She makes so much noise in the mornings in surprised she does not wake anyone else up! She gets up around 6:10 to 6:15. Now I type ‘around’ because she hits snooze about 6 or 7 damn times before she gets her ass up. Once she is up, she makes enough noise to wake the dead. Clanging dishes around, slamming doors, tossing things around, God forbid anyone wanting to sleep. I can’t fall back to sleep until she leaves at 7am and by then I have a hour and a half before I have to wake up.

Also, I swear she has no concept of social norms either and no respect for others around her. She constantly interrupts other people’s sentences to talk about herself and does not know how to be polite at all!

In addition to that, she is constantly complaining about how she does not get enough sleep and that she is always tired and consequently she says she will not feel well enough to go to class in the mornings because of it…honestly…it is pathetic. She also complains about not having enough time for homework. Well maybe if she did not spend all her time on facebook and go out partying at the weekends she would have a little more time.

She also leaves dirty dishes around and leaves food in the fridge for days on end until it has gone moldy. It is only after I tell her about it that she throws the food away and that is about 3 days after I initially informed her!! God I hate it, especially at night when I want to go to bed. It will be like 1am and she will still be awake, doing nothing but complaining about being tired and her homework of course, and she will not let me turn off the main light, which practically blinds me considering I am in the top bunk. I mean god forbid that she turn her desk light on and use that. Noooo that be too much fucking work!

She also, always, closes the door when I leave; even when I specifically leave it open to get back into the room. Now we live in a residence hall so the door only opens to the hallway and more often than not, I am only going next door for a minute or less. I come back and the doors closed and then I have to knock on the door to be let in, and then she complains that she did not lock the door so I should be able to get in…ugh…If she would just leave the damn door alone it wouldn’t happen, but no there’s a ‘draft’ from the door being open to the hallway…on the 6th floor…in the middle…yeah…

I have no Idea what to do about it! It is driving me crazy and I just do not know what to do. I cannot talk to her about it because she just do not fucking listen and I am not the type to complain to someone’s face like she does. I mean she thinks I am a great roommate, I just wish I could bloody well say the feeling was fucking mutual

In the housing complex i was staying at the units are basically small cottages, made for two room-mates, with a common area and attached kitchen, a small storage closet in the common area containing water pipes leading to Suite A’s bathroom. The two private areas of the suite contained a private bedroom, a sliding glass patio door, and a private bathroom. Sounds idyllic.

My roomie, Jed, liked to throw parties. He liked tarantulas, too, and kept six.

For the sake of saving my effort in recounting this story, here is a basic rundown of the chaos:

This run-through of incidents is going to be kind of terse, because I’m working off of a check list I made a while ago.

During our stay together, my roomie:

He brought his motorcycle into our common room because he was “afraid it would be stolen.” This was fine, but then he started it and let it idle for 15 minutes without opening any windows, causing all of our stuff to smell like motor exhaust.

After his girlfriend left him, he went berserk in his private bathroom with a sledgehammer or a geologist’s hammer and smashed all of his bathroom fixtures. I’m not sure of this but I believe that just before she left him she fucked some guy with pubic lice in my bed during a party.

His toilet was inoperative at this point, so he used mine for a time, until I refused him access. Later I would find out that he shat in garbage bags and kept them in the common room closet for weeks. More on this later.

He set fire to our carpet with alcohol during a party. He pissed in the fridge. He shat in the fridge. He shat in the crisper drawer. He shat on the oven top, and instead of cleaning it up, turned on the burner, reasoning that carbon is easier to clean than feces.

He left a dead cat he found somewhere in our oven for a week and forgot about it. I discovered it later.

He owned 6 tarantulas, and would let one run around free-range. He assured me he had “tamed it.” I assured him he was a stupid fuckhead.

He never showered.

He sold drugs from his room. He smoked pot with his friends in the common area. He spilled bong water on two of my text books. He and his friends did cocaine off of the television set in the common area.

He had a party to which he invited too many people, and they spilled into my room. Strangers had sex in my room at that party. In my bed. One of them had pubic lice. Someone took a dump in my closet. Someone left a used condom in my slipper. I discovered all of these things after it was too late.

Morning after said party, my mother knocked on the front door, and a stranger from that party answered and immediately threw up on her legs.

Crackheads would regularly come by our apartment at all hours of the night trying to buy drugs because of his illicit activities. Whenever I answered the door and indicated that there was no crack to be had, they would sometimes get, desperate, belligerent and violent, and refuse to leave.

He put food products containing milk, meat and cheese on the heating unit and turned it on for three hours to see what would happen. I could’ve told him what would happen if he asked me.

He got angry at some video game he and his friends were playing in the common area, so he busted into my room while I was sleeping, and punched me in the face and stomach.

A few days later he put a tarantula in my bedsheets while I was sleeping. Thankfully I wasn’t bitten, but I was freaked out and still sometimes jump out of bed in the middle of the night for no reason and attack my sheets.

He shat in a lot of our fixtures. He would put his shit in baggies and leave them in strange places. I was thankfull for when he used a baggie. A few words of advice for potential room-mates: A light fixture is not a toilet. A heating vent is not a toilet. The sink is not a toilet. The oven is not a toilet. That is all.

I was pissed at this point. He refused to clean or take care of all of the messes listed above, so I ended up cleaning them, but keeping an hourly log and catalogue of what work I did and worked out a bill, which I sent to him. I was tired of cleaning feces out of our refridgerator, finding turds in our crisper drawer, shit on the stovetop, vomit on the carpet, vomit in our potted plants, vomit on the grille of our television set, urine on the carpet, urine on the kitchen floor seeping behind the refridgerator, dead animals in our oven and freezer units, and bags of feces hidden in our light fixtures.

Have you ever had to move your refridgerator out of its little nook to get behind it to clean urine mixed with whatever the fuck lurks behind a refridgerator in the first place?

After sending him the cleaning bill and getting a refusal of payment, I took some of his stuff, dumped it in a storage unit across town, and held it until he paid me back. He stole some of my stuff in retaliation, but I called the cops and repossessed my belongings. He was unable to articulate to the cops that I had some of his shit in this exchange, so I ended up basically getting my shit back while he had to be put in their car to cool off.

Upon retrospect, I think maybe he became mentally ill after losing his girlfriend, and not being able to part with his feces was part of his illness. This is purely speculative.