Hello, my dear friends.

Things are fine here….just needing to vent a bit…do you mind?

I didn’t think so.
Have you met those people who always start their shit talking sesh with “I love him/her to death, but…”

As though that little cotton candy buffer puff will ease the vile tongue thrashing about to be unloaded on some unsuspecting asshole.

I’m one of those. Can’t even help myself.

So, my roommate. Love her to death…

Well, maybe love is a bit of a stretch, but I do like her a whole lot.  (However, I do love her cat. C’mere Camille, you fuzzy chubby bitch, snuggle with meeee. Why you run? *hangs head*)

Anyway, I like my dear roomie very much, and that’s mostly (100%) due to the fact she is rarely around. When she does come home, it’s usually in the morning, and that works out well. Below is what I call The Flow Chart of Understandings:

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Pre-work: GossipGossipGossip!!

OMG! STFU! GFY! Totes. I just LOL’d my dick off.

Post-work: I’ve reached my human interactions quota for the day and need to avoid all eye contact and communication for 4-6 hours minimum.

Nope.Nope.Nope.Nope.

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So we have breakfast chit-chat for a few minutes about the usual: Jobs, friends, boys, etc.

Lovely, all lovely.

Then we skip off to work with glee. What a wonderful little marriage my roomie and I have.

But like every marriage (or so I hear far too often, seriously why the shit do people get married) there are things she does that makes me want to punch her in the throat.

Nothing crazy, just 3-5 quick jabs straight to the larynx.

Exhibit A: Shower Time
Ok, I understand that there are some people who like to take their time in the shower. Fine. Do whatcha gotta do. But if you’re going to take 25 minute showers, don’t be all shocked and shaken when I act annoyed you need to use the bathroom for the 4th time in the morning while I’m on my bathroom time. You had your allotted hour, so please go fuck yourself.

Also, no matter what anyone thinks, everyone loses hair in the shower. Some more than others (I personally have a fist-sized rat’s nest that should probably be tagged and photographed at the end of my wash/rinse), but everyone sheds. So what does that mean kids? Pick the goddamn thing out of the drain before the next person uses the shower.

Dude. Duuuude.

Pretty difficult to wrap your head around, I know, but not exactly quantum physics.
*Sidebar. Not only is her hairball in the drain every damn day, but the no-slip shower mat is always bunched up.
This may seem like “no big deal”, and it’s not, but that sonofabitch is suctioned to the tub.

How is it such a small woman can get a practically glued piece of rubber bunched up into a ball? In fact, I have a hard time pulling that fucker up to straighten it back out!

I like to think of myself as a fairly educated individual, but this completely baffles me. What in sweet hell are you doing in there? Aerobics? Squat thrusts? The Running Man, perhaps.

This must explain why it takes her damn near half an hour to shower, because honestly, showers are for running a washcloth over face, pits, back, cracks, and feet. Any more scrubbing than that is unhealthy and you need therapy.

Exhibit B: Kitchen/Dish Clean Up
We do not have a dishwasher.
Pssh, white people problems, amirite?
It takes two seconds to rub a sponge, rinse, and bam, you’re all done. Super simple.

Now, we are not the kind of people who always wash said dishes the moment we’re done power binging in front of the TV, so that’s not my issue. The issue is this: When I am finally washing the dishes in the sink, I leave no man behind. Because, like, why the hell would I? My hands are already wet, so what’s three more seconds of my life?

This, evidently, does not seem so obvious to the roomie.

Why, just this morning she ate her breakfast, packed her lunch for the day, and washed her dishes. Now I’m up before she is, so I’ve already got a spoon and a cup in the sink. And, sure enough, I walk into the kitchen when she’s done, and there they were.

What the actual fuck?

I WASH HER DISHES ALL THE TIME, BECAUSE I DON’T CARE ENOUGH NOT TO.
And yet I just sat there, staring at the cup and spoon in disbelief.

*Again, sidebar: I’ve convinced myself she’s not doing this to be a bitch. She’s too damn sweet. But has it really not occurred to her that…You know what, if I’m giving her too much credit, and she does have this thought process of “well, those weren’t my dishes” then fuck her so hard.

Oh. And another thing. Ungoddamn believable, but she constantly leaves huge chunks of food in the sink.

I guess she keeps forgetting the drain is actually a drain, and not a garbage disposal. Is this a “if you want it bad enough, it will happen” experiment, because I’m at a total loss here. And I won’t even get started on the peanut-butter-knife situation that appears a few days a month like clock work.

Jesus H, why wouldn’t you just lick the excess PB off the damn utensil, then leave it in the sink for me to fucking deal with? It’s like cleaning oily rubber cement. Am I alone in this? Bueller?

To be fair, she does take out the garbage more often than I do, and I truly appreciate that. Of course, she doesn’t replace the bag…

Shhh, I know buddy. I know.

I think the lesson I’ve learned (we should all learn) is this: If someone has to pick ANYTHING out of a drain because of you, you’re a solid piece of shit and should kill yourself.