Psycho Roomie, Part VIII: Suzi and the Hot Dog

Okay, so here comes one of my favorite Psycho Suzi-stories. No, seriously.

A wee bit of back story for this story: Suzi made lists. She made a "To Do" list every day. She made a weekly list of what she would have for dinner each night. I'm not saying lists are bad. I myself make lists sometimes to help keep myself on track. Sometimes she wouldn't start her daily "To Do" list until she was already sitting in class at 9am. I've seen it. But it always started the same, and I couldn't figure out why the following needed to be on the list.

1. Get up.
2. Shower.
3. Get Dressed.
4. Eat Breakfast.

This is stuff we do every single day of our lives. Does it really need to be on a "To Do" list? No. But that's my humble opinion. Half the time, I couldn't survive without a planner. Some semesters were so crazy busy that if I didn't have all of it written down, I'd go insane. But I never once had to make sure those 4 things were on my list. It's kind of like brushing your teeth. You do it every day.

Now, for her dinner lists, they were pretty much the same foods every week. She might switch the days she ate said meals, but still, they were pretty much the same meals. I didn't have much room to talk, I ate a lot of the same meals myself, but I didn't make a list for the week.

Also, as I mentioned before (possibly my Intro to Suzi blog), Suzi's cell phone was permanently attached to her. The phone was always clipped to her pocket. She had the ear piece with microphone that came to the mouth. (Obviously this was pre-blue tooth). This girl talked on the phone all the damn time. The only time I never saw her on the phone was in class or when she was sleeping. While at home in my room, I could hear her across the hall, talking while she was studying. It's no wonder she took forever to get her shit done, because she was talking all the time! One day, I remember hearing her talking-talking-talking . . . FLUSH . . . talking-talking-talking. I was horrified. I'm sorry. No matter how long I know you - even married - I never want to hear the fucking toilet flush while I'm on the phone with you. EVER. I know everyone uses the bathroom and what goes on in there, but I have no intention of getting front row seats. Thank. You. Very. Much.

Okay, so on to the real story I'm blogging about. Sorry, it's so easy for me to digress on this.

One evening, I was sitting on the most uncomfortable couch in the universe watching a TV show I loved. Possibly X-Files, but I don't remember what day of the week this took place. I had decided to grab a pizza and salad from Round Table after school/work. Suzi was in the kitchen, talking away on the phone with her mom, while cooking dinner. I really have no idea what her and her mom could talk about several times a day, unless it was Suzi's daily activities down to the minute. Anyway, I was trying not to pay attention to her even though she was loud enough I had to keep turning the volume up on the TV so I actually hear my show. When I hear this, I'm eating some salad. This is what I hear from Suzi:

(in kind of a rude, annoyed voice) ". . .Hey, Mom? How do you boil a hot dog?"

(I literally stop with a forkful of salad an inch from my mouth, my mouth wide open ready for the salad. The salad never made it to my mouth. With forkful of salad still in the air, my mouth still open - although now it's in SHOCK - I turn my head to the left to see her in the kitchen with a SERIOUS look on her face.)

(still her even ruder voice): ". . . Well I'm busy, Mom, I don't have time to remember these things."

(You don't have the time to remember how to boil a hot dog? WTF???)

I shit you not, this girl asked her mom, at the age of 22, how to boil a hot dog.

Now, I want you to keep this in mind: She's done this before. Without help. All the time I was living with her, she had a hot dog maybe once a week. Because she was one boisterous bitch, I knew I had never heard her ask this before. It took me a full 5 minutes before I could continue eating.

Now, fast forward a week - same day of the week. I'm back on the most uncomfortable couch in the universe to watch my favorite show. No pizza and salad for me this time, I was eating in. Suzi was in the kitchen cooking while on the phone with her mom. With my sandwich on the way to my mouth, this is what I hear:

(in her rude, annoyed voice): "Mom, how do you thaw a hot dog bun? . . . Mah-om, I'm to busy to remember this stuff."

Ohhhhhhhhhhh. Myyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy. Gaaaaaawwwwwwwd.

Please keep in mind that the previous week, she did not ask her mom how to thaw the hot dog bun. She did that one all on her own. This is yet another task that she had done all the other times she'd cooked a hot dog without any assistance from me or anyone on the phone with her.

This was just one of those instances where it shocked me, that at 22 she was still alive and kicking. One of those conversations was bad enough.

Two of them made me wonder why she didn't wear a fucking crash helmet.