The Best Roommate Scenario = Being Rich And Not Needing One

I’ve gotta say, right off the bat, that I’m pretty fucking lucky to be living where I am with the people I live with. I’ll give you readers at home a little break down. I have a house first of all, which is sweet. Granted, it’s in Spanish Harlem and there are shootings and creepy fuckers all over but it’s a fucking HOUSE. My roommates consist of: 1. my ex boyfriend’s best friend who is quiet, keeps to himself, and pays all of his bills, regardless of how awkward it is to hear my ex-boyfriend’s voice coming through his computer speakers during an intense nerd out sesh while I’m trying to sleep and 2. a girl who my ex-boyfriend used to buy booze and pot for when she was too widdle, who ended up being one of my closest friends and the coolest person on planet Earth. Oh yeah, she’s a fucking BABE who has a rack that would turn Ryan Seacrest straight. Oh? He is already? Oh. Ok. Well you get the point. But, like I was saying, I’m overall pretty lucky and thankful. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have things to rant about, either internally, or hearing about things from others. So here we go.

One of my biggest pet peeves has to do with the dishes. When I fucking do the dishes, I DO the fucking dishes. I treat it like sex. Don’t miss any spots, in and out, up and down, do them until you can’t do them anymore. I would not recommend sucking dishes dry however. Anyway, if I have a drying rack that is large enough to fit ten clean things, I don’t care if there are twenty things in the sink; I’m fucking washing and stacking all twenty things. What good does it do if you wash ten things? What? Are you just going to wash the rest of the dishes you use as you go? “Yeah bro, let me just wash this bowl off, especially considering I should have left for work ten minutes ago!” No. You’re going to keep piling that shit on top, therefore getting back to square one. You have a rule in your house where everyone washes their own shit? Fine. So why are there three of your bowls washed in the drying rack and another six on top of everything else in the sink? Do you suffer from epilepsy? Had a stroke while cleaning your shit? No! You’re just straight sheisty. What? Did me moving your bowl in the sink leave my scent on it so now you won’t touch it because I marked it with my musk? Like what the fuck!

Now, the typical thing people struggle with is food. I love cooking for people and I don’t mind at all doing it, as long as everyone is willing to contribute here and there to what’s cooked. If I buy it, you are more than welcome to eat it or cook it, but if its something you end up enjoying, buy it too! It’s really convenient that all you want to do is eat my fucking junk food yet only buy whatever the fuck you want and don’t replace the box of Devil Dogs I got maybe two out of. My name isn’t Little Debbie. It’s Kerry Fucking Quirk and I don’t pull delicious shitty treats out of my ass (well it depends what you’re into I suppose).  If I actually liked any of the shit that you bought, I’d eat it too! So just do me a solid and don’t touch my shit or begin to buy it. Especially if it’s booze. Jeeze, if anything replace the booze. And when I say booze, again, the shit you drank of mine. If I have Shock Top in my fridge, don’t buy me Bud Light. If you want to end up dead, try replacing my tequila with vodka. See what happens. I won’t be pissed, but you will be.

Then there is always the classic roommate judging fest. “She can’t cook, she never has money, he’s too loud”. Whatever it sounds like in your house. If I worked my ass off all day, went to the gym, made dinner, and I want to sit down and have a drink and a snack, DON’T FUCKING COMMENT ON THAT SHIT. I could get so specific here and shit on people, but I’m not going to. All I’ll say is that if you work at a fast food restaurant, sit and play video games all day, don’t have your driver’s license, still live in your parent’s basement at the tender age of 27, AND DON’T EVEN FUCKING LIVE IN MY HOUSE, don’t comment on what I do or how I live. Don’t inform me how much fat is in what I’m eating, don’t comment on how drinking isn’t conducive to going to gym. Here’s a newsflash Colonel Sanders – I go to the gym so I don’t have to eat bran flakes and tofu and can go out and be social and have a beer. Fucking try it sometime. Oh, wait, you’re only social with one person. Am I trying to get all Buffy The Vampire Slayer? No dude. I’m not a model, I’m not stick skinny, I don’t care. Fuck off. But to sum up the judging fest for others – don’t comment on your roommate’s sexual exploits when you strictly go out to the club looking to fall in love aka find a new dude to fuck, don’t comment on what your roommate eats or drinks just because your unhappy with how you look, don’t comment on what your roommate spends money on if they cover their bills on time, and to top it all off, just don’t fucking comment on your roommate unless they’re fucking up your living arrangement.

I’ve lived with a few different people. I’ve had to teach people how to cook, I’ve gotten through flesh eating bacteria (luckily something I did not catch), I’ve had screaming matches, awkward silences, but a lot of laughs and good times too. You should always live with someone who sees relatively eye to eye with you. If you’re a very motivated person, might not be the best thing to live with someone who is content with their lives no matter what. If you like to party, probably a good idea not to live with someone who likes to be in bed by 9. Especially if you live with a someone you’re dating or hooking up with. It’s tough to sometimes be able to see things that are good for the relationship if they make the roommate scenario tough and vice versa. At the end of the day, find people who accept you. After all, you share a living area and a bathroom with them. They’ve probably heard you have sex or smelled your shit and you should be comfortable in knowing that.

*7/10 people are thankful that they do not live with me, hear me have sex, or run the risk of ending up on this blog.