I've lived with a boy before - not in the romantic way, mind you, but in the "we're roommates so please stop assuming that we hook up every day" sort of way. He was a darling, darling boy who I adore more than most people in this world, who I adore so much that I continue to write his recommendations for one charitable worldly intellectual program to the next. My former boy-roommate is a doll, is smart as a whip and has the uncanny ability to make me feel like a sheltered, unschooled-in-worldly-affairs flit who spends more time drying their hair than thinking about things that really matter. And I love him for it.
That was in 1995.
The next boy that I lived with was (and probably still IS) a strange bird. Upon receiving my job offer to move to Atlanta, I had approximately 10 days to find a place to live, pack, move & start my life over in a new city. Thus I ended up moving into a condo with this 30-year old divorced paint-seller who seemed like a safe choice, (was even Mom-approved), who I believe is the reason for my extreme hatred for goatees & facial hair. (Minus the beard. I love me a scruffy bearded-one.) I lived with him for six months to the day, and received a one-sentence email telling me he'd like me to move out. He didn't want to give me reasons, didn't want to talk about it, which, in retrospect, just adds to his oddness and I had no problem leaving THAT situation. (Note that I'm sheltering you from the very disturbing parts of this random lad, but I suppose it'll suffice to say that he frequently used the phrase "I'm gonna rock out with my cock out" when he was hitting the booming hooker-opolis of Buckhead. ICK.) Before I moved out, he gave me a list of grievances he had with me, including me inviting a friend over without asking his PERMISSION, eating his FOOD (which I can easily say I never once did) and not taking the trash out. (On that one, guilty as charged.) Weird, weird character. Good riddance.
That was in 2000.
Since then, I've lived alone, lived with girl roommates, and then lived alone again. I got used to being the master of my own domain (not in the Seinfeldian sense; more in the "this is my house, this is my castle, and I can leave dishes in the sink for a week if I want to" variety.) Yet this summer, after my freelancing became a less-frequent occurrence and after the purchase of my much-beloved Saab-alamobile, it became clear (after overdrafting my checking account a few times) that I was going to have to get a roommate.
I met this process with trepidation - I'd seen the good, seen the bad, and seen the nasty hairy ass of aforementioned grossholio roommate on one evening I returned to find him passed out naked on the couch. I LIKED living alone, liked my independence, liked my solitude. If I wanted to have friends over, I did. If I wanted to walk around naked, well, off went the clothes. And if I wanted to sit on my couch in my PJ's all day, eating Jake's Ice Cream and weeping over the episode of ER when Dr. Greene dies, rest assured I did just that. Yet the financial necessity was unmistakable, so I proceeded with the roommate-obtaining plan.
That was in August.
My current roommate, known to you all as "My Darling Roommate" (since he is, well, nothing less than darling) moved in on September 1st. Already a friend, I was excited to have him move in and hoped he'd be comfortable in an already-girlie-decorated place with three cats and their oft-wayward owner. Quiet by nature (though not at all shy), I wondered how our personalities were going to mix when living under the same roof.
The first few weeks he definitely kept to himself, spending the majority of his time in his room, only emerging to make one of the ten meals that he eats a day. (Note that I am not exaggerating in the least here - this boy can EAT.) As often is the case, I was traveling regularly, and saw him only sporadically. Yet he liked the cats, kept the place clean, and could crack me up like nobody else. This situation seemed to be working out better than even expected!
That was in September.
Since then, my Darling Roommate and I have become really good friends. We play scrabble, UNO, Trivia Pursuit and have recently crowned ourselves No-Limit Texas Hold-em Maestros. We've mastered the grocery store runs, he pushing the cart and getting his requisite $20 of eggs, cereal, brown rice, cheese, tuna & black beans so he can use his $5 off coupon while I troll the Morningstar Farms aisle and contemplate the shelf life of bagged salad. He grabs the flyer upon entering the store and allows me to put my purse in the baby-seat part of the cart without TOO much griping. The TV alternates between Football, Felicity Reruns & Celebrity Poker, and Saturday & Sunday mornings are spent in our pj's discussing the evening prior and the day ahead. Sunday is for cooking.
Somehow, over the past few months, we've gotten into this routine which is both comfortable and wonderful. He takes out the trash (hurrah!) and listens patiently while I describe my oh-so random daily dreams, and I make kick-ass veggie lasagna and some to-die-for Twice Baked Potatoes. I know that he prefers cheap paper towels that are biodegradable over my much-adored Bounty. He knows that I will sell my soul for the grilled cheese at Heaping Bowl.
Living with someone requires give & take. I've found myself watching more football than ever before, and he's flipped through an "In Style" or two, though will likely kill me for saying this. I love having someone else around, love being able to kick his ass in poker (don't listen to anything he says - I'm a Card Shark) and love being able to make dishes for two. And while I live alongside one of my best friends, I'm not sure if I express to him enough how grateful I am to have him as my roommate.
So Thanks, Darling Roommate. You're the best.
Still, you're a HUGE jerk for not having to work today.
Don't hate me, but it sounds to me like you and "darling roommate" are on the road to friend becoming more than friends??
Posted by: Kelly | January 19, 2004 at 12:26 PM
Naah, just a friend. (And not in that Biz Markee sorta way, either.)
Posted by: aubs | January 19, 2004 at 12:43 PM
Uh-oh. She went THERE. Hey, I didn't know Dr. Greene died! Thanks for the *spoiler* warning! Geesh. If you ever miss him though, go to the Wild Wing in Marietta, which not only has, in my humble opinion, the best wings in town as well as an excellent beer selection, but also a guy named Jamie that looks almost exactly like Goose, Dr. Greene, whatever-you-wanna-call-him. It's uncanny, really. I had a girl roomate once for three years, who was good to live with, the exception being that she had a particularly annoying habit of straightening up after me. Now, I'm not talking about doing dishes or wiping down a kitchen counter. I'm talking about putting my shoes in my closet when I left them in the living room, or returning a book to my nightstand if I left it on the coffee table. But compared to the guy I lived with in college that would drop a whole slice of cheese on the kitchen floor before stepping on it with a dirty boot and leaving it there, she was a blessing.
Posted by: hollismb | January 19, 2004 at 12:57 PM