My question is this, how the fuck did I get stuck in this room with this guy?
Truth is, no thought was put into this.
But imagine if there was.
Imagine there was someone who matched the two of us together.
Let's see, Grant, being an 26 year-old asian male....he needs a 20 year old ex-skinhead, hitler-lovin, alcholic, Satan-worshiping roommate. Hmm, where can we find such a person.
Oh look we've found one.
Here I am going.(in my Office Space, Manager voice) .. Ah, Yeah, not really working for me. Yeah...not really working out here.
Someone out there really loves me. I think in another life, I must have really pissed God off.
Ooh, the party never ends on Grant's So-Called Life. When they first moved me in here, he was considered mentally questionable. They were worried that he might be suicidal.
So what do the powers that be do, they put me in here.
I need to dig that entry from my old journal that accounts of the moment I found out I had to move in with this dude..
Actually when I first got to this post, I had a great roommate. I like to think of him as my Carlton Banks (from Fresh Prince of Bel Air). That dorky, yet good buddy to have.
They moved me into this mess.
I have been thru hell and hell with this new roommate.
I was hoping things would improve over time.
Hahahaha! Boy was I sadly mistaken.
Then the glimmer of hope comes, he announces he's getting married and will be moving out soon.
Salvation I thought, but like Moses and his followers, I simply can not find the promise land. They've put off the wedding.
He is the king of double talk. I can't stand him. He talks about how much he has changed. How he has changed his ways.
How he is not the same boy who was also a skinhead. Except now, instead of spouting hate to minorities he speaks on the phone about "Faggots should die."
After hearing his phone conversation I thought, " Ah, good, he's found himself a new hobby."
Instead of hating us minorities he can go about hating someone else.
His mom committed suicide and when I first met him, I wanted to reach out and relate to him since I too lost my mother when i was young.
It is interesting how death of mothers can churn out two completely different people.
Anyways I felt like griping about my roommate.
Don't you all wish your living situations were as vivid is mine.
I remember the first thing he told me before I moved in. "I need to clean up the broken furniture and the broken glass on your side of the room, before you can move in." And it has been a blissful coexhistance ever since....