Roofies I: Rooferoo

It is 1 a.m.

I feel like Anthony Bourdain from the Travel and Living channel. I seriously do. Because what better way to spend the midnight in the midst of untamed, untouched beauty with something spicy to munch on?

Okay, fine, there isn’t any untamed or untouched beauty. Well, not on this roof anyway. Yeah, you heard me. I’m on the roof of my house and I tell you, it feels GOOD! I am on the top of the world! Er, well, that would be on Mt. Everest…. well… I am…. on top of the roof!

Okay, wait, can you say on top of the roof? Or is it just on the roof? Oh, well, I suppose I might as well say on the roof.

So. Back to the roof. Well. No need to raise your eyebrows in apprehension (or some of you might be wondering whether I am psychotically damaged to be on a roof… fine fine, be cynical, I don’t care. Okay, fine, I suppose I do suffer from cases of brain redundancies).

Yet, it is the truth. I really AM on the roof. Accompanied by a jar of mango pickle I snuck from the kitchen and a note pad. Moi being on the roof is the cold hard truth. (Does cold hard truth seem unconventional? Because it’s usually cold hard cash or cold hard facts, not cold hard truth… people normally say bitter truth. But I think cold hard truth is just as expressive as bitter truth. Pfft. Whatever. I don’t care what others say. Much).

Why am I talking about cold hard things anyway? Hmm… If you lived in the Arctic regions or in a freezer, everything would be cold and hard wouldn’t they? Except maybe boobs. And, um, some other things I could mention :P. Anyway. Hmmmm….. Oh, wait, I can see someone in the neighboring house.

Okay fine, I know I am not supposed to be Peter the Peeper (who the hell is that anyway? Oh yeah, he’s in my imagination) but I can’t help it. Oh. Its THAT house. I think it’s that house. I have to squint. Wait…. OH YES! It IS that house. It’s the house of the Kid Who Wears Green Shorts on Sundays. Let me tell you something about this kid: His life’s greatest love is carrots.

Yes, carrots.

Well, he loves carrots, for some reason, unknown to moi. And how do I know this? Why I see the fellow sitting on the steps of his house, munching on carrots every single afternoon of the week, week-ends and national holidays excluded. What more proof do you want, really?

Okay, so I might have been mistaking orange Jumbo Jolly for carrots. One can never say…. But you don’t crunch on Jumbo Jolly do you (unless you’re The Type That Bites Ice Cream)?

Which leads me to wonder…. could this boy possibly been a rabbit in a previous life? Who knows… It could be possible. Maybe Maggiya down the lane was a troll in her previous life.

Mrs. Maggilin I mean (Note to cerebral cortex: do NOT call the woman Maggiya)

Ahh… I remember what happened the last time I called her Maggiya. I was six and there she was, in my grandma’s house just next door, and I called her Maggiya in her presence. How was I to know it would offend her? I was six, I didn’t even know what offence meant! Puh-lease! So, well, she was so offended that my grandma punished me.

How was I punished?

Well. Let’s just say that my butt has never been on fire like that ever since. Not even the time I sat on a radiator. Injustice I tell you. She and The Maggiya were bosom friends since they were kids, back when world was inhabited by dinosaurs. Those two mother henn-ish meansters deserve each other. Evil Hench Twins, that’s what they are.

Oh look. The moon. Hmm. I see you moon! Woohoo! Helloooo! Hellooo Moonlings! Hello Tiny Green Moon Men! Helloooooo!

Okay, they can’t hear me. I’m slipping back into the house for some more mango pickle and then to continue my sweet and sour hours of midnight solitude on the roof.

Hmmm.

" I used to be love drunk
But now I’m hungover
I’ll love you forever
Forever is over "
- Boys Like Girls