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!!