I’ve been hinting at writing a blog about my trials with my
first college roommate. Though we only
lasted five weeks together, we managed to pack in enough drama to continue
coming up in drunken conversations twelve years later. The problems mainly stemmed from the fact
that she didn’t care for my friends, who mutually didn’t care for her. For some reason, although my actual friends
never made me do this, my roommate gave me an ultimatum to choose sides;
obviously, as that is a pretty dick move considering that I didn’t even count
her as a friend, I chose the opposite of her- and was then rewarded with having
to move out of the room and onto another floor of the dorm, where much
damage-control had to be done, as she had been describing me to the other girls
as the Devil Reincarnate. It only took
me a week in my new room to convince the girls that I was pretty fucking nice
& cool, and, because why not?, I then turned those very girls- my new floor
mates- against my former roommate. Hey,
I can be petty too if provoked enough.
And that was my chance to shine.
But, since I just gave a ridiculous synopsis of the very
thing I was going to talk about, I suppose I’ll just entertain you with the
“greatest hits.” And although my Not
Vanderbilt College friends already know the name of the person who became the
first person I ever had to use the term “hate” towards, to do my part at
protecting privacy, she’ll henceforth be referred to as Abalone. Whether or not someone else reveals her, I
suppose that’s the breaks. But I did my
part.
For the sake of not rambling on, each instance will be
presented via bullet-point. Because I
can ramble. Even in bullet-point,
incidentally. But enough about me. On to Abalone.
- Our first meeting started with introductions which were promptly followed by this question: “so, do you go to church?” This is where the “some scary shit is about to go down” music would start to play.
- She told me that her fridge was like my fridge and that whatever I wanted, I could just grab. The day I actually wanted a juice, I found that he fridge also had a lock- that she delightfully employed.
- One morning, I woke up with considerably shorter hair on a particular section of my head; after I moved downstairs, I learned that she slept with scissors under her pillow. You do the math.
- After taking a shower one Sunday morning, I found that her entire freak show clan of a family was visiting. I suppose I should take this time to mention that her family literally lived 15 minutes away from campus. So at any point she could have gone home if she wanted to have some family fun time. But those fuckers were always at the dorm for some bizarre reason. But this one particular time was especially infuriating, because, again, post-shower. I was wrapped in a towel & didn’t feel it was appropriate to just waltz in (although, looking back, I probably should have). And although they had knowledge of my needing to get in, that whole circus act refused to budge. So my Lady (who thankfully lived across the hall) had to go over & “politely” ask them to leave when Spineless, our R.A., refused to do so. She is so named Spineless because obviously. The dog-and-pony show finally got the fuck out, no doubt feeling particularly proud about their douche-like behavior.
- Remember, she’s the one who asked me about church the first time we met. She’s supposed to be the super-Christian…
- The shower thing is even more upsetting because that was pretty much where were finally spiraling towards separation. A week prior, she had complained that I kept my laundry basket next to my desk instead of in the closet like she kept hers because apparently we’re supposed to be lemming robots. When I asked her why that mattered she responded, “because my brother saw your dirty jeans.” Not my vast collection of thongs, g-strings or bras- my fucking jeans. But, again, that means that her sideshow family was there too fucking much.
- Thennnnnnn…when I complained about the shower incident, she countered with, I shit you not, “well, you should have a robe like everyone else instead of just a towel.” None of those Christian-like apologies I had been expecting. The reason that I couldn’t enter my dorm room wasn’t because of her cave dwelling family taking up all of my private space- it was because of my cavorting around in an oversized bath towel. I’m such a harlot.
- Her mother once tried to sympathize with my problems with being racially profiled by the local police with, “my son is profiled because he’s a ska-kid.” Yeah, totally the same thing.
- The Straw that Broke that Stupid Camel’s Back: I once owned a ukulele. My Lady once played an anti-Abalone song on said ukulele. I may or may not have laughed at said song (I totally did). Abalone overhears, gets upset that I didn’t defend her & demands that we meet with the hall director.
- This is the meeting that forced me to move out.
And so I did. But,
like I mentioned before, my first week on that floor wasn’t exactly a breath of
fresh air, as everyone was going out of their way to avoid me (even my new
roommate seemed to regard me with disdain).
After I finally got people to open up to me, I was told that Abalone had
been telling them that I hung out with criminals (my super deliciously hot bobo
boyfriend had, in fact, been to prison before, but he was as harmless as
jello), I partied a lot (true story, but only with my closest friends), I slept
around (false- again, super-hot boyfriend) and that I was dangerous (because I
don’t own a robe).
In the end I became happier and don’t regret that I had to
be the one to move out. My new roommate
and I found ways to bond (watching “Third Watch” religiously; monthly Spam
parties; cheese plate extravaganzas, etc.) and my Lady made that wretched
Abalone suffer every day for the rest of the year, as she still lived right
across the hall from her. And all I
could do was smile and think, “told you I wasn’t the bad one.”
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