definitely irritated now.
"So...I don't think I can do it."
He shook his head. "You'll do it." That was it. End of story. No more debate. No more conversation. What had started out as a bonding session devolved into a tense, brooding silence. Shortly afterward, I went to sleep while Mat sat down to watch MTV in the dark.
The next day, I avoided our room between classes. While sitting in the Memorial Union, I saw an ad for Alpha Phi Omega. APO is a national, co-ed, community service organization. You don't live in a house or anything, but there's an office for socializing, parties for more socializing, and of course events centered around performing community service. The ad said something like, "Meet new people and help the community!" I liked the idea of helping the community, but I was really stoked about the idea of meeting new people. I immediately walked over to the APO office, which was, in fact, full to bursting with happy, friendly peeps. Oddly enough, when I filled out the pledge application form, I listed soccer as a hobby instead of basketball. I have no idea why, since I was obsessed with basketball and hadn't played soccer since the eighth grade. The mind can play funny tricks, I guess. At any rate, that seemingly meaningless decision would have long-term consequences. More on that later.
Around 3 p.m., I gambled that Mat might be awake and out scavenging for food, so I went back to the room and called my mom, who usually got home from work around that time. I said, "Mom, is there any way you can pick me up and bring me home for the weekend?" When she hesitated, I decided to use a college freshman's greatest weapon against their parents: emotional thuggery. "I'm really, really homesick, and I miss you." That did it.
I threw some clothes in a backpack and called Aimee, leaving a message with Latrisse that I was going home for the weekend. Then all I could do was wait. An hour passed. Two hours. I kept listening for Mat, afraid he'd come back and find me preparing to ditch him. Finally, my mom showed up at the door. We hugged, and then I practically ran to the car. A little over an hour later, I was home.
I met my friends Gauvin and Greg -- both of whom had decided to attend classes at the local community college -- at Pizza Hut. It was like old times. I felt like myself again. It's funny looking back at those first few months away from home. All I could think about was my old life. Once I hit my groove at college, I rarely ever wanted to go back to Kokomo for any reason. But from August through the first of November, I yearned for that dirty little town.
At it turned out, Aimee came home on Saturday. She wasn't happy about it. It turned out that she was having way too much fun at Butler to waste time in Kokomo. And while I would totally get that a few months later, at the time I was hurt and resentful. I wanted her to see the brief trip home as an opportunity to spend time with me. She saw it as time wasted while her budding social life was standing still. When Monday came and it was time to return to our respective schools, our relationship status remained unchanged.
I arrived back at my dorm around 5 p.m. The timing was consciously chosen because I figured Mat would be at practice. When I got to the room, it looked like a tornado had blown through. And it wasn't just Mat's side that was wrecked. My side was in shambles too. And just like The Story of Goldilocks and the Three Bears, somebody had been sleeping in my bed. Unfortunately, sleeping wasn't all they'd been doing. The sheets, which were wadded into a tangled mess, were soiled (to say the least), and there were lipstick smears everywhere. And while I didn't have much in the way of decoration, I had brought a few creature comforts to school with me: a case of Coca-Cola, a couple bags of chips, some beef jerky, a few boxes of fruit snacks, and a box of Kleenex. Now, my modest little stockpile was gone. All of it, down to the last tissue. (They left the empty box, though.)
For some reason, this violation of my things crushed my spirit.
I stuffed my bed sheets into a laundry bag. As I did so, a handwritten note fell out of the pile. In what was clearly a girl's bubbly cursive script, it read, "Sorry we used all your stuff. We're coming back in a couple weeks and we'll replace everything!" The message was signed with a little heart that had a smiley face in it.
They were coming back in a couple weeks?!
I took the sheets downstairs. Fortunately, the linen lady was working, and she exchanged that nasty mess for a fresh, clean set of sheets. I returned to my room, made my bed, and sat down to study. It had been dark for hours -- and I was still studying -- when Mat finally returned. I wasn't even afraid of whether he was mad at me for ditching him anymore. I was pissed. Not pissed enough to tell off the seven-foot giant, but pissed.
He must have sensed it, too, because his initial silence wasn't as brooding and intimidating as usual. Finally, he said, "Hey, sorry 'bout all your stuff. I'll buy you new stuff tomorrow."
"Don't worry about it," I said, not even looking up from Selected Essays from the Middle Ages. The evening passed in complete silence, except for Mat's beloved MTV. I called Aimee and went to bed. When Mat received his nightly call from Shelly, he actually pulled the phone out into the hall, presumably so his dirty talk wouldn't bother me. Maybe he really did feel bad.
The next day when I got back from class, there was a case of Coke, a box of tissues (generic) and a bag of Ruffles on my desk. When I saw that, I actually thought that things were going to be okay between us. However, my feelings did a 180 that night when he showed up with a new girl, turned on Sade's "No Ordinary Love," and told her, "You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen..."
Part 5
Previous installments: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3.
The next few days were relatively uneventful. I was busy going to class, working and studying. Mat, for his part, settled into a comfy-cozy schedule that consisted of: waking up around 2 p.m.; goofing off until he had to go to basketball practice at 5 p.m.; coming back to the dorm to eat his weight in dorm food; going out for a few hours; coming back home to call Shelly and/or one or more other girls; watching MTV until 4 a.m. or so; and then finally going to bed. Of course, sometimes the schedule was expanded to include a random hookup or two, but that was his life for most of that first semester. Meanwhile, his books, ignored and unmoving, gathered dust on his desk, slowly but inexorably disappearing under a growing collection of CDs and knickknacks.
I tried to keep up with Aimee by phone, but she was so on-the-go I rarely caught her in her room unless it was really, really late. That didn't keep me from calling incessantly, though. As a result, I started to get pretty chummy with her roommate, Latrisse, who by comparison was almost always available.
I actually had met Latrisse the previous summer when she visited Aimee in Kokomo. They had agreed to meet before moving in together to make the college transition a little easier. The three of us gathered at a McDonald's for burgers, fries and conversation. At one point, while Aimee was in the bathroom, I explained to Latrisse how much Aimee meant to me. I'm fairly certain I used the "L" word at one point. I wrapped up by saying, "It would make me feel better if you'd look after her for me." Latrisse agreed, and during one of our phone conversations, she confided, "You know, asking me to look after her really endeared you to me. You're a pretty special guy, Matt." It seemed like a fairly innocuous comment at the time, but it would lead to trouble later.
People on our floor started referring to us as "Big Mat and Little Matt." Shelly coined that double nickname during one of her many phone chats with my roommate. Mat mentioned it to somebody and it spread like wildfire. Soon people I didn't even know were saying, "What up, Little Matt?" when I passed them on my way out of the building. At 6'2" (6'3" in shoes) and almost 200 pounds, I hadn't been called "little" since elementary school. But now I was becoming universally known as Little Matt. That was...great.
On Thursday, Mat initiated conversation with me, which typically didn't happen unless I was standing between him and the bathroom. "Hey man," he said, "I got dis girl coming to visit me from Connecticut dis Friday cause we got dat extra day. (It was Labor Day weekend.) She gonna be staying here for de weekend. Dat cool wit you?"
I was pretty shocked, but I was also extremely pleased. That one little question was the most consideration he'd shown me since we'd met. To that point, I'd assumed he didn't care about my feelings regarding our shared living space. Or whether I lived or died, for that matter. Maybe he was human after all. "Yeah," I said, "that's cool. No problem."
"You know," Mat said, changing subjects, "I think you need more stuff. Your side of de room looks pretty boring."
He wasn't wrong. In addition to the furniture provided by the dorm, my side of the room had a small CD player (on my desk), a TV and VCR (both of which were sitting next to my bed on top of Mat's unused desk chair), a pile of old VHS tapes, three milk crates and a towel rack. That was it. I literally had nothing else, other than clothes and books.
By contrast, Mat's side of the room was totally pimped out. His desk was covered by house plants and street signs (origin unknown). He had a funky bar stool behind his desk (which is why he let me use his chair). There were posters on his walls, and he had CDs stacked everywhere. He had a mini-fridge (unshared). Oh, and he had converted his closet into a sort of entertainment center. Seriously, his side of the room was totally sweet. In fact, if you had drawn a line down the center of the room, the contrast would have looked like a before-and-after picture.
"Yeah," I said, "I really need to do something about that." I had no idea when, though. Maybe when I got my first food service check. Having no money sucked.
Mat wasn't finished. In what turned out to be the high point of our roommately camaraderie, Mat produced a box full of practice shorts and jerseys the school athletic director had given him. "You want one of dese?"
"Hell yeah," I said, taking one pair of shorts and a jersey from the box.
Naturally, the outfit was huge on me. I'm talking laughingly enormous. There was no way I could wear them to work out or play basketball in, but that shorts/jersey combo became my favorite lounge-around gear. One notable feature was that the school name was emblazoned on the butt of the shorts. Mind you, this was before it became en vogue to put words on the ass-end of a pair of shorts...which meant it was okay for guys to do it. You never see that these days. Butt-lettering is now the exclusive province of women's shorts. It's similar to the evolution of belly-exposing shirts. They made their debut in the 80's, and, originally, straight men were the ones who wore them. I'm serious. Go watch the movie Hunk if you don't believe me. Eventually, that type of shirt became "sexy" on women and "gay" on men.
Anyway, it was turning out to be a pretty good night for our roommate relationship. Then Mat lowered the boom.
"By de way," he began, "de girl who's visiting me, she's bringing a friend. I said you'd sleep wit her."
I skipped a beat. Then, "Huh?"
He looked confused, but answered, "I told her you'd sleep wit her friend."
Although I was pretty sure I understood the implication, I played dumb. "Like, you said she could sleep in my bed?"
"No," he said slowly and deliberately, as if speaking to a retarded child, "I said you would have sex wit de girl she's bringing wit her."
Okay. I was starting to freak. "Why did you do that?"
Now he was getting irritated. "What the hell else she gonna do while I'm hanging out wit her friend?" By "hanging out," I could only assume he meant "banging her five feet away from you."
"Uh, look, Mat," I said, the top of my head starting to sweat, "I don't think I can do that. You know, sleep with some girl sight unseen. I don't even know her."
His huge brow knitted. "Why does that matter?"
"Well, I, uh, you know that I love Aimee, right?"
"So?" He was definitely irritated now.
"So...I don't think I can do it."
He shook his head. "You'll do it." That was it. End of story. No more debate. No more conversation. What had started out as a bonding session devolved into a tense, brooding silence. Shortly afterward, I went to sleep while Mat sat down to watch MTV in the dark.
The next day, I avoided our room between classes. While sitting in the Memorial Union, I saw an ad for Alpha Phi Omega. APO is a national, co-ed, community service organization. You don't live in a house or anything, but there's an office for socializing, parties for more socializing, and of course events centered around performing community service. The ad said something like, "Meet new people and help the community!" I liked the idea of helping the community, but I was really stoked about the idea of meeting new people. I immediately walked over to the APO office, which was, in fact, full to bursting with happy, friendly peeps. Oddly enough, when I filled out the pledge application form, I listed soccer as a hobby instead of basketball. I have no idea why, since I was obsessed with basketball and hadn't played soccer since the eighth grade. The mind can play funny tricks, I guess. At any rate, that seemingly meaningless decision would have long-term consequences. More on that later.
Around 3 p.m., I gambled that Mat might be awake and out scavenging for food, so I went back to the room and called my mom, who usually got home from work around that time. I said, "Mom, is there any way you can pick me up and bring me home for the weekend?" When she hesitated, I decided to use a college freshman's greatest weapon against their parents: emotional thuggery. "I'm really, really homesick, and I miss you." That did it.
I threw some clothes in a backpack and called Aimee, leaving a message with Latrisse that I was going home for the weekend. Then all I could do was wait. An hour passed. Two hours. I kept listening for Mat, afraid he'd come back and find me preparing to ditch him. Finally, my mom showed up at the door. We hugged, and then I practically ran to the car. A little over an hour later, I was home.
I met my friends Gauvin and Greg -- both of whom had decided to attend classes at the local community college -- at Pizza Hut. It was like old times. I felt like myself again. It's funny looking back at those first few months away from home. All I could think about was my old life. Once I hit my groove at college, I rarely ever wanted to go back to Kokomo for any reason. But from August through the first of November, I yearned for that dirty little town.
At it turned out, Aimee came home on Saturday. She wasn't happy about it. It turned out that she was having way too much fun at Butler to waste time in Kokomo. And while I would totally get that a few months later, at the time I was hurt and resentful. I wanted her to see the brief trip home as an opportunity to spend time with me. She saw it as time wasted while her budding social life was standing still. When Monday came and it was time to return to our respective schools, our relationship status remained unchanged.
I arrived back at my dorm around 5 p.m. The timing was consciously chosen because I figured Mat would be at practice. When I got to the room, it looked like a tornado had blown through. And it wasn't just Mat's side that was wrecked. My side was in shambles too. And just like The Story of Goldilocks and the Three Bears, somebody had been sleeping in my bed. Unfortunately, sleeping wasn't all they'd been doing. The sheets, which were wadded into a tangled mess, were soiled (to say the least), and there were lipstick smears everywhere. And while I didn't have much in the way of decoration, I had brought a few creature comforts to school with me: a case of Coca-Cola, a couple bags of chips, some beef jerky, a few boxes of fruit snacks, and a box of Kleenex. Now, my modest little stockpile was gone. All of it, down to the last tissue. (They left the empty box, though.)
For some reason, this violation of my things crushed my spirit.
I stuffed my bed sheets into a laundry bag. As I did so, a handwritten note fell out of the pile. In what was clearly a girl's bubbly cursive script, it read, "Sorry we used all your stuff. We're coming back in a couple weeks and we'll replace everything!" The message was signed with a little heart that had a smiley face in it.
They were coming back in a couple weeks?!
I took the sheets downstairs. Fortunately, the linen lady was working, and she exchanged that nasty mess for a fresh, clean set of sheets. I returned to my room, made my bed, and sat down to study. It had been dark for hours -- and I was still studying -- when Mat finally returned. I wasn't even afraid of whether he was mad at me for ditching him anymore. I was pissed. Not pissed enough to tell off the seven-foot giant, but pissed.
He must have sensed it, too, because his initial silence wasn't as brooding and intimidating as usual. Finally, he said, "Hey, sorry 'bout all your stuff. I'll buy you new stuff tomorrow."
"Don't worry about it," I said, not even looking up from Selected Essays from the Middle Ages. The evening passed in complete silence, except for Mat's beloved MTV. I called Aimee and went to bed. When Mat received his nightly call from Shelly, he actually pulled the phone out into the hall, presumably so his dirty talk wouldn't bother me. Maybe he really did feel bad.
The next day when I got back from class, there was a case of Coke, a box of tissues (generic) and a bag of Ruffles on my desk. When I saw that, I actually thought that things were going to be okay between us. However, my feelings did a 180 that night when he showed up with a new girl, turned on Sade's "No Ordinary Love," and told her, "You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen..."
Part 5
Labels: college stories, Livin' Large
Previous installments: Part 1, Part 2.
Author's note: Once again, I'm not including the last names of the people involved or identifying the university at which these events occurred. Feel free to make guesses, but understand that I will not publish comments that contain the exact names of the people or places in question. I'm just trying to avoid any...Imperial entanglements...so to speak.
By the time Mat finally woke up, Brett had already taken Shelly to the airport. This caused Mat to be unusually bummed out all day. I say "unusually" only with the benefit of 20/20 hindsight, since I didn't really know much about his habits at the time. But he was dispirited enough to make small talk with me, much of which had to do with Shelly and what I thought about her.
"She was pretty f***ing cool, wasn't she? Man, dat woman is fine. You thought she was fine, right? Damn, I miss her already. This sh*t sucks. I wish she was home already so I could call her. Maybe I should wait, you know, be cool. You think she'll call me? I can't believe I met her right before she was leavin'. Can you believe dat? Aw, man, f*** me." ("F*** me," I would soon discover, was Mat's go-to phrase for virtually every situation, good or bad.)
Eventually, he got around to asking questions about me. Sadly, I had little to tell that he would care about or understand, so he focused on two things: my interest in basketball and my love life. Unfortunately, his knowledge of the NBA wasn't that broad. He knew Rik Smits (who was a fellow countryman) and loved Michael Jordan (which was something of a gimmie). That was pretty much the extent of it. I asked him about his prep school career, and all I got out of him was that he was "really good" and hit "about 80 percent" of his free throws. He claimed not to remember his rebounding numbers, which I found bizarre. The dude was seven-plus feet tall and weighed 300 pounds. I expected him to boast Wilt Chamberlain-esque boarding stats...and the fact that he didn't probably should have told me something.
The discussion of my love life was pretty uncomfortable. I tried to explain the fact that I loved my not-quite-girlfriend Aimee despite her refusal to have a committed relationship with me. ("Shit,man" he said, "you need to tell dat ho what up.") And when I admitted that we hadn't had sex -- that we hadn't, in fact, so much as kissed -- his eyes nearly bulged out of his giant head. ("What the f***? How you love somebody who don't even have sex wit you? F*** me. That's some f***ed up sh*t.") I don't know if we were bonding, but the conversation certainly earned me his rather unique form of sympathy. It also made me feel like a gormless stooge.
"Look," he said, waving off my explanation about how sometimes loving someone means waiting for little things like physical intimacy, "here's what you gotta do. Tell dat girl, 'You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.' I'm telling you, dat sh*t works every time."
I was certain he was right...assuming the line was clumsily delivered by a physical freak who appeared to be -- based on his size alone -- a mortal lock for the NBA. But for me? All I could see was a pathetic, perhaps even lethal dose of fail. When I expressed my skepticism, he suggested I enhance the line by playing Sade's "No Ordinary Love" in the background. He wasn't just paying lip service, either. The "most beautiful woman" line/Sade combination would go on to become a staple of Mat's many hookups, which is probably why, to this day, "No Ordinary Love" makes me want to punch myself in the groin until I pass out.
I was able to hold Mat's interest for only so long, and eventually he simply got up and wandered out of the room. He was gone for several hours, during which time I copied my schedule into my daily planner and mapped a route to each of my classes. I sharpened pencils, packed my backpack...you know, all the things a good little freshman nerd does. Once I ran out of preparations to make, I called Aimee. She had moved into her dorm room at Butler University the day before, and she had been having a blast ever since. She dug her roommate (a nice but socially awkward girl named Latrisse) and had spent the last 24 hours partying and making friends. It made me feel angry and jealous.
When I told her my first couple days at college had been lousy, she was incredulous. "How can you not be having a great time?" I told her I didn't know anybody to have a great time with. "Go out and meet people then!" was her answer to my problem. If only I'd known it was that simple. After a while, I tried to turn the conversation to our budding not-relationship, but she dismissed it. "You know how I feel about that." Maybe Mat was right. Maybe I really did need to "tell dat ho what's up."
Talking to Aimee did nothing to improve my mood. It only turned it from "black" to "blacker." Then one of those strange "only in college" things happened. My door opened and in walked a fat guy with thick glasses and an even thicker belly. He was wearing nothing but a towel that was about 50 percent smaller than it should have been. He took three or four steps into my room before he realized his mistake.
"Oh," he said in mild surprise. "I don't live here. I'm sorry." Then he offered me the hand that wasn't holding his too-small towel closed. "I'm Ron. I live...next door, apparently. Nice to meet you."
I shook Ron's hand and introduced myself. "Well," he said, seemingly in no real hurry, "I'm sure we'll be seeing more of each other. Hopefully I'll be wearing more clothes next time. If you ever need anything, feel free to stop by. In fact, feel free to stop by even if you don't need anything. I'd be happy to have you over, and I'm sure my roommate, Nathan, feels the same way." I couldn't help but wonder if this guy was for real. On the one hand, this was the closes I'd come to making a friend so far. On the other hand, he was weird and mostly naked.
After Ron left, I sat down to do the only thing I had to do at that point: watch an old basketball game. I really needed to get off that crazy rollercoaster of fun.
Mat got back around 10 p.m. and immediately called Shelly. (So much for being cool.) She had only just made it home and was unpacking, but they still sweet-talked each other for the next 45 minutes or so. It was weird to hear this monster of a man cooing like a lovesick teenager, but I found it kind of endearing. By the time he hung up the phone, I was getting ready for bed. "Good idea," he said. "First day of classes tomorrow. Gotta be ready." I asked him if he had his schedule. "Yeah," he said, glancing around, "it's here somewhere."
Then he collapsed into his bed with a huge grin on his face. "Dude, she told me she loves me."
"No kidding?" I said. That seemed pretty fast to me.
"Yeah, she loves me." Then he heaved a deep, self-satisfied sigh.
"So, what, you guys are dating now?"
He thought about that for a few seconds and then said, "I guess so."
So the girl I'd been friends with for five years and had bent over backwards for on more occasions than I could count had never said she loved me nor would she even consent to dating me seriously, but this goon meets a girl, sleeps with her immediately, and then gets an "I love you" the next day? I was pissed, but I played it off.
"Good for you," I said.
A few minutes later, we killed the lights and went to bed. Despite my bitterness over his luck with women, I thought things had gone pretty well between us that day. We'd talked and gotten along. He was apparently in a long-distance relationship, which I took to mean he wouldn't be banging a different girl every night of the week. And he was even going to bed at a reasonable time. I smiled. It looked like this was going to work out okay after all.
The next day was a blur. I had three classes and a seminar for my scholarship group. Even though I'd already picked up the books listed on my course schedule, a couple of my teachers gave us another list of additional books we needed to pick up. I was immediately assigned a couple hundred pages worth of reading, a term paper and a huge Calculus assignment. After my classes, I had to work an evening shift at the dorm's food service, which lasted a grueling four hours. (I was tasked with restocking the dining room, which included a large salad bar, a soft drink station, a tea/lemonade machine, a milk machine that dispensed three different kinds of milk, and two ice cream machines. I also had to clean up any messes. In case you didn't know this: men are sloppy pigs. That is all.)
When I finally dragged ass back to my room, Mat wasn't there. I settled down at my desk and dug into my homework. I was at it for three hours before taking a short break, during which I went down to the grill for a hamburger. When I got back to the room, "No Ordinary Love" was playing because -- you guessed it -- Mat was in the middle of sexing up some girl. She was squealing and laughing like a 12-year-old, and the festivities didn't stop when I came back into the room. Mat had dimmed the lights for obvious reasons, so I stooped down at my desk and quietly munched on my hamburger. Once they finished -- mercifully, it rarely took long -- the girl got dressed and left.
A few minutes passed before I said anything. "So," I finally said, trying to keep the judgment out of my voice, "I thought you were seeing Shelly."
"I am," he said in a casual voice.
"Well, uh, who was that then?"
He glanced toward the door as if trying to recall the girl's name. Apparently, he either didn't know or didn't care, because he said, "Just some girl."
"I don't think Shelly would be real thrilled," I said.
Mat rolled his eyes. "Man, she a long way away, you know?"
I didn't "know," but I kept that to myself and got ready for bed.
Shortly after I crawled under the covers, Shelly called. After the perfunctory greeting, she and Mat began talking dirty, discussing all the naughty things they'd like to be doing to each other. It started to sound a little too much like phone sex to me, so I pulled my pillow around my head and tried to pretend I was alone, in a cave, on the moon. With some effort, I was eventually able to drift off.
Part 4
Author's note: Once again, I'm not including the last names of the people involved or identifying the university at which these events occurred. Feel free to make guesses, but understand that I will not publish comments that contain the exact names of the people or places in question. I'm just trying to avoid any...Imperial entanglements...so to speak.
By the time Mat finally woke up, Brett had already taken Shelly to the airport. This caused Mat to be unusually bummed out all day. I say "unusually" only with the benefit of 20/20 hindsight, since I didn't really know much about his habits at the time. But he was dispirited enough to make small talk with me, much of which had to do with Shelly and what I thought about her.
"She was pretty f***ing cool, wasn't she? Man, dat woman is fine. You thought she was fine, right? Damn, I miss her already. This sh*t sucks. I wish she was home already so I could call her. Maybe I should wait, you know, be cool. You think she'll call me? I can't believe I met her right before she was leavin'. Can you believe dat? Aw, man, f*** me." ("F*** me," I would soon discover, was Mat's go-to phrase for virtually every situation, good or bad.)
Eventually, he got around to asking questions about me. Sadly, I had little to tell that he would care about or understand, so he focused on two things: my interest in basketball and my love life. Unfortunately, his knowledge of the NBA wasn't that broad. He knew Rik Smits (who was a fellow countryman) and loved Michael Jordan (which was something of a gimmie). That was pretty much the extent of it. I asked him about his prep school career, and all I got out of him was that he was "really good" and hit "about 80 percent" of his free throws. He claimed not to remember his rebounding numbers, which I found bizarre. The dude was seven-plus feet tall and weighed 300 pounds. I expected him to boast Wilt Chamberlain-esque boarding stats...and the fact that he didn't probably should have told me something.
The discussion of my love life was pretty uncomfortable. I tried to explain the fact that I loved my not-quite-girlfriend Aimee despite her refusal to have a committed relationship with me. ("Shit,man" he said, "you need to tell dat ho what up.") And when I admitted that we hadn't had sex -- that we hadn't, in fact, so much as kissed -- his eyes nearly bulged out of his giant head. ("What the f***? How you love somebody who don't even have sex wit you? F*** me. That's some f***ed up sh*t.") I don't know if we were bonding, but the conversation certainly earned me his rather unique form of sympathy. It also made me feel like a gormless stooge.
"Look," he said, waving off my explanation about how sometimes loving someone means waiting for little things like physical intimacy, "here's what you gotta do. Tell dat girl, 'You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.' I'm telling you, dat sh*t works every time."
I was certain he was right...assuming the line was clumsily delivered by a physical freak who appeared to be -- based on his size alone -- a mortal lock for the NBA. But for me? All I could see was a pathetic, perhaps even lethal dose of fail. When I expressed my skepticism, he suggested I enhance the line by playing Sade's "No Ordinary Love" in the background. He wasn't just paying lip service, either. The "most beautiful woman" line/Sade combination would go on to become a staple of Mat's many hookups, which is probably why, to this day, "No Ordinary Love" makes me want to punch myself in the groin until I pass out.
I was able to hold Mat's interest for only so long, and eventually he simply got up and wandered out of the room. He was gone for several hours, during which time I copied my schedule into my daily planner and mapped a route to each of my classes. I sharpened pencils, packed my backpack...you know, all the things a good little freshman nerd does. Once I ran out of preparations to make, I called Aimee. She had moved into her dorm room at Butler University the day before, and she had been having a blast ever since. She dug her roommate (a nice but socially awkward girl named Latrisse) and had spent the last 24 hours partying and making friends. It made me feel angry and jealous.
When I told her my first couple days at college had been lousy, she was incredulous. "How can you not be having a great time?" I told her I didn't know anybody to have a great time with. "Go out and meet people then!" was her answer to my problem. If only I'd known it was that simple. After a while, I tried to turn the conversation to our budding not-relationship, but she dismissed it. "You know how I feel about that." Maybe Mat was right. Maybe I really did need to "tell dat ho what's up."
Talking to Aimee did nothing to improve my mood. It only turned it from "black" to "blacker." Then one of those strange "only in college" things happened. My door opened and in walked a fat guy with thick glasses and an even thicker belly. He was wearing nothing but a towel that was about 50 percent smaller than it should have been. He took three or four steps into my room before he realized his mistake.
"Oh," he said in mild surprise. "I don't live here. I'm sorry." Then he offered me the hand that wasn't holding his too-small towel closed. "I'm Ron. I live...next door, apparently. Nice to meet you."
I shook Ron's hand and introduced myself. "Well," he said, seemingly in no real hurry, "I'm sure we'll be seeing more of each other. Hopefully I'll be wearing more clothes next time. If you ever need anything, feel free to stop by. In fact, feel free to stop by even if you don't need anything. I'd be happy to have you over, and I'm sure my roommate, Nathan, feels the same way." I couldn't help but wonder if this guy was for real. On the one hand, this was the closes I'd come to making a friend so far. On the other hand, he was weird and mostly naked.
After Ron left, I sat down to do the only thing I had to do at that point: watch an old basketball game. I really needed to get off that crazy rollercoaster of fun.
Mat got back around 10 p.m. and immediately called Shelly. (So much for being cool.) She had only just made it home and was unpacking, but they still sweet-talked each other for the next 45 minutes or so. It was weird to hear this monster of a man cooing like a lovesick teenager, but I found it kind of endearing. By the time he hung up the phone, I was getting ready for bed. "Good idea," he said. "First day of classes tomorrow. Gotta be ready." I asked him if he had his schedule. "Yeah," he said, glancing around, "it's here somewhere."
Then he collapsed into his bed with a huge grin on his face. "Dude, she told me she loves me."
"No kidding?" I said. That seemed pretty fast to me.
"Yeah, she loves me." Then he heaved a deep, self-satisfied sigh.
"So, what, you guys are dating now?"
He thought about that for a few seconds and then said, "I guess so."
So the girl I'd been friends with for five years and had bent over backwards for on more occasions than I could count had never said she loved me nor would she even consent to dating me seriously, but this goon meets a girl, sleeps with her immediately, and then gets an "I love you" the next day? I was pissed, but I played it off.
"Good for you," I said.
A few minutes later, we killed the lights and went to bed. Despite my bitterness over his luck with women, I thought things had gone pretty well between us that day. We'd talked and gotten along. He was apparently in a long-distance relationship, which I took to mean he wouldn't be banging a different girl every night of the week. And he was even going to bed at a reasonable time. I smiled. It looked like this was going to work out okay after all.
The next day was a blur. I had three classes and a seminar for my scholarship group. Even though I'd already picked up the books listed on my course schedule, a couple of my teachers gave us another list of additional books we needed to pick up. I was immediately assigned a couple hundred pages worth of reading, a term paper and a huge Calculus assignment. After my classes, I had to work an evening shift at the dorm's food service, which lasted a grueling four hours. (I was tasked with restocking the dining room, which included a large salad bar, a soft drink station, a tea/lemonade machine, a milk machine that dispensed three different kinds of milk, and two ice cream machines. I also had to clean up any messes. In case you didn't know this: men are sloppy pigs. That is all.)
When I finally dragged ass back to my room, Mat wasn't there. I settled down at my desk and dug into my homework. I was at it for three hours before taking a short break, during which I went down to the grill for a hamburger. When I got back to the room, "No Ordinary Love" was playing because -- you guessed it -- Mat was in the middle of sexing up some girl. She was squealing and laughing like a 12-year-old, and the festivities didn't stop when I came back into the room. Mat had dimmed the lights for obvious reasons, so I stooped down at my desk and quietly munched on my hamburger. Once they finished -- mercifully, it rarely took long -- the girl got dressed and left.
A few minutes passed before I said anything. "So," I finally said, trying to keep the judgment out of my voice, "I thought you were seeing Shelly."
"I am," he said in a casual voice.
"Well, uh, who was that then?"
He glanced toward the door as if trying to recall the girl's name. Apparently, he either didn't know or didn't care, because he said, "Just some girl."
"I don't think Shelly would be real thrilled," I said.
Mat rolled his eyes. "Man, she a long way away, you know?"
I didn't "know," but I kept that to myself and got ready for bed.
Shortly after I crawled under the covers, Shelly called. After the perfunctory greeting, she and Mat began talking dirty, discussing all the naughty things they'd like to be doing to each other. It started to sound a little too much like phone sex to me, so I pulled my pillow around my head and tried to pretend I was alone, in a cave, on the moon. With some effort, I was eventually able to drift off.
Part 4
Labels: college stories, Livin' Large
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