Talk, Talk

So I’m rooming with George…

He’s a great guy: ex-Army, intelligent, looks (and even talks) like my friend JP, who comments here from time to time. But, SHIT, he likes to talk. At first I thought the Busch beer he bought brought it on, but I have since been proven wrong.

He spent most of the first night telling me about his “hash runs”. Don’t freak out because you didn’t click the link, by the way. Short story is that they are a group of social runners. However, they choose to describe themselves as “a drinking group with a running problem”. Two hours worth of non-stop stories later, he was recruiting me for a Houston run that is happening as I type this.

I have to admit, since Dawn and I have started walking at night as a form of exercise, the thought initially intrigued me. Then I found out that the running path would be 6.3 miles long. (For you UK readers, I’m sorry that I don’t feel like converting that distance to metric.) And that distance does not count any false trails that may be laid which might stretch the actual run out to 8 or 9 miles. I (hopefully) graciously declined the invite, even after George told me he might be able to get me involved as the “beer bitch”. That is the person who either waits at the end of the trail with the cooler or pops up from time to time along the run with refreshments for the participants.

But back to George now, along with a little background information:

I am no stranger to having to share a hotel room. Over the course of my working life, there have been many instances in which I have had a temporary roommate to save the company money. And, while nothing as shocking as the turd on a towel incident has happened, I did notice one odd habit of George, perhaps from living by himself…

He never closes the bathroom door while peeing.


And he has no shame walking around the room with nothing covering that most personal of areas. I guess that is an Austin thing.

In fact, on our first night in the hotel, we were sitting around drinking our respective beers and talking (well, he was talking while I was listening) when I told him that I was going to go outside and have a smoke. He said he’d go downstairs with me. So I waited for him to put on some pants or shorts to cover his boxers, but that didn’t happen. He stood at the door to the room in his boxers and T-shirt waiting for me.

So, yes, I have now taken a smoke break while hanging around with a guy in his skivvies.

Two more nights… two more nights…


9 thoughts on “Talk, Talk

  1. leemerette

    You have got to be kidding me…you dont see it do you? If he starts tapping his foot against the wall of the bathroom then get the hell out of there….geeez.

  2. The Tara

    Even in Austin they don’t do that!
    Go to a nice steak restaurant in shorts and flip flops yes, but not hang out in your skivies! Yuk
    Well, at least I pull my nightshirt down to cover my ass when I go get my mail. I am considerate of my neighbors.

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