People like to compare me to the character on that semi-funny show, The Big Bang Theory. They like to say that I am a lot like Sheldon Cooper but from the bits and pieces of the that show I have seen, I don’t agree. But no matter. I can handle people comparing me to him but I cannot handle being called a certain name. If I were to say anything about Mr. Cooper and similarities between him and I, I would go with the extensive roommate agreement he had that dude from Roseanne sign. I have my own rules to being a roommate. I have rules to people being my wife. I have many rules for being my wife. I’ll link you to those later. For now, I want to share with you a collection of some of the rules a roommate must follow when they decide to live with me. If you don’t like these rules then I suggest you never get the idea in your head about you and I sharing a place together. It will never happen.
So you wanna be my roommate? That’s cool. While I do find the idea of living with someone unsettling and as exciting as Battlefield Earth, I’d still rather stay away from people and never share an apartment with another person. I am a recluse. I wish I was suffering from leprosy because if I did suffer from that god awful disease, people wouldn’t want to be around me. People don’t see the positive side that leprosy has. You’re guaranteed to have your own place and you’ll never have to share your McDonald’s fries with anyone. Sadly, I am not a leper. I have no vomit inducing, skin condition. I am just here. I am just a normal person who blends in with his surroundings. I’m like Jackie Chan in a sea of Asians. Good luck finding him.
One day, I got a wild notion that having a roommate would be a good idea. I normally don’t crave for the attention or the company of others. Being alone is simple. It’s quiet and peaceful. Having other people around is agonizing. Since I made the premature decision to have a roommate, I should make it clear to him that I do have a set a rules he must abide by when he moves in. I am not f**king kidding. My rules are not to be toyed with. These are not suggestions. I will not let you pick on choose which ones you can follow. All these must be followed and if you cannot follow them or if they are too complicated for you, go find another place or check out the underpasses on 152. That highway is shit and you will fit in just nicely with it.
I cannot ask you to be my roommate. I already have one. A horrible decision I made. I will have to suffer the consequences and deal with living with another human being who is not me. I would clone myself and have no problem living with me. We’ll like the same things but when it comes to sharing things, I’ll worry about sharing the bed with my clone. I sleep alone but I also sleep by myself. Now that I am confusing myself and not making much sense, I will refrain from talking and just stick to the rules my newly appointed roommate must follow. I hope he follows them because, like my ancestors before me, I’ll have no problem making an example of him.
1. Your friends are not my friends
I already have friends. I don’t know if I will call them friends because if anything, most of my friends are people I work with. I don’t consider them friends. I see them more as co-workers. To make this rule work, I will say those people are my friends. I know you. I don’t know your friends. I like to keep it that way. I don’t want to see your friends over here ever. I don’t need them poisoning my place with their filth. I don’t want people over here I don’t know. Don’t try and pretend that when they come over and we all hang out, we’ll form some bond that will now make us the bestest of buddies. I don’t want that shit. I don’t want to talk to your friends and I don’t want to find a common ground that we can call relate to. I should remind you that I am the greatest person alive.
Keep your dumb ass friends away from me and away from my apartment. I don’t care if you sign the lease. You’ll still just be my roommate and with your late appearance with moving in, all your decisions, your contributions and your shitbags friends mean nothing and will continue to mean nothing. It’s not you. I like you enough to let you stay here. I just don’t like your friends. I don’t know them at all and that is a good thing. I don’t know many people and the amount of friends I have can be counted on at least two fingers and mostly the middle one. Knowing more people means I will have to learn about people and their likes and dislikes. I rather just continue not knowing your friends. I am sure they are cool and hip but everyone who isn’t me, is a complete tool and waste of oxygen. I have a limited amount of people I will let into my life. I am very anti-social and with the anxiety and panic attacks I suffer from, inviting people into my life will send this hopefully controlled problem of mine into a tailspin of pain, aggressiveness and eventually, death. If you don’t want blood on your hands and be the prime suspect in my death, don’t let your friends over. If you need to see who can come over, I’ll share with you the unwritten list of people who are allowed inside.
I have a strict policy when if comes to utilities. I like sitting in the dark and like sweltering in the extreme heat of my apartment. I have mentioned before that my sister made me leery about turning on the air. I guess when you live in Africa for a while, you know what extreme heat feels like. She embedded in my mind that using central air is a sin and if memories serves me right, I believe it was a line from Dogma that goes something like,
See? I already sin enough and I rather not add using central air to the list of already condemning acts of unchristian like antics I do daily. I am also cheap. I adapt to condition easily. I admit, I have basked in the awesomeness of central air and even caved into the overpowering lust for heat when the weather in the Midwest hits a climate you’d find in Northern Canadia.
So if you are to be my roommate, I urge you. No, I am ordering you to not turn the air on. Don’t mess with the dial. Do not turn it on because you can’t handle a little heat. I am trying to save money. I am not going to toss it away on something frivolous as feeling comfortable.
The air is one of the utilities. I am also anal about power. I sit in the dark often. I follow a routine each night before bed. Doors all get closed. Lights all turn off. I can’t sway from it. I have issues with change, which is probably a major reason for my anxiety and panic attacks. I just like things the way there are. It’s my place. You just happened to stroll into it. If you’re going to squat here and contribute to the finances of living here, then you will need to leave the light off. I am not Motel 6. I like the dark. It’s comfortable sitting in a dark place. I like sitting in my hot apartment, while sticking to my pillow because I am sweating like a pig.
I have great eye site. Don’t believe me? I come from a large family and they all have glasses, contacts, or have worn them at some point in their lives. I haven’t needed them. That just proves that I can handle the dark and using electricity is just as wasteful and turning on the air. Helen Keller was blind and she got around her house just find, until someone moved the coffee table. We got hands. Feel your way around the darkened, two bedroom apartment to get to where ever it is you need to be.
3. Keep It Clean
I am a clean person. I always am cleaning. I feel my place is never clean. When people show up (my friends, not yours), I always feel the need to explain to them that my place is a messy and I apologize about the untidiness of my home. That isn’t a lie. First thing I tell people when they walk in is,
Sorry for the mess.
Even if there isn’t a mess, I still say it. It’s just how I am. I just always feel my place isn’t clean enough. I don’t want to be judged and have them run off to tell all their friends that I am slob who lives like a hoarder on a TLC reality show. I like a clean place. Everything here has a spot where it goes and it cannot move from that spot. I keep my lamp there cause that is where it belongs. The coaster I got from Pier One Imports sits on the coffee table because that is where it goes. The junk mail I received five months ago sits on the lamp near the fan because, yes, that is where it belongs. Everything here has its place and I will not move it to make room for crap you bring in. Your stuff better be tucked in your room or better yet, stuffed inside the dumpster out back.
4. We’re not friends
We’re roommates. if you want to be friends or see if you are eligible to be my friend, take the quiz. Many have tried, few have succeeded.