12 July 2011

Dead. Baby. Birds.

Sooo, I have a roommate.

I'm not going to lie, it's totally weird; I'm experiencing culture shock. At the same time, it's totally cool. I like it.

The best part is, he's escorted me on a few bike rides and now I'm venturing from one end of town to the other. I've put more than 50 miles on my bike in the last week. It's not much, but it's GREAT for me!

Me, monkeying around at the fairgrounds.

The best part is me leaving a list of things I need help with and coming home to several of them accomplished. But the problem is, he jokes around so much that it's hard to know when he's being serious.

Him: I got most of that gutter cleaned out, but the downspout is clogged right in the middle.

Me: (being sarcastic) Dead. Baby. Birds.

Him: Yeah, that's probably what it is.

(My inner monologue): He looks serious.

Me: Dude. (??)

Him: You didn't see that nest?

(My inner monologue): He's serious.

Him: Yeah, there was like, a whole nest. It was right there where all the gutters meet and funnel into the downspout. The nest was empty. So I think you're right; the gutter is probably clogged with dead baby birds.

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Listening to: Modest Mouse - Parting of the Sensory
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