Friday, July 16, 2004

I do wish we could chat longer, but I'm having an old friend for dinner.

So, for the past four weeks I have refrained from talking about my summer roommate on here because, well, it just seemed kind of wrong.  I mean, she's a little odd, but she's never done anything to why even go into it.  Right?  WRONG!  As it turns out, I am living with a complete and total psychotic crazy insane person.
Exhibit A:  She makes a grilled cheese sandwich with bacon for dinner EVERY SINGLE NIGHT.  On Pepperidge Farm Cinnamon Swirl Bread.
Exhibit B:  She frequently has long, hysterical, crying, melodramatic conversations in her room with the door shut...but  who with? Boyfriend?  Mother?  Father?  Lover?  Unruly pet? And I mean hysterical. There is wailing.  Actual wailing.
Exhibit C:  She does not like me or think that I am the least bit funny.  OK, maybe that's not evidence, but it's certainly a character flaw of epic proportions.
Exhibit D:  Her door was cracked the other day and she was sitting and watching T.V., so I knocked to let her know there was an extra Coke in the fridge from the other day when I was mixing drinks...and that she could have it because I only drink Diet Coke (when there's no rum in the house at least).  Even though her door was cracked she jumped about ten feet off the bed and then HID SOMETHING under her comforter...something that she had been stroking in her lap. It looked like a shirt or a blanket of some sort.
Exhibit E:  Today, I got home from the gym and went to take a shower and she was having one of the conversations described in Exhibit B, by herself, in the kitchen.  BY HERSELF.  ALONE. 
That's right folks.  There is no boyfriend/lover/mother/unruly pet.  This whole time, she has been having hysterical conversations WITH HERSELF.  Sometimes she's been so loud it's woken me up from a deep sleep, but I figured, hey, what kind  of real trouble can be going on over the phone...since there was no one in her room beating the living daylights out of her, and clearly she doesn't want to be friends despite my many overtures, I decided to just let it go.  Until now.
Crazy Psycho Roommate From Hell Plan of Action is officially in effect.  The threat warning is Orange: High.

Step 1:  Sleep with door locked.
Step 2:  Shower with door locked.
Step 3:  Check seal on Diet Coke before drinking.  Check seal again.  Drink Diet Coke in Locked Bathroom.
Step 4:  Do not give her water after midnight.
Step 5:  Do not investigate strange noises, no matter how tempting.  That never turns out good for the non-insane roommate.
Step 6:  Figure out way to get her in front of mirror.  Check for reflection.
Step 7:  Weave fashionable, yet practical, necklace out of garlic.
Step 8:  Slowly dig escape tunnel under bed with plastic spoon in case of blood-curdling midnight emergency.  Monitor progress with map on wall drawn with the sooty tips of spent matches used  to light the way.
Step 9:  Double check lock on bedroom door.  Check again.
That's all the steps I can think of right now.  I have to get going to the kitchen to throw away all the plastic knives from the bag of utensils I bought, and maybe the forks too.  And check my Diet Coke.  And lock my door.  And start the tunnel.

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