Smells Like Fleetch Spirit

This post has been a month in the making. Well, I say that but what I mean is that for a month I have been telling myself I should write it, rather than actively working on it. Nevertheless, I finally got around to it, so ladies and gentleman, it is with the utmost pleasure that I introduce the friend who is currently staying with me. I refer to her as 'Fleetch' (a combination of 'flatmate' and 'leech', as we are inevitably found hanging around the other's bedroom whispering singsonging phrases like "Hey... WHATCHA DOING?" in a purposefully annoying way) and she refers to me likewise. A fleetch is for life, not just for a summer, so taking one in is not a decision to be made lightly, and not everyone can be a fleetch. It requires a special personality to match your own in such a way that you only have to raise an eyebrow in a certain way for your fleetch to catch on, or utter a certain word in order for your fleetch to know exactly what you're thinking. After some training, your fleetch may be able to conduct whole conversations through the use of subtle facial expressions, although for best results this should not be attempted while drunk.

This month has been incredibly entertaining. We have built up so many in-jokes (that she is actually my sister from another mister, the particular voice we use addressing each other which is reminiscent of Terence and Phillip and suggests that mischief is about to be planned poorly and carried out swiftly, the awful films we've spent hours mocking together, our matching Zombie Protection Squad trucker caps and Red Dwarf 'Chameleonic Lifeforms - No Thanks!' tshirts). I'm sadly very aware that she's probably going back to the States soon and there is a time limit on the fun, which has possibly only increased our enjoyment of it.

Fleetch can often be found cuddled up on the couch with one or more cats in a strange, bestial pack-sleeping formation or simply wandering around the flat singing songs with the word 'fleetch' inserted into them (much like the Muff Game mentioned in a previous post) such as "She Wants To Fleetch", "Son Of A Fleetcher Man" and of course, the classic Nirvana song of the title of this post. In our spare time we've been known to paint bowling pins to look like otters and pirates, spend hours joyously discussing how epic the new hoover is and even more time trying to decide on a theme for the living room - so far we're going with Beach Party and I've already sourced some genius inflatable animals which I fully intend to purchase on my next payday.

My fleetchbro likes to leave me banana notes (please see photographic evidence below) instead of Post-Its, which is an important and economical way of exchanging messages in these hard recession times.

She has also been known to burst into the bathroom while I am brushing my teeth to take mock hiphop photos, because "dental hygiene is important, yo" (more photographic evidence - note I am discovering how uncomfortable it feels to laugh hysterically with a toothbrush in one's mouth) and despite my best efforts she's created an album of these called 'Fleetchsta's Paradise' on Facebook.

In addition to all this wonderousness, today is her birthday, so here's my toast - Fleetch, if I had a glass I'd raise it to you. And then I'd drink it, and you'd pour me another, and it would end up being one of those weekends again where we don't sleep for 36 hours because we're too busy partying with hot foreign girls, watching cagefighting and leaving each other hilarious banana notes( I love those weekends). In short, I hope your shot glass is always full, that your ladies are always fun and open to being verbally abused every ten seconds, and that you'll start your training as soon as you get home, because when I come to visit you next year we're going to party like this again. Furreals.

Of Polar Bears and iPods and Cabbages and Kings

Now, you'll probably have figured out by now that I don't really think like your average person. I love references and enjoy quoting various films/tvshows/books/stand up, on average, about a zillion times a day, possibly to the point of overkill. My memory for such things is incredible. And yet I get distracted fairly easily and often reach the bottom of the stairs only to find myself puzzled as to why I descended in the first place. In addition to these endearing traits, I tend to view the world in a way that is very practical and logical to me, but utterly puzzling and nonsensical to other people. I mentioned previously that I like to name my possessions - for example, my regular ipod is called Hector while my tiny shuffle ipod is called Jeremy. This makes perfect sense to me, and the reasons are twofold. Firstly, it's cute. I just dig it. Secondly, it makes it easier to identify items when they have become lost, or dragged off to be molested by one or more curious cats, or retrieved by the spider army to complete their latest weapon.

In a perfect world, this logic would be used by people everywhere, and lost items would be, in my opinion, a damn sight easier to find. The conversations would be like this:

Me: Have you seen Jeremy?

Other Half: Yes, he's right here.

Me: Oh frabjous day! Callooh callay!

Other Half: Come to my arms, my beamish Otternator!

In my perfect world, Other Half would be able to reference Lewis Carroll poems without rolling her eyes, and she'd allow me to interpretive dance in the kitchen next to the knife rack (because that's where the floor is best, danger be damned) and let me fill up the fridges with more than four kinds of cheese and buy enough Terry Pratchett coasters to cover every available surface and all that other stuff that drives me into a frenzied geek meltdown. Sadly, it is not a perfect world and other people wilfully insist on not using my methods and denying me cheese variety. Therefore, Other Half and I instead have conversations like this:

Me: Have you seen Jeremy?

Other Half: Who?

Me: Jeremy.

Other Half: Is that one of your Twitter friends?

Me: (appalled) Do you even know me at all?

Other Half: (holding up Hector with cautious optimism) This?

Me: No.

Other Half: (holding up a spatula) This?

Me: No.

Other Half: Me?

Me: (pinches nose and sighs)

I'm going to veer off for a moment to give another example of how differently I view the world on a day-to-day basis. A couple of years ago, in a previous job, some colleagues were exchanging banter about terrible chat-up lines they'd heard. The banter turned to conversation openers rather than stoppers (a field in which I have much expertise) and  one colleague turned to me. Unfortunately for him, he hadn't yet realised quite how odd I am. This would not bode well for our budding friendship.

Colleague: This is a good one - how much does a polar bear weigh?

Me: (without pausing) I think the males weigh about 900 pounds, on average. The females will weigh less.  

*crickets*

Colleague: (gaping) Um. You're supposed to say you don't know.

Me: But you asked me a question.

Colleague: You're not supposed to know the answer.

Me: What kind of person asks an unanswerable question? Who are you, Chuck Norris?

Colleague: What?

Me: Nevermind. Jeez.

I've been aiming to write one post a day for as long as I can force my brain to cooperate, but Other Half and I are moving house this weekend so this may be more difficult than I'd originally anticipated (I'm sure it will provide many entertaining tales for future posts involving dislocated joints and broken items). Still, I enjoy the stress that adventure and impending deadlines bring to my life.
Heart rate up. Challenge accepted.