You hear that? That’s the sound of my “new” laptop. And by “new” I mean “recently acquired”. My roomie made me a pretty good offer since he had been looking for a new one himself. Naturally I jumped at the opportunity, well for a few reasons. One, being that it’s hard having to do homework at work either during my lunch or trying to do other assignments. Multi-tasking was never in my list of skill sets so I won’t even attempt that. Ironically, on every resume I have submitted in my life I always put that I’m a great multi-tasker. I guess it’s true if by that I mean I am both a great and horrible liar. If that’s the case, then I need not go further. But speaking of roomies, recently I’ve been pondering what my next topic for this blog would be. Finding inspiration in my life is rather difficult. It may come as a shocker but I don’t exactly lead a very glamorous life. My schedule these days consists of: work, school, and gym (on odd days and by odd I mean when I somehow manage to get up before 5 am). So whenever I do find something interesting to write about I feel I have to strike while the iron’s hot… which leads me to the subject of roommates. Now raise your hand if you’ve ever had the fortune (or misfortune, depending on how well you relate to the upcoming stories) of having a roommate situation? First off, consider yourself a failure because I never said “Simon Says”. So you lose. But in my experience, it’s always been a coin toss. I’ve had different types of roommates - family, friends, exes, strangers, weirdos - and each can have a different outcome. I’ll get into the current one a little later but this should be pretty interesting. This should be about as exciting as a letter from your landlord; you’ll probably put off reading it for a while because you know nothing good will come from this.
Well if you can believe it or not, I used to be pretty stupid. I know, how times have changed. But I would say between the age of 18 - probably yesterday I didn’t make the greatest of choices. One that comes to mind was right around my 19th birthday. Without getting into detail about my relationship with my dad since that horse has been beaten quite a bit (and I’m sick of the calls from PETA) I’ll just say that the year after I graduated high school was when I “officially” came out, parade and all. So as you can imagine, living with him wasn’t exactly sunshine and lollipops. It was more like rain clouds and black licorice. But the subsequent months after my closet departure, I found it to be a pain in the ass living situation. NO, this story is not about THAT experience. As I mentioned in a previous blog, all the “dad” stories will be summed up in a later post. But about a month before I turned 19 I began dating this guy, Nick. We met off the internet (of course) and struck up a nice exchange before taking things to the next level which, if you’re gay, obviously means becoming more serious after just one month. Funny how you don’t get a manual or pamphlet when you first come out. I almost feel that the nearest LGBT center should get some sort of signal a la Batman and have a messenger deliver a package with all necessary “gay survival” items. What it should include is information on how NOT to move quickly in a relationship, because no good can happen. Sure, Nick was funny and sweet. Attractive? Meh. I think I gravitated towards him for some sense of security moreso than actual feelings. Hey, I’m just being honest here. No sense in lying in my own blog, especially since I did mention how horrible of a liar I am. But anyway, a few weeks into dating him my dad and I got into one of our usual spats and I felt I was reaching my breaking point. I needed out, and I needed it quick! So, with nowhere else to turn, I talked Nick into letting me move in with him. Now, if you need help with the math on this, at this point we had been dating a good two weeks… which is obviously the equivalent of our gay 6 months. Boy, was I in for a treat. I was now moving into an apartment with ONE homophobe to now an apartment with a straight couple, and a super hefty straight guy (aka Nick’s best friend). ON a side note, if these were the only friends he had then I should have just evicted myself at that point. First off, Nick and his friend were fucken slobs! Don’t get me wrong, I’m not exactly the most organized person myself but these guys were something else. They often “cooked” Hamburger Helper and would leave dishes in the sink for at least a few days, building up with grease and lawrd knows whatever else is in Hamburger Helper. Secondly, the best friend smoked like crazy so his butts were everywhere (and thankfully THOSE butts cause homeboy did not know how to say no to food). Thirdly, the straight couple was weird as hell. For example, the boyfriend was a total douche who could easily play a part in Batman with how good a two face he had. The girlfriend (I’m shuddering as I’m thinking of this), was literally the size of Wee-man from Jackass (there was even photo evidence of this claim) and she sure LOVED to walk around topless. I guess in her mind she lived with two gay guys who would never do a double take as she passed down the hall and with another guy who was too busy either playing video games or waiting for the McRib to come back. Let me just be frank with you honey: EVEN if I were straight there is no way I would want to stare at your lopsided tits. I was under the impression that you worked at Rainforest Café, not at the airport misguiding traffic with your headlights. It didn’t take very long for Nick and I to stop dating (one month into my moving) and although he and I kept a fairly amicable friendship (in other words, he didn’t kick me out) situations in the apartment worsened. The couple was, for some reason, out to get me and get me out. I don’t know why… I guess it had to do with my not being on the lease (even though I did pay rent… yeah I don’t get it either). I think this is the point in my life where the black woman in me came out because if I developed anything in that time it was sass. But after several arguments they eventually decided to move out. Phew! Thank gawd my retinas could heal themselves once again…. Well, that is until the best friend’s mom moved in. And NO, I’m not implying that I saw her headlights (shuddering again). Nick moved into the room we shared with his best friend, whereas I took the other empty room he had once occupied. This was perfect for me but boy were those guys disgusting. I remember walking in their room once to get something and had to build a float just to get through the sea of soda cans and fast food bags (I’m not even exaggerating one bit). And the guy’s mom was just as atrocious. Heavy smoker and brought in her three cats. I don’t know what would have been worse - inhaling the smoke fumes or inhaling the scent of white trash. Needless to say, I eventually gave up on them too and forced myself out of the lease from which I eventually signed onto. My lungs and my sanity were intact once again.
Fast forward a few years later and I find myself in downtown Los Angeles. I had always dreamt of living/working there and was happy to have found the right opportunity. I worked as both a personal and accounting assistant for this restaurant/bar management company and enjoyed my stay there. Unfortunately, my living situation was far from great. After living with my sister for a few months and feeling the need to get out on my own, I decided to look around and had a “friend” offer to let me crash with him for a while. And by “friend” I don’t mean THAT. The few months I was there was a nightmare enough so let’s not throw any more to that please. So in an act of desperation (I think we have a theme going here) I decided to say yes and moved in quickly with him. Here’s the thing… it was a studio. With one bed. Which we would both be sharing. Yeah… again, no good can come from that. Now since I want to hide this person’s identity let’s just call him Randy. Yes, his “legal” name WAS Randy but as of late he’s developed a few other personalities so I don’t think any of them would mind right now. Honestly, I didn’t know Randy all that well. I met him through my best friend and had occasionally hung out with him and his previous boyfriend. Aside from that, I had only hung out with him one-on-one maybe but a handful of times? I don’t know, it’s a memory I’d soon come to block out. But BOY was he a weird one. Little did I know that this was probably the beginning of his mental breakdown (I’m not even exaggerating about this one either) and I was beginning to question my choices in living situations. First off, he was a major control freak. He liked telling other people what to do and how they should live their lives. I think I would rather take life lessons from Dr. Kevorkian than this clown. The other thing, is that he had an incredibly odd diet. Or rather, he had an odd way of justifying his reasons for eating certain meals. For example, he LOVED El Pollo Loco; loved their chicken taquitos. He tried convincing me that it was a great source of protein and overall an extremely healthy choice, all while dunking it in some sauce. Yeah, again I would rather take diet lessons from Gabourey Sidibe. His other obsession came in chocolate form - let me go ahead and clarify myself before that image gets ugly. He LOVED chocolate milk. During his “I’m getting back on track with the running” phase (all of two weeks) he would always gulp down a glass of chocolate milk. Why? You guessed right (just play along that you actually made an attempt), he said it was for protein. What in Willy Wonka hell is he talking about? This guy was as delusional as Lindsay Lohan, and with an extra side of crazy for your dipping pleasure. In my head I imagine his take on a “protein shake” would consist of chocolate milk, two grilled chicken breasts, a cup of ranch dressing, and some Nestle Quik powder because after all he is a growing boy (not vertically).
So now if your trusty remote is still working let’s fast forward a bit more to the present day. As much as I would LOVE to talk about the last living situation I had with the two geezers I think I already discussed that in a previous blog. So just open a new tab on your browser, read that snippet, and come back. It’ll make the timeline that much more interesting, but I can’t guarantee I’ll be waiting for you. So after moving out of THAT retirement home I found a great opportunity with my friend down in Hillcrest (and you know that’s all I needed to hear to say “yes”). To be honest, everything about it seemed great – the location, the closeness of the bars and restaurants, and hello the GAYS. What more could another gay want? Too good to be true? Of course. So my friend has been dating this guy for a few months and around the time I moved in the boyfriend did as well. My friend is in his 30s and the guy is in his early 20s so what could go wrong there? Now don’t get me wrong, I have no problem with age differences. After all I am quite fond of older men, especially as of late. But one thing I stay away from is anyone under the age of 25. Trust me; I used to be under 25 like a year ago so I know better to stay away from that age group. Not to overgeneralize, but my belief is that someone in that range is still figuring themselves out and usually isn’t very immature: case in point. So when I signed up to move in I asked all the necessary questions but apparently I forgot to ask about the boyfriend which, as it turns out, what would the biggest problem. Again, I don’t have anything PERSONALLY against the boyfriend except that these two argue every night (again I’m not even exaggerating one bit). Literally, every single night since I moved in they have argued and yelled and caused up some sort of drama. Over what you ask? Beats me, but personally I don’t like drama and I certainly don’t like arguing. They argue at odd hours of the night and it’s kept me up. Why don’t I say anything? Well why don’t you stop asking me so many questions, how’s that? But yesterday I did finally discuss the matter with them as I finally was fed up with it. I can be patient in some regard but not for this. I kept quiet and let them try to sort out their ish but when I get involved, and when I lose sleep over this, that is when I get involved. One thing I don’t enjoy is losing sleep because I get real cranky, and trust me no one wants a cranky queen getting up in your face. And as you can imagine, this BS is only exacerbated even more when alcohol is involved. Over the weekend they got drunk and almost got into a physical altercation. Okay look… I know that I signed up to move to Hillcrest (aka gaytown, aka “the other Queens”) but this is too much. Don’t even get me started on my friend’s friend – someone who likes to stir up drama and act catty to get a rise out of people, and someone who flirts with EVERYBODY and their dads. If this is what people think of gay men then it’s pretty obvious why we can’t get married. Actually with all this arguing it seems like they ARE married and share his and his drama (personally I’d settle for towels). I don’t get how two people can argue so goddamn much. At some point you’d think they would say “okay this is a problem that we need to confront” but NOPE not even close. The other day when they got physical, the very next day they acted as though nothing had happened. Clearly some of the crazy I experienced in LA trickled down into SD… or maybe it’s a gay thing? Well whatever it is I hope they put an end to it. Well yesterday I finally brought it up and am hoping that things will be much quieter going forward. And yes I used the Ross Geller method.
Yes I have moved a lot. I probably have other stories to share (of course I do) but these were the most fun to write about. I think eventually I will look into getting my own place again. The only bitch I like dealing with in the a.m. and p.m. is myself. But for now I’ll try to steer clear of the crazies. So if you ever come to my place don’t expect to find cigarettes, chocolate milk, lotion, or drama. Other than that, mi casa es tu casa…. whatever that means. Crazy Mexicans and their words. Oh and I am not exaggerating one bit about any of this if that wasn't already clear. Oh and you can go ahead and start laughing now.... Simon says.
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