For a Pessimist, I am Pretty Optimistic

Earlier this week, my roommate, StuckInaMoment, moved out. He was going to Oklahoma City for 3 months of Air Traffic Control training and upon his return he would be getting his own place. While he’s best friends with both me and my husband, I was getting so sick of seeing him day in and day out. I bluntly told him such as he was packing, but this was not the first time it had been said.

“Oh, you’re just upset I’m around because the two of you can’t go having sex all around the house,” he replied.

“Is that what you seriously think?” I asked. Sure, it was definitely something to put on the mental to-do list, but that wasn’t the problem. Having a roommate sometimes can mean having the same amount of privacy as if you had a child – none. Seriously, all I wanted to do was be able to walk around naked, even if it was just from my room to the shower. I’ve tried to explain this to SIAM, but he doesn’t understand. He went from his mom’s house, to the dorms in college, to then living with roommates; all situations where comfortably walking around nude is never an option. But once you get a taste of freedom, it’s hard to adjust.

When my husband and I first got married, we spent several months living in my mother’s basement. Do I even need to tell you what a disaster that was? I’m sure you can guess! Eager to escape, we moved into a brand new and very expensive apartment with a co-worker. She and I weren’t the closet of friends so it was assumed that we wouldn’t annoy each other too much.

“Besides,” she kept saying, “my job keeps me away from home all the time. I just need a place to sleep for a couple of days a month.”

However, her work schedule was really the reverse. She was always at home and stayed sprawled out on the living room couch, dressed in nothing but a thin robe that was never belted closed. To top it off, she was argumentative about everything. Once she yelled at me for not watering her plant. When I told her I watered it every other day, she then yelled at me for watering it without her permission.

Still, that nonsense wasn’t enough to push me over the edge.  It was when she started spreading around work that she listens and was even invited to watch my husband and I have sex that I almost strangled her (for the record, we did NOT invite her and there’s no way I can drive my point home further without sounding horribly shallow).

Our next place was a one bedroom that had a teeny tiny den. We were there for maybe just a month before I received a hysterical call from my best friend, Becky. Her abusive father had gone on an even worse rampage (if that was possible) and she had gotten herself lost in the rain while trying to run away from him. After calling some other friends, we picked her up and with a knife in hand (one of those funny ridged ones that always come in the pack of cooking knives) I pounded on her door and we were all able to scoop up most of her things before her father brought out a knife of his own. The teeny den became her room.

Though Becky and I usually got along great, she had some peculiar home habits. She never told me everything that went on in her house, but I suspect that someone was always swiping her stuff because she loved to hide everything. For instance, one day she took all her toiletries and towels from the bathroom and hid them under clothes in her dressing room. I noticed, but didn’t say anything. The next day while chatting in her room about nothing in particular, she suddenly took everything out from the drawers and put them back in the bathroom cabinets.

Our fighting didn’t begin until Becky started dating someone. Though she told me constantly that she thought he was dumb and mean and always called me crying from his apartment, she followed him around like a puppy. I didn’t like it, to me it seemed like she went from being physically abused by one man to being mentally abused by another. She actually told him this and when he began to talk against me, she sadly went along. It seemed like she changed overnight.  She even went as far to call my husband “a dumb Pollack”, myself a “dirty Jamaican”, and SIAM (who was with us that rainy night) a “filthy Mexican”. She actually said it right to his face too. It was awful to see how hurt he was, but he simply stood up and said “Well this filthy Mexican won’t be driving to your rescue the next time you’re stranded in the rain,” and left.

After Becky moved, we managed to snag ourselves a nice 2 bedroom apartment and like clockwork we received the phone call. A friend of a friend needs a place to stay, can he stay with us? No, was the immediate answer. The next day, I quit my high paying job and we changed our answer. Indy (called that because supposedly his middle name was Indiana as in Indiana Jones?) was a tad mysterious, but a pretty good guy. Plus, he could roll a mean joint. When our lease was up, he went his separate way, never to be heard from again. People still call and ask me what happened to him!

You would think after everything, we would have learned our lesson, but no. I fell in love with a cute little house I saw on Craig’s List and the only way we could afford it was if we had a roommate. Enter SIAM, who after 8 months is leaving.

As usual, he forgets something in his room and I shout from the door for him to come back. He takes his last bag and we say goodbye again. “Want to come with me to the airport?” he asks. Hello no, I tell him. “Fine, have fun. Enjoy getting ready for you night of sexual escapades!” he quips and drives away. I close the front door and sigh. It’s a bit sad when you get used to having a close friend around and they leave.

Then, wasting no time, I go to my room, strip down to just my panties, and run up and down the hallway between our rooms while waving my arms in the air like in “Home Alone”…just because I can!

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