The Roommate Horror Picture Show (Part 1)

Part 1

I usually don’t like being wrong, and usually don’t admit flat-out that I was wrong, when I am wrong. However, when I am wrong on the same exact fucking scenario 2 times in about 1 year, something is wrong. I am not talking about being having the wrong answer to Jeopardy!, or incorrectly solving a Wheel of Fortune puzzle. I am talking, wrong wrong… Like, hooking up with the ugly girl that you knew was ugly, wrong. And going way to far with her, wrong. That is the wrong I am talking about.

Anyway, I was wrong when I decided to move in with my current roommate September 1, 2003. It was after we both graduated and I just locked down a decent, but horrendous job, while (we’ll call him Mr. Ignoramus) Mr. Ignoramus was selling life insurance. This guy couldn’t sell the lame runner in the marathon on mile marker 19 dieing of thirst a bottle of water. He couldn’t talk a person into opening their door if Ed McMahon had the Publishers Prize Clearing House check (the big one) in his hand. Yet, he took a job selling insurance. And I will admit that I was right (I do, however, admit when I am right…) when I told him it was dumb to do that and just because someone in his office makes $100K, doesn’t mean he will (remember, the guy is 23 at this time, and I am talking to him like I am his father). Anyway, he takes it, does not get paid for training and makes 0 sales. NONE. Zippo. This is the best part, when we filled out the application for the apartment, Mr. Ignoramus had to fill out the salary section. His annual salary was $100,000. ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS!!! I laugh to this day when I think about it…

So, anyway, I am not sure how long he was with those guys, but he finally takes a job at State Street where he is guaranteed a paycheck. Anyway, it is September 1 and we move in, and the guy goes home the first weekend, for some reason. No partying that weekend to break in the apartment. So, over the course of the week we unload all of the boxes and there are about 30 of them in this area in the dining room. I was working late and asked him if he could help take them out to the curb. I get home and they are there. His reasoning: “There are too many for me to take them all out at once.” No shit. Seriously. I’ll let that soak in your mind for a while.



Ok, that is when I knew I had a problem. I then proceeded to show him up and cut the boxes down and fit them into 2 boxes and took them all out at once. To which he replied with, and I am telling the truth, “I didn’t know I could cut them up. What if we wanted to use some of them?” I was tempted to ask him the definition of “recycling” at that point. Maybe it was, “After I through something out, I will go to the landfill and use it again.” Anyway, after he said that, I was amazed. We are throwing out trash… I didn’t know that concept is that hard. But, as you will now bear witness to, it is.

599 days – that is how long I have lived with Mr. Ignoramus. Our trash bucket that the garbage men take is in our garage, which is about 20 steps out our front door. Mr. Ignoramus has taken out the trash 1 time since 9/1/2003. Once. And the sad thing? I forced him to do this. Once. (Cue up the Wyclef Jean, “One Time” line from “Killing me Softly,” please.) The trash will be overflowing and he will pile stuff on top of it. The bag will be tied and he will pile stuff on top of it, or just take it out and place it down next to the trashcan… He is 25 years old now and doesn’t do take out the trash. But, he also doesn’t do his laundry, and he is… 25 years old. Sad.

So, enough with the trash, let’s go to his room. He is all about his new HDTV for some reason. He loves TV. He watches every sporting event possible. Watches ESPN in the evening, late night, morning, afternoon, early afternoon, afternoon afternoon, late afternoon, etc… you get the point. He calls his friends to discuss 80% of every Red Sox game. From, “That slider was awesome, dude, nice fastball, oh nice play at third…” to, “I like his follow through on the catch in the outfield.” First of all, follow through on a catch? Anyway, not only is he annoying from that standpoint, his TV is probably one click below MAX on volume. I hear everything when his door is closed and my TV is on.

I really have to stop the rants now, but here are some coming attractions – his bathroom habits which include, brushing his teeth 6 times a night, using Listerine enough that Listerine has Mr. Ignoramus as a top customer over Wal-Mart, spitting in the sink (and kitchen sink, this is awful)… Oh, and to get back to why I was wrong twice – Most of these instances occurred prior (and some still go on) to September 1, 2004, and I renewed my lease. I’d rather hook up with the ugly girl that I knew was ugly, and now know I regret, again.

How Cell Phones Make People Cool

Ok, let me start off by saying, I like to rant. I like when stuff pisses me off. I like it when I am angry, even though that may not be a good thing. I like making fun of retarded (not mentally ill, retarded as in "stupid") people who don't get "it." (I am still trying to figure out what "it" is, so, even though I just wrote that last sentence, I don't know what I wrote). Classic examples of people I like to rip on:

1. My roommate. It is because of him that I will most likely never live with another male ever again. The guy is 25 and quite possibly the most retarded (in a mentally ill meaning) person I have met. I can write a novel about his habits, which include, never taking out the trash, washing his dishes every 4 weeks or so, leaving spoiled milk in the fridge for months (not days or weeks, notice) after it expires... And I just may write about that, but for now, I will just list him as a "rip" candidate.

2. Certain people that worked at my old job. Please note there are people I do like and respect there : xB, Funkmaster Flex, I-train. P-Diddy, DeVasto (one of the only guys NOT to have a nickname), Hussmaster, etc... I am sure I missed one or two, but hey those were the guys I got along with the best... Anyway, the others that I did not mention are forgot to mention (this covers my ass too) are tools. Complete Craftsman Bob Villa top of the line tools. I don't even know where to go with this, but I can say there is a reason why I worked with about 10 analysts during my 11-month tenure, and now, only 1 is still there. Talking behind your back is one thing, but not respecting you to your face is another. It is disturbing how much shit went on there, and trust me, you will hear some of it.

3. Red Sox fans that show their spirit AFTER the 2004 season. Congrats, ok, congrats. I hate baseball, I really do. It just goes too slow for me, I'm sorry. But, I do know a lot about the sport and respect what true Red Sox fans had to go through up until October of last year. But seriously, I do not need to see 102,293 Red T-shirts every damn weekday, and 2,233,434 every weekend. People that were a Damon t-shirt because he is "sexy" just pisses me off. Whenever the sox decide to have consecutive losing seasons, the TRUE fans will show up...These are just fans that act happy. True fans cannot express how they felt when they won. I know this because I have never had a team win a championship when I was old enough to realize what it meant. Ok, I am a Penguins and Eagles fan, and I am bitter.... Extremely bitter. However, when the Eagles won the NFC Championship game last year, no words could express how I felt, and that was just the game to GET THEM TO the Super Bowl. I am still bitter, but over it. As for the Penguins - there is no NHL. The Penguins won 2 cups in consecutive seasons in the 91 and 92, but I wasn't a true hockey fan at that point. Now I am, and they either lose heartbreaking playoff series (Florida, NJ Devils, Toronto) or they finish dead last. Yippie. Actually, last year was one of my favorite seasons as a fan even though they were the worst team in the NHL. I loved watching them WIN a game. That was a mini Stanley Cup celebration for me. They beat Detroit early in the season on a Rico Fata blast past Hasek. That was my Cup.

4. When waiting for the T (in Boston, the T is our train service), the guy that runs from 3 blocks over and cuts in line. Why? Just deal with it, catch your breath and get to the back of the line. And when you do cut in line, why am I always the one stuck next to this fool who is panting in my face?

5. The guy at the gym on the cell phone. This is where I will go into more detail.

I really, really hate these people. I go to the gym a lot, not to get ripped and walk around with my arms at a permanent 90 degree angle, not so I can beat up the guy who bumps me in a bar, not so I can lift a 250 box over my head, but rather, I go because if I stay in my apartment for more than 3 hours straight with a roommate who is annoying as hell, I'd go crazy. So, I do go to the gym, but I go to de-stress myself.

At the gym you have many different types of people:

Hot Females - These are the ones that are just smoking and you want to stare at them non-stop, but you realize every set of male eyes are on them. But that doesn't stop you. They are just that hot.

Females - These females are just regular decent looking, cute females that deserve more attention than what they are getting. They are hot, but the Hot Females are taking away from their eye time.

Ugly Bitches - These "females" go to the gym to get in shape so they can chase the guy running who is running from the drool that is oozing from the mouth Ugly Bitch while "she" is smiling. Harsh, I'm sorry. However, it is true.

So, as a heterosexual male, the Females are broken down into 3 categories, all of which depend on looks. For Males, no looks are taken into consideration.

Jacked beyond Belief Male (version: Asshole) - This is the guy that has arms the size of a normal persons torso, a chest the size of the USS Ronald Regan and a lower body that can squat 100 Chevy Silverado's. He also owns every piece of gym equipment in that gym...Even though he doesn't. He is that guy who has 3 sets of weights and 4 benches next to him, even though the gym is at peak hours and there are a total of 5 benches to begin with. He is the guy that does not move when walking down the hallway and would rather bump his shoulder into you, just to show you how strong he is... As if we cannot see that he is on the juice, clear AND cream.

Jacked beyond Belief Male (version: Considerate) - Same strength as above, but completely opposite attitude.

Reading guy - The guy that reads the newspaper or a book when working out (not while doing cardio). Makes no sense. This is a gym. I do not go to the Library sit down with my book and do pushups.

Guy who doesn't belong there - The guy in flip-flops, jeans and a polo shirt who uses every machine and piece of equipment incorrectly and does not follow gym etiquette rules. Nothing against using everything the wrong way, just don't come in with flip-flops and jeans.

Gym Partners - I hate working out with other people, but when other people do, it prolongs your wait for a bench or piece of equipment. And why do they think they can use double the amount of equipment? Bitches.

And my favorite guy to make fun of:

Guy on the Cell Phone - What a dick this guy is. Mr. Euro Trash fucking prick. Not only do they talk on their cell phone at decibels in line with a Jet Airplane, but also it is a conversation that can easily be kept until AFTER their workout. I once heard a conversation about what bar this guy and his friend were going to go to THE NEXT DAY! Are you kidding me? I do love it when these people talk on their phone, because they think they are the shit. Look at them the next time - they walk around the whole gym to show off that they are on the phone with their "buddy" talking about which bar they should hit up to meet "bitches." I tend to think that some Euro Trash guys come into the gym solely to talk on their cell phone. I just don't get why people need to have their phone on them in the first place, while working out? What can't wait till the end of a workout? These are the type of people that answer their cell phone anywhere, at any time - elevators, while driving, library, while having sex. $100 that Paris Hilton carries her cell phone while at the gym. Even though their are signs that say cell phones are prohibited, these guys still talk on them while at the gym, at decibel levels purposely high enough so we can hear their conversation. I swear, they also tend to use more curse words per minute to act cooler... Because, you only have a certain level of "Cool-ness" when using your phone at the gym, but if you curse at a rate of every three words, you are 20 times cooler. Fuckers.