My randomly-assigned roommate freshman year wasn’t bad. The most annoying thing about her was her noisy love for video games and her intense love of cats. (Also, she collected these weird naked baby figurines). Besides that, she was just any old person. The main reason why resentment started to grow between us is because we shared a space, a single room. After 6 months, we fell into silence forever.
Anyway, I’m a journaler. I loved writing in my journals and I’m sure she saw me scribbling away numerous times into my dumb composition books. One fateful day I left the room and made the mistake of leaving my journal out on my bed. I can honestly say that I trusted her to respect my privacy. What reason would she have for wanting to snoop? Curiosity? Well, Miss Roommate, curiosity killed your beloved cat.
A few days later there were boxes in our room and she was moving out without a single word about it to me. I figured out what happened through a mutual friend. There were 2 months of school left.
Here are the ridiculous entries that she managed to read from my newly started journal– uncensored, of course. Maybe it’s a little mean, but I was under the impression that no one ever would read these thoughts–that’s why they’re a little embarrassing for me. I probably would have tried harder if I knew one day they’d be on the internet.
Also, I should warn you that I began my college career as a little sex-obsessed virgin who was still clinging to the idea of God wanting me to wait until marriage/Tina Fey didn’t lose her virginity until she was 24.
5/5/10 – 1:13 PM
People are so uninspiring with their neutral earthy tones and their dribblings of basketballs on apartment floors. I don’t want to have sex. I think my mind is too frail and my soul is too pale. I want to be a virgin forever. Then when I die people will say, “Did you know she was a virgin?” and be impressed.
Unless I meet death tomorrow. Then people will say, “Did you know she was a virgin?” in a sad way, like, too bad for her, instead of recognizing it as a lifestyle.
Too bad I’m not a man or I could be a priest. I guess nuns are celibate too, but I don’t know.
The most romantic love story of all time is Gomez and Morticia Addams. It’s so dark and sexy. I wouldn’t have sex with Gomez, but I would let him kiss his lips up my arm and call me French things.
Now the roommate is back and disturbing the peace. I like the dark, but she brings the light. The blinds are up. So fucking bright.
And so modest, too. She’s got a 37 year-old anime junkie boyfriend with a receding hairline and they rent hotel rooms when he comes and I know what they do in them. (She is so pointy–that can’t feel good!) Maybe it’s like having sex with all the pokes of a toothpick. Maybe it’s nice and they’ve got the rhythm and they’re going and then the hip/collar/knee bone/rib cage/elbow! Like when you have a rock in your shoe, you feel it every step.
But the best part is she does the naked horizontal with this boy version of herself (+15 years), who apparently has a stick figure fetish, but she can’t even change in front of me! It’s all secretive and bathroom changes. I used to do that too, to make her comfortable. Now I change right here to make her uncomfortable.
5/5/10 – 5:00 PM
Darla Blue and the Case of Goo
Darla Blue was a girl who likes lasagna
Of you she wasn’t fond-a
But guess what she ate in her spare time
(I’ll give you a clue, it’ll cost you a dime)
It was fresh and runny
It was the color of money
And it came from Darla Blue’s nose!
5/5/10 – 10:36 PM
I couldn’t even fart in front of her. And that was a problem. You’re supposed to be able to fart in front of your roommate.
5/6/10 – 11:49 AM
Roommate hates the toilet paper I buy. It’s just Safeway brand, which I think is appropriately comfortable and simple. Maybe she needs TP smooth as a baby’s bottom for her soft, womanly, non-virgin vagina. Sometimes you hear about those vaginas that are like sand paper. Maybe I’ve got one of those, but all I know is that her TP is too syrupy sweet, like using a handful of shredded feathers and fairy dust.
5/6/10 – 3:35 PM
Sex. It’s all about sex. All the time. White panties. I never wear them, but they’re always on. I walk into a room and I think sex. I look at the men and I think sex. I wonder sex? I sit in a quiet room, a stupid room, and I look at the people and I scream SEX inside my caged brain. I watch them. Do they hear me? Sex. Do they catch my brain waves?
5/6/10 – 4:07 PM
Can it not be Caroline? [Side note: I have no fucking idea who Caroline is, but obviously she made some kind of impression on me in the moment]. Can it not be her? But isn’t it? Isn’t it always who you don’t want it to be? Aren’t people always who you don’t want them to be.
5/6/10 – 4:12 PM
The cool thing to do now is to be mousy. Girls with mousy brown hair and pale doughy cheeks that hang. A neck that doesn’t stick out far enough. I’m sitting here. I think I’m sitting on a statue. Is it rude to sit on a statue?
And that’s it! That was the incredibly short, if disturbing (?) journey through the privacy of my dumb freshman head that left my roommate feeling uncomfortable in a shared living space with me. And for 2 months I got to enjoy having a room all to myself and my mean-journaling self.