Dear Roommate,
Thank you so much for being one of the worst room mates I’ve ever had. I’ve had some bad ones, but you are in a world all your own. You seem to think that living with me meant that you were moving in with a Mr. Maid service. How come your parents didn’t teach you how to clean? Remember Pig-Pen from Charlie Brown? I think you’re his sister.
At the start of our living arrangement, you knew that we were not necessarily going to be “friends”. I’d never met you before and I told you that I’m a person that likes to spend my time in my room. You said you were fine with that because you were never home. When I told you about the mouse in the house, you were so nonchalant that I thought, maybe I was overreacting–I soon found out that you’re a passive aggressive person and nonchalance is your way of (not) dealing with things.
After 6 months of living together without incident, I asked you to clean up your mess, after you made food in the kitchen and left your debris on the counter and floor. As a result, you damn near had a nervous breakdown in your response email and it made me feel sorry for what I said. Two days later, you asked if I “should think about moving out”. When I told you no, I was not thinking about it, you went around me, cried to the landlords and told them that you felt like you couldn’t come home and that we were too different so you wanted me to move or you were moving. Now, I’m the one who has been given the 28 day notice and they told me it was because I made a big deal about removing the mice and because you felt like you couldn’t come home because I was too “confrontational”. Bitch, please.
You then emailed me and said that you wanted to live with a friend of yours and that you felt like living with a friend would be better for you than living with someone you’d never met. Two weeks later, you asked me if you could show my room to people from Craigslist!!!
You fuckin lying, pot bellied bitch! Oh yeah, don’t think I haven’t seen it. The pot belly that pops out of all your shirts and little black yoga pants. You told me that you can’t keep a boyfriend and it’s no wonder. No man wants to clean up after your filthy ass–and what do you do at night? Roll in garbage dumps? The shower is always filthy after you’ve been in there. Do you shit in the tub? I mean, what the fuck is wrong with you?
Instead of (wo)manning up, and talking like an adult should do, you acted like a baby to get your way. You’re a duplicitous person. You are the most deplorable, childish, selfish, passive aggressive, lush of a 30 year old that I have ever met.
No matter how many bottles of wine you “taste”, no matter how many “friends” you think you have (who all treat you like boo boo the fool), no matter how many trips around the world you snap photos of and put in a book that you only show people when you want to impress them, or how many loose, slutty, or repressed lesbian things you do (like the time you pretended to give a pool stick a blow job and the time you drunkenly tried to kiss my girlfriend) …you will never be able to escape yourself. Where ever you go, there you are….unfortunately.
I hope your new room mate (not a friend but a Craigslister) is a sleepwalker who turns the living room into a barnyard. Then maybe you’ll be able to feel at home.
Loathing your existence,
Your soon-to-be (and not soon enough) ex-room mate
PS: I fuckin hate you. The landlords can eat shit, too.
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