I have to blog right now or else I am going to explode with anger and annoyance all at once. It does not help that I am PMSing. THE ROOMMATE. That is all I have to say.
No, that is not all I have to say. I avoid him as much as possible, and usually I can get away with it. But today, I had to talk to him. And I always say that if I spend even 5 minutes in dialogue with him something will come out of his mouth that will expose the boundaries he crosses on a daily basis and the infection he creates in this household. He has his opinions about Brad and always thinks that I want to hear them. For example, Brad went hunting with his dad this weekend and the Roommate said he just could not see Brad in hunting gear. And then the topic went into shopping, because Brad is a shopper and that is something more he can be seen doing. Then I started to share how I do not care much for shopping, I would much rather sit outside the mall on a bench with a book and wait for Brad, and that I didn't even know major labels until I graduated college. That's when the Roommate said, almost completely out of context, but yet strangely in it, that he just didn't understand guys who wear designer boxers. I knew he was talking about Brad....still. Because, yes, he does wear designer underwear, not boxers, but the briefs. Even so, why does he always have to be so obsessed with Brad. Last week he was wearing his slippers "because their comfortable" and now he pays attention to the type of underwear my man has on.
I am sooo not done.
After I have been gone ALL day, I get home ready to relax and read, but who is sitting smack in the middle of the couch, SICK, of all things to be while taking up the space in the living room. Damn it. He should be in his room. He has a TV (that we gave him, a big flat screen) and cable, so wouldn't he want to be up there so not to spread germs. SO where am I forced to go, the bedroom.
Then Brad gets home from his trip and wouldn't you think that THEN the Roommate would think to go upstairs - at 7p - so that Brad and I could enjoy an evening together in Brad's house. No, of course not. So, we go downstairs to start cooking dinner and I take my reading materials to the kitchen table and the Roommate asks, "Are you cooking dinner?" "Um Yeah," Brad says. Roommate says, "Well I'm cooking dinner soon and will need the oven."
And Brad says, "We'll be done soon." Seriously, no, we'll be done never and deal with it, is what I wanted to scream.
So the Roommate prepares a salad and takes it back up to the TV and I hear him sniffling and coughing and the TV just blaring. Needless to say that we just had our carpets cleaned and now we need to do the couch because the Roommate has stained both when eating in front of the TV. So did he go up there and eat with a tray? NO!
The second we finished eating dinner, the Roommate comes into the kitchen and is trying to make dinner around me as I'm washing dishes. I could not even say a word to him. I could not look at him. I want to scream.
And hear I am screaming with my fingers!
How is it that Brad and I are over our 30s, living together...with a Roommate. The extra money is nice for Brad I am sure, but I never, ever want to be home. "Home." Yeah, right. This is not home until the Roommate is gone.
At least I got a raise this past week. The future is looking brighter.