Peeling

I stoled some more of my roommate's weaksauce salsa today because I just had to. It tasted like tomato. I like tomato, but salsa needs more to it. Like, spice.

What I wrote late last night: I was grading at the kitchen table where the Good Roommate was working, and I left for a moment to look at the website because the assignment made no sense - the listing of problems had no relation whatsoever to the book they gave me. In the moment I was gone, the Infidel Roommate takes my seat and starts reading his book about locally compact groups! Normally, this would not be a problem, but I had just lent my other chairs out to the neighbours [as well as my lighter, but that's beside the point]. And he has a desk that is, frankly, quite clear at the moment! Or, at the least, not covered with a giant pile of my papers with textbooks lying open! He could have pulled his own chair up to the table to work, as well, at some place which was not obviously my work area! And when I ran out of my salsa, I stole some of his and it was so weaksauce! It was like it was just tomatoes or something! The table is big enough for four people to work, really, so there's no excuse for taking somebody else's clearly demarcated work area, especially if you're just going to read a bloody book.

And his girlfriend is napping so I can't rock out! I had this Icelandic organ music ready to go!

It's all true! He left shortly afterward and I did my grading, but Woman did not cease to sleep. NO ICELANDIC MUSICS FOR ME.