Roommate Chronicles Part 2

When I first moved in with Paul about two and a half years ago, some ground rules were made. Little did I know that he would enforce a rule that applied only to me because he was “grandfathered in”. He was allowed to have women (keep in mind I use the term women loosely) overnight, but I, being the “little sister”, could not have a guy overnight. Now, I was 24 years old, living with my brother, in a house owned by my Memere who lives on the 1^st floor. Clearly, my love life was not in the best shape, so this rule of his seemed fine to me in the beginning, I did not foresee many men coming into my life anytime soon. However, I did not take into account the, *ahem*, women who were in his life.

As I have mentioned before, Paul is tall and good looking. He has a laid back personality and not much gets to him. He is also not emotionally invested in much of anything, especially when it comes to relationships. He has had a couple of serious relationships, but mostly when he was younger. Upon entering his thirties, serious relationships were no longer something he bothered himself with. Instead, as I found out, he rotated women. One Saturday night it would be Megan, then the next Saturday would be Ashley. So those are the players; Megan and Ashley. It was always interesting to wake up on Sunday morning and figure out who stayed over the night before based upon the pocketbook hanging on the chair and the state of the apartment.

The nice black leather bag with silver buttons, neatly placed meant it was Megan. Also, the blanket in the living room would be folded and any dishes she used would have been washed. Way to go Megan, she gets respect from me. She was tall with dark brown hair and beautiful brown eyes, kind eyes. A little bit on the heavier side, but very pretty. She always dressed nicely, and you could tell she put a lot of thought into how she looked, not in a narcissistic way, but in a classy way. Usually wearing dark jeans with black high heeled boots, a nice emerald green shirt, and a tasteful, blingy necklace or earrings to accentuate the outfit and bring it all together. I liked Megan. She would always say “Good morning” and “how are you?” before leaving. She would also stop in downstairs to say “Hi” to my Memere. She even stayed a whole morning to help her figure out something on a new cell phone she had. Megan was a good person. Megan was in love with Paul. Paul was not in love with Megan. Paul told Megan all the time he didn’t love her and that they were not in a relationship. I know this sounds harsh, but when you think about it, he was just being honest. He was not leading her on like some guys would do to get some booty. He let her know exactly how it is. He calls it “The Contract”. It’s about going out, drinking, coming back to his place, getting some and that’s it. There is no dating or romantic evenings. If she wanted to think it is more that is her own problem. Poor Megan. Apparently, she felt that by going out with another guy (a Schizophrenic firefighter), Paul would somehow get jealous. Not so. Megan got pregnant (not Paul’s!) and fell out of the rotation. Oh well, on to the next.

Soft brown leather bag, messy with crap hanging out of it: Ashley. Oh, Ashley, Ashley, Ashley. My goodness. Many years ago, Ashley was a cute blonde with short curly hair and freckles just around her eyes. She was in hairdressing school and actually dating and living with Paul. Like I said, many years ago. I was still in high school at the time, and remember she loved to practice her hair styling assignments on me. Hey, free hair styling, can’t pass that up. She was short and tiny all over, just a naturally tiny body type I suppose. But, needless to say, it did not work out between Paul and Ashley. Let us fast forward to the past two years. Ashely came back, or more like the creature who ate Ashley. I am not clear on exactly what happened, but somewhere along the years, she really went downhill. I didn’t even recognize her the first time I saw her again! She had crazy strawberry blonde hair that had no direction, it was just…everywhere, about 100lbs heavier and sloppy. Whenever I saw her, she was wearing an over-sized t-shirt with some random logo on it, with giant pajama pants. I guess it’s better than dressing too small for your sized, but still, have some respect for yourself. Anyway, waking up on Sunday morning, I would come out of my bedroom and see that sickeningly brown explosion of a bag, sprawled on the kitchen table. Here we go…do I dare walk into the living room? I take the 4 or 5 steps to the right and stand in the doorway. Food, paper plates, glasses (with melted ice, ON my laptop!!). Ok, Steph, just clear it out and make yourself some coffee. Once I cleaned up a bit and started the coffee, I would walk into the bathroom. Oh dear lord! What happened?! This was MY bathroom! But not if Ashley spent the night. Her make-up bag would be emptied on the sink counter, my saline solution for my contacts would be open and somehow would have developed a crust around the opening. It is saline solution, how does that even happen?! Then there was the underwear. Gross, filthy, faded pink underwear touching the bathroom floor which was most likely better sanitized than her garments. I couldn’t take it. Once she woke up, Paul had to drive her home because she didn’t have a car. She never said “Hi” or conversed in anyway. She was perfectly ok with Paul’s “Contract”. As he said, “She bangs other dudes too, so she knows how it is”. So sentimental. One of these other dudes, her boyfriend actually, shot and killed a guy. Awesome. I guess while he was doing time, Paul was her go-to screw. I was worried her boyfriend would find out and get word out to his homies and they’d come to pop caps in our asses while we slept. That along with the underwear and the mess was enough for me to ask him to not have her over anymore, but that wasn’t enough. Nope, something even worse had to happen.

Sound asleep in bed one night, I hear the apartment door open and Paul and Ashley come falling in drunk. I can hear fumbling, tumbling and laughter of two inebriates being their foolish selves. They stay up for a while, but I eventually slip back into a light sleep. Oh how I wish it was a deep sleep! I was awakened by sounds one should never hear, especially not a sister. Can you guess? Oh yes, you guessed it. Paul and Ashley going at it in his room, which is adjacent to mine. At first it is just the moaning, ugh, but then it escalated. It escalated so quickly, I didn’t know what to do, I didn’t even have time to react, protect myself before I heard it. I heard her yelling more than moaning, saying “harder” over and over and then the smacking. Oh my God, even the pillow and headphones wouldn’t have stopped it. I don’t mean like hand to skin smacking I mean the two bodies pounding together type smacking. How do you ever come back from that? You can’t really. Sex becomes tainted for you. When it was over, I was just in shock. The next morning after Paul took the slovenly chunk of slut home, I put my foot down. Words were said, and that was the end of Ashley and any girl ever staying the night again. It is a good thing Ashley was taken out of the rotation, because she also got pregnant, with the convict’s child. I feel bad for the kid, I really do.

Now what is Paul to do? Both of his sure things have babies. I’m sure he still goes out looking for a new rotation, but as long as they don’t come here, I don’t care. He has his real Babies here at home anyway. Yes, I am referring to his favorite cat. When sluts, sad girls in love and any other chick are no longer around, Paul still has Babies, his one true love. At least this love knows how to clean herself.

Roommate Chronicles (Part 1)

I live and grew up in Woonsocket, Rhode Island. It’s an old mill city in northern Rhode Island along the Blackstone River. The mills are now either closed down and boarded up, have burned to the ground or have been converted into condos. Since Woonsocket is a mill city, it is designed that way. Think of a ripple in the water from a drop of rain. In the center, along the river, are the mills. Along the next ripple are the tenement houses. These are mostly three-decker homes that were inhabited by the mill workers and their families. They are located closest to the mills so the workers could walk to and from work every day. The further away you get from the mills and the river, the more affluent the communities and homes become. My Pepere’s father built a three-decker home at the turn of the century, and it still stands today. My Memere lives on the first floor, Paul, my roommate on the second, and Reggie on the third. When my parents decided to sell my childhood home two and a half years ago, I moved into my Memere’s second floor tenant’s spare room. It has definitely been an interesting couple of years.

Paul is tall, dark, and handsome with his deep brown eyes and slightly unkempt brush cut hair. He is not bad to look at, or so most of my girlfriends have told me. He is a 36 year old car salesman with two cats, Babies and Moose (more about them later). Paul is very routine oriented and lives one of the most unhealthy lifestyles I have ever encountered. He works 12 hours a day, 6 days a week and usually gets home around 8:30pm. The first thing he does when he walks in the door is remove his tie and greet The Girls. Please keep in mind I am not considered one of The Girls; Moose and Babies are his girls. Once he has gotten some lovin’ from them, he pours himself a drink, Vodka with tap water. Classy, right? He then grabs a bag of pretzels and some guacamole or hummus before he sits down to watch the Nightly News with Brian Williams. I love the news, but it is always so depressing, the only reason I put up with it, is because I wait for the Making a Difference segment at the very end. Within the half-hour of the show, he will have poured himself two more drinks and changed out of his khakis into jeans.

You see, Paul can’t just come home, eat, and just relax. Nope, he must then go out to the local bar a couple streets down, same one every night and drink some more. Do you notice a pattern here? Okay, just checking. He talks with the bartenders and other bar flies with whom he is friendly. A lot of them are stuck in the 1980’s with the big blonde hair, acid-washed jeans above the belly-button and yes, mullets. I’ve seen more than enough regulars there who are missing a tooth or three as well. I guess you can say it is the type of place where “everybody knows your name”, but I don’t know if I would want those people to know my name. It is a sad place where people can get stuck. Paul is not much of a socializer, so he sticks to speaking with the same people every time. Eventually, he will order a prime rib to go and come back to the apartment.

I am usually in my room reading by the time he gets home around midnight. I can hear him heating up his food in the microwave. He never pays attention to it, because he goes outside for a cigarette and lets the timer on the microwave go off for 2 minutes before he gets back in. Then the food isn’t as hot as he likes it, so he puts it in again, leaves it to go get changed into his pajama pants and “eating shirt” (oh yes, he has an eating shirt), and the cycle continues. I hate that damn microwave timer, it haunts me in my dreams. Although, that could just be Paul heating up more food at 3 in the morning. He tends to fall asleep in his chair while eating, so there is a good chance he wakes up to re-heat whatever is left. Remnants of the meal from the night before are piled up in the sink, which I will then have to clean. Paul doesn’t understand the concept of rinsing and/or soaking, so dishes are always a fun task.

Please keep in mind he still remains good looking. With all the junk he eats and the times of day or night he eats it, you would think he is 300 pounds and sloppy. But no, he is still tall, slender and actually looks fit! How is that possible? He smokes, drinks, and eats like a caveman. I eat salad and grilled chicken for a week and do kickboxing and somehow put on 5 pounds. How is that fair? There are definitely more stories about living with Paul. It has been two and half years and there are more than enough things to be said for what it is like to live in this house with these three people. Oh, and there is one more aspect of Paul I should mention that adds to the insanity of it all…..he happens to be one of my older brothers.