I have quite a few of them (five flatmates, to be precise). But there is one who causes me grief. She makes my brain hurt. All last term I had to hear about how she’d gotten into a much posher Uni and didn’t even really have to bother with finishing up the term here, because she was starting at her posh Uni in January. Right. Okay.
She’s still here.
But last night I happened to be quite ill. Violently so. I had a bit to drink and the smell of smoke from our kitchen set me off. You see, she’d had about eight guys I didn’t know over, and they’d smoked the kitchen into a thick grey haze. Without the smoke, I might have made it alright.
I hear a knock at the bathroom door. (There are two self-contained stalls with toilets in the hall and a seperate room with shower and sinks. I was locked in one of the toilets.)
Her: “What’s going on in there?”
Me: “I’m being sick.”
Her: “Well, it’s really late.”
(it was about half-three and she’d just gotten back in)
Me: “I know, I’m sorry. I’m being sick.”
Her: “What are you doing in there? It’s really late and you’re being really loud.”
Me: “Sorry. I’ll try to remember to bok more quietly in the future”
Her: “Yeah, because you’re being really loud.”
Stupid bint. I want to dump her posh arse out the window. Why? Because she wakes me up every Sunday by blasting her music at some ungodly hour and she was upset at me for being sick as inobtrusively as possible.
Lame rant, I know. But it’s the only think keeping me from breaking her in half when I go home.
It sounds like she didn’t understand what was really happening. In any case, her conversation with you warrants that you vomit on her next time.
I’ve actually done this, albiet just a little bit, to someone who kept asking if I was alright. I was kneeled over the toilet with a three foot long strand of spit hanging from my mouth. I actually felt much better afterwards.
Oh, I felt like it. She actually did, at one point last night, get between me and the bathroom door.
If I hear about how she’d kill herself if she were a size 10 (that’s a US 8) I will save her the trouble of anticipating the weight gain.
I felt like asking if she’d come in and hold my hair. But it was all I could do to choke out a “sorry”.
I use nice wee Scottish words to get back at her. She keeps on about how Scots are degrading the English language. This from someone who says “fink” when describing her mental exercises.
I think the problem is me. I didn’t bond so well with everyone else in the flat because I spent quite a bit of time in the office. They’re also a bit younger (first years- I am working on my Masters.)
I am in Aberdeen, and an active student of Doric. The proper greeting is now “fit like?”
It’s an awful shame education hasn’t rubbed off on her. Otherwise she’d get the hint about what I was planning with my re-reading of “Prick Up Your Ears” and the constant humming of “If I had a hammer…I’d hammer in the morning…”
(only joking, of course. I’ll settle for puking in her bed.)
Obviously not as posh as she makes out. People wot speaks proper don’t say “fink”. Maybe that’s why she hasn’t made it to a posher uni yet - she’s failed her elocution lessons.
I would have suggested getting a kipper from the local fishmongers, and putting that in her bed. But, that would have eventually stunk up the whole flat, as would puking in her bed. Instead, put a kipper in her handbag. (Oooh, the double entendres you could come up with there.)
Does this really make it your fault? I’m the same way with my roommates. We haven’t “bonded” well, because I don’t like watching cartoons/America’s Funniest Home Videos, and I don’t enjoy playing Halo. It seems they hold this against me, as they’re clearly not very friendly toward me most of the time. I also spend lots of time in my room. It hasn’t been this way with previous roommates, who I’ve actually enjoyed spending time with. (but then they weren’t rude and irritating) Is it our fault? Shouldn’t we be able to do what we want/need to do in our own homes without our roommates hating us for it? My roommates don’t seem to like me when I’m around anyway. (of course I’m entirely convinced this is THEIR problem, as I’m a totally likeable person) Hm…
I must defend my honour here. I am usually a prodigious drinker of stout. Never have I thrown up. I also partake in other spirits. Whisky, wine, and when I am forced, a pint or so of lager. I am a veteran of both drama and writing societies.
I had three half-full glasses of white wine. Sipped slowly. On a non-empty stomach.
But I have also got what appears to be some sort of upper respiratory infection now. So, combination of factors?
One who is still awake from clubbing does not, however, tell one who is ill to puke more quietly.
AL
I do blame myself for this. I’ve said in other threads that I am a bit shy and have trouble meeting/ making friends with people. I’ve been like this since I was a kid and other incidents have merely exacerbated the problem. I have particular trouble talking to people outside my fields- I rely quite heavily on work to get me through.
I do not, however, blame myself for the flatmate who escorted me into the bathroom to show me- show me- how to clean the drain. Apparently it was blocked with hair. I had the longest hair, natural assumption, I thought. I smiled and played nice.
Until I discovered that it was blocked with 90% blonde hair. And she was the only blond.
The flatmate who wanted me express my illness in silence is the same flatmate who tried to take me to pub quiz on the night of Yom Kippur. I’m quite good at trivia and would have gone on almost any other night. I told her I couldn’t. The conversation ran thusly:
Her: It’s not like a party or anything. It’s a pub quiz and a couple pints.
Me: It’s the holiest day of the year.
Her: You don’t have to dance or anything.
Me: It’s a day of repentance and fasting.
A week later, she said “Are you religious, Anna? I never see you pray.”
My deepest sympathies for what has occurred to-date, but this flatmate sounds like she’s quite a few Watts short of ‘dim’, let alone ‘brilliant’. Subtleties will be lost on her the same way a discussion of Matisse watercolors would be lost on motivating a cow. Unfortunately, in a results-oriented world, there comes a time to use the cattle-prod.
Now, what you’ll need is a Very Large bucket of ice-water, a wooden club (baseball or cricket bat will do nicely), an angry speech of everything you want her to ‘hear’, and the resolve to carry your plans through at 5AM on a Sunday. Just promise me that you’ll use the ice-water to get her attention first and not the bat.
