October 16, 2003

Let me tell you a little story about my roommate...

I previously lived with Dunc who left me for a job back home in Rojo Bambi sometime around April. I adapted to living alone (con mi gato) and grew to love it. Probably the only con was the fact that I was dirt poor from paying for two bedrooms, two bathrooms, Epcor's stranglehold, Lola, her gas habit, her insurance, and also la comida del gato all by me onesy. One con wasn't bad, as cons go. (Not the conVICT sort - let's be clear. The kind that go opposite pros.) So I expanded and filled out the whole of the apartment. We're not talking fleshly expansion but my clothes definitely migrated out of my closet and made encampments in the hall closet and what was then the spare room closet. Clothes are like rabbits - they multiply. Frenetically.

After five months of doing whatever I wanted at any given time of day or night - six hour Gina movie marathons, jazz at seven a.m., topless poetry writing, etc. - it dawned on me that life was never going to push past the hand-to-mouth phase unless I did one of two things. 1) Moved to a cheaper, smaller place. 2) Took in another roommate. I was torn. I agonized over the decision. I hummed and hawed. Then, after, like, twelve whole minutes of intense introspection and weighing of available options, I turned to my friend. We'll call him The Roommate. As an homage to The Bride in 'Kill Bill'. It's either that or I beep his name out every time I speak it. Which could get tiresome.

Yes, my roommate is male. I dislike living with my own kind. Why? Girls are nitpicky... moody... aesthetically opinionated... sensitive... why would I say this unless it were true? I am a girl. I say this because if I yank myself out of my own body that's what it's like to live with me. So. I prefer living with guys. They're... less complicated. They're... more... you know... adaptive. They don't bitch, okay? Moving on.

The Roommate moved in and for four days I went crazy. Inwardly. I didn't run around frothing at the mouth tossing things off the balcony or anything. I just had this inner angst over learning to share again. Oddly the thing that bothered me most was the fact that my cat spent all her waking moments with The Roommate. I'm not sure if you're all aware of how much I love my cat. I love my cat. She's my own little wildlife preserve. As close to a tiger as I'll ever have in my own living room. (A lesson I bet Roy Horn wishes he'd learned a little earlier in life... but I digress...) That irked me. The sharing irked me. I've never been a stellar share-er. (I write, therefore I make up words. Cope.) The morning greeting. I've never been much of a morning person. Or really a greeting person, to be honest.

"But Gabrielle, what happened after those four days? Did you go nuts? Did he? What happened?"

I discovered... that I loved having a roommate! I'd missed it. I'd missed not being utterly selfish. I'd missed having someone to watch 'The A-Team' with. I'd missed having a reason to make actual dinners. I'd missed it all. And now, after that lengthy and ultimately pointless preamble, I'm back at my original point.

Let me tell you a little story about my roommate...

Yesterday I came home to discover that not only had The Roommate purchased a new bookshelf and lamp to match my existing ones, but he had also picked up my newly-framed art print from the shop as a surprise to me. And he hadn't even opened it to take a look. I got to do that. He then made dinner. Actually he's made dinner pretty much every night since he moved in a couple of weeks ago. Good dinners, too. Real meals. And this morning when I got up to get ready for the daily purgatory I call a job, I found my 'Kill Bill' soundtrack propped up by my car keys so I wouldn't forget it and curse the whole way to work for not having it to play over Lola's kickass stereo. That is just plain thoughtful. That's the thing about The Roommate. He's incredibly thoughtful. Effortlessly so. He just extends this generosity of spirit out from himself and envelops people in it. He embodies a lot of beautiful qualities but this random thoughtfulness is perhaps the one I appreciate on probably an hourly basis. I really should verbalize these things more. Except that these epiphanies generally occur while I'm writing and naturally he's not here at the moment. So I'll thank him now just in case I don't see him before I crawl into bed. Thank you, Roommate.

I have to go wash the dishes now. It would seem somehow callous to go and on about my roommate's thoughtfulness and then ignore the dishes I inexplicably left on the couch after dinner. Who said men are the slobs of a given household? In my natural state I can't find the phone when it rings for the sheer volume of stuff suffocating it.

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