April 7, 2000

So there I was, warming up my usual lunch of two pepperoni pizza Hot Pockets with extra sauce and cheese sprinkled on for flavor and texture, when I noticed a new address taped to the fridge.

It was a Minneapolis location ,and as I ran through my mental Rolodex of northern-dwelling friends, I couldn’t figure out who would be moving or why we would have their address hanging in our kitchen without prior notice.

“Hey Eddie,” I yelled toward the living room, waking him from his hypnotic trance induced by MTV’s Spring Break marathon. “Who do we know that’s moving around the Twin Cities?”

“You idiot, that’s Chet’s new address,” he replied without breaking contact with the skinfest on TV. “And check your lunch, I think it’s burning.”

Stupid microwave. A stuffed-up nose and a broken timer aren’t a good combination when warming up food. My Hot Pockets were still edible, though, and I was still baffled by the fact that Chet was really moving out.

Sure, he’s getting married this summer and he’s looking forward to his new job in the Cities, but couldn’t he commute?

“Who is gonna live here this summer?” I asked.

“That’s what we need to talk about,” the couch-locked zombie replied.

This sucks.

It’s bad enough that Chet is ditching us for romance and riches, but now we’ve gotta find a random guy to fill his place. Then, to make things worse, Eddie and I are moving out of our palace in August, so the most we can offer people is the best two and a half months of their lives at an affordable cost.

We decided a while back that none of us wanted to live here if it wasn’t all three amigos. It just wouldn’t be the same starting out my conversations with, “So there I was, doing dishes with Eddie and Chuck, the guy I met in the HyVee parking lot.”

The big challenge, however, is finding someone that wants to move into our place for the summer that won’t bug the hell out of us while not becoming emotionally attached to the house or its inhabitants.

After all, good-byes always make me cry.

I remember when I graduated from Iowa State the first time and wanted to find a place to live. Everywhere was either too expensive or too repulsive. For $300 a month, I could enjoy central air coming in through the broken windows or free heating because the furnace was broken and wouldn’t shut off in July. And that was the overpriced spot.

So there has to be someone out there looking for a cheap, yet spacious, place to live until August.

If nothing else, a bunch of guys that live on the outskirts of town could split our third roommate’s rent and have a place to crash every night after the bars. Granted, they may have to wrestle Carl and Pablo for spots on the couches.

We were going to go around to the sororities and see if any of the ladies needed a place to spend the summer since most houses are shut down, but Eddie hesitated. After much deliberation, however, we realized that most of the girls from his past have graduated and his name may no longer be blacklisted.

Heck, we even called up Carl’s old roommate Vic to see if he wanted to move into the casa de cerveza.

He hasn’t given us a definite no, but we told him that he wouldn’t have to do dishes or vacuum. All he has to do is pay the bills and keep his pet snake captive behind three layers of glass.

So there I was, gnawing on my charbroiled pepperoni treat, when I realized that although we’ll never replace Chet, we can’t afford to live without him. And as long as this whole wedding thing is still on, we’re stuck with quite a dilemma.

We called our boys and told them to spread the word that we’re looking for a third, and Sydney told her friends to keep an ear out for interested parties as well. So now we just play the waiting game and hope for the perfect roommate to drop from the heavens onto our couch.

I just hope he or she brings us a new microwave.