READ ON ABOUT THE PSYCHOTIC, MENTALLY UNSTABLE, HORMONALLY IMBALANCED, DEMON BITCH FROM HELL!
WARNING: I am not exaggerating when it comes to the vulgar language.
FIGHTING OVER A FLOWERPOT? Only with Terrie. She hung this basket from the porch corner and I almost ran into it like three times so I asked if it could be moved to one of the other three hangers. She asks why and when I told her, she says “Well it was there last year and you didn’t have a problem with it then” and I said “Well, maybe not, but I do this year” and she asks what the problem is and I told her it hung too low and I kept almost hitting my head on it and she’s like “Well just move around it.” I tell her I shouldn’t have to when it could easily be moved. So then she says “Well—it doesn’t bother me” and I said “Well I’m taller and it bothers me.” She gives me this look like I’m asking for the world and then says “We’ll see” and I was like “What’s the big deal? Just move the damn plant.” Then she gave me some lame excuse about having it in that specific spot so when it rained it would get wet. I told her she could move the damn thing when it rained, I just didn’t want it there all the time. Well, about four days later she finally moved it.
FIGHTING OVER A BREADMAKER? Yep. This was a BIG one that happened when Wayne (her man) was there. We had previously talked about all the delicious breads we would like to make so I thought she’d be thrilled when I got a breadmaker for my birthday. Well, I figured the best place for it would be on this one shelf of hers— where there was plenty of room and it would be totally out of the way (because I knew she’d have a fit if it disrupted the look of the room). So I put it there and she had a total f***ing fit over it. So she starts yelling at me, and soon we’re screaming and swearing at one another. She basically told me if I wanted to put anything anywhere I’d have to f***ing buy it myself (i.e. shelves, cupboards) because she had to buy all her stuff herself. I said I hadn’t thought it would be a problem since there was plenty of room and it would be out of the way—which I knew she would like—and she went off on how it was HER space and she had no goddamn use for a bread machine anyway and what ever made me think she’d think that she’d want one at all? I told her how we had talked about it before and I thought she would be cool about it and she just rolls her eyes and was like “I never said any such thing.” Fine, so I said “Well where will you LET me put it? Let’s talk about it” and she says something like “If I had my choice it wouldn’t go anywhere—we don’t need it and there’s nowhere to put it.” I say “Well I want it and it’s going to go somewhere, so what about here?” and she rolls her eyes like How can you even suggest that? and says “Well, it doesn’t look very nice there.” I shrugged my shoulders and walked away. The next day she berated me for the whole scenario taking place in front of Wayne. I basically said Oh well, sorry, but I was pissed and I needed to talk about it right then. She didn’t care and she was pissed. Oh well.
ME BEING SARCASTIC. She basically told me that I couldn’t be sarcastic with her because she just didn’t like it and she thought I was being mean. I told her it wasn’t meant to be mean, and that I was sorry, but it was really too bad because it was part of me (my personality) and it was just a fact of life. She basically said tough shit, don’t do it around me, I don’t appreciate it.
FIGHTING OVER KLEENEX. Can I kill Terrie now?? Jesus, just when I think things are going okay with her, she does something f***ed up to piss me off. One night when I got home, I saw that she had written me a note saying it was my turn to get kleenex. Okay, fine. But there was already some in the bathroom so I didn’t think much abut it—I just knew that I had to get kleenex the next time I went to the store. I thought it was a little bizarre that the box of kleenex in the bathroom felt quite empty, but I didn’t think much about it—I thought maybe she was trying to get out of buying her box and just put the remainder of her own personal box in there. I wasn’t going to argue about it because I didn’t really care. So the next morning the note is on my trunk and I think she just wanted me to be sure to see it. Okay, fine. (Yes, I’m almost to the major point here. You just needed all the background info for the full effect of the story.) So the next day when I got home, I was looking for something else in my closet and I found two boxes of kleenex. Cool, I thought, now I don’t have to go out and buy any. Melissa (a neighbor kid who was basically my “little sis”) came over and she was doing that braided floss wrapping thing on a piece of my hair and, for whatever reason, I happened to look over on my bedside shelf—and guess what? MY F***ING KLEENEX BOX WAS GONE. Then it hit me like a brick—the tissues in the bathroom were mine—that’s why the box felt so empty. So, she obviously came into my room and took my own personal box of kleenex because, apparently, it was my turn NOW to get the kleenex and she felt she had the f***ing right to do it. Can you believe she took it upon herself to take my something out of my f***ing room? That would be like her owing me money and me seeing some on her dresser and just taking it! Well, since Melissa was there I didn’t want to confront her with it right away—besides, I was so pissed I wasn’t sure what would happen. Well, later she was watching a movie and I didn’t want to interrupt that (although, thinking back, I should have) and then I just didn’t want to deal with it the next morning. So tonight’s the night. I still can’t believe she had the f***ing nerve to do that. She slays me, she really does. And the thing that gets me is that I KNOW she THINKS she DOES have the right to do whatever the f*** she wants around there—even with my stuff! Why she has that belief is beyond me.
TERRIE AND I HAD IT OUT LAST NIGHT. And, of course, she totally turned the whole thing against me. I told her I appreciated her leaving me the note about the kleenex, but she really had no right to go into my room and take my box. To which she basically said “Well if you would remember that it’s your turn I wouldn’t have to” and then asked what the problem was. I told her the problem was that she just took it upon herself to go into my room and that was not suitable. She said she wouldn’t have had to do it had I had a box of kleenex there already. So we fought like cats and dogs for like 20 minutes. Of course she thought she was in the right to take them out of my room (since it was my turn) and maybe that would teach me a lesson. I told her it really wasn’t her place to teach me a lesson like that. She kept asking me what the big deal was (about her scamming my kleenexes) and I told her that it felt like an intrusion and she had no right to go into my space like that. I must have said something like that about six times and I still don’t think she got it. To her, she had the perfect reason to do what she did (as I told you she would). She always reverses it and blamed it all on me (as I told you she would). Then, of course, she gives me the lecture on responsibility and how I’m an adult and should be able to remember to get tissues. I told her what it really boiled down to was that I just don’t notice stuff like that. So, in the course of our argument, I told her that she was controlling and asked why she was always right and I was always wrong. She brushed that off, of course, and went right on ragging on me. I gave her this example: If you had money on your dresser and you owed me money and I just went in there and took it—you would have an absolute FIT over it. And, of course, she said she wouldn’t. (I know DAMN WELL she would.) Now I can’t wait to see what we argue about next…
I swear Terrie abuses state aid programs—and thinks she deserves it. Her attitude (which she stated to me once): F*** it, I’ve paid so many goddamn taxes I deserve to get some money back when I’m not working. But if she’s so goddamn worried about money—she could easily go out and find a job. But no, she won’t accept anything beneath her standards. State aid is a good thing for those people who really need it, but definitely NOT for someone like her—someone with a college degree who could easily work a number of jobs—but just refuses to—who seems to have enough money to buy sports equipment, whose brother was footing the rent bill because she couldn’t afford it, etc. But she thinks she’s entitled to absolutely everything. I might grant her something like the food stamps—but, you know, some things you just go without when you don’t have money—like a dermatologist’s appointment! She got a red blotch and it was like OH NO—rush to the dermatologist so my face clears up and my self-esteem doesn’t drop. Christ, get real. A dermatologist’s appointment when there are people who really need to see doctors for serious problems? I think that’s a bit self-indulgent.
She started an argument over whose bike was going to go where. She got her spot on the porch (protected from the elements under the roof and able to lock to the posts) because, in her words, that’s where she had it last year (before I moved in). We talked about different options FOR ME—but compromise on her part was NOT an option. She told me I could put my bike on the front porch, but gee, thanks, it’s in full view of a VERY busy main avenue, and with no good way to lock it, anyone happening by could steal it. So I decided to put it on the other porch (away from the street) and cover it with a tarp. (See next topic.)
Since she had 90% of the porch covered with flowers/flowerpots, they needed to be moved to put my bike there. I figured she would have an absolute FIT if I moved them (god forbid I do it wrong) so I left her a message about it. When I got home, nothing was moved and she had left me a note saying that 1) she NEVER said SHE would move the flowers, she said they COULD be moved, 2) What happened to putting my bike on the front porch? and 3) Here she said some stupid thing about if I put my bike against the house whoever said I was going to do that? I’d have to take my handlebars or pedals off because they’d be in the way of our neighbor’s flowers. Okay, like where the hell did THAT come from? It doesn’t even make any sense. But that was Terrie. So I moved the flowers and that was that.
After my boyfriend came up for the second weekend, Terrie says that if he’s going to be showering here frequently, I’m going to have to clean the shower more often because it’s getting dirtier quicker. Yeah, right—those extra two showers every other week are getting it THAT much dirtier. Give me a break. I ignored her and never did it.
She told me—in no uncertain terms and with no compromise in her voice—that my boyfriend would have to be out of the apartment before she got up in the morning (when he left Monday mornings) because she felt very uncomfortable not knowing when he might be coming downstairs and she liked to leave the door open after she showered. Fine, I could understand that, but it meant he would have to leave before 6am and I knew that would never happen, so I told her that I didn’t think that would work and how about if he wanted to come downstairs, I would come down first to make sure she was dressed (or whatever). She said we could TRY it once. (Like it’s only up to her and she’s LETTING me do this. It wasn’t at all like we were discussing it. It felt like I was a child asking to stay up late if I did the dishes.)
I knew she didn’t like the drainboard we had so I told her I would bring mine to use. She thought that was cool. Well, it turned out to be smaller than the one we had (but the pieces fit better) and WE said WE’D think about it. So two days later she tells me “I don’t think I’M going to use it—you can take it home.” Excuse me? I was just flabbergasted at how she said it: I don’t think I’m going to use it. Sorry, but last I checked there were two of us living here to make decisions. It wasn’t like she said “I don’t think we should use it because of XYZ,” but it was like she made the decision and that was that.
FIGHTING OVER CLEANING—AGAIN. About 10pm, she came up and asked when I was going to vacuum and I told her I already did. Well, she tells me, it certainly doesn’t look like it. I shrug my shoulders and tell her I did it this morning. Then she asks if I shook the rugs—and I was like HELLO? I just told you I did the floors—but she keeps on me. Then she asked if I did the stairs and I said no, and that I really didn’t think they needed to be done four times a month anyway—every other week was enough. So, she bitched about it and then said Fine, you do it now and I’ll skip my turn. I wanted to smack her. Then I asked why everything, it seemed, had to be done her way and she tells me in this annoying tone WE AGREED ON EVERYTHING AT THE BEGINNING. (I should have responded—No, you stated what was to be done and I had no choice but to agree. But of course, it didn’t come out that way.) I said something more like I agreed to your standards and she says “Yeah, we agreed.” It was a no-win situation. (She always thinks she’s right and no one is going to change her mind, regardless of the facts.) So we went around and around on other issues (one being that damn hanging flower pot again) and it just got ridiculous. So the next morning I thought, well, we’ve had a night to sleep on it and get over any harsh feelings so I’ll be nice and say good morning (which I never do anyway, except when she says it first). And I totally got the cold shoulder. The microwave door slamming shut was basically her response. Fine, I thought. F*** her, I don’t need that shit in the morning.
I “finished” cleaning (everything but the stairs) and I was going to apologize for the debacle the night before, and then I was going to get into how I still thought everything was done “her way or no way” and I was going to tell her the examples of (1) her mom always giving her more cups/mugs and they always end up hanging in the kitchen (where there isn’t a lot of room), but when I want to bring one damn appliance—my electric can opener—I get hassled about it and (2) she told me I could put some of my stuff in her cupboard and when I did, she moved it and told me there was no room (there was). So, then I fell asleep and heard her come home but I just didn’t feel like getting up quite yet. Then she was on the phone—forever. By that time I had decided f*** it, I don’t feel like I should have to be the one to apologize—so I didn’t. I went to talk to Michelle (next “apartment” neighbor), who was out planting flowers, and Terrie walks out and says a few words to Michelle, looks right by me, and leaves. Michelle asked about it, so I proceeded to tell her. She told me the Nixon’s (the landlords) don’t like her or the dog and that she doesn’t either (good—it’s not just me). Michelle told me she’s been worried about me ever since I moved in because she knows what Terrie’s like. She told me this (which sounds like everything I’ve been dealing with): Last year Terrie planted flowers in Michelle’s “area” (the flowerbeds along her part of the house)—without asking. Michelle had been planning on putting stuff there, but she figured it was nice of Terrie to do it, but as long as they were in her area, she was going to put them where she wanted—so she moved them. And guess what Terrie did? MOVED THEM BACK! So Michelle called her and said the flowers were beautiful and thanks for planting them, but as long as they were by her place, she was going to have them where she wanted them—and Terrie had a fit about it.
TAKING OUT THE GARBAGE? She was always bitching at me about the garbage—telling me it was my turn—even though she was the one who just crammed it totally full and I had just taken it out the day before. It wasn’t a big deal overall, but it’s like she was just trying to find something—anything—to bitch about.
NOVEMBER 15, 1996
AND THEN THE 3 MAJOR FIGHTS OVER 3 DAYS THAT FINALLY CAUSED ME TO MOVE OUT… (Yes, these deserve their own paragraphs.)
FIGHT #1
Terrie went total-ballistic-ape shit on me. I had been talking to Michelle (our donwstairs neighbor) on the phone and broke off with her to talk to my cousin who beeped in long-distance. Terrie came home and I told her Wayne had called and I would be another 10 minutes or so. Fine, no problem she says. She also told me her disk had a virus blah blah blah so she needed my help on her resume/cover letter. Fine, no problem. So after I finished talking to my cousin, I quick called my friend back just to touch base and finish our conversation (no longer than two minutes). So I go downstairs and ask Terrie if she wants to do her resume thing now and she says sure so I sit down and work on it—for like 10-15 minutes. Fine, no problem (although I could have cared less about helping her, since we had been getting along lately, I figured why not?). So as we’re both sitting there, we hear this weird noise, and as we come to realize it’s Michelle singing to her music, we both look up at each other, smile, and laugh. She’s reading over her resume still, so I reach over and call the neighbor (to tease her about her singing). I’m not on for more than 20 seconds when Terrie is suddenly hovering over me telling me she needs to use the phone. Over and over. Well, fine, but give me a damn minute to finish my call. So I tell Michelle I have to go, but she has to tell me this one last thing that will take a minute. No problem, right? Wrong. In the meantime, Terrie has gotten verbally abusive and is practically screaming at me: “Get off the phone. I told you to get off the phone. I told you I needed to use the phone so get off the phone. F***ing go downstairs and talk to her.” Etc. I tell her to chill a minute because I’m almost done. She continues to bitch. So I take the phone away from my ear and say “Terrie, if you’d quit bitching at me, I would have been finished with this conversation two minutes ago and this wouldn’t be a problem.”
Well, of course that means nothing to her and she continues to bitch at me, now escalating her banalities into “I can’t believe you’re so f***ing rude, I told you I needed to use the phone before and you told me you would be off in 10 minutes and then I HEARD YOU CALL MICHELLE AGAIN” and I was just staring at her in disbelief—since I had been off the phone for a few minutes because that’s when I asked if she wanted my help with her resume!! Apparently her call was THAT important, right, that she had to wait until I was on the phone to make her call?? So I finished my call and she picked it up to call Wayne and I was not about to go down without a fight. So I started in on her, saying how immature she is and it was just a damn two-minute phone call and where does she get off getting ballistic on me and she’s like “I can’t believe you just f***ing picked it up and made another call.” I tell her because it was funny—we both laughed at Michelle’s singing so I thought I would just call her to be funny and she’s like “I didn’t think it was so funny.” (Okay, so she apparently smiles and laughs when she’s pissed?) So I tell her that if HER call was so damn important she should’ve called BEFORE we sat down to do her resume thing. So then she makes it sound like it’s my fault—she says “Well you were on with your cousin and then you called Michelle back and then you came down here”—and I told her her resume could have certainly waited and she said well that was important, too. (And obviously more important than this supposed all-important phone call to Wayne that she was ripping me a new one over.) I mean, she could have even called him while I was reading over her shit—she wasn’t sitting there the whole time—only about the last five minutes. So we’re going around and around and we’re swearing at each other like you wouldn’t believe and she’s telling me how f***ing rude and inconsiderate I am. So I tell her I can’t believe her attitude—here I am helping her with her damn resume that I could care less about but that she asked for help with—and she’s ripping on me for making a two-minute phone call when she wanted to use the phone? That’s immature. So she tells me “If you don’t f***ng like it you can move the f*** out.” I kept telling her I couldn’t believe she was getting this upset over such a little thing—and she kept telling me how f***ing rude and inconsiderate I was for just blowing her off.
So I told her how rude and inconsiderate I thought SHE was—the night before when I was having a major crisis (when my boyfriend broke up with me), I told her my friend would be calling and I really really needed to talk to her. Well, her mom called (at 11:10, and my friend was calling at 11:15) and I reminded her that my friend would be calling and that it was extremely important I talk to her. She said fine. (And do I need to mention that 10 minutes earlier she was being the extremely caring roommate [about the breakup thing] and giving me a hug and talking to me about it?) So I’m sitting up in my room, a total basket-case, waiting for my friend to beep in. And when she did, what did I hear? “Angi, I’m talking to my mom, can you call back in about 10 minutes?” EXCUSE ME? So I brought that up in our fight over the phone—that that was rude and inconsiderate of her and—get this—she tells me I’m lucky she LET me talk to my friend—she didn’t HAVE to. (Isn’t that a nice roommate to have? She didn’t “have to” let me talk on our phone.) I said she wasn’t even talking about anything important and here I was devastated about my boyfriend breaking up with me—and she tells me not to change the f***ing subject, that has nothing to do with [the current fight] and I said something like “It sure as hell does—I’m supposed to bend to your every whim and demand about the phone, but when I really need to use it and call you on something rude YOU did, you pitch a fit?” Well, of course she didn’t want to hear that, so she bitches again that it has nothing to do with anything. Right, whatever. So this went on for like a good 15 minutes—totally screaming and bitching at each other. Towards the end, she tells me that she “can’t wait until I need to use the phone and she gets to repay me for this bullshit because what goes around comes around” blah blah blah. So I go upstairs and I hear her call Wayne and tell him all about our fight—all calm like it’s really no big deal and it’s all my fault, of course.
FIGHT #2
It was my weekend to clean. I took out the garbage/recyclables, shook the rugs, vacuumed, swept the floor, and cleaned the bathroom (tub, toilet, sink, and mirror)—like always. When I got home around 10 there’s a NOTE for me saying the tub is still dirty, the mirror hasn’t been cleaned, the floors haven’t been swept, and the toilet is still gross. I marched right upstairs and told her I did everything and she proceeds to tell me “No, you didn’t—and everything is still filthy.” Well, this starts another fight. She bitches that I shouldn’t try to “buffalo her” and I should just be mature about it—and I’m going to have to reclean everything. I tell her I am NOT doing that and she tells me I am. I tell her again that I’m not and that’s the end of it. She tells me if I can’t clean it right, I can’t use it (pretty logical for a bathroom, eh?). She tells me that when I moved in I agreed to clean and I said “Yes, I agreed to clean, but not to your standards.” She says “No, you agreed to clean every other week” and I told her yes I did, although I didn’t have much of a choice and she tells me I didn’t have to move in. So then she’s telling me that I have to clean the bathroom her way and if I don’t, I have to move out. Please. She threatened that she was going to raise my rent (something she obviously can’t do), kick me out (another thing she obviously can’t do), or make my life a living hell. I said “Why should you stop now, you’ve only been doing it for the last year” and she says “Oh, and I suppose you’ve made my life a joy?” and I said no, not at all. She kept referring to it as HER place because she moved in first—so I’d have to move out. (She’s so delusional it’s not funny.)
THEN she brings up the (friend/her mom) phone call again—saying again how she didn’t have to let me talk (and she almost didn’t) because she was talking first and I said “Even though I had an urgent/important call?” and she basically told me she didn’t care what she was talking about with her mother and that she didn’t care about my problems and I was just damn lucky I got to talk to my friend at all.
FIGHT #3
I moved some things around on my shelf (the one thing she LET me have in the kitchen) and when I got back Sunday, I see she has moved the stuff! Well, the one thing I didn’t care about, but the others I did, so I moved it back (some Tupperware containers). So I get home from work Monday and they’re moved again!!—so I move them back. I get home from my parents’ Monday night and she’s moved them again!!—so I move them back. I got up the following morning and SHE HAD MOVED THEM AGAIN! And this time, they’re nowhere to be found. Of course, she’s been staying in the bathroom in the morning past her allotted time, trying, I assume, to piss me off (considering the whole cleaning fight the night before), so when she gets out, I ask where she put my Tupperware because I wanted it out because I was going to try to find the missing tops and organize it and find a good place to put the set (which I had been wanting to do, that’s why it was setting out to remind me!). She tells me she put it away. I tell her it’s MY stuff and I had it on MY shelf (“that you ALLOWED me to have”)—she didn’t get the sarcasm of that statement—and that’s where it should stay and she should keep her hands off it. She tells me it looks like total crap there and she’s not about to let the rest of the house look like my room. CAN YOU BELIEVE HER? Like my room has anything to do with anything?? Besides that it’s my damn room and I should be able to keep it however I want it. So, I didn’t even have a response for her pointless and irritating comment so I just told her I wanted the Tupperware back, which it was when I got out of the shower. I believe I gave notice to my landlords that day.
AND THE ARGUING AFTER I MOVED OUT!!
The landlord and I arranged to meet Monday morning to go through the place—just so she could “make sure” everything of mine was taken care of and so Terrie couldn’t hold anything over my head, you know. So I called Terrie about 10 minutes before I was coming over—just to make sure the chain wasn’t latched. I waited for the landlord in the parking lot so we could walk in together. So I let us in and was talking to the landlord at the same time and Terrie got all defensive right away: “IS SOMEONE WITH YOU? WHO’S WITH YOU?” So I told her the landlord was here to “check me out of the apartment” and make sure everything I needed to have done was done. Fine. So right away Terrie starts bitching and “tattles” that I didn’t clean the carpet in my room and the landlord says “Terrie, we’ve already worked that out with the security deposit and you know about it.” Terrie claimed ignorance and asks how much and the landlord says “IT’S BEEN TAKEN CARE OF, Terrie.” Then Terrie turns all sweet for a moment like “Oh, okay, I was just making sure.”
So then I ask Terrie for my Tupperware and—JUST GET THIS—she says I can’t have it because I haven’t done what I was supposed to—I didn’t clean [this, that, and whatever]. “EXCUSE ME?” I say, “But what the hell does that have to do with you keeping my Tupperware? And besides that, I most certainly DID clean [this, that, and whatever].” So then she totally goes off on me about how I’m so lazy and I didn’t clean anything I agreed to clean and I’m so irresponsible and the refrigerator is still a mess and there’s no way in hell she’s going to be charged to clean it because I didn’t do my part blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. As she said to the landlord about me, “She hasn’t done anything the entire year she’s been here. I’ve cleaned the oven and she agreed to do the frig…” I said I never agreed to do any such thing upon moving out and Terrie just rolls her eyes at me and says “Oh Jennifer, you know you’re lying” or some such idiocy.
The landlord and I were just looking at her like she’s psycho so the landlord opens the frig and says “This is fine, the $15 cleaning fee in the lease is like if there’s dried syrup or crusty eggs or something major we have to clean out” so then Terrie calmed down a bit but you could tell she was still pissed because the landlord took my side (who WOULDN’T take my side?). Then the landlord noticed that part of the frig was broken (that they had tried to fix once already) and she asked Terrie about it and Terrie gets all snotty and says “ASK JENNIFER ABOUT IT—IT’S HER FAULT” and then stands there like TAKE THAT and I said “Yes, Claire, nothing is EVER Terrie’s fault—of course it’s my fault because it happened to break when the heavy stuff was on my side and not hers.” The landlord said it wasn’t a problem.
So then I tell Terrie I want my Tupperware and she says “We’ll wait to see what the landlord says” meaning if my room is “acceptable” to move out. Give me a break—she was holding my Tupperware RANSOM! Is that not one of the most childish things you’ve heard? Fine, I say, knowing full well there won’t be any problems. So I go upstairs with the landlord and by this time, Terrie had moved/condensed most of her boxes and they aren’t covering up NEARLY as much space so I show the landlord where the boxes were beforehand and tell her that’s why I didn’t vacuum the whole thing. (Bit of background: I went over the night before to clean my area and vacuum my room. But when I got to my bedroom, the ENTIRE floor was covered in HER boxes. There was about a one-foot space around the edge of the room where I could actually vacuum. So I did and that was that.) She deemed everything okay so back downstairs we go. The landlord said my room is fine, so I tell Terrie to go get my Tupperware, and off she goes in a huff. So she comes back and practically throws it at me, I give my keys to the landlord, I tell Terrie I hadn’t vacuumed the whole room because her stuff was in my way and she bitches again how god**** lazy I am and tells me I should have moved it—“it’s just empty boxes”—and I tell her I was not about to move HER god**** stuff out of my way to clean—especially when she knew I was going to be there to clean—and that she shouldn’t have had anything in there anyway since I was still paying rent and it was still my room. She says “You move, you lose” and I said, “Well, you have your stuff in there, it doesn’t get cleaned.” (The landlord is witnessing all this, mind you.) Then I told Terrie I didn’t wipe out certain cupboards, either, because her crap was now in there and she just keeps giving me the OH PLEASE, GIVE ME A BREAK look. So we are screaming and swearing at one another and I finally said “You know what Terrie? I don’t need your shit anymore. Goodbye.” And I just walked right out the door. She didn’t like that at all.
So I waited for the landlord to come out and we talked for another half hour, bitching about Terrie. Apparently the landlord had asked her about the missing rent again and all of a sudden Terrie “doesn’t have time to deal with this”—claiming she had to shower and get ready for an appointment at 11. Yeah, right, she’s wrapping Christmas presents in her robe and PJs at 10:45 but she still has to shower and get to this appointment in 15 minutes? Right. So that was the end of Terrie—THANK GOD.
COMMENTS FROM 2 COOL READERS
Jane says: I was waiting and hoping for the part where you “kicked butt.” What about the Jerry Springer show? (Subject: Roommates from Hell.) You could invite her then stuff the Tupperware up her jumper??
Terry says: OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Why aren’t you in jail? I sure as heck would have been, they would have found her hanging in that dirty shower with tupperware crammed in her nose if she were my roommate!! I can’t believe you took that for a whole year (or more). You must be easy going or something…Anyway, that was a hell of a story. I haven’t been glued to a web page like that in I dont know how long. You need to write a book on roommate etiquette or something. Jolly good story!!!!
