Saturday, October 27, 2012
Remember How I Moved? So That Didn't Work Out
Two months and two days ago I moved in with a roommate. One month ago I moved back in with my parents.
I probably should have known. When I got there on moving day to discover the cleaning she promised to do hadn't happened, or when I had to live on mac and cheese for a week before she made any room in the fridge, or when I had to pitch in to clean half the fridge (something that was I promised would be done before I got there), or when I had to step over dirty underwear in the bathroom every morning, or when I got lectured like a child for buying too many rolls of toilet paper at once, or when I had to endure endless snark about my Keurig, or when I got lectured for sliding the couch less than a foot. Or maybe when I texted to warn her that some things had been slid around when I mopped the entire apartment and got a reply telling me that was "not cool" and to move everything back to where it had been.
But no.
I tried to stick it out.
Until I committed the horrifying error of coming home exhausted (after two nights in a row of getting in at 11 PM and getting up to leave again at 6 AM) and forgot to bring a box in from the hallway. Oh, the horror. That was when I got lengthy texts accusing me of treating everyone else like a servant (you know, minus that whole mopping the entire place and always being the one who takes the trash out thing). Actually, the texts came AFTER she pounded on my bedroom door after midnight yelling about it.
A box.
Then my reply was to remind her we'd had a conversation about her lecturing me. And she said it wasn't going to work out. So I called my family. She wanted to discuss when I would be leaving. I discussed it. With my father, and then my brother when he fortunately was available with his car to help me get my stuff out.
I was evicted, via text, for forgetting we had a package in the hallway.
By someone who is rigid and unyielding, but simultaneously disgusting and a complete slob. So I'm staying with my folks again, and next time I find a place I will be living ALONE.
I lasted about the same amount of time the Lutz's put up with 112 Ocean Avenue. I'm not sure which scenario is worse.
I probably should have known. When I got there on moving day to discover the cleaning she promised to do hadn't happened, or when I had to live on mac and cheese for a week before she made any room in the fridge, or when I had to pitch in to clean half the fridge (something that was I promised would be done before I got there), or when I had to step over dirty underwear in the bathroom every morning, or when I got lectured like a child for buying too many rolls of toilet paper at once, or when I had to endure endless snark about my Keurig, or when I got lectured for sliding the couch less than a foot. Or maybe when I texted to warn her that some things had been slid around when I mopped the entire apartment and got a reply telling me that was "not cool" and to move everything back to where it had been.
But no.
I tried to stick it out.
Until I committed the horrifying error of coming home exhausted (after two nights in a row of getting in at 11 PM and getting up to leave again at 6 AM) and forgot to bring a box in from the hallway. Oh, the horror. That was when I got lengthy texts accusing me of treating everyone else like a servant (you know, minus that whole mopping the entire place and always being the one who takes the trash out thing). Actually, the texts came AFTER she pounded on my bedroom door after midnight yelling about it.
A box.
Then my reply was to remind her we'd had a conversation about her lecturing me. And she said it wasn't going to work out. So I called my family. She wanted to discuss when I would be leaving. I discussed it. With my father, and then my brother when he fortunately was available with his car to help me get my stuff out.
I was evicted, via text, for forgetting we had a package in the hallway.
By someone who is rigid and unyielding, but simultaneously disgusting and a complete slob. So I'm staying with my folks again, and next time I find a place I will be living ALONE.
I lasted about the same amount of time the Lutz's put up with 112 Ocean Avenue. I'm not sure which scenario is worse.
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