In my long and interesting life, I have had 41 room-mates. I’ve liked about 5 of them. Most of them I don’t talk to anymore. Most of them were psychos.
You know room-mates: they keep you up at night with their fucking. They bring their lame friends over. They don’t clean up after themselves. They judge your life choices, they tell you about the retarded life choices that they’ve made and expect you to keep quiet, while every part of you is screaming “Why the fuck did you do that?”
Sometimes they fall in love with you, and make your life awkward. They leave you terrible notes and expect that those notes will effectively make you do what they want. They steal your food, or they never have food worth stealing. They’re annoying, or lame and totally fucking necessary. Because you can’t pay the rent by yourself.
And really, honestly, if you lived by yourself, you would live in filth; never making an attempt to vaccum or clean the bathroom. You would have less shit (because they bring haf the furniture or the entertainment system) and you would never have sex in your house because it’s so disgusting, you’re sure that it would ruin your chances.
My room-mate right now is great. Yes, she does chain-smoke in her room, which kinda bugs me. But she doesn’t mind if I stay up painting until 7am with the TV blasting. And she was really, really nice to me when I broke my leg. She bought me a Valentines Day present. She cleans the kitchen a lot. And she deosn’t leave me notes. Ever.
But I have had shitty room-mates in the past. There was Kris, who was great, until his girlfriend Farah moved in. She hated me. And she left me passive agressive notes. Whereas, before she moved in, Kris and I would just tell each other stuff and it would be no big deal. There was Allie, who left her old mattress in our backyard for six months, until it had rotted, and started pulling the fence it was leaning on apart.
There was Randi, who had never cleaned anything, in her life. She also couldn’t wake up in the morning. She claimed it was some sort of disease. So every morning, her Mom called her to wake her up. If it didn’t work, her Mom would come over to our apartment and wake her up. Something I had no inkling of, until I woke up at 8am, on the living room couch, to a middle-aged stranger tiptoeing into our apartment. So I emptied the rank cat boxes, and tried to vaccum years worth of dust and crap up, in order to make our tiny Maxi Pad more liveable, but really, it was impossible.
And there was Bob, whose friends came over at all hours of the night. Most of them came to our apartment as a detour after they had gotten out of prison. His skanky-ass-crack-whore girlfriend stole all of my jewelry and he left two huge boxes of garbage in his room when I kicked him out.
There were The Lesbians who would have knock-down drag out fights in the living room. And leave me stupid notes about how I need to clean up after myself when I spill coffee on the counter in the morning. They would freak out if my cat ate their cats food, (um, hello? Who can control that kind of shit?) They would go into my room and move things around. But mostly, the problem with The Lesbians was that one of The Lesbians didn’t like me talking to her girlfriend, AKA my other room-mate. I started loaning her girlfriend books, but we had to keep it a secret, because her girlfriend didn’t like her to read. Seriously.
Krista had skanky-bar sex with strangers. Unprotected Skanky-bar sex with strangers. Which grossed me out to the millionth degree. I mean, it’s fucking 2009, condoms are not “a good idea”. They’ll keep sex from killing you painfully. They’re a necesary part of having sex with strangers. She got upset because I “judged her”. Which annoyed me too. If you don’t want me to judge you, don’t tell me shit. If you don’t like being judged, don’t spend so much time with me. But don’t expect me to listen to your stupid-ass stories, and nod my head and make sympathetic noises. It’s cool that you like to sleep with creeps. But please don’t expect me to think that sleeping with them is a great idea, and especially don’t whine to me that you might have given your co-workers boyfriend Chlamydia. There are condoms in our kitchen, bathroom, living room, and dining area. You can’t do anything in the house without having to move a condom. Don’t fucking tell me that you didn’t use one.
And then there was Cara, who persuaded me to move to Portland, to live in the shack in the back of her house. We had been best friends for five years. We had been through thick and thin. It was going to be fun! But Cara had just had a baby. And I guess I didn’t like her baby enough, because she wouldn’t let me baby-sit, she didn’t trust me alone with the baby. And that evolved into me just not being welcome. In her kitchen. Which I paid rent for half of. She started shooting me cold looks when I came into the kitchen to eat. So I felt bad every time I ate. Or everytime I thought about eating. It was like living with my mother except without the fun excorcisms!
And she must have made some sort of anouncement, towards the end of my living there, because after a while, she wouldn’t talk to me, and neither would her boyfriend, her brother, her sisters, or her friends, when they came over. It was a shunning. It was effective. It made me want to move. But it was creepy and scary and weird. I totally get why the Amish use it as a threat now. Because even when you dislike the people shunning you, it still hurts that you’re not worth looking in the face. She also left me a lot of fucking notes.
So I get it. Room-mates can suck. And I want to honor your room-mate troubles with Snarky Cards. I hope you dig ’em.
And to any and all of my old room-mates who are reading this, who I just talked shit about: Ha! Ha! You were dicks to me, and I talked shit about you on The Internets. And you can’t do anything about it. Because everything I said is true.