Ode to my Roomies. . .

It is crazy how you forget to be thankful for your roomies.  In this money driven society, where we always need a bigger house, that is closer to the water, and in the middle of a thriving city, I wouldn’t be able to pay rent without my three roommates.  However, they mean more to me than just a check—they are pure comedy.  In a nut shell--the reason from my sanity is our insanity. 

       Last night we exchanged presents via a secret santa.  The rules were simple and were laid out a month ago by our Santa in Command, Jenn.  

Pick a name out of the hat.
Don’t tell the name to anyone.
No gift certificates allowed.
Spending limit is $25.

        Ordinarily rule number 2 is the hardest to keep. However, we made it all the way to last night without anyone telling a soul.   

Santa’s helper, Frank made chicken marsala that we eagerly gobbled, and elf, Jake prepared the vino.  After dinner, Santa in Command gave the go ahead to exchange gifts.  I had Jake and he had me.

        I received a funnier than hell book (Does Anything Eat Shit?) and a grow your own Jesus (who doesn’t need one of those. . .after all He is the reason for the season).  Jake got Johnny Walker (the little elf’s drink of choice).  Suddenly, Santa’s Helper (Frank) didn’t look so chipper.  A perplexed look crossed his face as Santa in Command (Jenn) gave him his present.  

Frank then proclaimed that he too had Jake and handed Jake another bottle of Johnny Walker.  The sight that followed was quite sad.  I have never seen Santa in Command so saddened.  Santa in Command confessed that perhaps she was a little too excited when she wrote the names down to be pulled out of the hat that fateful day about a month ago.  So excited, that she forgot her own name.  (so sad :<)

        Santa in Command, this blog is for you. Merry Christmas from your roomies who love you.  

faithy