I enter my new apartment on move-in day with a smile on my face and my mother on a leash. Ah, college. The one time in my life when I get to live with my best friends and party till the break of dawn, free of any responsibilities whatsoever! The day has come to make my bitter high school home-ec teacher proud, and I’m ready for the independent living that’s straight ahead. After my beautiful mother completes her rightful role as slave for the day, she is out the door with a kiss on her cheek and a Xanax in her near future. Time to get this party started… am I right, roomies?
The honeymoon phase ends 15 minutes later, when I step out of the shower. With a dry lion’s mane like mine, body showers are essential in keeping my hair from having the consistency of kale chips. Therefore, as my head avoids the water like a gremlin, I’ve got to make sure my back is getting its deserved scrubadubdub.
(Now that you’ve received a short tutorial on how to take a shower, let’s get back to the story.)
I walk out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, where three of my roommates are sitting at the counter, slack-jawed and dead-eyed, staring right at me. After I give them my classic, “What, you guys?!” (my tone of voice resembling the token pre-pubescent neighbor on a sitcom), they explain their shock. The soapy foam equivalent of Santa’s beard is residing on my back, as I am incapable of washing myself.
“We had this problem with my 5-year-old campers all the time,” one of my roommates says to comfort me.
OK, so I don’t know how to wash myself properly; I’ll watch an episode of “Sesame Street.” There are a lot more things I can do perfectly well that prove my success at independent living. For example, cooking. Let’s give this one a shot.
One night I come home after a long day of classes and decide to make myself proud for once by going the healthy route with salad. First instinct: open up salad bag and fill it up with water to clean the lettuce. Over my shoulder I hear a frustrated, “DUDE YOU DROWNED THE LETTUCE!”
...Is this not how you clean lettuce? I guess you can ask the soggy brown leaves sadly withering in our garbage disposal. Meanwhile, Roommate #2 in the corner shakes her head in disapproval whilst taking a bong rip.
Well, cooking may not be my forte, but with a little help from my handy-dandy Red Card, I am Pandora and Madison is my box. You’re probably thinking, “Doesn’t that expression have a negative connotation?” To be honest, I guess some people would say my food choices are about as wise as Ronald McDonald’s. I personally think I have profoundly healthy taste when it comes to nutrition. For example, anyone familiar with the sushi section of Fresh Market should know about “sushi cup”: a spectacular plastic cup filled with a whirlwind of raw fish, rice and wonders. Upon my initial discovery of the beauty, I proudly brought it up to show off to my roomies obviously with the intention of making them jealous. I guess I was caught off guard with the responses of, “Why would you eat that?” and “Only you would fall for eating a fish smoothie.” The latter comment led to a solid few minutes of dry heaving.
Despite getting my lifestyle shut down on a daily basis, I happen to think I’m doing a pretty damn good job at surviving out here in these rough waters. Once you start living in your own place with no parents, dining hall or guidance, it’s not about how you live day to day; it’s about the fact that you’re still alive in general.
...Is anyone currently looking for a roommate for fall 2014?
Well, do you have an opening for a roommate? Discuss it with Daniella over a sushi cup, or email her at firstname.lastname@example.org.