10 October 2006

Dante's Circles of Housemate hell ... or 'I have met the enemy and her name is Andrea'

I have always heard horror stories about roommates from hell and I always found them to be a bit over drawn and hard to believe. That is of course until I moved in with Andrea the mid 30’s, unemployed paralegal from Dante’s third circle of hell. After the relatively short period of time I have been staying here (4 months) she has driven me to spend as little time at home or in contact with her as humanly possible.

Andrea is a dumpy looking thirty something who one can only visually describe as having the dress sense of a liberated Mennonite. She reminds me a bit of one of my grade school French teachers who gave off airs of being a spinster in that sort of fashion that she wore clothes that one might find for retiree’s in their early 70’s at JC Penny. Now this is not entirely true of Andrea, she does have a boyfriend, a creepy specter of a man who to borrow a phrase from Hemingway ‘had the look of an unsuccessful rapist’ although he is much more tolerable than her.

Andrea is the type of passive aggressive annoyance that makes my blood boil. She has taken up every available inch of storage space in the house with her tacky nick knacks and text books. It’s bloody infuriating, and it took my using the entire section of the counter in order for her to give me a second cupboard in the kitchen. She leaves a clothes drying rack in the kitchen I am convinced mostly to annoy me and make me feel like I am sharing a home with a group of early 1930’s American immigrants from ‘the old country’.

All of her available time seems to be devoted to getting caught up on every episode of The Cosby Show, Mad About You and Friends that have ever aired. She sits in front of the television all day and night at a rather infuriating interval. She manages to also use it when anyone else wants to watch it, not that Alex and I ever venture out of our rooms to watch it lest we have to endure a conversation with her or worse still smell her cooking. This woman has about all of the gastronomic sense of a decaying garbage heap. I have at 9 AM smelt her burning onions and on occasion cooking curry. Now make no mistake about it I love curry like few others who share my skin tone but before 9 AM is a disgusting abomination. But this should come as no surprise from a woman who finds Easy Mac with tuna and peas a delicious if not designer meal choice.

Now let us move on to the subject of cleanliness and other matters as presently that is what is annoying me. Andrea has always been suggesting I clean more but in her own passive aggressive sort of way. This is a strange fact as I am the only one who has seen fit to vacuum or mop a floor since I moved in. The fact remains they didn’t have a mop or broom when I moved in. Now this is no fault of Alex’s he keeps his things impeccable and never causes a mess. Andrea on the other hand is a walking disaster leaving piles of dishes next to the sink for days rather than putting them in the dishwasher.

Now Andrea has been unemployed for some time a fact that I doubt likely to change given that she spends every hour God sends watching terrible TV reruns, seriously people I am waiting to walk down the stairs and hear the Keatons any day now. So she came to me and told me she had planned out every day of her life for the next year and created cards and ordered them. So I looked and sure enough she had, hey whatever fine I mean for the sake of her parents I hope finding a job is on a couple of those cards. Anyways she then said ‘Now all I have to do is find a way for you and Alex to do some of these chores’. I walked away in disgust at this point having next to no interest in further discussing this matter with her. Firstly she called them chores and then had the nerve to talk down to me.

You can imagine my surprise when I walked downstairs this morning to get my morning cereal to find she had printed out a list of chores and tacked them onto the fridge with a date and sign off sheet as well as how often they should be performed. All of this smacked me a bit too much of a bathroom in a fucking Denny’s. Now I haven’t said anything but this is just the last straw. Should she mention anything to me I will drop the polite veneer I have been employing for the past few months and tell her straight up what I think of her and her list. I mean its bad enough I have to pretend to be on the phone every time I come in and out of the house so I don’t have to talk to her but this is too far way too far. I am going to start writing a sitcom soon it’s getting that bad, well maybe more of a murder mystery, well less mystery and more obvious case of who did it. I assure you Sherlock Holmes himself would be impressed at the thoughts I am having.


At 5:22 PM, Blogger Snakedriver said...

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