Poker? I don't Even Know Her.

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Ah, the enigmatic final installment of this blog will entail some groovy details about my bro named Alex. In essence, I love to play online card games. My love of all card games is by no means an addiction, but is occassionally revealed to Alex. I play fairly often, and I love to exude confidence in my dorm room by wearing shades and chewing gum. I frequently mix up what I play, whether it is gin rummy, spades, hearts, or bridge. Big Alex walked in on me one day as I had just shot the moon and masterfully walloped my opponents in hearts. The uncontrollable excitement that engulfed me was quite welcomed by him, and he asked what exactly I was doing. Upon explaining my preemptive wave of emotion, I informed him that hearts is a game where you either want all hearts (and the Q of spades), or none of those red beauties. He seemed exhilarated by the game,and then said, "The lowest score is what you want, and you force 26 points on your opponents if you run them, right?" I was inevitably stunned that he was sandbagging me the whole time. The rascal then revealed that he has also been known to play spades and gin. Since this epiphany of mine, I have systematically challenged him to certain games on certain days to give me the advantage. Of course four people is most ideal when playing these card games, so we entice our suitemates to join us in the fun. He gets the suitemate that is more experienced, so teams are fairly even. I had to teach big Al bridge, and endlessly repeat the specifics of points for rank, and the corresponding bids or passes one should make in different situations. My team consistently whips Alex's team in bridge and spades, but he usually comes out victorious in hearts. He becomes easily flusterd in bridge when I acknowledge his mistakes in taking a trick to get a bag or some other minute error, and he responds angrily. While it is funny to watch, he gets heated, and challenges my manhood through his comments. In the end though, we have found a very entertaining way to pass some of our extra free time.

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The Adventurer

Recently, Big Alex has developed an overwhelming urge to explore various locales, some of which I am not even very familar with. The lad inspired me to go to Sonic with him, and it was the first time I had visited since my peach fuzz on my upper lip consumed my thoughts. I think Alex was intrigued at the specific way they executed business. I suppose he was not very familar with the idea that a fast food restaurant came to our car, which was in a parking space a couple dozen yards away from the main vein of production. I also had not eaten at a place that did not provide a drive-thru option, but still delivered your food to you without you ever having to exit your vehicle. Sonic is a fairly unique vendor, in terms of how they handle the transactions, while Taco Cabana subscribes to the norm. We later went to the Mexican restaurant, and Alex seemed to also find it quite groovy. He had that look in his eye that resembled the late, great Pancho Villa (Mexican outlaw). We both thoroughly enjoyed the experience of "being in Mexico," according to Big Al. Upon realizing how different types of restaurants could provide a significant happiness to someone, I became consumed with thinking that it was almost the door to another culture. It left us wanting to do more and more research on different aspects to the preferences certain people have to obtain nourishment for their physical being. Needless to say, my pocket is empty, and I have got to impose a bit of self-discipline on my eating habits. However, my excuse is that I am now much more knowledgeable into other cultures, and how could I not put German fudge in a cup to spook my Tanzanian bud?

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This installment features my Tanzanian roommate and my late night discussions. As all of you (my two followers) have probably noticed, it has been bone-chilling for the majority of the past couple of weeks, so me and my roommate thought heated discussions might warm-ups up a tad. Recently, we have both been enduring excruciating workouts in the weight room. Ergo, we have initiated a competition pertaining to who could provide the most ideal workout for the most muscle growth and strength. This little debate has basically assumed a position as prerequisite to me emptying myself for sleep. I attempt to soften him up and catch him off guard by stating, "You know, big man, you are starting to look like Denzel Washington," and he cleverly turns my attempt right back on me by murmuring, "What? Did Arnold Schwarzenegger just say I looked like Denzel?" He may have exposed this tactic of mine, but I plan on creatively devising others. We both attempt to devise systems that are fairly rigorous and maximize various regiments that correlate into optimal muscle evolution. While we both try to mix up our muscle's stress factors, his preferred methods involve many repetitions of a fairly rigorous weight. My tendency is to devise a system that includes many sets of heavy weight with a relatively low amount of repetitions. He disclaims my ideas by often saying, mind you with an oversized smile on his face, "Yeah, your routine would definitely assist Rocky in becoming a beast." I learned that one of my heroes, the Italian Stallion, was not only my hero, but also Alex's entire family's. He revealed that all fourteen of his family members had seen it, and this allowed a good male bonding session as we relentlessly complimented the pure motivational genius of the anthology. This lessened the effect of his sardonic comment, but still led me to believe that he was hinting that my routine is outdated. My instincts often devise an inferior comeback that resembles, "Well, can you please help me find out why I am bigger than you when you have all the modern techniques?" It is all in good fun. However, I went pretty far one night by pouring shredded peanuts on his face while seductively whispering, "Hey, yo, Adrian." He pretend to be calm and collected, but I could tell he was enraged. A couple nights later, I woke up to the glorious discovery of eggs encomppassing my pajamas in an unfavorable fashion, and he exacted revenge as elegantly as a cat. However, we have somehow managed to retain our friendship.

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Big Man on Campus

Lately, me and my Tanzanian roommate have bonded by listening to each other's preference in music. My pal introduced me to a variety of the music popular in his home country, and the beautiful Swahili language truly produces sounds that my ears found highly intriguing and entertaining. I exacted revenge by forcing him to listen to my preferences including: Aerosmith, Led Zeppelin, ZZ Top, the Ying Yang Twins, Lil Wayne, Lynrd Skynyrd, and Eddie Money. The harmonious tunes I jammed seemed to provoke a feeling of admiration within his innards. He may repudiate this secret, but he told me something to the effect of, "Michael, man, I find this music soothing to my very core. Thanks for letting me listen to your hooks." Inevitably, I was overwhelmed with excitement after discovering that we seemed to share a rather brilliant taste in music. However, my proudest accomplishment in terms of interacting with him has to be the moments I relish my rhetoric ability. I was always taught to pronounce quesadilla, "case-a-dillya." While trying to integrate my beliefs into his English beliefs, I told him that it is proper to pronounce words like quesadilla or tortilla with a "ya" sound at the conclusion of the word. Initially, he laughed at me and probably thought I was just being funny, but he eventually came to say the Spanish words the way I do. I attribute my monumental accomplishment to my relentless determination and perseverance, as I continuously allowed him to hear the way I spoke.

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The Tanzanian Express

As most people probably would, I had mixed emotions upon learning that I was going to be in constant contact with a foreigner. I knew he must be intelligent and highly courageous to come to a country very far away from everyone that he knew and loved, so I respected him from the beginning. This big man later revealed that he was the first from his family to ever step an inspired foot on American soil. I have successfully brainwashed him into becoming a Dallas Cowboys fanatic while he should be credited with peaking my interest in world soccer. Undoubtedly, we have got along quite well because we have been very courteous to each other. He is from Tanzania, and he often makes subtle remarks dealing with how much more developed the United States is when compared to many countries in Africa. He has reinforced and amplified my feeling of unbelievable gratitude in terms of realizing how lucky I am to live in the greatest country in the world. In addition, my bud is a Christian similar to myself. He has assisted me by making sure I am making time for my spiritual life. I also thoroughly enjoy hearing his words of encouragement after a grueling day of football practice.

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