First off, I’m leery knowing she may read this, but I need to vent. On the positive side of things, we have lived together ten months without fighting or arguing or anything like that. Everyone had warned me we’d fight, but as time went on and their hypotheses were proved wrong, I thought, “Well, maybe we are just too chill and balanced to be angry.” We have fun, laugh frustrations off (like the incredible heat or accidentally setting off fire alarm), we tell each other if something’s not cool (like burning pots or naked yoga—haha kidding). I really enjoy living with her, and am even sad that come end of August, I will be moving out- onwards and upwards.
But this weekend was a hair-puller-outer. Exhibit A: I made an elaborate dinner (with damn expensive mascarpone cheese, too!) last Thursday. Generally, we have agreed that when I make a big dinner and she gets to eat it, she does the dishes. I therefore soaked them in water and left them that night. Come Sunday, they sat still in the sink with new, dirty dishes on top. When I walked into the apartment to pick up the Jamie Cullum tickets I asked, “What smells like puke in here?” To which she replied, “Oh, that’s the dishes. So I lit a candle.” I took a deep breath to avoid looking like a cartoon who turns bright red and then blows out steam like a train. My first thought was, “Well then why didn’t you clean them?” Oh, frustration. Was it that she put her foot down and refused to do them in a roommate dishes standoff? Or did she simply not want to do them and assume I would? Well, I got home last and couldn’t stand the smell so I Febreezed a little and did the stupid dishes.
I know she had a busy weekend, as it was one of the 2 busiest bar weekends of the year. So perhaps her anger towards our mutual friend wanting to sleep in her bed with her Friday night is excusable. It went like this: Me and the girls (4 of them) went out to a new Euro-martini dance lounge club called Touché. We crashed at the apartment, as per usual. One in my double bed with me, two on the couch/floor and one in roommate’s double bed to share with her. Well, when she arrived home after the shift with older drunk brother in tow, he took up my friend’s floor mattress spot (and said some creepy/inappropriate things to them), and she yelled at our mutual friend to get out of her bed. As I said though, we are all entitled to random anger spurts because sometimes this crazy life can be too much.
There were other things that I heard from other people that add fuel to the fire, but as I learned in journalism school, you never go with secondhand sources alone.
Thank you for letting me vent, and of course, any solutions are welcome. In other news, boyfriend and I found an adorably cute apartment in the Glebe, a beautiful canal-side neighbourhood closer to the university. I applied for it this morning and am so pumped to live with him, and my other girlfriend, A.
And if by chance you are roommate and you are reading this, know that I am a writer by nature and this is my venting system that I use so I don’t go bananas with roommate, boyfriend an any other life frustrations I encounter.