Saturday night Noah, Erin, Jenn and I came back from the bars, our first night out as new roommates. And things got a little crazy.
Some of you might remember the Scootskate, from such tales as how I rescued it from being taken by Indians at my grandma's house, and how I tried to ride it down a huge hill and ended up breaking myself and my cell phone. Well, the Skootskate is no more.
When Jenn moved in, we decided she was going to be the Kolleen-replacement; aka, the calm one. Erin is 22, a recent college grad and former Lacrosse player, with all the party-acumen that derives from that combination of traits. In fact, she informed us in her interview that her nickname was "Crazy" (in the good way). So a perfect replacement for Brian, we thought. On the other hand, Jenn is 25 and works in business, used to be in med school, and self-proclaimedly "doesn't party or drink that much." So we figured maybe she'd be the sane one. Boy, were we wrong.
At 3:30am Saturday night (or Sunday morning, I guess), Jenn had the Scootskate in her hand and was leading our friend Louis outside to ride it with her, bobsled-style, down the cement luge-course that is Paulina Avenue. On his way out, Louis looked at me with horrified eyes.
"Dude, talk me out of this."
Unfortunately for Louis, I was a little past talking anybody out of anything, and instead went outside to watch. The Scootskate gained speed as it rolled down the pavement, Jenn "steering" in the front and Louis "breaking" in the back. But as Scootskates have neither steering nor brakes, before long Jenn and Louis were careening out of control down the middle of empty Paulina, toward the busier Beryl. Louis's face was as white as a black guy's face can be, but Jenn squealed with glee as she leaned capriciously to the left, toward the curb outside of our house, and...
CRUNCH! The Scootskate hit the curb, Louis hit Jenn, and Jenn's crotch hit the front handle, snapping it foward, right off the base of the Scootskate. Now Jenn's jubiliant cry turned sour, as a new yell went up at top volume, echoing through our neighborhood...
"OWWWWWWW! I broke my Cooter-bone!"
Jenn had not, indeed, broken her Cooter-bone, as she called it, but I'm sure there must have been a bruise. The Scootskate certainly was feeling the hurt. Injury-level aside, Jenn continued to wail, even as our neighbor came out to yell at us.
"What's the matter with you!?" vituperated the neighbor. "It's three in the morning!"
"But I broke my Hoo-ha!" retorted Jenn, her incisive rebuttal leaving the neighbor speechless. I don't know what she was in medical school for; she should have been a lawyer.
Erin and I quelled the neighbor as Louis and Noah escorted Jenn back inside to get an icepack. It was at this point that I noticed exactly how fucked the Scootskate was. Not just fucked... proper fucked.
I wandered back inside, one piece of the former Scootskate in each hand. "Wow Jenn," I exclaimed. "You really broke the fuck out of this Skootskate."
"Yeah, well, I really broke the fuck out of my Cooter!" she replied, tieing an icepack to herself like a jock strap.
I unceremoniously threw the Scootskate in the trash. We'd been through a lot together, but no amount of duct tape was going to patch that thing back into riding condition. And even if we could get it together, Jenn would probably just ride it down another hill and contuse some other part of her reproductive system.
My nickname around the house is Peej, Noah's nickname is N! (said by clicking one's tongue against the bottom of one's mouth), Erin's nickname is Crazy... And Saturday, we found a sobriquet we can all agree on for Jenn...