Everything sunny all the time, always, good time, beach party!

I tried really hard not to write this post because I wanted to be classy.  That went out the window at exactly 7:30 this morning.

'Round about that time, I was ripped from my sleep when the sound of 47 chainsaws came screaming from the kitchen and into my ears.

I leaped from my bed and went out into the kitchen to see what the hell was going on. And there stood my roommate.  Juicing a PINEAPPLE.

I just stared at him for a moment, trying to absorb what was going. I mistakenly waited for him to use his deductive reasoning skills to understand that his actions may have had something to do with why I was standing there, looking like a plaid-covered banshee.  

Nope.  Nothing.

In fact, he looked at me and said, "How are you this morning?"  

I stared at him again and blinked a few times, convinced that no one could be this dense.  "That thing scared the shit out of me."

He looked at me with sincere confusion, blinking the doey eyes of an innocent and said, "What thing?"

Mind you, I had just woken up in a fairly violent fashion and, as many of you may be aware (and as I have told him on more than one occasion) I am not a morning person.

"Are you kidding me?"  I looked from him to the juicer several times, trying to help him out with the context clues.

Now, this is the part that gets me. There was no epiphany.  There was no realization.  There was not even a hint of understanding that crossed his face.

Instead, without even a trace of a change in facial expression, he said, "Sorry about that."

Did he mean it?  I'm pretty sure he didn't.  Did he sound like he meant it?  Not even a little bit.  However, much like a 4-year old, he has learned that you can say this when someone is unhappy and it makes it all better.

In the last eight years, I have had 17 different roommates.

One of them was a 22-year old, male undergrad who once woke me up at 3am while he and his buddies, all high as kites, decided to play various musical instruments at once.

Another was a 5-foot, 110 pound firecracker with a long-distance boyfriend who liked to Skype Saturday morning before the sun was completely up.

At one point, I even shared a house with a married couple and their newborn baby.  Never once did that baby wake me up.

In all of those situations, any time someone was making a little more noise than usual, all of those people had the decency to at least say, "Sorry, did I wake you?" and look somewhat remorseful.

In this situation, however, it's like a cocker spaniel pooped in my sneaker and then hid in the linen closet because he knows he did something wrong, but he's not exactly sure what that is.

And just like that cocker spaniel, there's no point in yelling or rubbing his nose in it because, well, he won't get it.  Instead, you roll your eyes, throw out your shoe, make your coffee and go write a blog post until you calm down.

Quite frankly, I'd rather have the shoe-shitting cocker spaniel.