"Scalpped"

I had the pleasure of meeting another one of my future college roommates during the fall semester of 1990, thanks to the Mont Alto soccer program. Scalp was a fellow defenseman that lacked overwhelming skill, much like yours truly. Scalp also had a hairline that retreated quicker than the French, a possible foreshadowing of what the author is now experiencing. It should also be noted that Scalp and the author had actually played a soccer game against one-another in high school, a game in which Scalp’s team was thoroughly embarrassed by Interboro High School, 2-0 (Shamdoggies, baby!!!!!).

Scalp seemed like a normal enough person at first, as the author got to know him on a 3-mile run as part of a soccer practice warm-up. Scalp was in excellent physical shape, as he jogged extra slowly so that he could make sure that the author didn’t dehydrate as he struggled and dry heaved with every step. Unfortunately, Scalp was not in as excellent of shape mentally. The writer thought that heavy partying in high school was the culprit, but soon realized that this was not the case.

Scalp had mentioned to the author once that his girlfriend had gotten crabs from swimming in a contaminated swimming pool, or at least that is what she said. Yours truly knew that if Scalp would believe this, Scalp would probably believe anything. On more than one occasion, the writer proved this theory to be factual, by convincing Scalp that outlandish, made-up stories, were in fact true, such as the author being close friends with the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus.

But for what Scalp lacked in educational motivation, he made up with his heart of gold. Scalp could be counted on to come through in the pinch, whether it was to get the next round of drinks, or to make sure Fred Green was in the house. Plus, Scalp would laugh at your jokes no matter how bad they were (again, the author has tons of proof). But most of all, he was enjoyable to be around, and threw a mean game of darts.

The Day I Met SOMF

As an incoming freshman to the greatest University on God’s green Earth (sorry, Notre Dame), I couldn’t wait to get started on my, sure to be illustrious, college career. I chose to go to Penn State Mont Alto, mainly because the thought of starting of school at a large campus such as University Park made me a bit queasy (translation - I was scared sh*tless.). And, although Penn State had a campus close to home, I wanted to get as far away from home as inexpensively possible. Now, mind you, I didn’t have anything against my parents, but I really thought that going to college whilst living at home would not provide me with the “college life” that I so eagerly anticipated…..I was probably right, as you will see in future articles.

SOMF was the first of the future roommates that I met, basically during an ice-breaking game that our ditzy, yet hot, R.A. came up with. SOMF initially seemed a lot like me – he had blonde hair, liked soccer, was majoring in engineering, and was going to Penn State Mont Alto as well. However, I would soon find out that SOMF and I had many, many differences.

My first indication of these differences was on the soccer field. SOMF and I both tried out for and made the Penn State Mont Alto soccer team. Now, before anybody gets the idea that this was a tremendous accomplishment, let me add that the Mont Alto soccer team had never, ever made the playoffs up to that point. In fact, the campus had such overwhelming faith in us, that they asked the R.H. for Mont Alto Hall to be our coach. The first words out of his mouth to our team were “I know a lot of sports…..but I don’t know anything about soccer.” We were in good hands.

The similarities that SOMF and I had on the soccer field ended at “we both like soccer.” SOMF was more of a finesse player who had developed excellent skills in the sport. Now, I could “play” soccer, but that wasn’t really my strong point. I was more of hitter, which is kind of frowned upon in soccer. Also, I was an agitator, which meant I did and said anything I could to get under everybody’s skin. If you know me personally, you know this gift comes naturally.

In addition to being a better soccer player than yours truly, SOMF also listened to music that apparently attracted more females to him than to me. Groups that SOMF really enjoyed included bands such as R.E.M., the Cure, ENYA, Echo and the Bunnymen, and Jesus Jones. Bands that I “gravitated” towards included The Rolling Stones, the Stones, The Glimmer Twins, Mick Jagger, and Keith Richards. Apparently, this wasn’t diverse enough for the fairer sex…..at least not the pretty ones.

I had first met SOMF during our icebreaker, and he wasn’t wearing glasses. But then, later that night while I was in my room watching TV, SOMF once again graced me with his presence, this time wearing really thick glasses (like George Papadopolous on Webster). I must have been suffering from the Clarke Kent/Superman syndrome, because I had no idea who this “nerd” was, and why this “nerd” was so intent on me hearing the Cinderella mix tape that he had, for some reason unbeknownst to the author, made. But SOMF did have some redeeming qualities. First, and foremost, SOMF had enough composure to be able to handle hanging out with yours truly for extended periods of time without experiencing nausea, or going insane. Secondly, SOMF had a similar sense of humor as compared to the author. Thirdly, SOMF liked to drink alcohol. These three qualities were the sole reason that SOMF and LOS became friends, and then eventually roommates (not in a gay way).

Please don't let me.......

These are the words that I heard on more than one occasion by "tiny," our 6-foot, 6-inch, 350 pound mound-of-a-roommate, prior (and during) one of our typical alcohol-induced nights. The first time I heard it was when the five of us, along with a few other friends, scurried to one of our usual haunts, the Gingerbread Man (or the G-Man, for short).

While in line to enter our watering hole, Tiny looked back at me and utterd the grim phrase "Please don't let me buy any rounds of shots." A few thoughts raced through my mind. First, why would I stop anybody from assisting me in getting drunk? Second, why would I stop anybody from paying for a round of shots? Third, he never listens to a word I say anyway, so why would he start listening now?

It took about 30 minutes, before I had to make my first trip to "the little boys' room." After finishing up the first of many trips to relieve myself (my blatter is the size of a microchip, and processes my beer about the rate of a super-charged pentium IV chip), I returned to the table we had annexed, to discover 2 rounds of shots per person. Immediately, I turned to say something to Tiny, when he covered my mouth with one of his gargantuan hands, and uttered, "Relax, dude!" If I am not mistaken (alcohol has a way of clouding up one's memory), this happened at least a handful more times.

After Tiny and I used "the force" to make our way back to our humble apartment, Tiny once again begged me to not let him "call Gumby's Pizza and order pizza and Pokey sticks on a credit card." You see, Gumby's was the only pizza place in town at the time that offered the option of paying for delivered pizza with a credit card over the phone. Of course, this was a dangerous situation for any college student, but Tiny used his credit card about as often as most people brush their teeth (Tiny's oral hygiene was lacking in college, so I decided not to make the comparison to his tooth-brushing habits or lack thereof).

Once again, thoughts raced through my mind......actually, because of the intoxication, they more realistically crawled through my mind. First, I'm hungry, and if he does order, it is always better to eat free food. Second, Gumby's rules! Third, I have to take another piss.

After taking my 100th bathroom break of the night, I entered the living room to see Tiny getting off of the phone. "Who were you calling," I slurred. "My girlfriend," he grunted back. Now, maybe it was because I was drunk, but I believed him. Normally, Tiny would spend the night at his girlfriend's place, so I should've known something was up. As it turns out, about 25 minutes later, there was a knock at the door, and sure enough, Gumby's had a delivery for a Mr. Robinson. Again, as I was about to turn and say something, Tiny grabbed my mouth with his super-human hand and said, "relax, dude."

Of course, the next morning, Tiny blamed me for making him buy the shots and pizza.