Okay. I could write about how the show is going. I could write about how I just ate an entire Tostino's pizza because I'm addicted to Green Tabasco sauce. I could write about how I was able to fit in my third-grade panties even though I'm 25. But really. That's not interesting.
And neither is this:
So Ranger. You guys remember right? Yeah. That guy.
Well Ranger recently moved into an apartment of his own. A place he can call Casa El Range, where he can hang his fringe Crockett jacket and sit around and be Ranger, unplugged.
And I'm really really happy for him. It's great. He's going through some Life transitions at the moment, but I do believe that being the sole King of his Own Abode is a fantastic thing.
There's one thing I do miss. Ranger's old roommate, Bastard Boy.
Of course, that's not his real name. His real name is Bastardito Boyson, "Bastard Boy" is just easier to say.
I'm sure that somewhere, out in this giant land of people on the Internet, there is an individual that will be able to relate to the relationship one has with a close friend's roommate. It's a strange and intriguing relation between two human beings: you both have a common link, but the link is that one of you happens to be paying half the rent with the friend of the other. You only know the roommate as the person that lives with your friend. But, in order to have contact with said friend, you must have encounters with the roommate.
Sometimes these encounters are brief and forgetting. Sometimes the encounter is nothing less than a polite exchange of salutations and mindless babble.
With Bastard Boy, however... brief and forgetting is not the case.
Every one of Ranger's friends has had some sort of encounter with Bastard Boy and the tales of such encounters are at times recalled for the sheer sake of saying "Once, I called Ranger and Bastard Boy picked up..." and everyone involved in the conversation will nod their heads in a knowing way because they know what will be conatined within the "..."
"Once I called and he wouldn't stop talking to me like a Pirate that was plundering my village."
"A polite Pirate?"
"Well, of course. But a really really psychotic polite Pirate. He threatened me with scurvy. I was kind of scared."
"I was once on the phone with him for 10 minutes trying to determine if Ranger was at home or was in the backyard skinning an antelope."
"I think he told me that once.."
"Was it an antelope from 1874?"
"Nope. Must have been a different antelope."
Bastard Boy is not crazy. Indeed, not at all. He will engage you in these conversations on purpose, because he knows what you're calling for.... to talk to Ranger..... but, dammitall, you're going to have to take a ride on the Bastard Boy Train because that's what it's going to take if you wanna actually speak with Ranger.
To be honest, when I had my first encounter with Bastard Boy... I was thrown. I should have suspected that Ranger would not have a roommate that was meek and boring. Such a roommate would not compliment what Ranger is.. but, nonetheless, I was amazed and intrigued that someone would actually have such a strange conversation with a person that they didn't even know.
What balls. What a Bastard.
But, as calling Ranger became more and more frequent, so did the encounters with the Bastard Boy.
"Hello. Yes, is Ranger available for conversating purposes?"
"Is this the person that's trying to sell us that Time Machine? We're not interested. We told you to quit calling."
"No. No. I'm calling only to speak in a jolly manner with Ranger."
"Don't lie. I know you're only trying to trick my mind into wanting a Time Machine, but I won't. I won't have another. Not after that first one."
"I'm sure that the first one was only a rare, bad experience that you should deal with. It will make your life easier-- you won't live in such fear of having another subpar experience with a Time Machine."
"THERE YOU GO! YOU'RE TRYING TO TRICK MY MIND WITH YOUR DEMEANOR OF CONCERN, BUT I'M ONTO YOU TELEMARKETER OF TIME MACHINES. I'M ONTO YOUR TRICKS FROM THE FUTURE."
"Drats. You've won this time, Bastard Boy. But I think that you may soon have a call on the other line and we shall soon see that I am the true winner."
"You know this because you're from the future."
"This is true."
"Dammit. Here's Ranger..."
Then Ranger would come to the phone and say something like, "Sorry. My roommate thinks he's funny. But he's not. He's sad on the inside.," and then the conversation would revert to something completely different: why the word 'pudding' is funny, who is really a robot in human skin... why we are, indeed, the smartest people in the world, the usual usual.
But then Ranger moved. Into a place of his own. I actually moved alot of his room into his carport because he had to tend to something important and emergent.. and it was during my throwing his shit (in a gentle manner) into boxes that I realized that, oh no... no more strange encounters on the phone with Bastard Boy. No more calling, expecting to talk to Ranger, but instead getting into a debate over why Blind Date would make a great Jane Austen novel... but only if it were written in Braille.
"I guess you probably want me to help you move some of that asshole's stuff into the carport," Bastard Boy asked from the hallway.
"That would be cool. I guess."
"Well, too bad. I don't have a heart and am not programmed to feel the need to help others when they are most in need. It's a blessing really."
And then he'd turn heel and walk back into his room, looking at pictures of kittens on the internet.
Before I left, I sat and watched a couple of episodes of The Simpsons with him and we slightly discussed something that I'm sure wouldn't make any sense if I tried to retell it.
Then I drove away... knowing that my days of having encounters with Bastard Boy would be few and incredibly far between.
I was talking with Muffin Face the other day and she brought up Bastard Boy as being involved in some sort of plot of weirdness. I felt sad. I felt an emptiness in the "Ranger's Roommate" compartment of my heart. I thought, "Well, sometimes people move out away from their roommates. And sometimes people that are friends with those people that moved out will have to deal with the loss of never talking to the people that they used to live with." I think I read that somewhere in a daily affirmation calendar or something... and it just popped into my mind again because it's so true and easy to remember.
Then, tonight, I tried to call Ranger. But the number I had was incorrect. I dialed numerous times until I was convinced that I had written the number down incorrectly. I called information.. They said the listing for Ranger was unlisted. I called Wakey. I called Muffin Face. No dice. No way of finding Ranger's new number. Oh no! What was I to do?
Yes. I called Bastard Boy. Bastard Boy's new roommate picked up the phone. This voice startled me as it seemed friendly and polite in a sincere way. Shivers of freaky unfamiliarity ran down my spine. Quickly I asked for Bastard Boy.
"Sure. Let me get off the other line so that you can talk to him. I'll make it quick. Please hold."
What a fucking friendly freak.
Soon, the line clicked back on.
"Bastard Boy. I need to use you only for your brain memory skills."
"Is this Leroy?"
"Give me enough time to recover from the shock of hearing your voice, as I'd erased it from my memory because it's too painful to recall you."
"Enough of this chatter, Bastard Boy. We must get on task. I must retrieve Ranger's telephone number from your brain in order to make contact with him."
"Wait. This is part of your mission. You're only trying to shock me by calling here so that you can then awe me and then find all of my hidden weapons of mass destruction."
"I would never do such a thing. I would only encourage you to hide them where they can be easily found later."
"You're right. And I should put a sign next to them so they'll be easier to find."
"This is only, of course... if you had weapons of mass destruction."
"This is only, of course, if I hadn't already hid them in Syria."
"Cereal. I like to eat Cereal. What are you talking about Syria? That's crazy talk."
"Bastard Boy. I need to get Ranger's telephone number from you. I don't have it. I need it."
Well without going into further detail, the covnersation then turned to bartering over how much it would cost to get such information. The original offer was a shiney mint token into Heaven that had Sacajewa on it. But then that turned into something about Native Americans not being able to say the word 'duvet' but that it wasn't their fault because Christopher Columbus couldn't say it either.
Needless to say, it was fulfilling experience that filled the hole for a moment. And I did finally get the number to Ranger's new place. Called. He wasn't home.
I got the answering machine. The cold, lifeless, nonhuman answering machine. I sighed, a bit saddened, but left a message of merriment anyway.
So, appreciate those awkward conversations with your friend's roommate. You may not realize how much you'll miss them, when it's too late and your friend is happy living alone.