Eric Wang

Yeah, That'll Happen #16

My Departed Roommate



I'd like everyone to take a moment of silence, in honor of my roommate, Justin Mazzeo. My roommate of three and a half years left us recently to go to a place far worse than the real world. We'll call it the alumni section of Beaver Stadium. Just kidding, there is no place worse than the real world. He was a good student, a good friend, and a firm believer in karma. And despite his straitlaced behavior, elderly tendencies, and unexplainable desire to pull his pants up past his belly button, he turned into a total party animal after four or five shots of Evan Williams. You'd never know it, but this was the guy who at first couldn't drink beer without mixing in some Kool-Aid powder first.



Mazz and I started living together freshman year, sharing a luxurious 100 square foot concrete cell with a strange waffle ceiling. You know how you always bring a little too much stuff freshman year? He kept a lifetime supply of deodorant and sinus medicine underneath his bed. Which was strange, because he smelled funny and was sniffly most of the time. Also, he kept a mountain of used tissues next to his monitor, that was kinda gross too.



Mazz and I were total ballers freshmen year. We didn't gain the freshman fifteen. We didn't form an online video game playing club, with weekly meetings at McDonalds. We didn't fight over who got to read the Maxim first. We didn't get excited every time they had cheesesteaks and onion rings in the commons. And we totally hooked up with mad bitches. Of course, "mad bitches" was our code word for the Two Pizza Tuesday special from Domino's.



And the hits just kept coming and coming. There was that period of time sophomore year when we were both too lazy to pick up the trash can and walk it four feet down the hall to the trash room. It piled up for days and days. We ended up settling this by playing that helicopter game where you click to make it go up or down. It was a worthy solution to a worthy problem. We played a lot of dumb games like that. Like our own perverted version of Battleship which we developed after looking out our window across the quad and realized that from time to time, girls in the other building would undress with the curtains open. We came this close to buying binoculars off eBay.



Mazz and I even had our own language, spoken in a dialect that only he and I could pronounce correctly. We called it The Voice. The Voice was a high pitched nasally tone used to convey joy, anger, sarcasm, mock anger, and all the emotions in between, and is scientifically proven to carry through walls and make your neighbors hate you. It was also used to imitate the characters from a certain Harry Potter book on tape. Man, good times.



Finally, I should apologize for a lot of stuff, even though he won't be able to hear these things because he's gone now, and his Facebook status is listed as Alumnus/Alumna. I'm sorry that I had that really nasty bowl that I ate ramen, Easy Mac, and Hot Pockets out of for two weeks straight before I washed it. I'm sorry that I loved hitting the snooze button eight or nine times before I decided to just turn the alarm off and skip my morning class. I'm sorry that I trained to eat the world's hottest wings in history, subsequently developed hemorrhoids, and you heard me shouting from the bathroom. I'm sorry that it took me such a long time to not suck at guitar. And I'm sorry that occasionally, you would inadvertently interrupt my alone time.



And so, it is with a heavy heart that I bid farewell to my roommate Justin Mazzeo. Rest in knowing that you have touched all our hearts forever, Mazz. Also, you peed in your bed the night before graduation. Sober.





To learn more about me, go to my Facebook page.

To send me email, click here.

To fund my next bar tour, click this nifty little button below!