My A in AP English was earned by personality, not by skill as a poet.

A collection of haikus, inspired by and dedicated to my former roommate. The only thing more embarrassing than me writing a collection of poetry to her is, well, the writing of said poetry.

Please note: I use the term 'haiku' lightly.
Also: I love nothing more than to play with formatting, punctuation, capitalization and other things that normal people find mundane. Judge away.

Generosity-
Your house made me feel like home.
I hate spiders too

Your name starts with L
Laura, Lana, Lisa?
Only time will tell.

You are very blonde.
Do you spell that with an e?
I am not a poet.

Folks, let it be known that I don't write poetry for just anyone. In fact, I haven't written a poem since the poetry unit in Mr Yogi's English class -- early 2004, I believe. This is how much I love this girl.

Our love story plays as such:
As we're driving down Plymouth on the way home from a girl date at the end of September, I tell Former Roommate the story about how I had moved four times between April and August, how I had worked for four days at Panera, and how I was now looking at moving home to try to find a job in Down(onourluck)river, MI. She looks at me from the driver seat of her 198something luxury sedan, smiles and says simply, why don't you live with me?

But Former Roommate, I asked, don't you live in a one-bedroom apartment?
Yes, what's your point? I think it'll be fun!, was her reply.

And so it was. She selflessly gave me half of her closet, half of the fridge and half of her bed (with mandatory, clothing-optional pillow fights every night, of course). She also charged me pennies for rent. This beautiful, blond(e), spider-hating girl saved me financially and socially.

So, Laura, thank you for everything. I hope Matt knows just what kind of girl he has!

Brother, call home more. Mom and dad miss you.

My brother called home yesterday, much to the joy of our mother, who insists on shouting into the telephone whenever he calls.

Mom, I know he's in Alaska. He can hear you just fine... as can the neighbors.

Brother and I chatted a bit about how cold it is in Artic Circle, AK (-40ish degrees Farenheit; their idea of winter), how warm it is here in Boringsville, MI (40ish degrees Farenheit; a heatwave!), and how cold it will get in High Atlas Mountains, Morocco (40ish degrees Farenheit; their idea of a low). It'll be just like home... except for the lack of indoor heating, personal cars and ability to speak the language.

The most memorable part of the conversation was when I told Brother that I found out that I'd be arriving in Casablanca, shacking up in a hotel in Beni-Mellal and eventually training in the vicinity of Azilal. His reaction was this:

"Oh my God, OH MY GOD! I'm going to Google the shit out of those cities!"

Ah, Brother. I can only hope our Skype conversations will be as colorful.

Speaking of family, I'm officially moved out of my apartment in Fake Ypsi, and am back to living at home with the parentals on The Island. A swift kick to my independence, yes. Death to my social life, yes. I will, however, be showered with our baby's leaving us gifts before I blow this popsicle stand next month. Before that happens, however, I feel the need thank Roommate with a post dedicated to her and her generous offer to take little, homeless, starving me in from the cold. Either that, or a haiku about how pretty she is... whichever will be more embarrassing. :)