[Before I begin, I have to tell you. If you don't click on the links, you're missing out]
I live with a sociopath. A bona fide sociopath/borderline psychopath. And no, I'm not being flippant using these terms. I actually took the time to look them up on Wikipedia, the Mecca of the Information World, because I had an inkling that for once in my life, when I called someone a pyscho (or a socio), I just might be right. Of course I was. See below.
Sociopath (n.): also known as Antisocial personality disorder (abbreviated APD or ASPD) is a psychiatric diagnosis in the DSM-IV-TR recognizable by the disordered individual's disregard for social rules and norms, impulsive behavior, and indifference to the rights and feelings of others.
Am I being dramatic? No. I'm educational. Also, I'm no longer bored at work, so you can't accuse me of dreaming up drama to supplement my otherwise boring existence. I've been paddling around in my colorful Excel waters lately, and so very happy to have returned to my rightful analyst-monkey, number-crunching environment. Anyway...
The incident I'm about to relate is simply number infinity in a list of infinity+1 unpleasant and unexplainable happenings at my cozy cottage. I come home last night at 10 pm, and what do I see? The living room, almost exactly as it was one week ago. This wouldn't be strange in most cases except for the fact that my roommate coincidentally disappeared a week ago, and in that time period that she was gone, I bought a new, green chair for the living room. Still not following? Ok:
To make space for the new chair, I moved the existing (red) chair (OMG it's Christmas, yes I know) to the left side of the couch. [Tell me if I've committed genocide or something along the way, and I'll rest my case] Alright, in media res, I walk in my front door and see this:
In case you can't identify my new chair by my Da Vinci quality Paint rendition. I'll tell you in words: it was shoved into a corner facing the wall and sort of crumpled up (ok, I admit - I didn't BUY the chair, per se, it was a folding lawn chair I got from work for doing good deeds). At this point, I just laugh to myself "Chuckle, chuckle...what a crazy." But when I walk upstairs and find the laundry I had hung up to dry that very morning, strewn about the floor - I almost went outside and keyed her car. Honestly, I'm surprised she didn't stomp all over my clothes with her offensive Ugg boots (this is an entire blog post unto itself by the way - Ugg boots and Seven jeans, just you wait) and then draw a pentagram on my door. Ok, sure, maybe the (indoor) wind blew my laundry down, but you're wrong. Dead wrong. I live with Norman Bates' inbred cousin, SS Sociopath.
This is a girl who pays double rent not only because she's driven away all her previous roommates, and now no one will take the 3rd bedroom in our house, but also because she is incapable of sharing space with other humans and mammals - probably even insects. This is a girl who doesn't have "Hello" or "Hi" in her vocabulary, and instead has **Grunt Grunt** and *Evil Eye Lip Snarl** as the building blocks of her lexicon. Ironically enough, this is also a girl that leaves her door open until I arrive home, and as I WALK BY her door, I hear her locking the door. What am I gonna do? Charge in with my burly shoulders, and pillage her pitiful belongings? As if. I swear it's not just me either; any and every person who has ever been at my house when she walks in the door will attest to feeling as if Satan's minion has entered the room. You freeze, stop breathing, don't blink, and hope to God the demon will maybe not suck out your soul. I bet you're probably thinking, "Maybe she's had a hard life. Maybe she's an orphan." Yeah, maybe my ass. This girl is a Taco Bell University grad like me, who just got into Harvard, Stanford, NYU, and Columbia law schools, and she works at Google. This Google argument is probably my strongest point.
How can anyone work at Google, and be an asshole? It's like getting to go back to kindergarten. Free food, free bus, free laundry, free playground, free nap time, free massages, free WHATEVER you want. Short of free sex (and I'd argue that technically they DO provide you with that*), I can't think of anything that Google, the Almighty Giver, doesn't provide its workers. So for those of you who were about to say, "She just needs some ass." Can it. This should be the happiest place on Earth, and she should be happier than Donald Duck on No Pants Day**.
Anyway, even though my first urge was to out-PA her in her PA games (passive aggressive for those of you who can't keep up with the conversation), I decided to bust out some UN-quality skills and gather up the courage to knock on her door. I'll be completely truthful, I was almost scared shitless the second before my knuckles grazed her door. Who knows what would could have happened if the angry beast was disturbed. But wait...I fretted and feared for nothing. I forget, and you forget, that we're dealing with a crazy here; and crazy, didn't feel like interacting with another human. I could HEAR her shuffling around, opening drawers, changing TV channels, casting voodoo spells...but no, I knock three different times, in successively louder thumpings and I get nothin'. No-thing. I'm going to set a rattlesnake loose in her room some day. Probably tonight. I'll tell you a little secret: when she disappears for days at a time, I secretly hope that she's just in her room - dead and rigor mortised to her tiny, little twin bed.
Anyway, this brings me to *drumroll please*:
Top 10 Demises for SS Sociopath That Will Make My Year
10. A zombie from 28 Days Later will zombie her face off (if you haven't seen this movie, you should).
9. She chokes on some Google cafeteria ahi tuna marinated in a soy-miso demi-glaze.
8. The Google bus will run her over.
7. She will underbake one of her gazillion batches of cookies (not one has she ever offered me, by the way) and die of salmonella poisoning.
6. A zombie from 28 Weeks Later will zombie her face off while I enjoy my Icee.
5. She just dies.
4. She joins a Greenpeace unit and a whale eats her.
3. She goes to Harvard, gets kicked out for failing, realizes she's a despicable human being, and then dies of shame.
2. She dies of dryer lint inhalation because she NEVER CLEANS OUT THE LINT. No, I'm not upset.
1. She dies while Googling eHarmony.com, while the TV plays To Catch A Lover on Lifetime.
Alright, I'm spent. See ya.
*Note: Helloooo company Christmas/July 4th/It's Tuesday! booze parties...booze up, goggles on, mission accomplished - even for tech geeks.
**Note(s): May 14, 2009
16 comments:
Dude, post 5 blog entries and you become a RECURRING guest blogger! You're almost there!
Nair in shampoo.
Okay, I notice that I split up my comments too much and with that list at the top of the new comments, I better stop doing that since I'd be bumping everyone else's comments down.
1) Hey! I used to be the one with the straight hair in the middle, but since I got my hair all curly, I am now the upside down girl on the bottom of the picture! Whee!
Okay, I have now read your entire blog entry. How do you meet these people, Freelance Midget?? I bet you find them on Craig's List. Okay, let's think about this. Sure, she's anti-social. Sure, she doesn't work well with others. But maybe there is a way for her to work well with YOU. That's all it takes, right? You can make it work.
Maybe she was pissed that you didn't consult her before moving the furniture around, and that's why she was ignoring your knocks on the door? But then, again, that doesn't explain the clothes. She really shouldn't have done that. You should move out and leave her high and dry. Nothing says "Fuck you" like taking money out of her pocket. Death is much too good for her.
I really like the Nair in shampoo idea, too. That is the stuff of teen movie magic. You know, stuff that you always wanted to do but didn't really hate anyone enough to do it to? Yeah, I think you found her, FM.
Oh, but wait, I forgot that my original goal was for you to live/work well with Satan. But, she really does appear to be a bit out there. Afterall, it's not HER house. So you moved the furniture without telling her. She moved it back. FINE. But, the clothes...that's a bit much.
You want Mr. Nonny Nu to come and "remove" her? I rent him out for those purposes sometimes...
To recap: Forget me telling you to try to live/work well with her. NOBODY strews (?) my favorite niece's freshly washed clothes all over the floor. NOBODY.
Your blog entry was so full of anger and frustration! I felt like I was there seeing the crumpled green lawn chair and the once clean but now dirty clothes (I hope you're going to re-wash them). I LOVE IT!! You're so worth the $0.00/word I pay you to guest blog!!
The next time I have an argument with Mr. Nonny Nu (right now, it's t minus 2 hours to that, I bet), I'm going to blog about it, too! I don't know what the argument will be about, but we'll come up with something--we ALWAYS do!! That's what makes our marriage rock solid. We always cooperate on arguing. When one of us doesn't have anything to complain about, the other always produces evidence to the contrary.
"We always cooperate on arguing."
that's a bunch of bullshit.
are you guys sitting side by side on your matching laptops and answering each others comments?
Unfortunately, there was no argument this evening. I offered to make meatloaf and Mr. Nonny Nu accepted. I wanted to go out and get some cat food and Mr. Nonny Nu agreed to forego Letters from Iwo Jima. Mr. Nonny Nu wanted to watch History Rocks: the 70s on the History Channel and I agreed.
The list of agreements go on and on. I know it was all Mr. Nonny Nu's scheme to prove me wrong about how we always cooperate on arguing. He's just bratty like that. Sure, right after I promise the roaring crowd an argument, THAT'S when he doesn't argue. *throws hands up in the air*
OMG! I just had a great idea. Why don't you create a profile for her on a kinky dating site? She'll get all kinds of crazy people calling her. Make sure you put her cell number on the profile AND tell people to call after 1am.
HAHAHHHAHAHAHAHHHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA!!!!
let's see if these dice roll fair...
you have a boyfriend but she doesn't, correct? now, your studmuffin comes around occasionally, maybe tickles you in the kitchen, a little 'teehee!' can be heard throughout the plaza. she's not supposed to be affected by the attention you get because, as you stated, she could get a little sumpin' sumpin' round the way if she'd just wear some strawberry lip gloss.
now, we can talk about different types of crazies all day. but, remember, eccentricity walks hand-in-hand with brightness. this chick you say is a bell grad, accepted to bell, hahvahd, peoples' republic of columbia, etc., so she's a bit of an outlier. therefore, when it comes to her having the seven-year itch, don't you think she's gonna act just a tad bit weird! i mean, she's probably this far --> <-- from wearing a diaper cross country. she needs help, dammit!
tell you what i'm gonna do. i'm gonna put you in touch with a good friend of mine, goes by the name of valentine. he will make this right (but just make sure you hide any of *your* valuables when he visits). or, if you're not into that, you could always buy her a personal massager--they sell em all day long at sharper image, no shame in that. you simply *must* do these things...otherwise she's going to *know* it was you who put the nair in her shampoo.
now, you have work to do.
EB: i prefer NN's suggestion of putting her on www.iwantkinkysex.com
oh, and as for hahvahd, et al. this crazy might not even be THAT smart...she's a minority for mental instability and part of the non-white/non-asian contingent AND she doesn't fit neatly into any of the other check-boxes. damned AA.
AAAAAAND, she came home last night yapping on her phone, stood within 2 feet of my face while i was cooking, and refused to make eye contact with me (this is after i knock on her door 3x and then send her an email asking to talk).
no, i'm not angry. why do you ask?
sorry to hear it. some people it seems just want to be impossible. don't let it get you down. everyone i know has stacks of stories like this. it just happens to be your turn. fun and exciting isn't it? :-)
seriously, though, laugh it off. this isn't going to be the last time you experience this kind of crap. be glad you're not sharing a cell.
FM - If you do create a profile for her at www.iwantkinkysex.com could you insure that your roomie won't hit on the...err... *whispers* manfromuncle profile there? Thanks.
Really, man where you got her, weir, I told you people from ivy lead are weir do. how about putting dog shampoo in her bottle? put some durian in her car may her food( not in the house, let her suffer all by herself ) I wonder how can you put up with her for all this times.... do you have a problem of yourself.???
or you want me to use my electric eye to destroy her.
Freelance Midget, if I were you, I'd choose the laser eyes. As a victim of the laser eyes, I highly recommend it.
This is scarry I hope 3 fish did not read this.
I'm with stillman.
Good roommates are few and far between. Perhaps this one just has problems with change.
My most alarming issue was my roommate who would eat my Ben and Jerry's ice cream, or take a brand new pint to her boyfriend's house. And there were 3 7-11's between our house and his. I finally fixed that problem. Mwhaaaaaa!
Post a Comment