7 am – The alarm sounds and its off to the beginning of another beautiful…fuck that. I’m tired. Not bothering to sit up, I deftly apply the martial arts only years of Chuck Norris films could bestow to swiftly kick the snooze button.

8 – What? You thought I’d list the nine other instances I refused to get up? No time for that. Just know that I’m pissed at the alarm. Besides, alarm clocks are the reason I can’t keep a relationship. When it comes down to it, my alarm clock can nag the shit out of me just as much as commitment. The difference is that I can beat my alarm clock. Moral of the story: toughen up ladies or you need not apply.

8:10 – I’m still staring at the ceiling. A few days back I put up old t-shirts from concerts and events throughout my college career. Nothing says “I’ve been in college too long” like a wall full of beer-sponsored gag shirts and concert tees. Despite the shirts, the wall still looks classy. I think it’s the addition of the feudal Japan tapestry I stole from The Smithsonian. It’s either that or the “He won again? Shit. Bartender, It’s Four More Beers” banner I once solemnly hung. Sometimes you have to laugh through the tears.

8:15:35 – I drown my former apartment record of 45 seconds with a deluge of urinary marksmanship. I’m what R. Kelly would be if he were trained by the CIA. I’d high-five myself but again there’s just not enough time.

8:30 – I’m pretty sure my roommate is getting up. He should be or else this convoy isn’t going anywhere. Being car-less, I head downstairs to grab breakfast and wait. This is one of the rare mornings when I manage to get ready faster than my roommate. Unless there’s a wedding, he’s pretty much a t-shirt and shorts guy…and I’m not. I skip past the pool table and head over to the water cooler to discuss last night’s programming…with myself. After grabbing a Cliff Bar from the pantry, I head over to command center known as our “living room” and turned on the tv. I swear that with an entertainment center this big, should be labeled “for party use only.” Surround sound, high-definition quality replaces Folger’s as the best part of waking up. After the obligatory ten minutes of Sportscenter, I head back upstairs to google the headline news.

There’s a chance you’re wondering why I wouldn’t just abuse the ridiculous number of news channels on cable. To that, I say “with the jaundice lacing most media outlets, I don’t have the patience to get the long screw of network news. I’d rather have a quickie.” Google news does what CNN, MSNBC, and Fox cannot – it allows me to get exactly what I need without having a plastic anchorperson feigning emotional responses to news pieces. I just want to know who’s being blown up, what team is clinching the AL East, and something pertinent to the functioning of the planet. Sometimes I hit the “Drudge Report” just because I like the name.

8:40 am – My roommate is usually ready around 9, but my bed looks like she’s ready for another go at it. There she sits, lying quietly with the blankets barely covering her box….springs. I try to resist but cannot. I lose all control and plunge my face into the center of her massive, firm white pillows. I glance at the alarm clock. If this nap is going to be a quickie, it might as well involve a threesome.


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