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Month: September 2013

The Princess and the Peter

The Princess and the Peter

Call me a bitch. Ok, don’t. But be ready to one very opinionated and REAL post. This is my story, my struggle (dramatic pause) of living with the world’s worst roommate.

Let’s call him Princess. It’ll make sense in a minute. I moved into my place in February. The housee had just been renovated so the landlord had to fill all five bedrooms. I was the third person to move in. Princess was number four. I didn’t have any help in picking him as a roommate. All I knew is that he had a very attractive boyfriend, his parents were going to pay his rent, and he talked like this:

I was a bit nervous as I had never lived with another gay guy but I thought that it could work out and we could be good friends. When I moved in, all of my belongings fit in one pickup truck. It took 10 minutes to bring everything inside. It took Princess and FOUR other people THREE days to prepare his boudoir a.k.a. bedroom. I tried not to judge him for still relying on his parents financially. Finding a job after graduation was a huge ordeal for me so I thought maybe he just needed a little extra support while getting his career on track. Then I saw his Keurig, his complete set of Paula Deen pots and pans, the ARTWORK HANGING ON HIS WALLS, and that made me reconsider. (What 22-year-old has artwork?!)

We got along fine at the beginning. I knew that we were never going to be close friends because he came across as extremely naïve and ditzy. He was already skinnier than me but would buy Slim Fast and constantly talk about how he wanted to lose weight. He loved drama in any aspect: watching it, starting it, being involved in it. He loved Bravo (gross), especially Shahs of Sunset and Real Housewives (gag). He claimed that he was involved in a sex scandal while he was interning in Germany, an extreme exaggeration for a virgin, and just wanted to be a stay-at-home socialite and drive around in a Land Rover. Despite all of this, I tolerated him with my signature eyerolling. We went out several times to gay clubs and we each met each other’s friends. 

Shit hit the fan after our house hosted a Cinco de Mayo party.

The party itself was pretty fun. It’s always nice to meet new people and let loose. I met some of Princess’ friends that I hadn’t met before. One even turned out to be a pretty good friend who joined my kickball team.

THREE WEEKS AFTER the party, we were having one of our irregular house meetings. It took us a while to get all five roommates’ schedules aligned so we had a few housekeeping issues to discuss. But, I really didn’t expect the meeting to last more than 15 minutes. I had even invited my kickball friend over to watch old episodes of Dance Moms. While he waited upstairs, the roommates began with the usual pleasantries and shooting the shit. Finally, we started talking about chores and the kitchen. We all had an opinion about what to do-blah blah blah. Finally, Princess starts going off on this tangent talking about how people in this house need to stop talking about each other behind their backs. Wtf? Where did this come from? So I asked him, “Princess, are you referring to something specific or is this just a general feeling you have?” With a snap of the neck, that bitch went off. “YOU WENT AROUND MY PARTY TELLING ALL OF MY FRIENDS THAT I’M A PRINCESS, I DON’T CLEAN, AND THAT MY PARENTS PAY FOR EVERYTHING.” To this day, I stand by those statements. It’s not my business but I’m entitled to have my opinion and from what I observed, this is a pretty fair statement. Eventually, we decoded from his Real Housewives-esque story that I had called him a princess at the Cinco de Mayo party when talking about how he never cleans anything. I wasn’t the first or only house member to call him this. It was also originally said as a joke and nothing malicious was intended. But for the next 2 hours, I had to listen to him rant about how he never wants to have any type of relationship with me as long as we live together. I didn’t really care much about the loss of friendship but it was slightly disturbing because I’ve lived with so many other people and have never had an argument like that. I’ve also never had someone talk to me like that, which I think reflects his character and not the way I come across to people. At least, I hope this is the case.

That was the initial incident that started this post. Immediately after our fight, he deleted me from Facebook, Instagram, and LinkedIn (I didn’t even know that was possible). For two and a half more months, we had to live together while not speaking to or looking at each other. Welcome back to junior high. Things got worse once my terrible roommate and his boyfriend broke up. Everyone had seen this coming for a while. Princess obviously liked to party and make out with random guys. He liked attention and being fought over. The boyfriend wanted to be serious and also liked to baby Princess: taking care of him when he repeatedly drank too much, bringing him jumbo slices of pizza (that I was jealous of), etc. Now, I’m not in a position to criticize relationships because my love life is terrible, but their host-parasite coexistence nauseated and frustrated me. I wasn’t sad when it was over. BUT! the night of the breakup, Princess had a breakdown. And I mean catastrophic, nuclear, end-of-the-world muh-fucking BREAKDOWN.

I was sitting in my room around 11 o’clock on a weeknight and I heard yelling downstairs. Oh no, I thought, he’s coming for me. I knew I could take him physically; it was just the thought of someone coming for me that put me on edge. It turns out he was yelling on the phone with his parents. He then proceeded to slam every door in the house and throw shit around in his room. My roommates and I formed a prayer circle in the living room to get the demons out of our house so that we would be pure in the Lord’s eyes.

From this point on, Princess decided to remedy his “broken heart” with alcohol and heathen affairs. He went out and got drunk every night, so much so that he even vomited up blood. He frequented Grindr and OKCupid and constantly spent the night with his beaus. He loved discussing his sex-capades with my roommates, who quickly tired of his voice and search for gratification. Although I was not planning to renew my lease at that place, I led the petition to have him kicked out by the landlord. My other roommates and I all went through the lease and pointed out which parts he had violated. Just when it looked like good would win out over drama, Princess decided to move in with a gay couple who would continue to baby him. Unsurprisingly, we haven’t been in touch since then. Good riddance. I hope one day you’ll grow a pair and act like a fucking adult, worst roommate in the world. If you ever need anyone to talk to, don’t come look for me because I don’t give one shit. Buh bye. 

Puerto Rico Suave

Puerto Rico Suave

This one time I went to Puerto Rico for Labor Day weekend. Even though I didn’t know anyone there, I went by myself. I bought my ticket when I was in a get-me-out-of-DC rut during the summer. The flight times and ticket price worked perfectly and I wouldn’t have to ask off any time from my job. I initially assumed that I could find someone to go with me. That was in July. Flash forward to the end of August and I realized that all the people I could bear traveling with are either “poor” by their standards or flaky (or just don’t want to travel with me).  So, I boarded my flight to San Juan with a dream, a cardigan, and a prayer that this tropical vacation wouldn’t be a waste of my time.

After my oh-so-typical anxiety attack about flying, I arrived in San Juan at 1:30 in the morning. I finally reached the hostel I had booked online and was shown to my room. It was pretty small with two sets of bunkbeds complete with two sets of pale European asscheeks staring right at me. These were to be my roommates. After flying for hours, this wasn’t exactly the most welcoming sight, but I crawled on top (to the top bunk, I mean) and prayed for good beach weather.

I woke up the next morning determined to have a good time. It’s really easy to feel lonely when you plan a vacay by yourself but I knew I had to suck it up. I first went to the beach to get my tan on. In the afternoon, I went to old part of San Juan where there are forts and colonial buildings, etc. Very pretty. I came back to my hostel worried that I would spend the night reading my book alone. But, while walking back, I ran into some of the people working at my hostel. They invited me to go out that night, which was super exciting. Friends! Here are some of the highlights of the night:

1. I went to a bar where the only drinks came out of slushie machines.

2. I found out all of the guys working at my hostel were gay.

3. Someone twerked me. This means he jiggled my asscheek for me. Afterwards, I thanked him.

4. I heard a girl say that she is SO high that her weave smells like weed.

It was a really fun night. I met people from all over and didn’t feel so lonely. The next morning, I was invited with some of my new friends to go to the rainforest (casual Puerto Rican hangout). After some extensive planning and cancelling and planning and cancelling, we finally got on our way. Our driver was a bipolar Puerto Rican (via New York) lesbian who enjoyed smoking pot with all the windows up while driving. Jesus helped us get to the rainforest in one piece. There, we relaxed and splashed around in the river (again casual). 

That night, already my last night in PR, I was introduced to the San Juan gay scene. This is a big deal for Puerto Rico. I mean it’s Ricky Martin’s motherland! Again, it was a great night. I saw some drag queens, some thongs, some male strippers…everything I expected and more. Someone even hollered at me from their car but eventually turned me down because I had an early flight the next morning. Bummer. He probably would have lasted 30 seconds.

 I came back to the hostel pleasantly drunk and passed out on a couch in the common room. The hostel manager was asleep on the other couch when I lost consciousness. I work up the next morning to pee, stood up too quickly, and passed out in the bathroom. I hit my head on the sink and got this nice little souvenir:



Pause. Look at that beautiful green eye one more time. Now, continue reading.

I didn’t have time to inspect my gash so I ran through the streets of San Juan looking for a taxi with a wad of toilet paper held to my forehead. I eventually made it the airport, where the paramedics bandaged me up. I talked to them completely in Spanish, gracias! They sent me on my flight and I got four stitches right when I got back to DC. All in all, I had a great trip but wish that I hadn’t been such a clumsy lush. After a brief freak out, I am now 95% sure that the hostel manager didn’t take advantage of me while I was passed out. 5% of me still has my doubts.