I have three topics in regards to Moxham to discuss.
Topic #1: thievery. After slaving away in the library and studio all dang day a fellow post grad asked if I wanted a ride home AND we could swing by the grocery store on the way. WHHHHHA-WH-WHAT?! Hells yes, let me get my coat! Let me tell ya, when you hoof your groceries from store to boarding house odd considerations come into play. For example...weight (mandarins are lighter than apples), packaging (a bag of cereal travels better than a box), priorities (I'd give up a cheese for coffee), alc/vol (wine=13% p/bottle and beer=5% p/can. mathematically wine wins.) Double this with - I'M BROKE BITCHES! and you can see how truly valued groceries are. So when someone offers you a ride, you stock up!
Having said this you'd probably understand the emotion that was felt when 10 min. after unloading my precious groceries I walk in to find Rm #13 lacin' his sammie with my newly bought mustard. Dude, it's literally American mustard asshole. It says so on the bottle and you are a resident of New Zealand but a goddamn Brit by birth - put some fuckin' HP sauce on that sandwich son, this condiment is reserved for me and my fellow countrymen!
Topic #2: new dude aka Rm #8. Now if you aren't aware, I'm Rm #7 so this is some next door shit. Infiltrating my life now is rugby full blast...tv-style coming through my closet. Apparently he wears cinder blocks for shoes as well and a big thank you for smoking in your room #8, not only does your screaming sport seep through my wall so does your smoke.
Topic #3: Sweet David and his door. I like this dude, Rm #6, but I'm 2 door slams away from removing said door from it's hinges and sacrificing it bon fire-style in the front yard. Maybe I'll have Rm #13 snake some h-dogs for a front yard cook out. Guess I need to buy some h-dogs...
