The day before I left for college the entire eastern seaboard lost power in Blackout 2003. This fact has nothing to do with how Patsy and I met, but details are necessary to set the scene.
Before college started I thought I would be best friends with my roommate. I had chatted with the girl on the internet and found out we were both queer, liberal, and Irish Catholic. But when she turned out to be a rich, inept cubby girl who walked with a limp and had a vicious lazy eye that always awkwardly followed me around the small room I realized this gimp was a bust. I needed to go out and explore the possibilities of friendship.
Before classes started we had an optional week of volunteer service. My naive desire to change the world was quenched after the first day of service. I was placed at the Red Cross, whom I DETESED after a botched blood donation in high school. On the second day of service everyone in group quit, or were too hung-over to volunteer. I was not told of this phenomena fact so I went all bright eyed and bushy tailed to the ghetto by my lonesome.
At the end of the longest most awkward day of my life I dragged my dress pants and button down suit dressed self and crashed on the floor of our hallway. Keep in mind I was a hardcore kid, I wore band t-shirts, vintage clothing, not dress pants and heels. Soon a bitch session started with the other girls on my floor. Patsy was one of these young ladies.
Patsy had dyed blonde hair, wore a Jew tag, and was obviously the type of girl I would have turned my nose at in high school. She was a preppy, uppity, cheerleader future sorority girl. Yet, there was something about her…
1) She was a local with a car. This meant she knew her way around and was a great resource for an out of the city home cooked meal. I had watched PCU enough times to know that it was important to find the person with a car and make friends with them on the first day.
2) She had the same interest in horrid TV and over the top pop culture. Everyone else looked at me blankly when I mentioned a movie, TV show, or random piece of BS pop culture. But not Patsy she was on my level, no quote was too obscure, no movie too odd.
3) After only about knowing her for a few hours she divulged she had a bad habit of fake kicking people in the crotch. Upon hearing this information I gasped. I confessed I had a problem of really kicking people in the crotch with my combat boots –it was the little indie rock hardcore girl in me-. With one swift fake kick of her high heels I knew, this was my new best dude.
I wish I could quit you,