Tuesday, February 14, 2006

Mi Casa, Su Casa

My new roomie just didn't get the whole living together schpeal when she interviewed for the house.
T and I are convinced that if we had met her BEFORE she moved in, we could have had a conversation about how free the structure of the house is, how we all live here and call it home and how the 'rules of the house' are set up to support that.

I open my fridge last night CONVINCED all I wanted was a beer. I didn't want the cans K contributed, so I went to the case of bottles under the bench/window seat and put a few in the fridge and two in the freezer.
I go upstairs to find something to do until the beer is cold and somehow the smell of fried burgers is stronger in my room than in the kitchen.
I find myself talking out loud TO MYSELF with keys in hand, purse under arm, and sliding shoes on at the door in PJ PANTS and a free Tshirt saying "there is nothing at Carls Jr that you really want, this is just because you smell burgers, you nearly puke up whatever you ever eat from there, you can eat the roasted turkey breast if you want meat, put the purse DOWN MISSY".
Actually happened. The dog was like "um, are you fucking nuts? are we leaving or what?"
So I go to the freezer to check my beer. Its been about four minutes by now, I'm thinking maybe. I see the freezy cups with the ice encapulated between the thick layers of neon green plastic with the flimsy handle and think "I can get my mouth around that - its worth a shot!"
Yes, I am that lunatic who will not remember that every time I bring this cup to my face I wear my drink.
No matter, there is beer to be had and I WIL NOT pour it Over ice, might as well be Into it.
I open the fridge to get the turkey and see a four pack box of Diet RockStars. Alright, at least I'll know where the cans came from next time and who to blame for stacking them on the leaning tower of recycling we tend to leave for ME to shove into the bag and drag outside... because there, in big red Sharpy marker across the top of the box, is Squeeky's name.

Before I could get a sip to dribble elegantly down my face, before the dog could calm down from the maybe of a ride she was offered, before I could feel the freedom that only PJ pants worn commando can offer... I am in my home saying in my mothers demon voice "thats just fucking GREAT!!! Y O U Have G O T to be Kidding Me!"
You know that voice. The one that comes from a woman when she has nothing left but the evil that spawns week long bleeds and no noticeable death. That voice when you were REALLY in trouble.
It came from a place in me I only thought I had. It rumbled through my chest, a purity of power and strength that would surely move a car off my Georgeous Girl (since I don't have kids) or let me punch a ballsack and then a cheekbone without ever feeling it in my hand.
I knew, in one glimpse, that my life as I know it is gone.
Its all downhill.
And I may become violent and have no recollection of the event.

I downed half the beer, cut some turkey, added a side of cottage cheese, and grabbed the other beer from the fridge before sitting down to eat.
I ate and remembered the breathe is the life force and that I was fueling my body and not my anger at this squeekbag of a bleach blonde hunchback who flat out refuses to allow anyone elses ideas penetrate her Catholic ingrained dogma of superiority.

I remembered that morning, when I watched her get into the loaf of bread I bought for two pieces of toast and the box of crackers T bought for a ziploc full of snack. I remembered her saying over and over that in her last house they each had a shelf and it worked great. I looked up to see the bottle of ketchup my last date brought over, the mayonaise jar T and I decided would be best on our last shopping trip, and the bag of lettuce that I distinctly remember K demanding be part of HER stash.

I remembered to breathe slowly and deeply and to clear my mind of the thoughts of pounding on Squeeky's door while she mowed dinner to point out that leaving condiments on the counter is a good way to give us food poisoning. I thought of adding "since its pretty clear you feel whatever you add to the food supply is for you alone, I would never suspect that the mayo I paid for would be the culprit for making me sick one day since I am very sure to clean up my mess before I ever leave the kitchen to eat."

It was all I could do not to sink to her level and demand that she play by our rules.
And it is ALL I CAN DO not to print sheets of labels with mine and Ts name on them so as to be clear that if we have a division of property issue in the single apartment sized fridge, that means that more than two bank accounts will be drained for the mysterious disappearance of cheese and tortillas, snack crackers, peanut butter, and mayo our fridge fairies can't explain.

If you have ever had a roomie who played these games, tell me how to maintain my sanity and my food budget with this two faced sack of self righteousness. I'm about this worn out just being home these days:

It was a series of pics, and he makes it over, but THIS STAGE was a challenge ya'll!!


curmudgeon said...

I can't figger out what the picture is(?).

Here's - once again - my opinion. I've had roomies in my day. Some were good, some weren't. But until rules and guidelines were agreed upon by everyone, tension and frustration followed by more tension and anger definitely ensued.

Since she's already moved in, the best hope you have in my opinion, is appealing to her sense of reason.
Don't just tell her to replace the beer/drinks if she has one, tell her what brand y'all like or she WILL replace it with what she likes hoping you'll 'come around' and just accept what she gets.
Same with the food. Don't leave it up to her to buy food, have a consensus of what the three of you want to stock the fridge with.

If all else fails, put a small fridge in your room and lock it. Fuck 'em.

Bent Fabric said...

Ditto curmudgeon's comment. Address the issue sooner than later though.

Miss Sassy said...

The picture is a snail that started on one side of the bench and is just STRETCHING his way from one side to the other... I can't find the series to post, but when I do it will all make sense =)

If I could catch the fluttering squeek monster, I'd let her know we are hoping to have an elevated level of maturity in the household and if we can all agree that if we didn't buy it we won't eat it, the labeling will be unnecessary.
However, she feels the right place for a prudish judgemental Catholic girl is in the nightclub, so after I get off work and go to the gym, she is out the door before I get home =) =) THIS is a VERY ok-by-me way to be!

Ale8one said...

good luck. roommates suck.

generally you might be able to get it right if it's only one other person, but 3 is a crapshoot, someone is always way to inconsistent.

i would go the labels route or at least divide up the cabinets. what's yours if off limits unless someone is having an emergency low-blood sugar issue. you hate to be that way but it gets it out of the way early. you can always buy communal goods in the future for goodwill, like beer for example. this just makes it clear that you need your stuff.

it may seem uptight at first, but just explain it helps everyone know where the boundaries are and will save you energy and frustration later. you know there will be a rub somewhere sometime, just get it out of the way now by making food rules. i mean this girl doesn't just go and screw in your bed.

sorry bout the rant, it seems like one of the last conversations i had with a rooommate.

Ale8one said...

oh yeah, commando in PJ pants - that's hot!

Miss Sassy said...

ale8one - I agree that separation is ideal, and communal pitch in for like eggs and milk and beer can work... however the house was originally T (my fave and upstairs sharer) and her ex-fiancee's house. They moved in the baby sis while she was in college, fiancee became an ex, middle sis needed a place the same time I came in to pay some rent for them, and now the baby sis has been replaced by Squeeky. T is still the mother hen of the household and DISPISES the concept that her 'home' is now a 'rental' - this is only the most salient of her 'my house' crises.
I was used to my shelf=my stuff at the last place and wouldn't mind it except T is SO good at going to the store and cooking and getting goodies like non-American cheese and whole wheat bread and snack crackers... the rest of us would surely miss her contributions, and she wouldn't know what to do with herself if she wasn't providing for a house full of what she hoped would be children by now.

I'm giving it a few more days for T to tell Squeeky the lowdown on how we lived before she came around (and blow a gasket about the labeling and stealing in the same day!!)... then I'll find a way to hide ear plugs and mention nicely that she will not be forcing us into her ways in OUR house.

Oh, and yeah, I think when one is at home, one should be comfortable... to me this means no shoes, big wool socks; funky free Tshirts with spastically tattered bras; PJ pants without wedgies or butt floss. I like to roll down the top and have THAT hold it around my hips with a cami on that lets my hair whisp across my lower back. Makes me feel feminine and after stuffy collared shirts and pencil skirts and strapped on heels all day, its all about the freedom baby!!!