By David Mendez
The thing about becoming roommates with people you’ve known for a long time is finding out really just how weird you each are.
I mean, it’s easy to think that your friends are normal when you only have to see them once a week – if that.
It’s when you have to see them every time you step through your front door, staring slack-jawed at the TV playing X-Box, listening to God-knows-what music they’ve dragged from the depths of iTunes and awkwardly turning up your music to muffle the sounds coming through the walls (“Isn’t he alone in there?”) that you realize “you know, I might actually be the most socially acceptable person in this house.”
It’s not like I’m the one fascinated with throwing fruit (both ripe and rotten) off of the balcony, onto the waiting street below, and refusing to clean it up afterwards. After all, “nature will take care of it.”
(Fun reflex test, by the way: Dodging watermelons hurled at you in the dark of the night as you’re getting home. The fun doubles when you chase down your roommate in an attempt to make him resemble the mess that’s now all over the sidewalk.)
Nor am I the one who was discovered cleaning the house in a headband, knee-high socks, Daisy Dukes and nothing else. Keep in mind, I live with guys. Guys who, apparently, are all too willing to make their own cutoffs when they see that someone else has done it.
Now, I’m not going to say that I’m a beautiful looking man, or that my roommates are the kind of hideous that you typically only find living under bridges in German fairy tales.
But no grown man looks good in cutoffs. I don’t care who you are, you will look manlier in pink tights that you will in cutoffs, aviator sunglasses and a red bandanna.
I’m also CERTAINLY not the roommate who destroyed a laptop with a hammer for 20 minutes in an effort to destroy the private information on it…without damaging the hard drive at all.
No, I’m simply the slack-jawed gamer, listening to weird rap remixes I’ve found on various corners of the Internet and avoiding leaving the room on Cleaning Sundays. Nothing wrong with that, as far as I can see.
And no, I have no idea what those awkward noises are either, though I’ve got five bucks saying someone decided to hide a small dog in the walls. It wouldn’t be the first time one of us had randomly carried a canine into the house.