Sometimes I feel like my roommate Charlie's life is a ride plucked straight out of Disney World. At times, it's like the Mad Teacups, those vehicles that spin you around until you reach the point of near-puking. That's how I feel after talking to him a good chunk of the time, which is why I always keep my trash bin handy. The trending topic here is his girlfriend: let's call her Gel (hey, it's actually only one letter off). Gel is out of her mind insane, like insane asylum crazy. She has a complete fixation on Charlie: she's got him wrapped up in her tentacles, and the only way to get him out is to cut them off. I'm not advocating chopping Gel's arms off; rather, I'm talking about the figurative ties that exist between them. Ever tried to strip vines off of a tree? It's like that, only ten times harder. This girl is CLAMPED on. The problem though, is that their relationship is 95% bickering, and 5% sex. How on God's green earth is that in the least bit healthy? Over the past few months, I've noticed that a lot of their conversations are recycled, almost like the two of them are living a real life Groundhog Day. Here's some examples of the beautiful prose the two exchange on a day-to-day basis: Charlie: "If you ever look at/think about/think about thinking about [insert male's name here] ever again, we're done/I'm done/I'm never talking to you again." Hmm, possessive much? Gel: "Fuck you. I hate you. We're not even dating. No, don't hang up I love you and I'm pregnant! No, just kidding. Hey, it was a joke! No, we're not even dating anymore, I'm serious this was the last straw. Maybe I'll call up [insert male's name here] and invite him over!" If I were them, I'd wanna spice things up a bit. Maybe designate certain days (relationship holidays?) to talk about specific topics. I don't know, maybe spend one day talking entirely like pirates. They already have dirty enough mouths and minds.
When one looks up the term "Grouch" on Muppet Wiki (oh yes, there is such a thing), one will find that "grouches are an eccentric race of pessimistic, argumentative, unhygenic furry creatures who prefer to live wherever there is garbage: trash cans, city dumps, even the occasional landfill." I had absolutely no idea that I was living with a member of this previously mythical,TV-land tribe! Let's run through that definition and compare Charlie and Grouches side by side: 1)Pessimistic. Oh, how that doesn't even begin to cover things. Daily, I get the "I just can't do it anymore" speech, and sometimes, when Charlie gets his drink on, I get the nightime weepies about how awful his life is. I don't think even The Count could rattle off how many times a day I hear frustrated sighs and grunts coming from the other side of the room. 2)Argumentative. Now, when you think of a good, dynamic Muppet team, you think Bert and Ernie. Imagine if Bert had been cloned, and said clone was his roommate in college. How do you think they would get along? I have no problems with being an assertive guy. I'm a New Yorker, it's in my blood. But I thought those MidWesterners were supposed to be kind and friendly. I swear, it's like I'm living with Donald Duck. The muttered complaints and muffled remarks remind me of the blubbering, stuttering of the great Disney Duck. 3)Unhygenic. That's putting it super lightly. He's the Pigpen to my Linus. He doesn't mind leaving some throw up on the floor, because the maid (read: me) will take care of it in the morning. Little did I know, I have my mom's Martha Stewart like obsession with things being clean. I was so used to it at home, that it floored me the first time I found a condom (not used or anything! His girlfriend doesn't even go here!) under my bed. "What would Mom do?" I found myself thinking as I Fabrezed the bejesus out of the floor. And the stench! No, he doesn't ever do laundry. Ever. And guess what that means? It means that rotting pile of laundry develops an infuriating stench. Gross. I can only spend so much money on AirWick products before I go broke. As for furry? Does it count if he never shaves?
Hopefully in the near future, Charlie the Grouch will go the way of the Cookie Monster when they swapped in the "Veggie Monster." Only this time, I'm hoping for Grover.
The reason I ask that question is because it's been tweaked so many times over the past few months. Here's the latest transgression. My roommate talks on the phone (or videochats) his girlfriend basically every waking minute of the day. Towards the beginning it didn't so much bother me, but now I find myself cringing every time I hear him say "Hello" or "No, you text ME." How about you both pick a time and text each other so I don't have to hear you have the same conversation every half an hour? Perhaps an alternating system, so you'd have an equal share of the texting. Would it be that difficult? Hell, I'll even make up the timetable for you.
It's gotten to the point where I find myself wondering "What could possibly be left for these two dimwits to talk about?" Here's what I've come up with: 1)Zoo animals 2)Staplers 3)Intelligent movies (no, Charlie, G.I. Joe doesn't count) 4)Anything pertaining to schoolwork (it's like the institution doesn't exist for either of them)
Can you think of any other obscure things for them to talk about? I'm thinking as a Christmas present, I'll make a list of talking points for them. Oh, and I'll also invest in a new pair of earplugs.
I've decided I want this blog to take on a new purpose. Over the past two months, I've had to deal with some pretty ridiculous goings on in my dorm. Looking back on these moments, I think most of them are hysterical and the world deserves to hear about them. So, starting today, I'll be writing about my life here at college. To protect the individuals involved I won't be using their real names and I won't be giving away any personal information about them. With that, please enjoy The Circus in Cheverus.
About a month before I entered my freshman year at college, I found out that I would be living in a forced triple much to my chagrin.For those who don’t know, a forced triple is a room built for two people that is actually occupied by three.Right off the bat I knew the room would be cramped.I worried about the dreaded “roommate alliance”, the idea that two roommates formed a strong friendship while the third was basically left in the dust.As every teenager does, I hit Facebook immediately to search for both of my future roommates.The first, who I’ll call Joe Smith, seemed…interesting.We had a lot of the same likes (a few television shows, etc) but at the same time something was a little funky.His religious views said Islamic, which would be a new experience for me seeing as I had spent the last thirteen years in Catholic school.That wasn’t what was out of the ordinary however.It struck me as odd that he had an album full of pictures that he had so cleverly named “GOodnight u fucking rapists”…
“Ok, that’s a little weird” I thought to myself but I didn’t give it any other thought.In retrospect, I really should have.It’s not really the most normal thing to throw the word rapist around (even though it’s not uncommon to hear kids say “Yo, I totally raped that test man!”)
I couldn’t really get a feel for my second roommate (let’s call him Charlie MacAvoy) except that everyone who saw his profile picture kept telling me “You have a bro for a roommate!”What an interesting expression: bro.I wasn’t really sure what it meant for him to be a “bro” but my friend was all too happy to explain: “You know, like lax bros and like, bro-ing out.Basically, very douchey and they’re obsessed with themselves.”I wasn’t really sure how they were getting that impression just from one picture, but nonetheless up until I met Charlie I was convinced I was going to be rooming with a bro and was already trying to think up sitcom names for the room (my personal favorite was “Pinky and the Bro”).
We started up a thread for the three of us to talk about concerns, who was bringing what, and to get to know each other.Charlie’s idea was for each of us to talk about ourselves in general so we could get a feel for each other before we got to school.Red flags went up when Joe sent his reply: “I was born in Alexandria, Egypt and I am islamic. Ive had to deal with racism a lot in my life, and I got into [our college] partially because of that.”I read the first sentence and kind of said “oh that’s interesting” and THEN I hit the second sentence.“What does that even mean?” my mom said when I read it aloud to her.I understood the fact that he had to deal with racism all his life “But what does it mean that he got into your school because of that?”I didn’t know and neither did anyone I ask.Was it a prerequisite I missed out on?I’m sure my school was interested in having a larger group of Muslims attending the school, but I am also willing to bet that if he had put on his Common App essay “I’ve dealt with racism all my life” that the reader would jump up and proclaim “I’ve read enough! He’s dealt with racism all his life, so he’s in!”
My aunt, one of the smartest and funniest people I know, called it: “You’re going to have a hard time living with him.He’s already playing the race card”I scoffed and told her she was being ridiculous.When I had to rush home two weeks into college with Charlie, I was greeted with the biggest “Oh I SO called this shit” face. Good call, Zia.
