Tag Archives: roommates

CLEAN HOUSE: My personal episode of mayhem and foolishness


I SWEAR TO GOD, our house is ONE episode away from being our own “Clean House” special.

Let me just tell you about my cleaning up experience this weekend.

I realize everyone has different variations on what “clean” really means, but I did not come close to completing my version of clean! I just kinda tidied up the edges. My house needs a deep cleaning like yesterday. I don’t know when the stairs have last been swept or vacuumed, so I started sweeping and ending up in a coughing fit and just quit. Then I piled up my messy roommate’s crap into a giant pile by the door… he’s like a fungus.. his crap just spreads around the house, and then he never comes back and picks it up. It looked like I was evicting a hobo! I’m too lazy to drag that foolishness upstairs, so I just left it there, hoping my guests would not notice.

Kitchen: can you say HOT EFFING MESS??! I loaded and ran the dishwasher on Thursday night, and since then, no one’s emptied it – they just added dishes to the sink. The fridge needs to be cleaned out, and I was running short on time so I didn’t mop, just swept really good. In the process I threw out a week old cake, some creamer, a half empty can of sierra mist (who drinks that anymore??) and ran the dishwasher twice. Found more roommate crap and added to the pile at the door which now resembled Trashy from Fraggle Rock (remember the singing pile of trash??).

BTW – Let’s talk about recyclables. Putting your empty can on the kitchen counter DOES NOT COUNT AS RECYCLING. Also, if you get conscientious enough to actually put your empty can of tortilla soup in the recycling bin, how about washing out the residue first? Make this up I do not.

My room is an ongoing project. Living with a dude in my room has changed my routine, and I have to stay ever vigilant in case our combined mayhem turns the room into a Hoarders episode. BBE is addicted to receipts I think, and he also likes a variety of ties left in various locations. I have a penchant for leaving out every pair pajama pants and socks that I own around the room. All in all, I guess my room wasn’t so bad, but I panicked because I think in my purging this week I accidentally tossed out a shoe box with a BRAND NEW PAIR OF NUDE PUMPS in it. Like UNWORN BRAND NEW FRICKING SHOES. Ugh.

Sometimes I wonder if maybe we should hire a maid. This is ridiculous.

The Milk and the Cow


The other day, I had a rather frank conversation with my mom about my relationship with the BBE (best boyfriend ever) and where we were headed. I was very honest and told her that we were considering moving in together. I’m not a serial dater – I have never lived with anyone I have dated, EVER, so for me to even consider this step is pretty huge.

And she said the infamous phrase:

“Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?”

Wha??? Who says stuff like that? What is this, the 1950’s??

I am an intelligent college graduate with a full-time job and my own car. I am (fairly) responsible and I try to live a fairly morally compassed life. In this day and age, you think she’d be happy that I haven’t covered my body in tribal tattoos with a tramp stamp on my butt crack, dancing naked under the full moon and posting soft-core videos on YouTube. I mean, I’m not going all Kesha on her, just wanting to have a healthy relationship with someone that I’d potentially consider having little swirly babies with. I think this is reasonable.

I have to admit, I was a little surprised, and then again, I wasn’t. She was being a mom and wanting the best for me, but at the tender age of 32 and a half I have to start being the person that decides what works for me.

 I’m like…a penguin. When I mate, I want to mate for life. I have seen too many of my friends go through the stress and heartbreak of divorce. I don’t want to rush into any decisions… I also don’t want us to take 5 years to decide that we want to get married (I think my eggs expire before then) however I don’t want to date for just 3 months and then get married. That’s not how I roll. So in order to ensure that I’m making the right decision I want to try the living with him thing first – why is that so bad? Isn’t it better to realize that it’s not going to work and have to separate a few personal items, than to get married, realize it doesn’t work and have to separate two lives?

And let’s talk about “milk”… people are seriously perverts. I know I’m guilty of looking at pregnant women and thinking “you know they like, totally DID IT”. Conversely, it never occured to me that the thought of a couple living together conjures up thoughts of all day orgies, like we’d be shag-shag-shag, left right and center all day. I just don’t have the energy for those kind of shenanigans. And what makes yall think we don’t make milkshakes already?? 🙂 When I think of living together I think of sharing expenses, learning how to live together without wanting to kill each other, putting our lives in sync. I am 32. I’m tired. I like naps, watching Super Nanny and getting lots of sleep. I get excited about new flowers blooming on my hisbiscus bush. BBE had me the moment he agreed that a nice relaxing afternoon involved us both sitting quietly reading our own books. When we first started talking about the living situation, BBE didn’t immediately run to Walgreens and buy a turbo-sized box of condoms so I’m taking that as a good sign.

Furthermore, why is it that I’M the one giving the milk away? Why is it always about the girl putting out? Why isn’t he the one that’s giving the milk away??? And if he didn’t want to “buy the cow” (and I resent being referred to as a cow – I am working on my fitness thank you very much) do yall really think I would live with someone that was just interested in the milk? Seriously? Have you people met me? And if he was just interested in dairy products then he probably wouldn’t have initiated the loving together  conversation, since that’s big committment just to get a little “milk”.

Obviously I feel very strongly about this, and thus I’m a bit rant-y.

Did I mention that I’m lactose-intolerant??


Sick Behavior


I haven’t posted in almost two weeks… I must admit, not sharing all my business via blogging has been strange. 🙂


Firstly, let me start by saying tonsilitis sucks. I kinda wish I’d kept a diary of my crazy while I was sick – it’s amazing how much your behavior changes by virtue of a bacterial infection and the increasing paranoia that develops courtesy of seriously strong medication.


I was at book club… ahem, *Fight Club* when I first started feeling ill. Of course, my fellow Fight Clubberes were convinced it was the cheeseburger I ate, and taunted me for defying my lastose intolerance. LOL, one person even suggested I was allergic to cheese!!  By the time I got home I knew this was not cheese related. I immediately stripped down and slipped into bed, shivering uncontrollably. I tried to nap by dosing up on nyquil. Didn’t work. By the next morning, I could barely talk or swallow.


I need to pause to say this: Karma is a mean, bitter cranky vindictive hag if you piss her off. And I guess I must have, because the only doctor I could get an immediate appointment with was – yep, you guessed it – hot doctor. If I wasn’t already convinced that I needed a new doctor, my visit to his office that day definitely confirmed it.


I got to the doctor’s office, 15 minutes before my appointment, and watched as everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, even people that came in 20, 30 minutes after me were checked in and called back while I sat upright in my own personal version of hell – shivering and sweating, blood pressure and fever rising with the CASEY ANTHONY  TRIAL droning on the television. an hour after I arrived, I was finally called back and placed in a room for 30 minutes with – guess what? Another television showing the CASEY ANTHONY TRIAL. Seriously, I have no idea who I pissed off or why. Or why the Casey Anthony trial became the conduit of my misery.


When hot doctor finally came in the room, I was a disgusting mess: hadn’t taken a shower since the day before, sweaty hair and skin, heinous breath because it hurt too much to open my mouth wide enough to brush, crusty eyes because i passed out in a nyquil-induced haze before taking them out, heart pounding. I think I actually grossed the doctor out, because I’ve never seen him get in and out of my room so fast. He confirmed I had strep, then made me take a pregnancy test (WTF???) then I waited for another 30 minutes until the tech came back in the room, shot my arm and left butt cheek up with drugs and sent me to the Walgreens for my prescription. I didn’t even see hot doctor again after he made me pee in the pregnancy cup.


(FYI: I am not pregnant!!)


He never explained the medication or what was in the shots. He didn’t even tell me when I could go back to work or anything. I asked the tech when I could go back to work, and she was like “why didn’t you ask the doctor?” Hmm… maybe because I was too busy peeing in a cup and struggling to swallow and form basics words. I was a little surprised by the lack of beside manner, not just from the tech, but from the doctor as well. I seriously must have grossed him out. I kinda grossed myself out. I mean, normally I get a little tease or flirt – I got NOTHING. He shot out of that room like his lab coat was on fire.


I spent the rest of the week miserable – the drugs he gave me induced excessive diarrhea, headaches, nausea and insomnia. I became convinced that they were eating into my brain and ruining my IQ, even though the BF told me they were just antibiotics. I subsisted on baby food applesauce, chicken broth and red jell-o. By day four, when Casey the roomie offered me applesauce, I burst into tears because I was so sick of soft foods. I couldnt even tell him why I was crying because I couldn’t talk. Apparently I sounded like a “retarded Marlee Matlin”. Who says that to a sick person? Oh, wait. Guy roomies do.


Since I couldnt sleep I watched a lot of tv – I saw Who Framed Roger Rabbit? at least twice, caught up on my DVR and got it down from 96% full to 46%, watched I Love the 80’s on VHI. I didn’t read books or update my blog because my attention span was gone, and the insomnia meant I nodded off at random times for 5 minute spells – while putting on my socks, peeing, postingon facebook.


I actually MISSED work!! I had a serious case of cabin fever, and a raging desire for hush puppies.  I  wondered, is this what it’s like coming down from quaaludes?


I’ve always been fairly hard on guys when they’re sick – I mean, come on, men act like sad puppies when they’re sick! Not that I don’t have empathy for them, but I so rarely get sick that I forget what it’s like to feel so miserable. This was definitely a learning moment 🙂 …all I wanted from people was a hug, and maybe solid food and the ability to swallow. It’s amazing how people’s behavior changes when they’re sick.

On the flip side, I did lost 10 pounds – nothing will jumpstart a diet like a bacterial infection!!


Oh, and I officially hate red jello.

No Shame


A few months back I woke up in my room, looked across at my bookshelf and thought “I am 32 years old… why the HELL do I still have stuffed winnie the poohs in my room?? What am I, like 10 years old??? I had the vintage pooh, Christmas Pooh, Valentine’s Day Pooh, not to mention my raggedy old pooh that i sleep with.

How shameful. Those things have been up there for ages. It took way too long for me to have some shame and put them away in a box.

What does it mean to have no shame? Sadly there are lots of things I do on a regular basis to be embarrassed about, and the Winnie the Poohs were at the very very bottom of the list. This is a list topped by:

  • True and honest fear of clowns
  • My favorite thing to do when I get home is take off my pants
  • I take the crusts off my bread – this includes sandwiches, croissants, rolls, etc. Hamburger and hot dog buns are included.
  • When I used to work at a hotel I’d dance in the elevator in between floors
  • I use my boobs to get better bartender service at clubs
  • Sticking q-tips into my ears and turning them eeeever so slowly makes my eyes roll up into the back of my head.
  • I have thrown up behind a rainbow-colored trash can at a gay bar. (not IN the trash can, behind it. so not cute)
  • Very few things in life beat a Saturday night in bed watching Britcoms on PBS
  • I read Jane Austen because I think it’s fun
  • I’m obsessed with the Travelocity Gnome… to the point that I took my gnome with me on my cruise and posted gnome vacation pics on Facebook.
  • I proudly claim my own farts
  • my favorite meal is brunch – what other meal allows for mimosas and tater tots??
  • i question the I.Q. of anyone that uses “your” and “you’re” incorrectly (isn’t that awful?). Sometimes I question it out loud, followed by a query of whether
  • Yesterday when walking into Lowe’s with Casey the Roomie I told him “My bunghole itches”… within earshot of the greeter. Did I care? Nope.

I could go on and on. The upshot is that I don’t care if ANYONE knows any of those things. It’s stuff that’s simply part of who I am and I have no shame about any of it. Some of it makes me literally laugh out loud. Some of it I don’t even realize is happening until there’s a pile of sandwich crusts next  to me in the lunch room
with a coworker staring at me and my lunch like I’m a circus freak.
The point is, my shame tolerance is fairly considerable most of the time. Yet as I was sitting in my room alone and eyeing the stuffed animals I was embarrassed. So I found a box and packed them all up. They’re on a shelf in my closet, on the off chance that I do eventually get married and have kids and want to share my Winnie the Pooh weirdness with my offspring. Until then, there’s only room for one stuffed animal in my room…
 How could I give him up?  He’s like boy friend AND he never hogs the covers. 🙂

My Big Girl Panties


Ever heard the phrase “Put on your Big Girl panties and deal with it”?

The other day, I was sitting on the porch in my rocking chair when I saw an old no-longer-friend-but-still-awkward-neighbor and his wife taking a leisurely evening stroll down the street. To avoid a weird moment of awkwardness I jumped out of my rocking chair like my butt was on fire and made a mad dash into the house. I literally left the rocking chair rocking.

Not my finest moment.

What’s ironic is that this artful dodging came immediately after a long chat with my roommate (on the same afternoon, SAME PORCH!!) about how important it is to meet confrontation head on. What’s more ironic is that a day or so before this I’d rather snippily told a whiny co-worker to hitch up her own underpants and get it together. It’s only fitting that I be reminded of my self-righteous words while running into the house like a bat out of hell.

I am such a wuss when it comes to confrontation. Why is the thought of it so scary? Part of me thinks it’s because I don’t like disappointing people or letting them down. There’s also the OCD part of me that has a fear of losing control and screaming like a shrew until a vein pops in my forehead and I’ll turn into the incredible hulk, shredding both my dignity and any big girl panties I might have been wearing at the time.

Part of it too is that I feel the need to distance myself from the Big Angry Black Woman Stereotype. So I pay more attention than the average person to make sure I bottle up my frustrations. Everybody gets mad sometimes… why do Black Women have this persona associated with being mad? I was in Ross the other day (don’t judge) and this little old lady bumped into me while perusing the racks… before I could utter a word she jumped back and apologized to me profusely and was literally shaking as she scurried away, glancing back at me. I barely had a moment to acknowledge her presence, certainly not enough time to  deliver the pimp-slap the she seemed to expect from me.

Hmph. Maybe I should’ve have yelled “bitch betta check herself!” at her retreating backside. I’m sure it didn’t help matters any. LOL

These days I tend to weigh arguments in terms of whether it’s worth the stress or bother, if I can live with it or not. I can’t remember a time when people didn’t tell me that I get worked up over nothing and should learn to “let stuff go”. Between feelings of self-doubt and repeatedly hearing the criticism so much, I think it prevents me from fighting the battles worth fighting… like when a jerk cuts in front of me in line at the Staples (really? a grown ass man? is buying a pack of pens THAT important? didn’t your momma teach you better?). Or when a tourist runs over my ankle with a double stroller while getting on the boat to the Magic Kingdom, and tells ME to watch where I’M stepping…

In my mind there’s an Ally McBeal-like flashback going on in the Staples, where I grab Mr. Line Jumper and go Angry Black Woman/Towanda on him. After snapping all of his pens in half, I punch him in the throat.

In reality I just sigh quietly and roll my eyes and hope that the clerk notices.

Either way, it looks like I need to buy a new pair of big girl pants. I saw some from the Delta Burke line on sale at the Ross. 🙂



Just got home from a long day at work and I immediately took off my pants. I have to say, taking off my pants is my favorite thing to do when I get home from work. Following at close second is running to the bathroom to pee. It’s even better when no one else is home: I can walk into the kitchen pantsless and fix myself a cold glass of water and not
have to worry that I’ll turn around and see some guest of my roommate’s sleeping on the couch and try to tiptoe past him with my shirt yanked down over my butt, hoping he doesn’t wake until after i’ve scurried into my room.

Oy! So hot today!! A great pantsless day! Once a GA State Patrolman friend of mine said “I’m sweatin’ more than a whore sitting in church on 4th of July Sunday” … I bet the patrolman and the ho would sweat less if they were pantsless. Just sayin.

Ahhh the pantsless life 🙂 gonna go fix myself a glass of water before anyone come home!



So I’m learning that a favorite pastime of many of my friends is “creepin”.

Creeping is when you stalk someone (usually from afar) silently on social media. Facebook is a good place for this.

Anytime you systematically stalk someone via social media without commenting on their page?? That’s considered creeping.

It is truly a pastime that transcends gender, race and age. I have friends that creep on their old friends, frenemies, exes and crushes. I know parents that creep on their kids…
Mom: “I saw you went on a date last night. How did it go?”
Me: “Saw?? What do you mean??”
Mom: “I saw it on facebook.”

My roommates have taken creeping to a whole new level. Sitting in my room, I see flashing lights reflecting off the backyard fence… I get up to investigate the source… And find my roommates Wesley and Colleen (semi-) covertly peering out the blinds of the dining room window at a woman that’s been pulled over by the police. Police in our neighborhood is a rare occurrence in itself, so I understand the curiosity. Why is this considered “creeping”?? When the woman turns her head to look at our house, they both hit the floors like gunshots have gone off. Clearly they don’t want to be seen. 🙂

That’s it, just my random observation… Now I gotta go peek and see if he’s written her a ticket yet! 🙂

Wesley and Colleen creepin on the neighbors!

**Update: Apparently the woman was getting a ticket for running a stop sign in the nieghborhood. We know this because Wesley went on the porch so he could overhear what the police officer was saying. See what I mean? Creeepin!!!