My Revelation

Holy shit, I think he's reading the bible to himself under his breath every morning.

sort of makes you wonder if any atheist has successfully gotten a room switch because their roommate so devoutly believed in god that it made them uncomfortable, you know?

My Window

There is an outright majestic view from my room. This view is of course ruined by flies. A lot of flies.

At all times.

It doesn't matter if you spend a weekend disposing of them, because they have a 36 hour lifecycle. This means you need to spend at least three days of constant vigilance fly killing in order to ensure total destruction.

Which means four days if you actually want them gone.

The little fuckers are now coating my window. yes, coating is a bit melodramatic, but shit in heaven, I don't want do deal with these things! Now, I had been taking care of them all weekend with a vacuum that Dude accidentally stole from the sign-in people downstairs. I now have to deal with more than ten flies, spontaneously generating onto my windows, and those little shits are still going to be alive when night falls and they're gonna be all up in my lamp and overhead light, and GRR

Flies suck.

Hard.

HARD

in other news, I can taste his bodyspray in my mouth. you know that scene in Anchorman with the Panther cologne? THIS SHIT SMELLS THAT BAD--WOMEN OF THE WORLD, SPARE MY FUCKING FACE HAVING TO DEAL WITH IT AND LEARN TO ACCEPT GUYS FOR HOW THEY SMELL

My Mornings

My mornings are usually spent either rushing to an 830 class, barely making it in time for a 930 class or sleeping until the afternoon. Once a week, however, I get the privilege of my roommate's one-sided conversation.

Now, I don't know how many girls he's had over to his old place in the middle of the night, or how many public sleepovers he's been involved in, but Dude doesn't snore. Well, yes, he does, but only when he's getting to sleep. If you think it's weird to notice something like that, try sleeping ten feet away from someone who snores like a motorcycle for an hour or two every night. Then get back to me on how prying and invasive I am when I'm bleary-eyed at 830 in the morning from getting to sleep at 3. No, what he does is a lot more Freudian.

Dude talks in his sleep.

I've yet to put a microphone on him, record it and make millions with his underground rap skills, but the day isn't far off. The worst part is that I don't know if he's actually asleep or not. All I know is that he's one of the chattiest sleepCathys ever. Not to mention, Dude won't wake up for love of pussy. He just hangs out in bed all day talking to himself. I can hear him over my music.

And he often starts just after his phone rings, so I'm not sure if he's trying to maintain an actual conversation or if that's just his alarm and he still has issues with letting his entire body go numb when he sleeps. The same problem is the cause of sleepwalking.

I wish he was a sleepwalker so that he'd notice it in the mornings. Then again, I like my stuff untrampled. . .--

Oh, Dude's up. Seeya.

My Peeves

So my roommate likes horrible music, doesn't know what to like and what to not like without being directly told by the mass media and overall has no input on what goes into his ears other than selecting one trough over another.

It gets worse.

He's almost completely tone-deaf.

(as an exercise in ballsiness, I'm updating this while both he and an old friend of his are in the room. I'm still trying to sleep, as is my right at noon on a Tuesday, but whatever. he has nowhere else to go.)

My Privacy

So my roommate got into my facebook account as I left it online on my laptop in our room. Either him or one of his friends. Witty McFucktard (as the vandal shall be referred to henceforth) changed my status to read something "embarrassing". In more words, something painfully immature and obvious.

I congratulate him. Ol' Witty McFucktard managed to do something that's easier than vandalising Wikipedia. It took absolutely no creativity or effort. At least have the effort to change a person's name, add some embarrassing friends, mess up their applications, host a party in their name, something other than just click-type-laugh-really-loudly.

Yet, the only thing I thought when I saw my adjusted status (other than a mental sigh) was

Should I leave this out one day?

My Nose

My roommate likes Lysol. And Tag. And Axe. And some form of equally pungent perfume.

I once got a nosebleed from standing in a store that was too heavily scented.

I want to tell him to spray that shit outside, or in the bathroom, that it's basically as rude as farting, that I really just want to reach into his brain and make him grow the fuck up for wanting to smell like that vulgar, obvious SHIT

But I can't.

I hate being a good neighbour.

My fence is too well built.

My Politics

Okay, so everyone's making this big deal about Sarah Palin. MILF VP and all that.

I don't know about you, but I have standards. One of which is intelligence. I'm not saying anyone who takes the bible literally is stupid. That's a generalization, and to be avoided.

I'm just saying I wouldn't stick my dick in them if you paid me.

Y'know.

For fear of accidentally getting them pregnant.

My Room

3rd day of Rez life. One of the upper years from across the floor knocks. He lets her in, I take off my headphones. She asks us if we're doing okay. I don't reply. He says yes. She says good.

"Cos this room is cursed."

Cursed, I say. She says yeah.

"None of the roommates in this room have ever liked each other."

Pardon?

"Yeah. Except for like, two sets of roommates about ten years ago, they all hated each other. Glad you're getting along!"

And she's gone.

Now, I'd love to blame my hereto frosty relations with my roommate on an architectural quirk (say, the builder's bad habit of putting satanic hexes in the concrete under the carpet) But I'm pretty sure it's because my roommate and I are the embodiment of The Odd Couple 2008.

My girlfriend asks me why I didn't apply for a single room.

I say I wanted the University Experience.

Not a lie. That's part of the answer. However, the actual answer is closer to I have no idea.

My Self

In the interests of not stirring up a fuss, I'm not mentioning any details about who I am or where I'm from. Like a 16 year old girl on the internet talking to boys about fanfiction, I am someone with no name. I'm eating dinner and looking up at a radio station. Looking down at a fast food joint. (across from me, people are seated at a bar, making empty pseudo conversation about nothing at all)

People walk about me like I'm nothing. they should (misanthropy and anthrophobia are the only ways to live without going mad)

Least, that's how my roommate is living.

He has a distinctive laugh. Very distinctive. Throaty baritone range, reverberating around the concrete block halls like rubber gunfire. Like the distinctive report of a shotgun, it signals his return home. I shoot up to my feet, busy to find something to busy myself with. He stumbles into the room, his numbers strong.

In this moment, I wish I had glasses. I, too, am seated at the bar. Beside me, a group of loudmouths squeal energetically into each others' closed ears. (not fun)

He's surrounded by people. I know two of them, another is new. Sadly, this has been going on for weeks on end. I sit quietly awaiting nightfall or my next class or sleep, and for some reason he's deemed it MFing party time in our room. Not even the biggest rooms on campus could make this less invasive.

(not our room. ours is bigger.---->)

It just goes to show; play good music loud enough and everybody clears away from you. Just beautiful mate. Just beautiful. (this is why I need a dedicated stereo system for my room. my itunes keeps fucking out.)

This font is for storytelling, so I'm telling a story. Get it? Anyway, after they've all left, at least one time, he's complained to me about their presence. He's told me the reason he goes home so often is that he doesn't want to talk to all the new people all the time. Funny, that's the reason I'm so frigid when you bring your mates about. That's the reason I don't like having so many god damn people in the room at all times.

I'm out. Got a party to be at. At least I think I like those people.

My Roommate

I like my university. I like my friends. I like my courses. I like my family. I like a lot of things.

So if someone wants to call me an angry miser who just wants everything to fail and who looks for the worst in everything, I can say with absolute certainty that they're wrong.

I don't like my roommate. How can I? I've never met the guy. It's been six weeks. You think we'd have some form of communication by now. Or something. No, he just brings his friends over and leaves them in the room for extended periods of time when I'm doing. . . okay, rather unimportant things, but still. When I'm chilling in my bed, I don't want all these anonymous fuckers coming in and yelling about your shitty spineless music and worthless worries.

I won't be surprised when it turns out you're all occupying cubicles somewhere. Except my roommate. He's loathsome enough to be Lumbergh. Y'see, he has about that much fashion sense and people skills. Also, misanthropy.

Misanthropy. That's a good word. More on that later.