Memory Lane Monday: My Shit-hole Apartment (Part 6)

On this first edition of Memory Lane Monday, I must say I'm so glad I had this post pre-written. I'm horrible awful sick with Tonsillitis or some other nastiness because apparently, my oral cavities have decide to go on strike from the rest of my body.  But enough about me, on with the story of the day!

So, after the joys of college and moving back home with my parents temporarily, it was finally time to spread my wings...and drive 1,800 miles to New Jersey to start a new chapter in adulthood.

Living Away From Home Year 5

Moving Across the Country

(Dreams, Meet Reality)

I dreamt of living in New York City since I was a little kid. New York was THE place.  It was where dreams came true and stars were born. If I wanted to be an actor, it was NYC or Hollywood.  I never considered myself much of a west coast girl and was never all that impressed with L.A the few times I'd visited, plus I was born in Manhattan, and it was calling me home. Home to the mothership.



Exactly.
IMDB



Since the leap from Colorado to NYC was so abrupt and expensive, I decided to "cushion" the blow by moving to Weehawken, NJ where I could still keep the security blanket that was my car, but easily commute into Manhattan by bus for auditions or work. I can't even begin to explain how all the pieces of the move fell into place, it almost seemed too easy, and too right-time-right-place in retrospect. Also in retrospect, what I did was ballsy, but also a little bit hasty and not one of the smartest things I ever done. I did work very hard and spent a lot of hard-earned money to make my dream happen. But I also did something not-so-wise.  I moved into a house with two complete strangers 1,800 miles away from the only place that was ever home, with no job, no job prospects, and a savings account that was hemorrhaging money. Isn't being young and reckless awesome?!



You get my money! And YOU get my money! Everybody gets my money! (Except me.)
T-shirt Laundry

I had my friend Tommy and Not-Yet-Boyfriend for moral support, I had a dream, and I had ambition-the kind that comes with youthful stupidity and optimism. The day or two after I got myself and my ferrets all settled and mostly unpacked, I drove 5 miles to Hoboken, NJ (lovingly referred to by Jersey-ites as "The 'Boken" or "The 6th Borough") parked my car, fed the meter, and started hoofing it up and down Washington Street with a folder full of resumes looking for a job. Any job. I honestly don't remember how many restaurants, bars, and shops I set foot in that day.  A lot of them gave the glassy-eyed "oh I'll have the manager call you" response, and I did literally get laughed out of a couple of bars because I didn't know what their strange colloquialisms for certain drinks were (bartending school means jack diddly here) and to this day, I still don't know what the hell is in a "Red-Headed Slut" shot. Eventually, I meandered into a cafe called The Frozen Monkey where they all but hired me on the spot. 


This place sadly no longer exists. Funny enough, though neither does the restaurant I worked after this...nor the retail store I worked after that...nor the restaurant I worked after that.
Be ye warned, retailers: I am the harbinger of bankruptcy!

 Once I got back to my house, I felt a burst of self-confidence and perused the trade papers for auditions. I came across an agency looking for actors for background work and gave them a call to set up an audition. I drove 45 minutes to their office the next day (45 minutes away from NYC should have been a red flag) and sat down with their fast-talking "agent" (fast-talking, pushy, more red flags) I signed a contract and made a "down payment" on my membership with them (GINORMOUS RED FLAG!!! Danger! Danger, Will Robinson!!!) To any would-be actors/entertainers out there, if you take anything away from my blog other than some schadenfreude, let it be this: Never Never NEVER pay an agency to get you work. Legit agents get paid only when YOU get paid and not in any other way. Long story short, this particular agency was super shady and had I been smart I would have skipped that appointment with them, but c'est la vie. You live and you learn. I did get my very first paid gig on a network pilot through them, so it wasn't the biggest mistake I ever made, but they made way more money off of me than I ever made thanks to them. Lesson learned. Unfortunately, this experience made me extremely leery of casting agencies almost to the point of paranoia which certainly didn't help me get any acting work especially during the infamous Writer's Guild strike, stagehand strike, the threatened SAG strike, and the recession that overshadowed much of my first 18 months on the East Coast. Looking back, the shady agency seemed to be the tip of the ice burg of life lessons telling me I may have been in a little bit over my head.



But who could resist this view?
Copyright Jessica Ayers

I wasn't in over my head nearly as much as my landlord, Alex was, however.  He was a nice guy, but this house I was renting was his first venture into landlord-ing. My 2 roommates and I were renting the top 2 floors of a charming turn of the century Colonial-style house. I met them online and in person before moving in with them thanks to an online roommate listing. They were friends with each other from college and they seemed nice and "normal" enough to me. Their names were Kate and Jessica (I'm not even joking.) They were really nice girls, and it was definitely a culture shock for all of us living together, but Kate and Jersey-Jess were pretty good roommates overall.

I love old houses except for the fact that they're old and broken.
Google Maps

The house was old, but in relatively decent shape other than the roof needed to be patched up a bit and the old unusable chimney shaft leaked a little into our kitchen. No big deal, Landlord Alex had some guys come fix it a month into us living there. And by "fix it" I mean one morning while we were all asleep the roof guys drilled into the chimney flue for some unknown reason and the vibrations shook a bunch of old soot and other crap loose and it collapsed into our kitchen and got black soot on EVERYTHING. Did I mention my bedroom was attached to the kitchen? Yeah, nothing makes waking up in the morning more awesome than opening your bedroom door to find black soot on almost everything you own.  Especially in the place where you prepare and eat your food. Did I mention that most of the tile in our kitchen was white? (Was being the operative word.) I was first to make the unfortunate discovery and stood staring in shock. Kate and Jersey-Jess both screamed when they saw the kitchen. We all had to go to work, but we were assured that Landlord Alex would come inspect the damage and get it taken care of.

Apparently his idea of "taken care of" and our idea of it were two very different things. He decided to make the roof guys working stop what they were doing and come inside to clean up the mess they made. The geniuses then decided the best course of action was to get their shop vac and suck up all the soot and then blow it back up the chimney (dear god, I wish I was joking.)  So, when we all returned home from our respective jobs, our once white kitchen had a nasty layer of grey filth on everything. Fun fact: did you know that when you vacuum up soot, particles still get into the air around you? Also, when you suck it up and then blow it out of a shop vac, it goes EVERYWHERE! So, not only was our kitchen covered in a weird grey dusty grime, so was literally everything else in the house. Every.Thing.  Needless to say we threw a hissy fit and demanded better action from Landlord Alex.  The next day while we were at work he sent a professional cleaning crew to do a thorough cleaning of the house.  But, by "professional cleaning crew" I'm pretty sure he meant Merry Maids.  
 

What we expected vs. what we got.

The cleaning crew did a satisfactory job, but whoever they were, they were ill-equipped for a such a heavy duty cleaning job. In fact, almost a year later when Kate, Jersey-Jess, and I all moved out and on with our lives, we were still finding soot in crevices and shelves, and on rarely-used items throughout the house.  But even an exploding chimney, a shady talent agency, and my escaping New Jersey by the skin of my teeth (more on that soon) could not prepare me for the nightmare that awaited me.

To Be Continued...

My Shit-hole Apartment (Part 4)

So, aside from Roommate Jessica being rather passive-aggressive most of our junior year, I still loved living in the Awesome Apartment. Unfortunately, things were about to change again.

Living Away From Home Year 4

Death and Diamonds

(The Awesome Apartment Becomes the Awkward Apartment)

I've mentioned before that I was a somewhat-sheltered child. Other than touring our local justice center on a school field trip in high school, I had very little experience with crime/law growing up. I had been the driver in one car accident as a teen, and I was not at fault. I still had to go to traffic court, but the judge threw it out because the ticket I was written was dumb and the state trooper didn't even show up to court to argue with me. That was my big brush with the law. The most crime I ever witnessed as a youth was some high schoolers smoking a little pot in the parking lot or me and my friend Stef some punk kids in the neighborhood setting off illegal fireworks in the middle of the night. I may have known of some kids in school who shoplifted once or something, but I was blissfully detached from scandals and other wrong-doings. It was something that "happened to everybody else" and I was naive enough to believe that justice still prevailed all the time. Roommate Jessica was probably of similar mindset, because we were both thrown for a loop by what happened the summer before our senior year of college.

Hint: it did not go like this.
Disney

Sadly, our sweet old man landlord died after a long illness right around the end of our junior year. One evening someone came by our apartment to inform us of our landlord's passing, and to give us some letters and legal papers explaining the situation. We were both a little sad; we didn't know our landlord that personally (in fact I can't remember his name) but he seemed nice and kept a nice building, so we couldn't complain. Other than being a little sad, we were very confused and concerned. We had no idea what this meant. Would we have to move? We had basically no useful knowledge on renter's rights/laws, as I said, we were young and naive. 

The late landlord's daughter inherited his estate, including the building in which we lived. She lived a few hours' drive away, so I never met her in person, we only spoke a few times on the phone. On one of those occasions, she informed us that she would honor the rest of our lease (as she was legally required to do) before selling the building, and then she dropped a bomb on us: the superintendent had run off with everyone's rent deposit money and no one knew where he was, THUS she would not be paying us our deposits back (which is, in fact, illegal for her to do.)  Seeing as how Roommate Jessica and I were measly broke-ass college kids and our school did not even have a pre-law major, yet alone student legal services, we had no working knowledge of our rights or how renter's laws worked. My guess is this was exactly what Late Landlord's Daughter was banking on.  So, in short, we were screwed unless we wanted to take it to small claims court -something neither of us could afford nor wanted to do.

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Jessica was planning to go on another mission trip over the summer and would be in China for most of that time, so that left me to sort of help take care of things at the apartment, and see that the transfer of power went well. Needless to say, that summer kind of sucked. Roommate Jessica was in China, but we were able to communicate via e-mail about what needed to happen with our living situation, etc. I went to bartending college for a few weeks to "learn a trade" since clearly my Theatre Arts major wasn't gaining me any employment brownie points. At some point before Roommate Jessica left the country, she sent me a nasty e-mail complaining about a lot of things (like the landlord dying/our money being stolen) and then started accusing me of ridiculous things like cheating on my boyfriend-at-the-time and a lot of other crazy nonsense. First off, I had not cheated on my boyfriend-at-the-time, especially not in that apartment.  Secondly, if I had cheated on a boyfriend in that apartment, it would have been NONE of her business. Third, the e-mail all but accused me of being the reason the landlord kicked the bucket and the super stole our money, which is just plain ludicrous.  At the end of the e-mail she threatened to move out.  I was so angry after receiving this e-mail that I started writing a bunch of nasty shit to reply to her.  But I stopped myself.  I decided to not stoop to the level she was clearly perched smugly on and decided to not write an angry e-mail ripping her a new one (wise words, kids-learn from me!) I logged out and went to play my GameCube.

Everything seems better after angry gaming.
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A few days later, once I had drafted an intelligent, civil-yet-direct e-mail reply, Roommate Jessica had already left for her trip and I would not hear from her for weeks. I essentially told her that, yes, it super-sucked that our landlord died and his daughter is being a total douche-canoe and that our money was stolen, but those things were currently out of our control. As for the rest of the ludicrous accusations, I told her I would not dignify them with a response but that if she wanted to move out, that was her choice and I would not try to talk her out of it if she had made up her mind to leave. I did remind her that her name was still on the lease and that she would have to find a replacement roommate to take over her share.  Who has two thumbs and can be classy? This gurl.

Dude, I totally reek of class.
Photo courtesy of Jen Gelber

When Roommate Jessica returned and finally responded to my e-mail, she apologized.  She was just really angry about getting ripped off and took it out on me. (This is why we don't type angry, kids.) She didn't really want to move out and kind of just wanted to forget the whole thing. So, who has two thumbs and called Roommate Jessica's bluff? This gurl again. (Don't try to bullshit a bullshitter, kids.) I decided to try to let it all go (see how well that's been working so far...almost a decade later...) and just act like the e-mail exchange never happened between us. Roommate Jessica even brought me some fun peace-offering souvenirs from China. Things started to go back to normal until one fall afternoon I was at the grocery store and ran into a mutual friend of mine and Roommate Jessica's. We chit-chatted for a minute and then she said,

"Isn't so great that Jessica and "Roommate-Jessica's-boyfriend-with-a-girl-name-whom-I-really-don't-like" are engaged!?!?!?" 
"Um, they're what-now?"
"Yeah, they're getting married next summer." (At this point Mutual Friend is blissfully unaware how awkward this conversation is quickly becoming.)
"Oh. Well...I...didn't...know...that....Neat."
"Yeah! It's so exciting!" (It is slowly dawning on her that she just spilled the beans, and I am uncomfortable and possibly a little angry.)

Awkward.

I finished my shopping and went home pissed-off, to say the least. But, while putting away groceries, I decided to give Roommate Jessica and Girly-Named-Boyfriend Fiance the benefit of the doubt. I concluded that Roommate Jessica would tell me when she had a minute.  We really hadn't spent a lot of time in the apartment together with our crazy different school/work schedules. Maybe I just wasn't the first person to get to know the good news, maybe I'm further down that list of important people to tell when a big life even happens.  Cool.  I can live with that. I told myself to not get all butthurt until I was sure there was a reason to. Days passed. Then weeks. Roommate Jessica said nothing. She didn't even hint at it. The only clue I had that Mutual Friend wasn't just somehow confused and got the wrong "Jessica" (there are a million of us) was the brand new shiny diamond that suddenly appeared on Roommate Jessica's left hand.
Commence butthurt and awkward apartment atmosphere.



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 Up until three-quarters of the way through our senior year, spending time in the apartment with Roommate Jessica felt uncomfortable, distant, and like I was suffocating in a forced air of friendliness. I didn't trust having her as a confidant, and Girly-Name-Fiance was over ALL THE TIME. It sucked. Finally, one afternoon Roommate Jessica came into my room and surprised the shit out of me by asking me to be one of her bridesmaids.



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 She explained that she'd been engaged for a few months to Girly-Name-Fiance, but didn't tell anyone yet because they didn't want it somehow getting back to their parents before they were ready to tell them. She told me she was convinced I knew right away because of the ring but since I never said anything, she didn't say anything either. I fessed up that Mutual Friend had told me at the grocery store. Roommate Jessica sighed and looked embarrassed. Apparently she had run into Mutual Friend the day before I had, and Mutual Friend had seen the ring and guessed. Roommate Jessica told her not to tell anyone, but obviously Mutual Friend was kind of gossipy, and didn't know how to keep secrets all that well. Roommate Jessica is a terrible liar, so I knew she was telling the truth about that, because if Mutual Friend had said, "Oh my God are you guys getting married?!?!?!" Roommate Jessica would not have been able to lie her way out of that conversation to save her life. The whole thing seemed like a bad comedy of errors one might find in an episode of Three's Company, except no sexual innuendo and fewer pratfalls.

The 70's were rough, kids.
MPTV images

So, with things smoothed over with Roommate Jessica, the big questions started to loom over my head about the "F" word: my FUTURE. I had a boyfriend but we both had different plans for our respective future selves.  I had held several part-time jobs throughout college, but I had little savings, and what money I did have, I ended up spending on being a bridesmaid (did you know how expensive it is to be in a wedding?! I sure didn't.) So, with Roommate Jessica moving out of the Awesome-Sometimes-Awkward Apartment to get married and start her adult life, and me with no real plan other than to "someday" move to NY to dive into the entertainment industry, I had to make the terrifying decision at the tender age of 22, to move home with my parents.
Dum bum BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!



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(To be continued...) 

My Shit-hole Apartment (Part 3)

If you've read parts one, two, and two and a half, you'll know that I've had my fair share of strange and/or undesirable living situations. During my junior year of college, all of that bad apartment mojo was about to change...sort of.

Living Away From Home Year 3

My First Real Apartment

(A Tale of an Awesome Apartment, and a Bad Place)

Towards the end of summer, I miraculously found a great newish two-bedroom apartment that was only 2 blocks from campus, had central air, had a parking lot, had laundry in the basement, and was a comfortable size. I don't know quite how I managed to pull it off, but I did, even with Roommate Jessica 2 time zones away on her mission trip. The owner of the 6-unit apartment building was kind of a kooky old gentleman, but sweet enough and never gave us a hard time -in fact, when I asked if he was ok with my ferrets living there, his exact words were "as long as it's not a mountain lion, I don't really care." The superintendent was what one might describe as "blue collar" or as others might describe as "white trash." But, I was not about to judge, since he was a competent handy-man. I put down our deposit, and through the miracle of fax machines got the lease signed by both myself and Roommate Jessica, and it was a done deal -we had an apartment.

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On the celebrated day of the move, after I had left Creepy Roommate Mary's place far behind and my mom left town to let me settle in, I breathed a huge sigh of relief. I had a two-bedroom apartment all to myself for almost 3 weeks, (until Roommate Jessica returned from her mission trip) I had my ferrets living with me again, and I still had almost a month until fall classes started! Unfortunately, for someone who has not-properly-treated clinical depression and an undiagnosed social anxiety disorder, alone-time is probably not the best medicine. Roommate Jessica had told me once that she saw how healing my ferrets were for me after The Imp ended his emotionally abusive hold on me, so I thought as long as I took my medication and spent time with my ferrets I would shake off whatever this strange cloud of doom was that plagued me. It was a stressful time in my life. It was that time in your life when you aren't really a kid anymore, but the world doesn't yet see you as an adult, and you're not quite sure where you fit in.

I continued to make poor dietary choices, and drink a lot more liquor, thus, I was gaining some weight and not feeling healthy. I had poor self-image and I withdrew so much, that my professors/directors jokingly nicknamed me "the phantom auditioner." I would sign my name on the audition sheets, but then I would fail to show up for my audition times because I was too depressed to leave my room, or because I would have a huge attack of poor self-esteem and tell myself that it wasn't worth auditioning because they wouldn't cast me anyway. Then, afterwards, I would feel guilty for not trying harder, and then that guilt would start a downward spiral of more guilt and self-esteem issues, topped with depression and anxiety. This would pressure me to give in to the temptation to eat poorly and drink more. I tried to tell myself I was fine.

I tried dating a lot of different guys. Most of them were nice, but were all wrong for me.  I can't even remember most of their names. I missed a lot of classes, and my grades started to suffer, which just perpetuated the guilt/depression cycle.  Roommate Jessica passive-aggressively tried to "help" by posting bible verses all over the apartment, which, even for someone who grew up in a Christian home, was not helpful. My skewed depression goggles viewed Roommate Jessica as judgmental and condescending -something I definitely didn't need. That too helped perpetuate the vicious guilt/depression cycle. I don't like to have regrets, but I do regret a lot of my junior year of college because I didn't seek out the help I needed when I needed it.  I almost let the depression beat me that year.

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I'm sure due in part to my behavior, but also due to Roommate Jessica's renewed spirituality/high-and-mightiness, we started drifting apart as roommates and friends. Living in the apartment with her started to feel cold and uncomfortable, much like living with Creepy Roommate Mary. But, it was an issue I didn't know how to fix seeing as how I could barely take care of myself and my inner demons. What friends I still managed to hang onto in that time jokingly called me "Beastmaster" or "Crazy Ferret Lady" because of how much time I invested in my furbabies. What most people don't know, though, is that my ferrets truly are the ones who saved me from myself at that time in my life. They gave me a reason to get up in the morning, a reason to try harder, a reason to be. So, for that, I will be ever grateful to them.



Gigit & Boomer



Dustifer "Dusty" Boots



(Afterthought: When Roommate Jessica and I moved into the Awesome Apartment, the first floor of the building contained a print shop. A year prior, the print shop had been a music store. Before Roommate Jessica and I decided on the House From Hell, we had talked about actually moving to the Awesome Apartment building instead, but The Imp talked me out of it saying we shouldn't live above a music shop. I sometimes wonder how my life may have been different if we had moved to the Awesome Apartment that year instead of the House From Hell.)

My Shit-hole Apartment (Part 2.5)

This is a brief story about the miserable 3 months I spent living in off-campus student housing while attending summer classes. This tale takes place immediately after moving out of the House From Hell and before moving into the awesome apartment in which Roommate Jessica and I lived for the remainder of our 2 years of college.

Living Away From Home Year 2.5

Off-Campus Student Housing

(The Curse of Creepy Roommate Mary)

On the day I moved out of the House From Hell, I was filled with relief and minor apprehension about moving into my temporary apartment. I had found an add for an off-campus university-owned apartment sublet on one of the student bulletin boards on campus. I met with a girl who was spending the summer semester abroad, but returning for the school year and didn't want to move out permanently, but didn't want to pay 3 months of rent on a place she wasn't living in or leave her roommate in a lurch. Fair enough. I met with her and she seemed really nice and pretty cool. (I think her name was Amy. It's not important, but for all intents and purposes of this story, her name was Amy.) Amy showed me the first-floor apartment, where my room would be and also offered to let me store any extra furniture I had that wouldn't fit in the already-furnished apartment in her storage unit she rented in the rental facility next to the apartment building. In other words, Amy was awesome and when she vouched that her roommate, Mary, was really chill and down-to-earth, I took her at her word and signed the sublet lease without ever meeting my new temporary roommate, Mary. Let me repeat that-I agreed to live with a stranger without ever meeting said stranger. A word of advice: Never ever do this.


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  Now, the University Apartments (known on campus as the UA) had a very strict no pets policy, so unfortunately my furbaby ferrets had to live elsewhere for 3 months and I missed them terribly. Fortunately, Brian let them stay in one of his spare rooms and gave me a key to his house so I could visit every day, and I returned the favor by feeding his kitty and sugar gliders when he went on vacation. I actually credit this time spent with Brian for why we still stay in touch to this day. He drove me a little crazy when we lived together, but he was a damn good friend. So, with the ferrets taken care of, I just had to move the rest of my crap from the House From Hell over to the UA, a short distance away.

The UA complex was a few blocks further away from campus than the House From Hell, but it wasn't the worst walk in the world except that is was mostly uphill on the way to campus. The UA buildings were built in the 70's, so aside from the outdated style of the buildings, and the probability that they were filled with lead-based paint, they were nice. My apartment was cozy and pleasant enough for being in a building that sat directly next to a very active railroad track and a drug rehab halfway house. (I wish I was joking.) With all of these oddities, I figured I was only going to be there for 3 months, I could handle living with a stranger in a slightly outdated building next to a train track and recovering drug addicts. No problem.

Those were the longest 3 months of my life.

Map not to scale

 I was mostly moved into the apartment on my first day when Mary the Roommate came home from work or wherever she was all day. I had my arms full of stuff when I encountered her for the first time in the living room. Our initial exchange went something like this:

Me: (Arms full of clothes or something) "Oh hi! Are you Mary?"
Mary: (Looking at me as though I were an alien) "Yeah."
(Note: she said this in a suspicious, yet snarky tone as if to say, "well duh who else would I be? But who the shit are you?!")
Me: (Slightly taken aback at her lack of outgoing-ness, but determined to be friendly) "Oh. Well, hi. I'm Jess, I'm subletting for Amy."
Mary: "Hmm. Hi." (After standing there awkwardly for a beat, we exchanged a couple more pleasentries like "what's your major?" etc. Then, I went to put my stuff down in my room and by the time I came back out to the living room to make conversation, Mary the Roommate had gone into her room and closed the door)

Being so relieved to be out of the House From Hell, I was willing to give Mary the Roommate the benefit of the doubt -maybe she was shy, maybe she was tired from being at work, Amy had said Mary the Roommate was quiet and down-to-earth, so maybe I just caught her off guard. This would be one of many lessons in my life that taught me that sometimes people are just creepy assholes for no reason.

In the 3 months I lived in that apartment, Mary the Roommate and I were rarely home at the same time. In fact, in the entire 3 months we lived under one roof, our total time spent conversing with one another would equal about 5 minutes. Despite not being around each other a lot, this eerie unwelcome feeling hung over me especially when Mary the Roommate was home. I was fairly active during those 3 months, I went to summer classes and worked as a delivery driver for Pizza Hut at night (that, alone deserves it's own blog entry, so I won't get into it now) and I spent as much time with my ferrets at Brian's house as possible. Any free time I had, I spent looking for a more permanent apartment to move into with Roommate Jessica, who was on a mission trip all summer. Even with all this activity to keep me busy and distracted from myself, it didn't change the fact that I felt very empty that summer. I felt this unpleasant aura and a cold pit in my stomach any time I was in the apartment, and that feeling increase exponentially when Mary the Roommate was around. 

Something feels strange...
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With the stress of searching for a better yet affordable apartment all on my own, not having my "babies" around all the time, feeling super lonely, and having a major bout of depression and anxiety after a trauma that happened at the end of my sophomore school year, I was in really bad shape.  Mix all of that with a roommate who not only wanted nothing to do with me, but would go out of her way to passive-aggressively remind me that I was only a temporary resident in her apartment, and you get a nervous breakdown waiting to happen. Never mind the fact that I was paying my fair share of the rent and utilities on time, in Mary the Roommate's eyes, I was an intruder. That summer marked the beginning of my downward spiral of poor dietary decisions mostly due to depression, which wasn't entirely Mary the Roommate's fault, but she certainly seemed to know how to add fuel to the emotionally distraught fire.  
Here are a few examples:

-The apartment was equipped with cheap fluorescent lighting, so if I opened the curtains to let natural light in, Mary the Roommate would close them if I left the room, even if it was only for a moment. This convinced my mom that Mary the Roommate was a vampire.

-Aside from our first conversation the day I moved in, she made little-to-no effort to get to know me. I know i was only a temporary resident, but would it have killed her to be friendly? I don't know, maybe it actually would...

-She never sat and watched Friends re-runs with me after I asked her if she wanted to, even though she owned several of The Best of Friends dvds in the entertainment unit. I finally stopped asking after a while.

-If she was watching TV in the living room and I joined her, she would go to her room and close the door at the commercial break. I could then hear the rest of the show playing on her TV in her bedroom.

-If we were both home at the same time, and I was eating in the kitchen nook or in front of the TV, she would eat her meals in her room with the door shut.

-If there were 4 dishes in the sink and 3 of them were hers, she would only ever wash her own, even if my dirty "dish" was only a spoon. Whereas, I washed all the silverware in the sink so there would always be enough clean spoons/forks to eat with.

-If I got home later than she did, she would never even leave the porch light on for me. In fact one evening I was sitting on the porch with a friend of mine when Mary the Roommate came home. I said "hi" and she said nothing. After she had been inside for a few minutes, she turned the porch light out, leaving my friend and I sitting outside in the dark.

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Finally, the glorious day came when I got to move out. As usual, Mary the Roommate left early that morning without a word (no doubt to go buy champagne to celebrate my imminent departure.) My mom came into town to help me move all of my things to an awesome two bedroom apartment where I would end up living for the next two years with Roommate Jessica. My mom and I spent all day moving everything out of my UA apartment, except my vacuum and some cleaning supplies which I left in my room to signify that even though my stuff was gone, Mary the Roommate could see that I planned to come back to clean up.  When my mom and I finally returned later that afternoon to do some final cleanup in the apartment for Amy, it was clear that Mary the Roommate had returned for a brief amount of time and left again. There where newly dirtied dishes in the sink and, true to form, Mary had closed all of the curtains in the apartment. My mom clucked her tongue and reiterated her belief of Mary the Roommate's vampirism. We laughed about it, finished cleaning, returned the key to the apartment manager, and left without a second look back.

Peace out bitches!
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I never did learn what horrible offense -whether real or imagined- I carried out that caused Mary the Roommate to loathe my presence so much, but nor do I really care; and much like Fucking Joe, I don't care enough to remember her last name either. I sort of wish I had some amusing tale to tell of how I exacted my revenge on her, but I don't. Life's too short to stay pissed about the little shit like that. For years afterward, though I simply referred to her as Creepy Roommate Mary.

 

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