It's currently my spring break, and much fun has been had for yours truly. My friend Vina has been in town and we've done all sorts of things: walked the beach on the windiest fucking day in the history of California, drove 200 miles and nearly saw some amazing sequoia, flew to the moons of Endor and were shrunken and then blasted into outer space and accosted by pirates and rescued by Indiana and photographed with a giant mouse (we went to Disneyland), made many enemies (bitches with the "fast passes" at Disneyland), visited Body Worlds, and more. I've taken pictures like they're going out of style. I've driven over 800 miles in the last five days. And then, there was today. Having run ourselves ragged, Vina and I decided to chill in my ROOM, because that's all I seem to be renting at the moment. How do I know? Well, let's see. Perhaps it's intuition. Perhaps it's the fact that that's the part of the house I use that is snooped in the least (sort of). Or, maybe, the way all my items of daily use in the bathroom were shoved unceremoniously into the cabinet, to go along with a nasty handwritten note slipped under my bedroom door. The note opened like this:
"Phil, As you can see I did hang your towel where it belongs, behind the door. The towel arrangement was not an option...."
Apparently, even though I'm renting a room (and bathroom, according to the original ad), I'm only a guest when it comes to USE of the bathroom. I can do whatever I want in my room, as far as aesthetics go. As in, I can hang up whatever shit I want to and the worst I'll get from the Roommate of Death is a look of disdain. HOWEVER, the rest of the house is her domain. Including the tub of margarine that I got chewed out about for actually eating from (she confided that she never really uses it, but when she does, it better damn well be FULL). Maybe I should strike back by throwing away her jar of Mayonnaise that expired last September. For all her issues with me, I'm shocked she hasn't noticed by now. I suppose if she did though, she'd go all crazy and throw out the entire refrigerator, so I'll know when she does notice.
I remain optimistic, however. We had a cordial chat about the whole thing, wherein she told me I'm like a Caveman (capitalization mine), mostly because I know nothing about decorative towels. And I'm a total wimp because I don't like using the special hook behind the door to hang my towel, never mind the fact that my towel never actually dries when I do use the fucker. Though I tried to set up my special palm tree toothbrush holder, that was rejected, too. It apparently doesn't fit the "decor" (which is basically nondescript). I pleaded my case on a bullshit argument of preferring a toothbrush holder for sanitary purposes. I still lost, but not before she offered to buy me a new toothbrush container, just to fit the decor. I told her not to buy anything on my account, but I'm secretly hoping she does, because then that means my rent money is at least going toward something on my account.
But wait, I mentioned optimism and haven't gotten to that part yet. The optimism is that I'm now actively searching for a new place to live. Because for all its perks, living with this Roommate of Death is driving me nuts. And I'm pretty sure SHE'S the one who's crazy. Not to mention bipolar. An angry note in the morning, and then a fairly genial exchange about the whole thing in the evening? Wow.
Time to join the roommate finder websites again. Only I'll have to assume a different identity/screen name because she's probably still on there (soon to be wondering why she can't hold onto any roommates). Good thing I deleted my profile once I moved in here. Sort of. Strike One, meet Strike Two. Maybe third time's the charm.