OK5

I am bored, and home, and sick with some sort of unpleasant cold/flu. On a freakin’ weekend, mind you! Stupid germs. Obviously unaware of my busy schedule. Of un-Christmas-decorating. Nothing makes taking Santa down less fun than a snuffy nose.

But the five is a bit better this week.

  1. First time you cooked for someone else?

    Growing up, I helped my parents and my grandma in the kitchen. That’s how I learned to cook the basics, staples. I’ve cooked with most of the roommates I’ve had–learned Shephard’s Pie from sweet little trailer park girl, this divine honey soy chicken from the band geek, crepes and bread from the hippie flowerchild. I never did master the bread. I guess cooking for someone isn’t the same as cooking with them.

    You cook for someone you’re dating, or for a party or special occasion. The first time I cooked for people, serious food… was probably in the dorms. Having people over to chili or spaghetti or some other quick-to-prepare, minimally-expensive dish. The dorm kitchens were nasty, but occasionally we’d crave homemade food so badly we’d excavate the cruddy sink, disinfect the counters and handles, and burn clean the oven. Then we’d make dinner for the next few days, until some yahoo befouled the place again.

    I remember sitting on the floor in my freshman dorm room with my RA (who lived next door). She’d made dinner for us all not too long ago, so I decided to reciprocate. I’d made spaghetti, she brought the garlic bread. She gave me her Police tape and a UNC t-shirt.

  2. First time you threw up in someone else’s toilet?

    At the apartments across from Crabtree. I’d tell my mom I was spending the night with one of my girlfriends, who lived in the complex with her aunt. I think I’d also told my mother that I met her through another friend–I didn’t want her to know that I’d actually met her on the computer. This was pre-internet, but post-BBS.

    Several of the guys who ran boards in the area lived in the same apartments as this girlfriend, and they used to have these huge BBS parties. The front room of their place had a thin, long office on one side, and they had set up a huge workspace, with their personal machines, and the BBS machines, and whatnot. On the other side of the wall from the “lab” was a big (at the time) TV with lots of movies and tons of channels, including hardcore porn. I’d never really seen much porn, so it was kind of trainwrecky-fascinating. We’d spend the night hanging out, playing video games, smoking far too many cigarettes, watching movies, and getting wasted off our butts.

    I would only drink if I was staying over, and sometimes I got cut off just after “buzz” by my overprotective (and older and afraid of getting busted) friends. Until one night after a particularly insane party, when my friend G and I decide that it’s time for me to have a real and honest-to-God drunk.

    What do I choose to get drunk on? White and Black Russians.

    Mmmm, yeah. You know where that is going. Milk and vodka.

    Surprisingly, there really isn’t that much to the rest of the story. After three or four drinks on top of what we’d already had, the cow and the potato are doing battle. Bravely–or so the story goes–I managed to choke down the last drag of a cigarette, wrench open the door, and inform G that I was truly well and drunk, because I was about to vomit. Then I went into the bathroom, stayed a bit, and came back out as though nothing had happened.

    I vaguely remember being terrified that everyone would know I had never been truly well and drunk before. I wasn’t worried, as I’d been around these people long enough that I knew noone would really mess with me… I just didn’t want to seem the uncool kid that I actually was. I did have to puke, and I did puke. I managed to strip off my shirt beforehand, so I didn’t get any puke on it. I was in the bathroom that the fastidious roommate used; I knew he stacked his washcloths under the sink, and had normal soap and stuff, and even a plastic cup that held some emergency tampons and pantyliners.

    I’m sure I tried like hell to be quiet (and failed), just like everybody does (and fails). But it was thankfully brief–at least in my mind–and when it was over I was able to wash my face and chest with a cool washcloth, spray some air freshener around the room and on my clothes, and then scrape together my dignity to go back out. I think the dignity thing took the longest.

  3. First time you did anything illegal?

    Um, I’m not sure of the statuate of limitations on THAT. ;)

  4. First time you saw snow/the ocean (whichever is more exotic)?

    I was too young to remember either, really.

  5. First thought when I say “crumple-horned snorcack”?

    That you should put down the crack pipe?

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