Where art thou Courteney Cox?

When I was a kid, one of my brilliant inventions was a long stick I could use to reach across the room and turn out my light. (Apparently in the ‘80s ‘’nightstand lamps’’ hadn’t been invented yet. Or maybe my parents thought I shouldn’t be trusted with glass so near my precious self. By the way, three of my other early inventions were: the mailbox with doors at both ends so you didn’t have to go into traffic for your bills and birthday cards (this was later invented), raisin juice, and the peanutbutter-and-jelly knife with a blade at either end. Admittedly, this had the limited buying audience of people who loved PB&J enough to invest in a special utensil but also had a small number of knives in their possession.)

Regardless.

I have now been able to realize that early dream of turning off my light from across the room, even without the aid of a long stick. Thanks new roommate!

I live in a three-bedroom apartment, with two normal-sized bedrooms and one sort of storage nook. I was formerly sitting pretty in the biggest bedroom, just pointing and laughing at everyone who complained about Manhattan cramping their style. I had one Great Roommate at the other end of a long hallway, and she was never home. It was a simpler time.

Enter new roommate. A final parting gift from my boyfriend came in the form of a girl who was going to rent out my room when I moved in with him.

Within the hour of 9 a.m. to 10 a.m. one random Monday I’d been broken up with and my Wee Little Landlord (4’10”?) called to tell me she’d found someone to take over my lease.

She took pity on me and let me move into the nook instead of putting me out on the street, which was merciful considering I barely had the $35 to get the cable transferred to my room, let alone funds to rent a moving truck. It would have been a happy ending snatched from the claws of defeat, if not for Bad Roommate.

“Friends” led me astray. It is not awesome to have a roommate named Monica. She doesn’t make me laugh or lend me her boots or date the boy across the hall. She does clean a lot though. Well, that’s not actually true. She does, uh, encourage us to clean.

Within her first day, this transpired:

HER: Hey Kate.
ME: Hi Monica. Welcome to the apartment.
HER: Uh yeah.
ME: We’re really casual so help yourself to stuff in the kitchen or whatever.
HER: OK. Hey that stuff in the living room (points to my laundry bag on a chair) you’re going to move that, right?
ME: (In my head “OH MY GOD YOU BETTER SLEEP WITH ONE EYE OPEN. I WILL COME AT YOU LIKE A SPIDER MONKEY!”) Uh, sure.

(Editor’s note: I had dismantled and remantled my bed that morning and moved every possession I owned into the nook because she said she wanted the bigger bedroom instead of a discount on the rent.)

After that I avoided her at all costs, but when I returned from my hospital interlude with my dad, I was greeted with a note on the door saying:

“Hey Roomies! (Editor’s note: Ugh)
There have been dishes in the sink for over a week and that’s really gross. Let’s try to be better about that.”

The sink was empty when I left town + Great Roommate has never left a dish in the sink X I did her dishes the last time they piled up / several times a week she has large groups of her family over to eat what I assume is rotting flesh judging by the smell = she is crazy.