My CRAZY Roommates: an ongoing saga


I've fully settled back into my apartment, and that means I'm back with my crazy housemates. For those of you that are new, let me bring you up to speed, as you clearly need to know about this. I live with two older gentlemen, who apparently don't have much of a life outside of their own. They live a simple, yet strange life. And I'm not talking "isn't that cute and funny" strange. I'm talking "get the hell away from me" strange. It's just the little things they do, bordering on anal retentive separation of powdered milk and cereal, to the three hours of chanting, to the watching of c-span, to the consumption of cream of wheat or solid undercooked cubes of meat.

I know what you are thinking. "Why are you still there bozo?" well kids, when you are my age, an artist, or in grad school, (or all three in my case) and don't have a sugar daddy or sell drugs, YOU ARE POOR. Thus, sacrifices have to be made. I had one day to find a place to live when I came here, and I found this place to be a good space for the money, and at least I get my own room. I figured, "Hey, if they're weird, I'll just deal with it."

That was a mistake.

They are nice people, and mean well, but they still bug me. Like when you are trying to read a book and there is a constant dripping noise, but you don't know from where, and you can't stop it. That's what it's like. errg.



I made lasagna the other day. I made a lot, so I can eat from it for a few days. My psycho roommate thinks this is a strange practice, but then again, all he eats is Cream of Wheat and corn with peas. Then he goes to the bathroom. He does that quite often. What is it with old people and their intestinal tracks? This guy also meditates, cause he's a practicing Buddhist, of some kind. Not the kind that shave their heads and wear orange, but the "working man's" Buddhist. I think it affects his diet.

Anyway, he chants to connect with enlightenment and gather peace, RIGHT? Then I hear him in the kitchen, swearing up a storm about something inconsequential like dropping a bag or some shit. And he says it really LOUD too. Seems to me that the whole "gathering inner peace" crap isn't working that well. I'd have a talk with him about it, but I'm afraid he'd fart on me.



I've sucessfully avoided my roommates for a while now. I find myself staying at the library longer, hanging out with my friends more, or just locking myself in my room till they are sedated. There was a caricature convention I went to in Atlanta for a week, which is a week away from them, and that was nice. There is, of course, the occassional embarassing scuffle in the hall, when one of them is coming out of the bathroom with a big smile on their face, but otherwise it's been time to myself. There is, however, one tale to add to this story. It was late Saturday night and the chanting/farting/anal retentive roommate is watching his "weekly video rental." He doesn't go OUT to movies. I mean, who would he go with? Anyway, I figure it's safe to go into the kitchen without running into him. The plan is to get ice cream, and get out. Right when I'm scooping the last scoop, I hear his bedroom door open. There is no way I can avoid running into him now. I'm just going to have to play it safe and not talk. Pretend I have a cold or something.

He enters, and grunts a greeting of some kind. I put away the ice cream thinking I can get away clean. Then I hear "SO how was your spring break?" This was a bit confusing. He was referring to the convention trip, but my spring break wasn't until next week. "I haven't had it yet," I said. I explain things to him, even though I swear that I told him this already.

"Ahhh okay. So how long do you have until graduation?" His voice is deep and has a touch of Minnasota in it. Just enough to make you afraid.

"Umm, another year." I know that I've told him the program was 2 years. He mush have just forgot.

"Okay, Yeah my graduate program in psychology was 2 years also"

uh oh...

"We had to do a lot of studying so it took a long time"

He's trying to start a conversation.

"I wasn't sure if artists had to work that much to get their degree," he chuckles.

Wait, was that an insult? I'll let it pass.

He's blocking the door now, waiting for his coffee to brew, and I'm standing there with my bowl of ice cream. I can't eat it in front of him. It would seem like I'm actually interested in what he's saying. So I'm just standing there in the "I'm ready to go" pose, and hoping that he'll get the hint. He goes on to explain how he was able to make a phone call with his phone card, how the movie he's watching with Wynnona Ryder isn't as good as last week's movie, and how coffee stains are bad for your teeth.

Then I punch him.

No, I don't. I just nod, and say excuse me, and walk to the safety of my room. After locking the door, I realize that his comatose voice and pointless bantering about his theories is just his way of making conversation. Usually when he runs out of things to say, he'll let out a long, "Soooooo..." That's his way of saying that he's ready to move on. But he didn't do it this time, so I had to make a break for it. That night, my ice cream seemed a bit tainted, morose, and not very tasty. I stayed inside the next day. Who needs food?