Early Morning Snooping

Some mornings, I wake up and I go read in our living room until the rest of my roommates wake up. It's peaceful, relaxing, and it's one of the few times when it feels like I have the entire apartment to my self.

So, this morning when I woke up, I go in there, as per usual, after having some really weird dreams (like that I was dating this girl and we went out to dinner and had a $250 check and I was freaking out...so strange...and the restaurant kind of looked like Stix in Birmingham). Regardless, I was going to go sit on the couch, read some of Vonnegut's Hocus Pocus, and plan my day hanging out with Val and Sophie.

But, then I started looking around. Okay, Tom and Hollywood's bedroom door is closed. That's a little odd, because Tom usually leaves it cracked when he stumbles in late from a night of debauchery. But I don't really think anything of it.

Then, I see a pair of jeans laying on the ground. I pick them up and try to remember if they're mine. No, I threw my jeans in my closet last night. So, I just assume their Tom's, but they don't really look like his. So, I start going through the pockets. I find an iPhone with a text message that I don't recognize (hey, I'm an amateur detective, and his stuff was in my house), but, then again, Tom has an iPhone, so that wasn't definitive proof.

Further, the underwear that had been carelessly left on the couch did not necessarily serve as proof positive that this was someone new...I mean, Tommy could have been plastered, gotten naked in the living room, and then gone to bed. Hasn't that happened to the best of us? (not really, no...)

But, then Sophie got up and joined the hunt, finding the dude's wallet. I always carry my wallet in my bag, jacket, or front pocket because I don't like to be off-center when I'm sitting down, so I completely missed it. But, apparently "America" (name changed to protect the probably hungover) spent the night last night, and spent some naked time on my couch. Which means I have to buy some Lysol while I'm out today.

And I almost slept on the couch last night. God, that would have been awkward.

My roommates may not be the classiest bitches west of the Mississippi, but life in 205 is never not interesting.

Update: Upon further investigation (aka we found his keys), we discovered that he is a Stanford alum who drives a BMW, and is a member of the YMCA. The jeans are Rock and Republic, the shoes are Kenneth Cole. God, we're some nosy bitches.

Update 2: "He was about average, and I am not about average." So, at least we know that about this guy now. He got up and left. Tom is a hot mess. The guy was Middle Eastern and seemed sort of closeted, but then again, how well do you know somebody from glaring at them over a gin and tonic as they walk of shame?