I used to care about what people think.
I still do, but I used to, too.
But I at least don’t care enough to write a rant about the sheer and utter joy at living with roommates and not care if they see this. Mainly because they probably won’t. …because even when I tell my friends to check out this blog, they don’t…and never do…and probably never will.
At least I can vent and rest easy knowing (almost) nobody will ever see it!
So yes, roommates. Those guys you share your otherwise private abode with so you can actually afford to live there. The people you aren’t related to, but living with. The living partners you shack up with in an intimately small place. And we’re moving on.
I lived alone for a year. I won’t lie, it was kinda depressing. Guess what it also was? Insanely clean. Like damn, I could account for every single crumb in that dorm room. The only time that place was dirty was when there was actually someone else in the room at that moment. Filthy peasants.
So yes, the rest of time I’ve dealt with roommates. Roommates: they come in a variety of shapes and sizes. Some are quiet and will never, ever, and I mean seriously will not strike up a conversation with you unless you do so yourself. Others will basically not live there and there’s a constant thought in the back of your head wondering if they’re rotting in a river somewhere. And then you turn on the light and see they, in fact, have crashed here for the night. Thank God? Of course, there’s the roommates who are perfect little angels who clean up after themselves and actually, somehow, maybe even leave the place a little cleaner than they left it. (Hint: This is me. Yes, I’m a smug bastard.) But on the flip side…there has to be the messy ones. The ones who don’t clean up after themselves. The ones who seem to live in a world that they, and they alone encompass, and they slowly distort the reality around them so that all that remains is the filth they seem to constantly spew from every orifice of their body simply by going about their regular, daily life. No extra effort on their part.
It’s not malicious. It’s ignorance at its purest. It’s just bafflingly large amounts of it. Like, how do you even function in this world not noticing this destruction you leave in your wake? Do you thrive on filth? Is this how you get your sick kicks? And I mean truly ill. Like, disgusting kicks that probably–er, hold on. I’m overdoing it. We’re not even to the main show! These are the specific habits of roommates that I just cannot, for the life of me, understand why they are even a thing in the first place.
Dishes left in the sink. Why do so many Americans seem to do this? No, I don’t mean letting gunked-up pots and pans soak in the sink. That’s not what this is about. That is what sinks are for. No. I’m talking about eating dinner and putting the plate and fork in the sink. I’m talking about cutting a slice of cheese and throwing the knife in the sink. I’m talking about drinking a glass of water. And putting said glass. Which had water in it. In the sink. To presumably be cleaned. By rubbing elbows with the scummiest scum in the kitchen. What. And it’s never just one bowl. Or one cup. It’s every single dish, utensil, and cookware that they’ve so much as touched in the past few days. Maybe it would even be weeks if I didn’t intervene once in a while. But it’s all piled up, taking up all the room in the sink. Defeating the purpose of the sink. I can’t clean anything of mine when it’s full of their crap. Or even fill up my tea kettle with water. C’mon. If you’re really planning on cleaning that stuff later in the day, then leave it on the counter. Or the stove. Or hell, maybe try using that advanced technology known as a dishwasher. We have it for a reason. You don’t even need to know how it works really, I can start it up if need be. Just stick your crap in there so it’s not in the way anymore (but please rinse it first if it’s genuinely dirty). The point is, the phrase is “everything but the kitchen sink.” Not “everything goes in the kitchen sink.”
Leaving things that belong in the kitchen, somewhere else. Everything in its right place. That’s how things should be. Everything has a place, or at least a general area they belong. Dirty dishes in the kitchen. Remote controls in the living room by the TV. Electric tea kettles placed back on their cradle…not left on a random counter outside the living room. Why the hell would you a kettle of boiled water with you? You couldn’t pour enough in one go back in the kitchen? Or even more baffling: leaving the kettle in the kitchen, but right next to its little cradle where it belongs. Not on it, where it nicely clicks in. But next to it. When you could have easily just put it back on. What.
Not taking out the trash or recycling, ever. I’m guilty of not always taking out the trash and recycling when it gets full. But so is pretty much everyone else I’ve ever lived with. It’s easy to forget about, I get it. But when you’ve filled up like 4 bags of recycling and are nearing the full point for a 2nd trash bag in the kitchen, then you know there’s a problem. C’mon, I put in the new bag and tied up the old one, you just have the last step to do!
Never noticing any of the details. Living with roommates has made me realize I really should be putting “detail-oriented” on my resumes. Because nobody else seems to even be oriented, let alone have the “detail” part. Every part of the apartment applies. Hairs by the sink? Yup, nobody seems to care but me. Stains, crumbs, and wet spots all over the counter? I’m the only one who wipes it down without being asked. New mail? I’m pretty much the only one who brings it in, let alone noticing it’s on the table.
Laundry. Just. Laundry. Always and forever. I don’t understand. Some of my roommates never seemed to do it. They did it like, once a month maybe? I don’t know how they even have that much clothing to wear without smelling. Other roommates of mine always seemed to be doing. Like, didn’t you just do it like, yesterday? Do you wash like a day’s worth of clothing at a time? Maybe you’re just really particular about sorting and only have certain colors, materials, and brands in one wash? And then they just forget about the laundry when it finishes. Like, this is only your stuff in there. You started the wash for some reason. Presumably you need clean stuff. And you forgot? Somehow? I’ve forgotten about my stuff before, but never for more than like, an hour or two probably. They’re like: “What? Laundry? Is that a thing I do? …oh shit, yeah.”
Goofing off to the extreme. I’m no longer in school, so I don’t have homework anymore. And I would goof off a lot. But I’d always feel guilty about it, and would always be ashamed and try to hide it. But some of my roommates, man. They just don’t seem to give a shit. Constantly playing video games? Sure. Getting drunk during the week? Whatever. But I guess it shouldn’t matter to me.
Um…I might edit this or make a second post since I feel like I’m forgetting some stuff. But that’s what I have for now. Yeah, don’t ever live with me. I’ll just clean up after you and bitch the whole time about it. It would be like living with your parents all over again. So, I guess live with me if you have, like, dependency issues or something. …this is getting weird, I’m out.
suspiciously generic 