When Octopi Attack

Recently a close friend was forced to find a new roommate; as these situations tend to go, most of the search was out of her hands. She ended up living with an Octopus.

Henceforth, we'll call my friend "Merissa." Merissa is a gentle, churchgoing soul. She is so quiet that people often think she's mad at them even when she's not. She will quietly put up with inconveniences, with a patience that is only known in scripture. She is a true and loyal friend. And yet she suffers. Like all true heroes, she must face her nemesis. Unfortunately for Merissa, it's on a daily basis.

Not long ago I passed by Merissa's apartment so that we could go shopping. I rang the doorbell, and something not quite human answered the door: a high pitched squawking/squealing noise greeted me (imagine the sound of so many Turkeys gobbling in the night; but high pitched turkey gobbling, perhaps a Jamie Lee Curtis Turkey in a Thanksgiving Day version of the movie Halloween). The auditory assault was only part of it. Arms (and somehow legs) practically coming at me as in a 3D movie, no bra (YES answering the door with no bra on), all of these appendages flying akimbo. It does not help that her very long, fairly thick brown hair is braided in such a way that long thick tentacle-braids are randomly popping forth out of her head. These too swing around with her frantic exuberance. After this, I began calling Merissa's roommate "the Octopus." Of course.

Every so often I would see the Octopus on the elevator, complaining to friends that she's failing classes. In fact, just yesterday, I caught the Octopus in a quiet common lounge in the facility where Merissa and I work, listening to her cell phone voicemail on fucking speaker phone, so loud that everyone could hear every phone number, every message, every fuckin prompting to press one to hear the next message, press three to change your greeting, press five if you think the Octopus is a scary Loco Rican. WHO FUCKIN DOES THAT?!?!?! The Octopus. That's right. {I totally forgot to tell Merissa that; she's going to laugh her ass off when she reads it.}

So this morning I walk into work, minding my own business (which is generally where I go wrong) and Merissa hands me a note written in hot pink highlighter on white printer paper. It reads:

"'Merissa,' I am so, sorry, I kid you not, my underwear of all things, literally went down the drain of the bathtub! I put the water on & bamb!! Crazy!, I am so sorry Never again )8"

So yeah. The Octopus managed to accidentally lose her underwear down the open drain of the bathtub. WHO FUCKIN DOES THAT?!?! HOW IS THAT FUCKIN ACCOMPLISHED?!?!?! She's got 32 fuckin appendages, why doesn't she just stick one down there and retrieve her skank-ass undies?!?!!?!?!?

Let this be a cautionary tale, kids. Avoid the Octopus at all costs. You'll know her if you see her, because chances are, she will be doing something very fucking distracting and very fucking stupid.