The Painting of the Brick and other conversations

Posted: September 15, 2009 in School Daze
Tags: , ,

Have you ever painted a brick?  “Why would you want to?” you might ask me.  Well, allow me to explain this. The Painting of the brick was a social event set up by our Resident Assistants.  Our doors are so heavy that they actually require a brick to be propped open.  We are supposed to use them for the Open Door Nights that are set throughout the semester.  In this case, the first one is on Sunday, September 20th.

Since I came back this past sunday, I’ve been seeing signs all over the place about “Come paint a brick with your RA for open door nights!”  Okay, that sounds reasonable until I saw that said event would start at 10:15 pm.  My first thought was, “Who the hell schedules an event at 10:15 at night? Is someone on crack?”

So I guess I decided I’d do it.  My roommate and I went down around 10 to get a jump on it (whilst I complained about the time all the way down). It turned out to be quite a fun event really; there weren’t a ton of people (who could blame them, it sounded lame as hell) sitting on the floor painting bricks.  My roommate and I sat with a group of underclassmen – all girls – who were taking their time painting beautiful names and other things to their ugly, dull red bricks.  Me? I smeared paint in an attempt to be artsy and the result can be found below.  While we were down there, my roommate made his look like it was bleeding and said, “This represents what the university is trying to do to me to get me to pay tuition: get blood from a brick.” All the silly girls laughed.

The one next to me is who came up with the brilliant idea of smearing the paint on it, because I was just putting colors on it in no real fashion.  She said, “You should finger paint it!” So I did.  A 33 year old man fingerpainting on a brick.  Now that was something to see.


It's a brick.

On my way back Sunday evening, I parked my car in the garage across campus.  As I was walking out, I overheard this conversation:

First Girl:  “That cab smelled so bad!”

Second Girl: “What cab?”

Third Girl: “The one we were in last night.”

First Girl: “That wasn’t last night, it was friday night.”

Second Girl: “What cab?”

Third Girl: “It was last night”

First Girl: “No it wasn’t! It was friday night. We’ve only been in one cab this weekend.”

Second Girl: “We rode in a cab?”

Third Girl: “You were too drunk to remember.”

First Girl: “So were you, because it was friday.” (snorts of laughter)

Third Girl: “You threw up in the cab LAST NIGHT that’s why it smelled so bad!” (Bad tempered mumbling)

The point of this? None of them even knew when they had been in the cab.  They probably weren’t in a cab at all, but most likely the first girl puked in someone’s car.  Just say no to binge drinking if you can’t even remember where you went or how you got there.

It was very hard to sleep last night.  Someone above me, who shall remain nameless, was making a certain squeak-squeak sound with their bed that was immediately identifiable. I blame the girl with the Swedish boyfriend (she wouldn’t stop talking about him, in fact, her brick was painted to look like the Swedish flag) and they really don’t want me to get out of bed and come up there and bang on their door.  Sex in this building would be damned near impossible. Hell, just getting myself on my bed makes a lot of racket, swinging the bed around because they suck.  Sex just makes all the noise louder.  It sounded like they were going so hard the bed was sliding all over the damned floor, at two in the damned morning!

She doesn’t want my advice, because I would tell her to just stand up for sex, but she’d probably not be able to figure it out.  I certainly don’t feel like drawing a schematic to explain what I mean.  However, rest assured that if it keeps me awake again, there will be hell to pay. I’m completely fine that people have sex; I just don’t want to hear it.

A quick idea of her frame of mind:

Her: “I love puff paint!”
Me: “Puff paint was so popular when I was in middle school……… in 1986”
Her: “OMG! I wasn’t even born then!”
Another Girl: “Me either!   Who is Jackson Pollock?”

She totally missed the sarcasm of my comment about how long ago puff paint was actually a viable artistic method.  She’s a nice girl.  I made a Jackson Pollock reference and everyone except my roommate just stared at me.  What do they teach these kids in High School?

Time to return to studying.  There will be more as encounter it!

  1. ieatmypigeon says:

    Your best yet, Rookwood. Hilarious, visual, and biting.

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