The summer of my sophomore year represents three months of the single-most story filled period of my life. Not that I don’t have stories from other periods, just not that many from that short of a time span.
That summer, I shared a studio apartment with two other guys that we took over from my then girlfriend. A studio apartment no bigger than 350 square feet that was cute and homey when she lived in it, and dismally tragic when we did. All of us were over 6 feet tall (leaving roughly 310 square feet left over when we were sleeping), and all of us had our own… “endearing”… foibles. That one, magical summer in Isla Vista has stories with titles such as:
.: I’m coming! I’m coming!
.: Always Wear a Helmet
.: Skate Boards and Tiny Little Rocks
.: Sim City Street Fight
.: Power Out
.: The Subwoofer
.: The Cable Fork
.: The Break Up?
.: The Futon Sans Mattress
.: Purple Rice
.: The Little Toilet That Could‘nt
.: Something Under the Sink is Dirt
Some of the above are good stories, others are merely anecdotal; but they are all real memories from a real time with real friends (whom I still have). What’s more, 3 months and at least 13 stories (I’m sure I have a few more if I think about it)? That averages to about a story every week… if only I’d had a blog then. Then you’d be interested.
Should you care to read about any of the above, feel free to ask. Be forewarned, though, some of those you had to be there for, others are downright tragic, and then others are actually pretty funny.