My husband and I have had a string of bad roommates. Finally, we’re in a place by ourselves and it’s heaven.
1) The deaf lesbians. You’d think they’d be quiet, right? Things would be nice and calm? NOPE. Bodily noises out the wazoo with no mind. Alarms going off for long periods of time even after we’d tell them. Loud moaning/grunting from the bathroom. And they loved drama. Every night we’d have to wonder what drama was in store for us. Did we somehow offend the cat? Are we keeping to ourselves too much? Did we not cook for them recently enough. Stupid shit. Every day. And if it wasn’t about us, it was hours of ranting about somebody else. Awful.
2) Then was the divorced hoarder lady. She moved in when we were on a trip. We came home and EVERY ROOM HAD HER SHIT IN IT. We had about a foot of walking room to get from the front door, through the kitchen, past the bathroom, and to our bed. Yes, she even filled up our room with her shit. Exercise equipment. A couch. Piles of clothes. Bags of plush toys. M&M collectible dispensers. Oh my. And then she tried to say that instead of paying rent, she’d just make us food. And while we were eating healthy, every thing she made was out of the freezer, carb heavy, dripping with grease and butter, great-for-the-soul-awful-for-the-body food.
3) But then. The sociopath. He would break into our room and stand over us while reading our texts. He deleted emails from potential employers because he didn’t want us to leave. He took pretty much all of our money. Would have endless “talks” with us about how we didn’t react positively enough to a TV show he liked or some other bullshit. We came home once and all of our pictures were turned down. Another time, he took all of his stuff from the common areas and locked it with a deadbolt in the spare bedroom. He’d stalk us at work to make sure we weren’t lying about where we were. When we made another friend, he became violent and broke my husband’s rib and tried to bite a chunk out of his arm. Then he made us an “I’m sorry” cake with a 5-page hand written letter apologizing for the first page and then spending the rest of it telling us that we made him do it. Good times.
So yes. Now we’re happily alone. No roommates. Ever. Ever. Again.