Posts Tagged ‘roommate’

These things I’ll never say

May 20, 2014

I came across old college photos last weekend while arranging shelves in my new apartment. There were the typical pictures with duck-face lips, ice looges, fake tanner accidents and weekends full of excessive wild rompous. But I stumbled upon several photos of myself with an old sorority sister with whom I no longer speak and I found myself forgetting why we stopped speaking in the first place. Rather … I found myself wondering WHY that reason was so damned important. I remember she and I were roommates in college and we ditched about three weeks of classes to watch every single episode of Sex in the City all cuddled up on her bed with heaps of junk food and Coors Light surrounding us. She’d let me wear her Tiffany’s jewelry until I finally had a few pieces of my own. We swapped Coach shoes, v-neck tops and went to the same dumpy nail salon on Thursdays. She always smelled expensive too. 

Then we fought about something. Something to do with her boyfriend, I think. He wasn’t allowed in the apartment for safety reasons and the other two roommates we shared a place with had drafted into our lease agreement that he couldn’t set foot in our home. But she brought him over anyway. One night in a bit of a haze, I yelled at her about the whole situation. Our other roommates just laughed as my friend tried to defend herself against my tirade. I was unstoppable. After that, there were no more Sex in the City parties, no sharing of clothes, no cigarettes outside to escape the other two girls. There was nothing. Just awkward passes to the bathroom and closed doors.Image

We fought over text message on our Razor phones. Back when you had to pound up to three times on one key for the letter you wanted. She was bat-shit crazy about something and I was a raging bull in a china shop. The insults flew back and forth but again, I really couldn’t say what they were regarding. We both went to bed livid and I turned off my phone, my heart pounding hot blood throughout my face. I couldn’t read the insults she was hurling my way for a second longer. That’s the thing with close friends; they know where you’ll hurt the most.

The next morning she apologized in some backhanded manner. I never saw or spoke to her again.

Two years ago, I went to a wedding and saw several of my old sorority sisters who knew this girl as well. I openly admitted to missing my former companion. People suggested I call her and someone gave me her phone number. I still have it saved in my phone. I’m yet to hit send.

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Martha’s Messes

July 14, 2012

$700 a month for an apartment used to only include a room for your personals, maybe a bathroom or two, a kitchen of sorts and if you were lucky, a few doors for privacy. Well, my $700 a month also included a parking space! Right in front of my apartment, which is wildly convenient for bringing in groceries but also a safety measure since I typically get home late at night. This parking situation has carried on business as usual until just recently. Now I’m dealing a grotesque breach of contract and I feel like a paying stranger in my own living quarters. No, my roommate and I aren’t feuding amongst ourselves for parking rights or a lack of ability to cough up rent when it’s due as in most domestic partnerships. Rather, I am now struggling with a passive aggressive usurption of my lovely parking space! Lend me your ear:

I live in a three-story, multi-family house wherein the landlord lives on the right half of the house and my roommate and I live on the left. My landlord, we’ll call her Joy, has two degenerate children. I use the term children directly refering to the infant-like actions Joy’s offspring exhibit daily, but in no means does the word “children” coincide with their age. John and Martha (I don’t know the son’s name, but that’s the daughter’s real name… it’s just such a dreadful, cliché name that I couldn’t be asked to change it!!) are both between the ages of 25-31 if I judge correctly. John also has an 8-year-old daughter that lives with him as the mother is unfortunately legally barred from seeing the girl. Let’s count, that’s four people living in a small, left-sided apartment with then myself and my roomie on the right; this renders a total of six people in one narrow house. 

Wow.

Martha and John’s daughter enjoying a car ride together

Fortunately, John doesn’t have a car. He has a daughter and a drug problem, but no car. Joy has a car. My roommate doesn’t have a car. John’s daughter clearly does not have a car. I have a car. Aaaaand Martha has a car. Three cars for six people vieing for parking in front of a narrow house.

Now, apparently Joy is some kind of major property holder and gave her daughter, Martha, the keys to a house just up the road from my address. Martha fucked that up somehow when she slept with the current tenant who demanded his keys back in a 7am-blowout that happened on a warm Saturday morning when I wished I was asleep instead of peering out my bathroom window listening to southie dialect and screaming. So, Martha doesn’t live in her own house anymore and has pulled the noble move of “living with Mother”.

I wouldn’t give two shits about this new living arrangement if Martha didn’t come complete with morning drama and a snazzy white car to take up my parking space. Joy doesn’t allow me to park in front of her driveway because that’s where she parks. She once told me to move because I was blocking her garage. However, when the door opened a few days later, old AC units and impaled flotation devices spilled onto the driveway. Her true issue? I was in her personal parking space. Well, your damn daughter is in mine! 

Enjoy my spot, Martha. Don’t get hit by a bus on your way inside

I’ve lived here now since March and I have become quite accustomed to parking in front of or very close to my house. Why wouldn’t that be a normal practice? I pay to live here! Martha does not. She takes my spot, screams at boyfriends at all hours of the morning, and her car sits there all damn day. Fortunately for her, Martha doesn’t have a job. Joy does, Martha doesn’t. Joy’s car moves occasionally but good ole Martha’s just chills in the coveted spot that used to be mine… and silently mocks me.

Not what I want to walk down after 12 hours in heels…

Now, when I come home at all hours of the night from work… or play 😀 … I am plagued with finding a spot far up my own street. But more often than not, I hafta park on the main road and deal with the drunk degenerates hollering as I leave my car to walk down the street to my house. Last Friday night, I was coming home from work in my finest weekend eve attire, and a drunk man on a bike nearly followed me home yelling his name was Mark over and over again. The next morning when I walked out to my road-side park job, Mark had left his phone number and again his name on an old lottery ticket, encouraging me to call him whenever. This is just ridiculous. Joy once said that Martha sometimes lives with her… obviously this sleeping with tenants issue is a common occurence… but I wish she would just leave.

I miss my parking space… :C

I’m probably going to go and speak with Joy about this matter in the next few days as we’re going on 4 weeks of Martha’s Messes.

I just want to park my car in front of my apartment.