High School Revisited

Just want to preface this entire blog post by saying it can be summed up in two words: Hot Mess.

So thanks to that modern wonder we call Facebook, I am "friends" with a couple of my old teachers as well as some of the kids I went to school with. Speaking of kids, does anyone else get surprised for a second when they see a picture of someone they haven't seen in almost 20 years and all of a sudden that person has boobs? No? Just me? Oh.

Anyway. So a former teacher of mine named Sara and I became Facebook friends, and right away it was weird. I was born in 1976. Sara's profile said she was born in 1972. That would mean that in 1992 when she was my marketing teacher (and also the art and Spanish teacher - it was a very tiny school), while I was 15, she was 19.

I happen to think it's lame to lie about your age to people. It's one thing to lie to get into a club or to get drinks, but another to lie about it regularly to all who (rudely) inquire. If you think you can get away with telling people you're 38 when you're really 46 then you should be PROUD to say you're 46. Then it'll be more impressive that you look so good, rather than people looking at you and thinking you look like a haggard 38.

So while I know that just because someone's a teacher it doesn't mean they're by any stretch a perfect person, something about Sara seems off. Firstly, she seems obsessed with finding this girl Jen who is my age and was a student there when I was. When I initially accepted her friend request, I clicked on Sara's wall and she'd pretty much "friended" every kid in my year that she could find, and had asked ALL of us if we were in touch with Jen.

Of course sometimes teachers and students form bonds or whatever, in fact just yesterday heard about a teacher mentoring a little boy whose parents are going through a divorce, but this set off a warning bell in my head.

The other thing I noticed about Sara is that she spoke out negatively against all police officers. When I looked at other comments she'd made they were all in a negative tone. While Sara was my teacher she was married, and she's been divorced for quite a while. I saw her ask a girl I graduated with, who now lives in Madrid, to hook her up with a Spanish man. I don't feel like I'm adequately describing Sara, but she just seems like an angry person now, which is very different from who she used to be.

Jen was found. Jen and I became Facebook friends. It turns out that right after high school graduation, she lived out here in San Francisco for a while. I am not clear on what she has done with her life since then. If she went to college. How she's been supporting herself. Why she seems to have zero relationship with the little sister I remember her having. Why every status update seems to be an extreme problem involving police, violence, hospitals, courtrooms, restraints.

Jen told me she wants to come out to the Bay Area, she has a cousin in Oakland. She got an offer to intern at a record company in San Diego (which is not in the Bay Area). I was not clear if this was a paid internship or not, but when I asked Jen if she's aiming to be involved in the music business for a career, she explained that she wants to work in prisons.

She made a joke about sleeping on my couch the first time we chatted. I haven't had a couch in over a year. I told her this. It was clear what wasn't being said. She was asking if she could stay with me. I was saying no. My guess is everyone who lives in a major city gets asked to host quite a bit, since hotel rates are higher there than in smaller areas.

Last night Jen called me shortly after 10pm. She's on the East Coast, so that's shortly after 1am her time. Told me she had HPV but is not contagious, in case I want to sleep with her (I hate when people think everyone who lives in SF is there because they're gay. I'm not gay, I just like it here). Told me she's getting a pap smear tomorrow. I said good luck. Told me about a future landlord she gave $1600 to, who was supposed to renovate before she moved in. He hasn't renovated, she hasn't moved in, and he's had her money since the fall. Jen told me she has to get a lawyer; I told her she doesn't need a lawyer for small claims court.

Again last night she talked about coming out here. I (thought I) very clearly said that I do not live in a place where I can host people. Jen reminded me she'd been homeless, said she can sleep on the floor.

It was a two minute conversation. Jen told me she was at her best friend's bar, but they were closing and she had to go. Now, I am very logical and kind of anal and focused. If I call you, it's when I have time to give you all the attention in the world. I call you from a quiet place, so you'll be able to hear me, and won't feel like I'm distracted by whatever you hear going on in the background. I was a little confused as to why Jen was calling me when she couldn't really talk.

I was 17, I was not so great at asserting myself, at setting boundaries. This has changed a lot. Jen would be an idiot to come out here assuming she could stay with me, indefinitely. She's very smart, and understood what I was saying, even though I didn't flat-out say the word no. But she seems to have some steamroller qualities, and I could see her choosing to ignore what she doesn't want to hear.

Hot. Mess.

Roommate Karma

Remember the Steamroller? And how she had her boyfriend over all the time? And then her parents came for a month? And, and, and? Remember?

Yeah well Trixie's no Steamroller. Three weeks ago she asked if I minded if she threw a cocktail party. On Monday she said that since people would probably be in our house until 1 a.m., and I'd probably be tired after my first full week of work, perhaps those people might annoy me.

So if I'd like, she'd be happy to put me up at a hotel Friday night. That's right. My roommate offered to send me to a hotel for the night so her partying friends don't disturb me.

It's Baaaaaaa-aaaaaaaack!

You know what I hate? When people don't RSVP to parties. So fucking rude.

You know what else I hate? When people call me at 2:20 a.m. We've discussed this before. You know this. Most people should know better than to call someone at that sort of ridiculous time.

Guess who doesn't? That's right, Steamroller! She called me at 2:20 a.m. I didn't know it was her at first, just saw 00019... and knew it was coming from out of the country. As wildly popular as I am, I have nobody out of this country who should be calling me. So I didn't answer. Two minutes later my phone rang again, this time with an unlisted number. Stupid me, I answered it. Only to hear Steamroller.

Her: Green?
Me: What?
Her: Hi, it's Steamroller.
Me: It's 2:20 in the morning - is this an emergency?
Her: Oh, sorry, hee hee hee, I didn't realize; I'm in Hong Kong.
Me: Well now that you've woken me up, why are you calling?
Her: Oh, well I realized that I never got back my security deposit...?
Me: It's seven months after the fact and you just realized this now?
Her: ...
Me: E-mail me an address within the U.S. that you want it sent to.
Her: Okay. Blah blah blah...

I don't know what she was saying, because I hung up. I really wish there was some legal loophole that said I didn't have to give Steamroller the security deposit. I wish there were a statutue of limitations for this. But there's nothing, so I have to send it to her. However, being that it took seven months for her to ask for it, I'm in no rush to send her any money. When I get a job, I'll send money out.

Introducing ... TRIXIE

The New and Improved Steamroller - thanks to Golden Boy's inability to remember her name, she will forever be known on this blog from now on as Trixie.

Let's talk about her for a moment, shall we? She is the best roommate I've ever had, even surpassing LeeMarie, my old roommate in Florida. LeeMarie was just as neat and quiet as she promised me she'd be, and the only reason Trixie is a better roommate is because we're not just roommates, we're friends. We'll pause now while everyone dabs at the tears in their eyes.

Trixie is an attorney. Trixie is divorced - she was married for four years, and her husband cheated on her for three, so when she found out she dumped his sorry ass. Her ex-husband has not told his family (in India, have I mentioned Trixie is Indian?) that he is divorced. Trixie is an extrovert, but sensitive to my introvert-ness and has told me to let her know when she's being over-bearing (I never have the heart to though). Trixie has a car. Trixie is Indian, and has lots of Indian friends, who have names I have a hard time remembering. She does not mind when I get their names wrong at all. Trixie took me to Ikea for the very first time in my entire life (I didn't buy anything). Trixie and I go to brunch on the weekends and sit around talking on weeknights. It is lovely to have such a wonderful roommate and friend. We pause now for you to roll your eyes while you puke.

Trixie has told me I should start a blog (heh). She thinks I'm funny, and should write a book or have a tv show. When people come over, we try to get them to sit in my papasan chair to see if they'll fall over. We want to take a picture of each person who falls and put it up on the wall behind the chair. You can see why I like Trixie. She's cool like the other side of the pillow.

Every Saturday night one of her best friends comes over and the three of us spend hours talking about nothing. Tonight I wandered over to Trixie's bedroom while cooking dinner. "Do you smell ... cigarette smoke when you stand outside the kitchen (near our front door)?" She does. It's disgusting. We all have balconies - why aren't people smoking there, instead of in the hallways? I told Trixie, "If I could keep you as a roommate, I'd move when this lease is up without another thought." Her head jerked up. "Where do you want to go?" I shrugged. "Anywhere that's less than a half hour from work and allows dogs," I said. Trixie nodded. She's not entirely happy here either. So it's agreed - we're going to start looking for a new place around Thanksgiving. A new place that allows dogs, with more closets, and a parking spot. Good luck to us. I didn't really want to move again just a year after moving here, but this place simply sucks. The size is great, the location is good, but nothing is taken care of the way we want.

Tonight, with So You Think You Can Dance in the background, Trixie and I played volleyball in the living room while we watched tv and talked. Our next place will be a loft, and we will get a basketball net, and have a total bachelor pad. With flowers. And dainty decorative bowls filled with jelly beans, like we have now.

Hallefuckinglujah!

Hi Green:
Just left you a voicemail, sorry it took the better part of today to get back to you, but I do want to take the place. I am going to be running around tomorrow but please call me on my cell at (415) 777-whothefuckcaresthisisn'tarealnumberanyway so we can discuss the details/next steps etc. Thanks and hope you are having a good weekend! -THE NEW STEAMROLLER!!!!!!!!!!!!

I would like to thank the Academy
I would like to thank my brother, for showing me how to attach pictures to my ad to make it better and for co-signing my lease, trusting me to
A. Find a roommate
B. Not get shit-canned and therefore become unable to pay my rent, leaving the burden to him
I would like to thank everyone who came to see my place, for being - even if a bit weird - relatively normal and not killing me
I would like to thank all the potential roommates who offered to take off their shoes upon entering the apartment
I would like to thank the Head Grandma at work for worrying about me each time she knew I had a potential roommate coming over, which reminded me to take little safety precautions*
I would like to thank my dad, for respecting my position when I asked him to stop asking me how the roommate search was going
I would like to thank every reader of my blog who read my whining about this process
I would like to thank my friend's kid, for helping coin the term "The New and Improved Steamroller"
I would like to thank Craigslist for giving me a place to post an ad for free
I would like to thank the New and Improved Steamroller (yes, she'll get her own name) for sending me this e-mail, thus making a very dreary and rainy Saturday fucking awesome
I would like to thank myself, for just last night deciding "I should make a list of all the crap I'm putting off buying until I have a roommate"

*Safety precautions simply consisted of not locking the door after letting people in, keeping my cell phone in my pocket, and always positioning myself closer to each door than they were, which is easier and requires less thinking than it sounds

Steamroller Strikes Again

On December 15th, having secured a new apartment, I gave Steamroller 30 days notice. She got notification less than six hours after my new place told me I was in for sure, less than four hours after I gave 30 days notice to our current leasing company. I am required by law to give her 30 days notice, and I did.

Make no mistake here folks, Steamroller and I are not, and never have been friends. Don't believe that Steamroller is this sweet, innocent girl who bends over backwards to be as nice as possible. Steamroller is a ruthless-yet-immature, business-savvy girl, who pushes to get whatever she wants, and cries hysterically any time she doesn't get it.

This is why I never thought to tell Steamroller when I decided "I've gotta get the fuck outta here" months ago. Because I knew if I told her I was looking for a new place, she'd immediately start looking for a new place too. And I didn't want to be the one stuck scrambling at the last minute. Kind of heartless? Maybe, but it was me or her, and damn straight I chose me.

So Steamroller is given 3o days notice, in person. We stood in the hallway while I told her, she nodded and said okay, followed by "Actually, I'm on my way out so can we discuss this later?" Of course I say sure, and we part ways.

Of course, I didn't tell Steamroller that I was leaving the next night for a week in Florida. While there, I get a call from Steamroller, telling me she'd prefer if I could push the date back to say ... February 1st? Yeah ... no. I'm leaving on January 15th - there's no way in hell I'm going to pay rent in a place I'm not staying simply to help her out. What has she EVER done to help me out?
I get another call from Steamroller, sounding very angry-yet-controlled, asking me to call her back to discuss our situation. I request a pep-talk from my dad, and then call her.

I let her tell me I'm a very inconsiderate person. Multiple times. She says it's wrong that I didn't even discuss this with her first. She claims she would have discussed it with me before looking for a new place. I politely do not say, "bullshit." She tells me that now it's going to be an extra eight days she has to pay rent past January 15th, because the leasing office will be closed on Christmas. I point out that she could have given her 30 days notice on the Monday following the Friday I gave notice, and that it's not my fault she chose to wait a week. She tells me it's fine with her if I want to be an inconsiderate person since we'll probably never see each other again in life, but ....

But what? Oh that's right, but NOTHING. You were trailing off in the hopes you could guilt me into agreeing to pay rent longer. One of my parents pointed out to me that the Chinese are used to having to bargain for everything they want. Welcome to America - some things are non-negotiable.

I keep telling Steamroller that I'm sorry she feels this way. I tell her I hadn't thought of it from the point of view she's now presented to me. I do not agree to pay through the month of January. We go round and round, and Steamroller finally realizes I'm not giving in on this. That she won't be able to steamroll over me this time.

She begs me now to go the leasing office with her and convince them that we BOTH meant to be giving notice on December 15th. Ugh. My mother discourages me from getting involved, from lying. When I get back to town, I talk with the leasing office people and find out we can give notice on different days and that's fine. Oh and that they're cool with back-dating.

As of today, I have given notice and it's understood I'll be out by January 15th. As of last week, I sent in a final rent check paying for the time period of January 1st through the 15th. Yesterday I put a little note in front of Steamroller's bedroom door, telling her this month's rent amount, since it's different from past months, signing it with a cheery "Happy New Year!"

Tonight while preparing my salad, Steamroller comes to me and asks if I've already paid rent. Uhh... we have to mail our rent to Los Angeles, and it's due January 1st. Of COURSE I've already sent it out, what a stupid question! Have I EVER paid rent late? No. (Well, yes, but never late enough that I've ever had to pay a late fee, and never so late that any roommate ever knew about it. Basically, no.)

Meanwhile, Steamroller still owes me rent. She often pays me late. I don't sweat it, since she always eventually pays. Plus, if she doesn't pay this rent, I don't really give a shit - I still have her security deposit. And I'm not afraid to keep it.

"Get Off My TRAINNNNNNN!"

CONTEST TIME! The first person to comment and tell me what movie that's from without looking it up online will win a prize. Ready? GO!

Seriously, with that amount of rage that the title line was said in the movie, is exactly how I feel like screaming at the Steamroller right now.

The Mother is currently in the kitchen, IN A NIGHTGOWN (hey, at least she's dressed, right?), cooking. Using every single counter. All I wanted was to come home and put my Trader Joe's food away, and grab a waffle. But no. There was barely space for me to fit my food (only $20 of it so you know I didn't have much) into the fridge.

The fridge. Let's talk about that, shall we? (It's my blog, so we shall.) On the door of the fridge is a green Jolly Rancher lollipop. It's not mine. It's been in there for MONTHS (who keeps lollipops in the fridge?). Today, while putting away my groceries, I noticed what can only be described as green slime on the door right next to the lollipop. I was disgusted.

I made a big show of saying, "EWWWWWW!" to The Mother while pointing, who said, "Oh, is that yours?" I made a horrified face, as if I would never allow anything to become such a disgusting mess (because I wouldn't), and said no, so she said she'd tell her daughter. Yeah, while you're at it, tell the wittle steamwoller to take her fucking Valentine's Day flowers out of the vase she asked if she could borrow from me in FEBRUARY and clean the vase and put it back, won't you? Because I think we all know it'll never occur to Steamroller to do that on her own.

I am so very angry. I am so very tired of having to Clorox Wipe every single inch of the kitchen every single time I want to cook. I want The Parents to go back to China. Or Los Angeles, where they were for part of last week. Or really, just go anywhere but here. GET OUT OF MY KITCHEN!!!!!