Triforce of Awesome

They all said we were crazy.

Well, no one said that, actually. Not a single person. But when you announce that you are going to be cramming a third person into a tiny two bedroom apartment, people tend to think you’re either really down on your luck, telling a joke, or just plain bat-fuck loco.

None of us are fairing too poorly financially, so in the telling, I had to clarify a couple of times: No, it’s not a joke. My friend is moving in with us. Yes, we will be sharing a room. This is really what we’re doing.

And then they accepted it, and nodded their head. Some even commented that they thought it would be a good idea. But all of them had that glance or that stare. That twinkle in their eye that said “I wouldn’t be caught dead in a million years doing that. What suffering!”

Despite our supportive friends and family, I privately wished for a dissenter who would suggest that it was lunacy. I wished only so that I would have the opportunity to proclaim from the top of my lungs how sane the damned option was!

We are the land of the free. We are a world where existentialism reigns supreme, where we are encouraged to build our lives up and out and into something beautiful. People do this with careers, others with white picket fences. Friends and family move to new places, others travel the world, others still have babies.

And we three kings are doing it too.

“But it will be cramped...”

Oh you bet it is. Very cramped. But I also have friends who have moved several times because in their pursuit of happiness, their place being too small and crowded for their growing children. And every time, they’ll tell you it was worth it. Career-persons have schedules so tight that they need expensive schedules or assistants to help them wade through the crap.

And us, we just have a few extra things. In exchange for a second family, I lose a little bit of desk space. I wasn’t even using it in the first place. A pretty fair exchange.

(And, don’t tell, but our place is actually neater than it was before. Classier. More put together.)

“But what if you want to bring a woman home?”

Then we bring ‘em home! If they think the whole thing is weird, then they’re probably not the type of gal I want to be bringing around to meet my friends. We’re building a future here, and it’s awesome. It’s going to bloom into something beautiful. And if that makes getting girls more difficult, then I don’t want them in my life.

And trust me, they’ll be missing out.

“No, no, I mean, what if you want to bring a woman home. You know, since you’re sharing a room.”

Ah. Then my roommate can get the fuck out! Sock on the door. Man code.

No more complicated than that. These aren’t casual roommates picked up off the street. These are my long time friends. I’d take a bullet for them (and charge them for it later), so I’d sure as hell spend the night on the couch for one of them. And in the morning, I’ll make him and her a cup of coffee.

(And if she seems like a really good sport, then I’ll ask about his performance. We have a standard to keep at this place, you know.)

You see, we three complement each other. Tried, tested and true friends, we’re a trio of stooges that know all our lines. This isn’t a random arrangement, or an arrangement of convenience. No, this is an arrangement of desire. Because, having done the random thing for a number of years, we finally know what we like. We know what we’re after. And we know our own vices.

We’re a chord that always strikes you the right way. Trust me, we’ve been through plenty of practice, and had some pretty out of tune times. But, now together, we’re checking ourselves. Life is for inventing, and we’re setting to it.

A bohemian, a gentleman, and an enthusiast walk into a bar,
A writer, a cartoonist and a musician inspire one another,
An entrepreneur, a creative liason and a computer geek contemplate their future,
A sandwich maker, a service representative and a security guard go to work,
An optimist, a pessimist, and a realist wash the dishes,
A procrastinator, an alcoholic, and hoarder line up to use the washroom.

A Philosopher, an Artist, and a Wingman unlock the door to an apartment.

That joke is ours.

You’re going to love the punch-line.
- Z