Bad to Worse

Things are not going well. I know, things seem to never be going well with me. Sorry - that's just my life these days. If you want to read about something happy, go read a mommy blog - I'm sure someone's kid pooped in the toilet for the first time today.

First off, I broke the lease to leave my last place where I lived with 9am. I did this because 9am decided to break the lease himself (giving me less than 30 days notice) to move out to the suburbs, I couldn't find anyone to take over his place and couldn't afford the over $3000 rent by myself. So now we (collectively and separately) owe the leasing company $4600. Obviously I can't pay that, so I'm all, "Add it to the other shit I owe, what's another collection call when you already get over half a dozen each day?"

Last Thursday I went to the leasing office to talk with someone and get them to break down all the fees so I could see which could be attributed to 9am. My thinking was that I'd have him pay me, and I'd tell the leasing company that I'd take responsibility for the entire balance. I don't mind temporarily fucking over a company, but I prefer not to fuck over individual people. Unfortunately, the leasing company contacted me today to say 9am paid the entire thing to avoid having his credit affected, but asked them not to deposit his check and now they are waiting on me. Fuck. Waiting on me is a terrible idea.

Moving on. Because I am so short on cash, I did not want to think I had more in my checking account than I really do, so ages ago (like over half a year) I took out 9am's security deposit and have kept it in my night table in a bank envelope. I figured that after that meeting with the leasing office, I would deduct the things 9am should pay for and then re-deposit his money, and write him a check for the remainder.

Last week I bought a dozen eggs and a package of english muffins, figuring that would give me six meals (two eggs, one muffin per meal). On Friday I noticed that Wooffers took one of my english muffins. We do not have the type of relationship where we share food. She did not ask. She did not leave a note. I told my friend about it, and she suggested I sent her an email:

I noticed this morning that one of my English muffins was missing from the kitchen. Unless one of your dogs is capable of getting into the refrigerator and calmly taking one english muffin, I am going to have to assume that you decided to overstep your bounds and help yourself to something that was not yours to take. Please replace it ASAP, as I am on a very tight budget, what with having to pay steep moving costs twice in one quarter, and this is costing me one meal.

I was very saddened to learn that you would steal from me and my feelings are very hurt. I now do not feel safe leaving any of my belongings alone to be stolen from your home.

Please let me know that you have received/read/understand this email and feel free to express your feelings about this violation of my personal fridge space in your return email. I will expect a replacement muffin by end of day today, Friday, June 19.

I did not send that, deciding instead that although it'd be funny, I didn't want to deal with whatever reaction Wooffers would have, and besides, I'm moving in less than a week. Except, last night I went to make my very last box of mac & cheese. When I opened my cabinet to take out the box, it was gone. This morning, home alone, for absolutely no real reason, I sinned. I opened one of Wooffer's cabinets. Bet you can guess what I saw. That's right.

Know what else happened this morning? After the mac & cheese discovery I sat down to do the math for 9am's security deposit. When I opened my night table to take out the envelope, it was not there. That's $1399 that's missing. On Friday evening Barrett came back to help me pack again. I called her this morning to double check that we hadn't opened my night table drawer. We hadn't. I haven't had anyone else over. I can not think of any other way to handle this than to call the police.

In other news, I had my interview in the Tenderloin. You know how there are some men who think they're god's gift to the universe? They usually have slicked back hair. That's who my interview was with. Guys like that always hate me, for not being hot. The husband of an acquaintance of mine is this type of person. I once had to drop something off for the acquaintance at her husband's office, and when I approached him, he all but sneered at me. The other reason the interview didn't go well is because I was told they are moving. To the Bayview. I asked the guy interviewing me if the new office would be near the T-line, a train that goes out that way. He was emphatic in telling me no, it is way out there near nothing at all, not near any public transportation. I'm supposed to call Tony to tell him how the interview went, but I'm not sure what to say.

The reality is, it's a very small office, I don't fully understand what they'd need me to do, there's nobody to train me, even the attorneys don't understand the programs they have, oh, and they're totally swamped and way behind. Yeah, talk about knowing you're going to fail. If I had to describe the type of position I'd do worst at, this is it.

Meanwhile, now each time I leave the house, I'm feeling like taking my checkbook, jewelry, birth certificate, iPod, camera and passport with me (that's in addition to the wallet, keys and cell phone). I also want to write my initials on the bottom of all my food and have a list (that also leaves the house with me) of all the food I have.

Okay, I'm sort of kidding about the above paragraph. Sort of. I'm not kidding about calling the police about the money.

Disenchanted With Dogs

Until I met Wooffers I was always comfortable saying I was a dog person. Not any more. You'd think that with how much I love Le Pooch, living with two woofs would be absolute heaven for me, but it hasn't been. Before moving in I had visions dancing in my head of laying on the floor next to a woof while reading, watching tv with a woof next to me, playing catch or tug-of-war with a woof, etc.

One of the woofs has aggressive tendencies (born out of fear) so you have to be careful with how he's approached. Also, if he gets too excited (from interacting with you), he pees. This happened earlier this week when I was petting him. I was absolutely horrified to see him frantically lick up his own pee with a worried look on his face.

The other woof gets jealous of any attention she sees the aggressive woof getting, and she will start humping him. She doesn't seem to want to be petted, it's more like she puts up with my petting her, but it does nothing for her personally.

In Wooffers' eyes whatever I do with her woofs is wrong. Once I was cooking in the kitchen alone, and when I turned around there was suddenly a woof there that hadn't been. I was holding a sharp knife and almost tripped over the woof. The words that came out of my mouth were, "Whoa ... it's okay," to reassure both myself and the woof that even though we'd both gotten shocked we were indeed fine. Of course Wooffers was sitting at her computer in the dining room-turned-office and chastised me for talking to the woof, reminding me that I was to ignore at all times.

Living with woofs is not fun here, by any stretch of the imagination. For example right now one woof is home, and keeps sticking her head through the living room blinds and crying (Wooffers took the aggressive woof out for a solo walk). Although I'm greatly amused when people trip and fall, I have this instinct to comfort anyone who is crying, man or woof. Comforting is not allowed though, only ignoring is. So here I sit on my bed, listening to a woof cry in the living room.

I fear that I don't like dogs very much anymore. Surely if this all got therapized I would come to see that the problem is not the woofs themselves, but Wooffers and her instructions to ignore, ignore, ignore. I am hopeful that when I move out of here I will go back to loving woofs, and will not cringe when I hear someone proclaim themselves a dog person.

That Email We Knew Was Coming

Barrett has instructed me to respond with, "Thank you for the email Wooffers." My comments are in italics.

Green,

In order to accommodate your needs and avoid conflict, I will need 24 hours notice (via email) when you are having anyone come over to help you with packing and moving. The first half of her sentence starts out with accommodating my needs but the second half ends when her saying what she needs? I made arrangements with [Exboyfriend Who Has Joint Custody] to keep [Aggressive Woof] with him more if needed, but I need to contact him and arrange that as per his request. This time frame will insure that there are no mishaps because you will never have to bring people in without my assistance with the dogs. I don't feel I actually NEED her assistance.

I have explained to you the dangers of mishandling [Aggressive Woof], and you have stated that you understand. I realize you don't relate and possibly don't agree with the degree to which I need to protect him and the public from him. That is neither here nor there at this point, I am going to do what I need to do, and I would appreciate (and also require) your cooperation with this. I will help in any way that I can with your scheduling needs if things are handled in this manner.

Because all of this has been explained to you (and you can find, written in the contract that dog training protocols are decided by me solely) if for any reason you bring someone in without giving me ample notice so that I can remove [Aggressive Woof] or at least monitor him, any injuries incurred by people you bring in (or you, personally) will be your responsibility. I always assumed that any injuries to me, or my people, would be my responsibility, unless Wooffers gave some sort of attack command. Also, the only "dog training protocol" she has ever told me is simply "ignore them, complete with turning your back on the woofs" so it doesn't take a Master Communicator to explain that to anyone I have coming over. I am an elitest bitch and only like smart people, so those are the only types of people I would be having over. Also, all my people are dog people, and know how to deal with dogs, and follow the rules different people have for different dogs. If for any reason [Aggressive Woof] or [Other Woof] incur any injuries as a result of bringing people without giving ample notice you will also be held responsible.

In the future I would also appreciate you letting your friends know that they are not welcome to confront me verbally or raise their voice in this house, no matter what their perception of me. Barrett, I'm letting you know these things. I have never raised my voice to you or called you names nor would I allow my friends to do so to you. What happened yesterday was frightening for me and I now feel unsafe in my own home. Why would she feel unsafe in her own home? Despite all these hoops she is laying out for me to jump through in order to have people over, I am confident that if I announced that Joe Blow was coming over tomorrow night, Wooffers would decide either that it was only 23 hours and 58 minutes notice I gave her, OR, that it is simply not a convenient time (for her) for me to entertain a guest. Also, if she feels her woofs are so prone to violence and yet they love her, then shouldn't she have felt perfectly safe yesterday with Barrett calling her an asshole? Barrett was the one who had no dogs backing her up.

My goal when entering in this with you was to be as honest and direct as I possibly as I could be. Why wasn't her goal to be a good roommate? What the hell do I care if a roommate lies and says "Those jeans look great on you" or "No, I don't mind; I love the smell of tuna fish in the morning? Maybe that's why this whole thing has gone poorly - her priorities are completely different from what I think they should be. I have done my best to do that in a kind way. If you disagree with that I would like to know. If it's easier to send an email to express those feelings, please feel free to use that as a tool. Regardless of how it affects this situation, I am always looking to improve my communication and treatment of others and appreciate the feedback. Right. Like I want to enter into a conversation about feelings and priorities with someone who is not shuffling with a full deck.

We can get through this last 3 weeks without a struggle. Please plan on contacting me via email should you need anything, I check it regularly and will get back to you asap.

Please let me know that you read/received/understand this email. A while back Wooffers sent me an email about something, and then sent a follow-up email stating that she requested a response from me, and that she could see when I had opened my email. First of all, if you can see that, then you don't need me to tell you I received this. Second of all, I use gmail. Anyone know if gmail lets people emailing from another email program lets people see when mail has been opened? This is not MS Outlook - I did not click a little box that said yes, send a receipt to the sender. Thank you for your cooperation.

Wooffers

Moving and Crying, Part Two

Here's Part One. This will also be a long one, you may want to refresh that drink. So I am so freaked out at Barrett just walking in the door with me that I beg her to give me five minutes while I go upstairs and tell Wooffers that my friend is coming over with moving boxes. Let me be clear - it's not that I am scared of Wooffers. The fact that I lock my bedroom door at night ... well, whatever man, she's fucking crazy. It's that I don't want to deal with the emails and talks Wooffers will want to have with me. You know, because I'm not "allowed" to have people over without clearing it with Wooffers first. I hand Barrett a pluot for while she waits in her car and run upstairs.

I walk in, Wooffers is taking her woofs out. I ask her if she's just taking them for a walk or if she's headed out for a while. She says, "I can't talk now," and walks out. I shrug and think, "Oh well, I *tried* to tell you." Turns out Wooffers was just taking the dogs out for a two minute walk and when she comes back I tell her that my friend is coming over.

She asks when. I say now - that she generously offered to drop off boxes for my move. Wooffers says that's not convenient for her. I shake my head saying sorry, she's just going to come into my bedroom and since my friend is doing me a favor, I have to work around her schedule, it wouldn't be right to force her to work around mine.

Wooffers then tells me I shouldn't have left the front door downstairs (to the building) wide open. I say okay. Wooffers asks why my friend can't just haul the moving boxes to the door and leave them there for me to deal with. Um, because she's a good friend and a nice person and offered to help me get started packing?

We go back and forth and I ultimately lose it saying, "I can't deal with this right now!" and walk out to go meet Barrett on the street. I tell her what's going on and Barrett's overall response is, "This is bullshit. We're going in." I explain that one of the woofs is problematic and Wooffers believes it's a very real possibility the woof could attack her. If anyone were to sue Wooffers for her woof's attack, or report it, Wooffers has told me she could have her woof training license yanked, and her woof could be euthanized. Barrett does not scare easily.

When we get inside Wooffers and the woofs are in her bedroom with the door closed. Barrett and I go into my bedroom and start putting together boxes and packing. At some point I go into the hallway to get something and Wooffers sticks her head out of her bedroom door. I let her know Barrett and I are in my bedroom with the door closed. She tells me this is not okay, that I should have come and told her that right away, etc. Barrett can hear what's going on and yells, "Green! I need you to come in here RIGHT NOW!"

I say excuse me to Wooffers and run into my bedroom. Barrett just wanted to get me away, she didn't have a packing emergency. I tell her Wooffers is standing there, waiting for me to come back and finish our conversation. Barrett rolls her eyes so heavily I am impressed they did not fall out, and walks into the hallway.

She looks straight at Wooffers and says something like, "You need to stop being an asshole," or "You're being an asshole." At that point I was swallowed up by the ground and was both horrified and fascinated at what was happening. Here's the interesting thing - Wooffers did not look shocked that she'd just been called an asshole. Most adults do not randomly call other adults assholes. Yet Wooffers did not seem surprised at all, which makes me wonder - is that not a new thing for her?

Wooffers tried to tell Barrett this was between herself and me. Barrett argued with her, said Wooffers was intimidating me. At one point Wooffers said that if she was intimidating me I needed to tell her about that. The line from Dirty Dancing where Lisa says to Baby, "I don't 'just gotta' do anything," flashed through my head. So I refused. I don't want to get into a big discussion with Wooffers about ... well, anything really.

At this point Barrett was going to come into the kitchen to help me reach things too high up (all my friends are taller than me) for me, so I left her in my bedroom and went to ask Wooffers if the woofs were staying in her bedroom and Barrett could come in the kitchen, or ...? She said something in the negative I couldn't catch, so I asked her to repeat what she'd said. Wooffers asked me to have Barrett wait until the exboyfriend who has joint custody came to pick up the aggressive woof. The reason I couldn't understand her the first time? Because she was crying, again.

Look, everyone cries sometimes. Like pooping, everyone cries. I'm not making fun of Wooffers for crying. I'm just saying that there is something very unhealthy going on if you cry any time your roommate is going to have someone over, or does have someone over. I went back into my bedroom and told Barrett that Wooffers was crying. She rolled her eyes and marched barefoot into the kitchen and started getting things down off the high shelves. Wooffers tried to talk to us, or me.

Barrett and Wooffers went back and forth. The next fun highlight was when Barrett told Wooffers she is crazy. Using the word "crazy" and everything. Oh yeah. Just like that. Right out loud, to her face. Let me tell you, I stood there clutching my set of cloud bowls so fucking tightly it's a miracle they did not break.

Wooffers tried to "get me in trouble" with Barrett by telling her that she (Wooffers) had asked me to leave (no she didn't, she told me to leave) because I did not follow the terms of the agreement we signed. It was comical. It was insane. Barrett wound up mediating between Wooffers and me, and ultimately got us to agree to communicate solely via e-mail. I am "eagerly" awaiting the e-mail Wooffers will be sending me regarding what happened today. Yes of course I will share it with you.

Moving and Crying (Get a drink, this is a long one)

Firstly, I would just like to say that I have always been a fan of Scotch tape. I've used it for my entire life, and it's always served me well. Very well. However as of today, I am now cheating on the Scotch tape, with Walgreens brand tape. Shocking that I would endorse Walgreens anything since normally I look down my nose at them, but that all changed this afternoon. This afternoon my good friend Barrett offered to come over, with moving boxes, and moving paper. Of course I jumped at this, and then when she arrived she ensured she'll be getting both a Hanukah and a Labor Day present from me by offering to drive me to Walgreens to buy tape and then to come up and help me start packing.

Peoples, this Walgreens tape kicked ASS. It was strong (perhaps I should wait to see if the boxes hold up through the move before saying this, but I'm going out on a limb - that's just the kind of wild and crazy gal I am), and didn't split off into strips when we tried to get the roll going. I must have told Barrett three or four times, "This tape is GREAT!"

Okay, moving on. As you may know, my roommate Wooffers wants me to give her notice before having anyone over. And by "notice" she means, she wants me to ask so she can veto it if it's not convenient for her. Which as well all know, is total and complete bullshit. I pay rent. I get to have people over during normal waking hours. It's really that simple. Now, the reality is, I haven't had anyone over socially since moving in at the beginning of May. My two friends helped me move in, there was the crying disaster with trying to have my brother and his wife over, a guy came over for 30 seconds to look at a chair I'd listed on Craigslist, and today Barrett came over.

It just so happens that I hurt my back something awful this morning. That threw me off. Then, I missed three buses in a row because I kept thinking I could move faster than I was really capable of doing (the bus stop is across the street - normally I run down when it's two minutes away). That threw me off tremendously. I was late getting to my friend's house, then late getting to my volunteer gig. I am almost never late. I was completely flustered today.

So when Barrett called to say she was on her way, I was an hour away from my home. I don't have Wooffer's phone number in my cell phone. Simply didn't get around to it and then once she gave me notice to get out I figured there was no reason to bother doing it. When I stepped off the bus, Barrett was sitting in her parked car across the street from my house waiting for me.

Life Sucks

Mama Nabi totally hit the nail on the head the other day - working makes me happy. I like having a reason to get up and get dressed each morning. I like making my tiny contribution to society. I like having structure to my day. I like earning my money rather than collecting unemployment.

The two-week temp job has ended, and I am sad. This evening I went to look at an apartment in this same neighborhood. It's $985. It's at the top of five huge hills where no buses run. It's a room in an old lady's house. There's a kitchen smaller than my bedroom closet. It's not an apartment attached to a house. It's a bedroom in someone's home. A home that smells like an old woman.

Today I got an email from the City of San Francisco. I applied for a job with them several weeks ago. Apparently I am disqualified from the application process because of something I did not understand. I guess you have to be in a training program, or have taken a specific training, but I didn't, or haven't.

Wooffers had sent me an email earlier this week asking me to respond back that I agree, saying that on May 15th she'd given me 60 days notice. I didn't email her back. Yesterday, at my temp job, I met with a lawyer who does tenant advocacy. Three or four times he said, "I wouldn't pay her any more money."

That is what I walked out of our meeting understanding. That a lawyer advised me not to pay any more rent. Wooffers expects me to pay her $500 on May 29th, representing half a month's rent from June 1 - June 15th. Then my last month's rent that I gave her before I moved in would cover June 16th through July 15th.

When I got home from the temp job this afternoon Wooffers asked me to read my emails and respond. I went to look at the old lady room, and when I came back I told Wooffers that obviously she does not want me here, and obviously I don't want to be somewhere that I'm not wanted, so I want to leave as soon as possible. Which means if I can be out of here by June 15th, I will.

Wooffers reply was that as long as I give her 30 days notice that will be fine. She then told me that she wants me to move out because I do not follow her instructions with her precious woofs. This, even after she has gone out of her way to praise me for ignoring them routinely (which is what she told me to do when I come home), saying that most people can't repeatedly ignore dogs that rush to greet them.

What I understand is that Wooffers wants to tell me in great detail (that keeps changing) how much I suck, and then wants me to agree with her, and THEN on top of that, agree that she is generous to be putting up with me for as long as she is. The cherry on top is when Wooffers all but begs me to discuss my feelings about whatever issues she's raised, which of course I refuse to do, saying my feelings don't matter.

Wooffers, emphatically: But your feelings DO matter, to me.

Thing is, I don't give a shit what matters to her at this point. She wants me to care so much about her delicate emotional state, and that for a couple of days she was in her bedroom with her door closed, supposedly because of me. And I just don't. Wooffers wants me to agree how much she's gone out of her way for me, and I won't.

She has created a world where everything revolves around her. I refuse to revolve around her. The end of this month is two full years since I got laid off and stopped working for Tuna and Nice Partner. I can not sustain myself. I am totally fucking cracking. I can not both be out of work and not have a comfortable place to live.

I am a homebody. I like to putter around my house, reading books, playing online, rearranging my furniture. Right now I can not find my true lefty scissors from second grade. I can not reach anything on the top shelf of my closet. I can not find my favorite bowl. I am not comfortable here. I want to go home, but I have nowhere to go and no money to get there.

Edited to add: Wooffers has told me that it's best I keep my bathroom door closed at all times, because the woofs will otherwise go in and make a mess, eating the garbage and whatnot. I keep the door partially closed, but not completely. I have never even seen either woof so much as stick their nose in there. Also, don't bathrooms need to air out? There's no window that can be opened. Maybe I'm imagining things but I feel like it smells musty and moist. This bothers me. Just wanted to mention that since apparently this is an airing of the grievances.

The Good Parts of Having Moved Here

It hasn't ALL been awful. I knew this was a nice neighborhood, but I've learned how to take new buses, which always makes me happy. Two new buses have been discovered, and I've gotten to explore the wonderful world of the J-Church.

I'd been out here before, but actually living here gives me the opportunity to wander around, ducking into interesting stores when they strike my fancy. Finding stores that are good for presents is important to me, and I've definitely found some cute shops that have now been tucked away in my brain for when I need presents for people in the future.

Another thing is that ages ago, pre-move, I'd decided that despite my status as a water-snob, I was going to break away from the bottled water and learn to embrace a Brita filter. Eventually. Like maybe when I moved.

Turns out Wooffers actually has a Brita filter, and I've used it exclusively since moving in. I used to buy those huge flats of bottled water and heft them up, to be stored on top of the fridge. To be completely honest, if I could get Poland Spring water again, I'd probably do that without a second thought. But you can't get Poland Spring water out here, and I'm pleased to finally have crossed over to the Brita world.

Speaking of water, it's the drink of choice for me nine out of ten times. Today at lunch I was in a restaurant and they had a soda machine that had a little tab for water. I put ice in my cup, pressed the tab, and filled my cup before capping it and going to sit down. It had been a long morning. I'd just walked to lunch. So I took a big gulp. It felt like my mouth had exploded! My tongue felt like it was on fire. Quickly I swallowed, and right away, I knew what had gone wrong with my water. I'd just had 7-Up or Sprite, not water.

I hate carbonated drinks. I'm like a Mormon in that I don't drink alcohol, soda, or coffee (yes, I know coffee isn't carbonated but don't like the taste). On the rare occasions when nausea has hit and I've needed to sip Coke to calm my stomach, I've poured a little back and forth between two cups - it's an easy way to get the bubbles out when you don't have access to a blender. I can't remember the last time I drank soda with the bubbles.

Once when I was around five or six, my mom was sitting in the living room, drinking clear liquid. I was thirsty, asked if it was water, and she handed me her glass, saying, "Taste it and see." So I did, and then ran into the kitchen to spit into the sink - it was seltzer or Perrier or something.

Anyway. "Water" under the bridge now, if you will.

Part Two: Out Ya Go!

Here's Part One.

Very nicely, I asked what was wrong, and mentally raced to review the agreement we'd signed to try to think if there was anything in there about not having guests. Wooffers tearfully told me she was upset that my friend (who'd helped me move) had said something about the side table staying in the living room the day before. I reassured her that 1. she was living with me, not my friend, and 2. that I knew the side table couldn't stay there based on our prior discussions, and it would be moved before the end of the day (ultimately the table was out of there less than 24 hours after I moved in).

Then Wooffers told me something about how the apartment was not ready for people to be coming over to see it. I assured her my brother was coming to see me, not to judge HER on the apartment, and that he's moved, and knows how crazy things get during a move.

Wooffers then gestured to herself, saying she was not ready to be meeting people. When Wooffers was saying this to me, she was dressed and had makeup on. I again said my brother was not coming over to judge her, and that anyway, he was just my brother, not like, a king or anything.

After that she said something about having people over and how it affects her sensitive woof, to which I replied that her sensitive woof was out for the day (joint custody) and my brother would surely leave before the evening when it was scheduled to come home.

Wooffers then cried the second time and in all honesty, this startled me so much - that a 40 year old would cry over a roommate having someone over in the middle of the day for a little while - that I asked her if she really wanted me to call my brother and tell him not to come. I was absolutely SHOCKED when Wooffers reply was, "Yes, thank you."

I ultimately waited down in the lobby and had a two minute talk with my brother and Crazy Girl while they were in their car on the driveway. CG said something about how Wooffer's reaction did not bode well for the future. I agreed with her. When they drove away, I was very sad.

Wooffers is my eighth roommate, peoples. Not including the two I had in college. Maybe the way I've done things is very different from everyone else, I don't know. But generally, if you're having someone over and you see your roommate before your guest arrives, you tell them. You don't ask, you tell. If you're having a party, it's more of an ask, but it's really like when I was little and my mother would say, "I'm just phrasing it as a question to be polite, but saying no is not an option." If you're having overnight guests, you ask.

I have never had this problem before, except once when Trixie was having a party and wanted to store furniture in my bedroom so there'd be more space in the living room. Sometimes when a roommate has guests over you don't see them at all, sometimes you say hi and chat for a few minutes, and sometimes you wind up all hanging out together for hours. This entire range of options seems normal to me.

You may know I'm an introvert. In general, I am fine with roommates having people over. I know it's their right, as ... like, humans, to entertain their friends or family. I may bitch about wanting company to go home or whatever, but I know my roommates really do have this right. If I don't want to meet their friends, I just go into my bedroom and close the door, or I leave the house for a while. Wooffers seemed to want me to ask her permission to have people over.

A few days after the whole debacle, when I thought Wooffers had calmed down, I went back and asked her what the "real reason" was that she hadn't wanted me to have anyone over. She again cycled through all the things she'd told me previously. I learned nothing, except that instead of saying "I only want people to come over Sunday through Thursday" or some concrete guideline I could work with, what she wanted was to be asked every single time I wanted to have someone over.

That doesn't work for my lifestyle. Sometimes I meet up with friends out and about, and then they offer to drive me home. Sometimes when they drive me home, I invite them to come in for a while. Or they ask to come in to use the bathroom, or see my place. Or a thousand other things. As a child I had friends over so rarely that I could count every single time it happened, because my mother required me to jump through so many hoops that it was exhausting to get permission. I refuse to live that way as an adult.

I do not personally know any crack whores. My friends are all very nice people, some slightly more quirky than others. They are all capable of politely saying hello to my new roommate. Many of them have done just that in the past.

Last night when I got home from work, Wooffers knocked on my bedroom door and asked to speak with me in the living room. She told me that after not-quite two weeks, she could see this wasn't working out and I would have to leave. She then pointed out that our lease agreement says she has to give me 30 days notice, but she's generously going to give me 60 days. Wooffers reiterated this multiple times, clearly wanting me to comment favorably on her generosity.

Wooffers also encouraged me multiple times to share my feelings about what she'd said. Ding! Somebody's been to therapy. I shook my head. "My feelings don't really matter," I told her. Wooffers insisted they matter to her. I didn't really give a shit what mattered to her after what she'd told me. How I felt wouldn't change her wanting me to leave, and even if it did, who wants to live where they know they're not wanted? That's why my feelings didn't matter. Wooffers kept trying to get me to engage in a conversation with her about how I felt about the bomb she'd just dropped. I refused.

Years ago, I stumbled across a book about business dealings with the Japanese, and one of the things I learned is that Americans are outrageously uncomfortable with silence, and the Japanese know and use this to their advantage in negotiations. Well shit, I can be Japanese - so when I am in a conversation that either I don't want to be in, or that is with a person I am angry at, I will often become silent. It works every time - people talk to fill the silence. (No, I have never tried this with a Japenese person.)

Wooffers babbled on and on about how I had done things that were red flags to her. Like what? Like the bullshit with the side table. Like that I "just told" her and didn't ask about having my brother over. Like that I hadn't adhered to our roommate agreement. At this, I responded. I pointed out that I'd re-read our roommate agreement and the only thing it said about guests was not to have any under the age of 15 (because one of the woofs does not do well with kids).

Then she changed directions and said that when we talked about moving in, I'd said I didn't want her guests using my bathroom. This is true - my bathroom is two feet from the front door, while her bathroom is in her bedroom which is at the back of the apartment. She'd initially asked if it mattered which bathroom guests used and I said it did - that my guests would be directed to my bathroom and she should direct her guests to her bathroom. Wooffers then said that one of my friends (on moving day) had used her bathroom.

I asked her who, because I had not been aware of either of my two friends even going into her bedroom. She named a name, and I told her I hadn't known that, and was sorry if it had happened but had either of my friends asked, I would have of course directed them to my bathroom. Wooffers then changed course and said my friend went into her office (which is the dining room) and left her a note. This is true. My friend knows Wooffers - it was through her that I saw Wooffers Craigslist ad. My friend did poke her head into the office, and saw something she liked, and jotted a quick note to Wooffers about it so she'd see it when she got home.

There is a door between the kitchen and dining room that slides into the wall. Wooffers can close the door if she wants - that would be a clear indication nobody should take one step into the space she uses as an office. The door was open. I can see how this would unsettle a tightly wound person - to know someone went into their space when they weren't home. So I apologized on behalf of my friend.

Wooffers said multiple times that I wasn't adhering to our agreement, but she never articulated how exactly that was. She ultimately said that she just couldn't deal with living with a roommate after all. I told her I wish she'd known that about herself before I spent all that time, money and stress moving in.

I think she knows I'm pissed off. Wooffers said hello to me quite tentatively earlier today.