Showing posts with label dorm life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dorm life. Show all posts

Monday, July 2, 2012

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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Wednesday, June 27, 2012

My Shit-hole Apartment (Part 2)

 So, remember a few times when I talked about my past apartment-living nightmares? Well, the other night after killing so many roaches in my kitchen that I lost count, I decided that it's story time again on my blog to-if nothing else-remind myself that it can always be (and has been) worse. So here we go...
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Living Away From Home Year 2
Off Campus
(The House From Hell)

Looking back, dorm life was not the worst thing in the world. Sure, it was challenging at times and I lost all semblance of privacy, but overall knowing what I know now, it wasn't a nightmare. However, at the time I was 19 and young and naive and a little wreckless and thought I knew everything, and by second semester of my freshman year, I had had enough of dorm life. So, my roommate, Jessica and I decided we liked each other well enough to live together off campus for our sophomore year. We were big kids now. We found a house that was off campus but still close enough that the walk didn't suck too much. There was precious little parking available on campus, and what little parking was available you had to pay out the wazoo to use, so short walking distance was optimal.  The house we found was an 1100 Square foot quaint 1900's house with laundry, and a dishwasher. It was perfect.

What the house looked like when we pictured it
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 The downside to this great little house we found? It was a 6 bedroom house and it was just me and Roommate Jessica, so we needed to find 4 more people to live with us to afford it. To make a long story short, we did end up with 4 other roommates, and before that sophomore year was up we would vow to never have roommates again. Other than myself I had a unique cast of characters I called housemates:
-Roommate Jessica: We were randomly paired together freshman year in the dorm and decided we didn't want to kill each other while sharing a room, so sharing a house should be fine, right?
-Brian: You may remember him from my first post on Harvest Moon.
-The Imp: I do not believe I have spoken of The Imp up to this point. There is a reason. The Imp and I dated for about a year and it was bad news bears. We dare not speak his true name.
-Diva: I think the nickname I give her here implies it all, but let's just say we did not part on good terms either.
-Fucking Joe: Brian's friend, and the most spoiled, foul-smelling, inconsiderate prick I have ever had the misfortune of sharing space with.
Shannon: Brian's then-girlfriend's older sister. She was pretty awesome. (You may notice that I have listed more than 5 housemates here. Shannon replaced The Imp when he broke my heart and moved out in the middle of the year. Ass. But I digress...)

What the house actually looked like
Google maps
Life started off simply enough; everyone had hand-me-down furniture and dishes and the like to furnish the house with; my mom was nice enough to take me shopping for cleaning supplies and neccesities-food, toiletries, etc. Even though I know my mom was not happy about my decision to live in the house, especially with my then-boyfriend, The Imp.  But she went along with it since she wasn't paying my bills and The Imp and I had seperate bedrooms. As you can probably guess, 3 girls living with 3 guys in a  house started to get a little messy.

Now, we've all had a roommate or two in the past who failed to clean up after themselves and it's annoying.  Well multiply that by 4 and that was this house. Brian (the only ex-rommie whom I still actually speak to) made messes just to piss me off.  Literally. He would create a mess and leave it in front of my bedroom door or somewhere else I would definitely find it as a lark.  He was perfectly capable of cleaning and very good at cleaning when he chose to do so, but he thought seeing me angry was more fun. Apparently I'm hilarious when I'm angry.
I'm this intimidating when I'm mad.
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The Imp was a poor housekeeper and a stinky boy who never learned useful skills from his crap parents. The Diva had everything handed to her because she was pretty and talented enough, so she never contributed to the cleanliness of the house either. Then, there was Fucking Joe. To call Fucking Joe a slovenly pig would be an insult to piggies everywhere.

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I could dedicate an entire blog to the awfulness that was the experience living with Fucking Joe and update it once a day for a year and probably still have stories left over to add.  Fucking Joe's worst offense on top of his inability to be responsible for the simplist of tasks (seriously, I'm suprised his mommy didn't drive him to class every day) was his passive aggressive way of blaming me for all of his problems and unhappiness.  If you were to track down Fucking Joe today and ask him about me, I'm sure he would spout off some evil hateful tripe about me. Now, that dude held a grudge. In fact, it may sound like I hold a grudge after all these years, but I don't. Really. I actually don't even remember Fucking Joe's last name. Maybe if I sat and pondered long enough* I would, but I have better things to do. Short-story-long: he and I didn't mesh well.

So, why was this the "House From Hell" you may ask? Was it the obnoxiousness that was Fucking Joe and his slovenly disregard for anyone else or their belongings? Was it Brian's playfull whimsical personality that made him behave like a 12-year old at times? Was it the Diva's better-than-everyone attitude? Was it Roommate Jessica's passive-aggressive way of handling conflict? Was it The Imp's decision to break up with me but keep living in the house for 2 months afterwards? Was it the fact that I was experiencing severe depression, anxiety, and self-esteem issues and not being properly treated for them?

Yes.

I just listed the ingredients for a miserable year; just mix together, stir, then simmer until explosion.  Now, I will say this about the situation: it helped me learn a lot about myself, and it turned me on to a new obsession: ferrets. Three days before The Imp called it quitsies between us, I bought myself a friend. Her name was Gigit, (like the Sally Field TV show) and she was one of the best pets I've ever had.

Gigit the ferret
I could go on and on with the stories of this house. I could tell about the time Brian spray-painted a tree because he was bored. I could tell about the endless sea of Fucking Joe's Big Gulp cups I waded through daily in our living room. Or about Brian's sugar gliders that kept me awake at night. Or when Roommate Jessica got fed up with dirty dishes and hoarded all of her kitchen-ware in her bedroom. Or the toilet that would clog once a week. Or the time I accidentally put dish soap into the dishwasher and flooded the kitchen. Or how I was stuck scrubbing the Diva's tap shoe scuffs off of the kitchen floor for 3 hours on our move-out day so we could get our security deposit back. I could talk about all that, and I could get mad about it, but I won't.

I choose to look back on all of it and say, "Oh yeah, that sucked a little didn't it?" and then I choose to laugh. I laugh because it's ridiculous.  I laugh because it's the past and it can't hurt me now. I laugh because we also had good times in the "House From Hell." Like, the Slumber Party Diva hosted. Or the time Brian Jerry-rigged the TV and the Gamecube so we could sit outside on the porch swing and play. Or all of the Friends marathons Roommate Jessica and I would have. Or all the stories that Shannon (The Imp's replacement on the lease) regailed us with stories of her trips abroad. Or finally accepting that The Imp being out of my life was for the best, and I could begin to heal. Or all the love I found and fun I had with my three ferrets (shortly after Gigit, I got her two friends.) Or that one time with Fucking Joe when we...um...yeah, sorry, I don't have any pleasent memories of Fucking Joe. Maybe that's why I still call him Fucking Joe.

So, the moral of the story is: there will always be a light in the darkness, but sometimes you have to find it, and sometimes, you have to make it.

I miss you every day, my furbabies.
Addendum:
*Nope. I pondered here and there over the course of a few days and couldn't remember. Then, I stumbled across him on Brian's Facebook page and never in 1,000 years would I have remembered Fucking Joe's real last name. But now I can't forget it. Dammit. Damn my curious eyes!

Tuesday, September 27, 2011

My Shit-hole Apartment (Part 1)

I recently read a blog about what may be one of the worst and funniest landlord sagas I've ever heard. It got me thinking that my apartment life horror stories haven't been so bad in comparison, but put all-together, I can weave an epic tale of terrible apartment/landlord/roommate luck.
I think I'll chronicle my ridiculous experiences living "on my own" (i.e. away from the parental units).
And I'm not just talking design/ugly apartment messes here, there are plenty of resources out there for those simple problems. The horrifying tales I will regale you with go far beyond being fixed by a little paint and some creative furniture placement. But let me start at the beginning...

I think my mom prepared me for living on my own as best she could, in fact, she may have over prepared me for dorm life-half the football team had to help me move all my crap in. Mom taught me how to do laundry/iron (skills I have improved upon thanks to required wardrobe crew assignments for theatre credit in college), I know how to balance a checkbook (although this skill would very soon become obsolete with online/mobile banking), and I know how to clean up after myself (whether or not I choose to do so is another story.) That being said, preparing for doing things on your own is a whole different ball game than actually figuring life out on your own.


My First Time Living Away From Home:
The Dorm
I studied Theatre Arts at the University of Northern Colorado (the other UNC) in Greeley, affectionately known as G-Town. It's about 90 minutes (driving while mostly obeying designated speed limit signs) northwest of Denver. The "Powers That Be" in the housing department must have thought it would be hilarious to put two freshman girls together who shared the same name and have them live across the hall from 2 guys named Bryan/Brian. Lazy-ass bastards. (In housing department's defense, we remained roommates for all four years of college and I was in her wedding, but still...lazy.)

We lived on the 2nd floor of a T-shaped dorm building called Wiebking (web-king) Hall. It had 3 floors plus a basement where the laundry room, common room, kitchen, and the kids who must have pissed off someone lived. The 3rd floor was the all-girls floor aka "The Nunnery." The 2nd floor was generally where all of the performing arts majors lived. Our R.A (Resident Advisor) was a very straightlaced, overbearing double business major whom we shall call Lindsay (mostly because that was her name). Lindsay sounds like the perfect resident advisor for a bunch of artsy kids who've just been given more freedom/less responsibility than any of them have ever had (or will probably ever have) in their lives, huh? Were we loud? Yes. Were we obnoxious? Definitely. Were we overdramatic? Der. Did she treat us like people? Nope.
From day one she had a little power trip and expected us to all bow to her without trying to get to know any of us personally, you know...as people. And yet, she could never understand why none of us respected her. And as far as I could tell, she never "advised" us on much of anything...except what a bitch she could be.


Dorm life was an adjustment but nothing too alarming happened, except for the night the alcoholic kid down the hall got drunk and decided to take a shower at 2am only to pass out in the boys' shower in such a way that his ass blocked the drain and he flooded the second floor hallway. Yeah, he and his drunk drain-blocking-ass got expelled. Or the time the dumbass bitchy girl down the (other) hall tried to hang a jacket on the sprinkler head (you know, the one that sprays nasty-ass flame-dousing liquid in the event of a fire or it being tampered with) and broke it and thousands of gallons of water flooded her room, 1/3 of the second floor, the 1st floor, and the basement. Yeah, her ass got sued.


Yup, just a typical college freshman year living in the dorm.