Freshman year Roommate #1: Sorority Chick. She flew off the handle over something very stupid and minor - and I mean flew. The handle had left the building. She screamed at me for like, 20 minutes, told me she was going to rip off my head and shit down my throat, and then moved out. I wasn't the stand-up-for-myself girl then I am now, unfortunately. About a year and a half later, a buddy and I were partying with a gang of cute guys in a coed dorm. I was trying to coax my buddy out of the boys' showers, where she was revisiting her cocktails. Sorority Chick all of a sudden walks in, hugs me, and gushes just because we can't be roommates doesn't mean we can't be friends! And that was the last time I ever saw her. I mean, if you can�t be sincere in a boy�s bathroom at 3:19 a.m., where can you be? God.
Freshman Year Roommate #2: Susie. Big, sweet redhead who only used to piss me off when she smoked in the room. I always felt bad for her, because it was a huge struggle for her to pay for school - I remember watching her desperately apply for credit cards in an attempt to pay the bill. However, I felt I wasn't really making friends in that dorm, so decided to move into another, where I met -
Freshman Year Roommate #3: The Invisible Girl. The idea was to move in with someone who was acquainted with the rest of the dorm, so I could get introduced and shit. No, I share a room with a girl who is actually living with her sister, off campus, and the dorm room is a front to appease the requirement of living on campus for the first two years. She never moved anything in. I saw her about twice. My shy ass sat by myself in that lonely room for the rest of the year.
Sophomore Year Roommate #1: Blond Long Nails Girl. I don't think she liked me. Moved to a single after the first quarter, without telling me. Surprise! No roommate for a while, until...
Sophomore Year Roommate #2: Japanese Exchange Student. But not just any Japanese Exchange Student, no. I got the slacker one. The one who (along with her best bud) was ostracized and resented by all the other Japanese Exchange Students, because the two of them were �lazy,� and didn�t bother to learn English. Living with her was an adventure. Her belongings could have fit in a microwave. She had the tiniest feet I�ve ever seen, and wore little plastic slippers exactly like Barbie used to wear.
And, of course, the language barrier. We�d communicate by English-Japanese dictionary � I remember being diagnosed with bronchitis, and wanting to warn her so she could prevent getting sick, but not being able to make her understand with mere hand gestures. So I frantically point to every similar disease in The Dictionary until she got it. I used to get phone messages that consisted of cartoons and broken English � My poor friend Gretchen was called back after I received a note informing me that �Cretin Call!� depicting a girl holding a phone.
Junior Year Roommates: I shared an apartment with two of my best friends. They bickered, I didn�t clean enough, and we all were drunk a lot. That was fun.
Senior Year Roommate: I shared an apartment with one of the two best friends. It was fine, except for the psychotic neighbors upstairs who would call the police if we were sitting quietly, studying with the TV on. The best was the time they called and it was the two of us, plus two guy friends, playing cards with one of those little-mini-can-barely-hear-it portable CD players playing something or another. The cop knocked on the door, and we invited him in. He looked at us sitting on the floor, and looked around in confusion. Said something like, �Is this what you guys have been doing all night?� like we had actually been hosting a raging kegger with a live funk band, but hustled everyone out when we saw his car pull up. We assured him that we had indeed just been sitting on the floor, playing cards all night. He left, visibly annoyed that his time had been wasted, when he could have been cracking frat boy skulls. We noticed a decline in police visits after that.
Year And A Half Post-College: I lived at home and tended bar. There�s not much more to say about that. No rent. I�m fairly certain my family considered me a shitty roommate, and would have evicted me had I not been related by blood.
First Radio Job: Lived with Psycho Dogwoman. She slept at the weirdest times. Had one of those �relationships� where she would alternately call the cops on her ex, or be sleeping with him, or trying to scratch his facial flesh off of his skull with her claws � you know, whatever. She was vaguely angry all the time, no matter what. And her poor dog, who was alternately screeched at for being on the couch, and then forced onto the couch to �sit next to mommy.� Just an example of the mixed messages that poor Labrador had to attempt to decipher with his puny dog brain. Sometimes I think about that dog, and wonder if he�s a raving pooch lunatic, locked up in a padded room, forced to wear a little doggie straightjacket, drooling and mumbling �Am I allowed in her room or not? Is the bed forbidden or where I need to be? Where the FUCK am I supposed to go to the bathroom if I�m not allowed to inside, but am forced to be by her side at all times? I�m so confused!� for the rest of his dog years.
A while after I moved to FL, I heard that she badmouthed me. I took a whole lot of time to be upset about that while I was enjoying the ocean, learning to fish, and adapting to my new happy lifestyle in the Keys. Right.
First Time Living With A Boy: It was Neal. He was a great roommate, and I was never happier, until things went bad. Pretty self-explanatory. And that brings us to my -
Current Situation: Living with Shawn. Which is pretty great, even if we have too much stuff. It feels like a constant struggle � every time one of us throws out clutter, the other one is given a box of cool things. And I know I�ve detailed our husband and wifeness here before.
Next: Who knows? Maybe I�ll live with a chimpanzee, or an astronaut! Or YOU! That�s right, you! I�ll be there, holding a suitcase, in a half an hour! Try to have the bed made up, okay? I could use a nap.
