April Blogging Challenge: Z is for Zoology

I DID IT! I managed to write a post for each letter on the day it was supposed to. And thank God I'm done, because writing six days a week was killing me. Seriously. That's a lot of blogging people. But I made it, I did it, and I managed to snag a few new followers. Although it appears I lost one in the last couple days, but oh well. So, to the new followers that I haven't welcomed, Welcome! Thanks a ton for stopping by and commenting. I hope you continue to stick around. *hint hint*

Onto today's post: Zoology. This was one of my favorite classes at Chico State. It was hard, but I enjoyed it. Well, most of it. I didn't really enjoy the spiders we had to look at; I didn't give a snit if they were dead - they were still spiders. Seriously, someone near me dropped a spider out of the little dish they were in, and I jumped and screamed like it was alive and going to kill me or something. (Sad, I know).

Sharks are also quite disgusting. Did you know they still excrete their slimy coating even after they're dead? I didn't either until I had to dissect one. No, it's wasn't a big one. It was one of those small shark species. But let me tell you, a week left in a drawer made that lab room quite rank. Seriously. None of our dead things were kept in coolers (which might have been slightly more logical); they were kept in drawers. Each lab section had their own set of drawers, and then we had to put our names on our own drawers so we knew were our lovely leftovers were. We would hate to unknowingly grab someone else's screw up. But, yes, the sharks got quite rank. And even wearing double or even triple layer gloves on did not prevent said shark stink from permeating those gloves. You'd leave the room smelling a bit like dead shark stink. Yeah. Not something I'd go marketing to the masses, that's for sure.

We had to learn dog and cat skeletons. We had to do the frog. Seriously? I started dissecting frogs in like 3rd or 4th grade. Why must kids dissect one every year of their scholastic lives? It's not like the frogs change or anything. (Oddly enough, every time I type the word frog, for some really strange reason I want to type like this: frong. Don't ask.) Same with squid - they are all the same. Not to mention we had to do other species of fish, other than the sharks. Luckily, the other fish didn't smell nearly as bad as those sharks.

One of the hardest things to study for was the fetal pig towards the end of the semester. We had to know the respiratory and the circulatory systems. Luckily educators are smart. These pigs had these systems dyed blue and red so us confused students could keep them separated in order to learn them. So, we had colorful piglets.

I know some people have a hard time with people (scientists or educators) raising animals for science like that, just so evil people like us science students can cut them up. I can understand their side, but how else are we to learn? Growing up, I knew kids who couldn't handle dissecting animals in biology. I knew kids whose parents refused to let them do so. I was usually the kid who thought it was gross but did it anyway. I was also usually the kid who was the least grossed out by all of it and being that my other lab partners were far too grossed out, I had to touch it or do it by myself because the others were bigger pansies than myself. By the time I was in college, I was among pre-vet students, so I was among "friends". Some of you would be shocked by some of the things I did in class - and not Zoology.

Maybe another day I'll gross you out with those stories.

And that my friends, concludes this year's April A-Z Blogging Challenge!

A Weekend of Good-byes

My weekend of good-byes is now over. Thank God, because I'm not sure I could really take more good-byes. I had a hard enough time keeping control my tear ducts as it was.

Friday was my last day with Homeward Bound and work. I got off work on Friday morning and went to Homeward Bound for my last morning of cleaning dog kennels and feeding said dogs. One of the volunteers had brought a carrot cake, some muffins, and donuts for us all to eat after our hard work. I am sorry to say good-bye to the organization, and Jody (who runs it). Not to mention some of the dogs that are lifers, and saw every week for years.  I managed to not cry, although while driving away for the last time it was very hard.

My last night at work was just like any other night at work. We had a potluck for me. A new hire started that night, as well. And my boss decided not to show up until 1:30am, and the new girl showed up at midnight. Since no management was there (I mean, none at all), it fell on me being the senior tech to sit her down and start her reading SOP's (standard operating procedures) for the bench she would start training on. I clocked out at 7am, for the last time, and took my badge to my boss. She took it, and said, "This makes it real. You do know that you will be missed, right?" Of course I knew that. She stood up to give me a hug, and then I went back through the lab for another 30 minutes or so of good-byes.

So many people that I will no longer see every day. Or night, rather. I left the building at 7:45, for the last time. I got in my car, and it hit me. All those people that I have seen for 40 hours every week (sometimes more), and I won't see them again. And if I do, it won't be for a long time. I will miss them all. Okay, most of them. I won't have to hear people hollering my name to come fix a machine. I won't have any more shouting matches with my boss. I won't get to obsess about Pride & Prejudice stuff with my equally obsessed co-worker. I won't be eating my lunch at 2:30am anymore.

I drove out to Saddle Pals a couple hours later that same morning. It was to be my last Saturday with them. The instructor had brought a small cake and some cupcakes for my good-bye. After my first lesson, I put Tex (favorite horse there) out to pasture for the day. I nearly lost it, saying good-bye to a horse. Slightly pathetic, yes. But if you knew this horse, you'd be sad to leave him, too. I managed to sneak a picture of us, before I left his pasture. After lessons, I took a picture with the two gals I see every week there. After saying all kinds of good-byes, I climbed in my car, and immediately had to pull out the tissues. I cried most of the way home.

With Dudley before a lesson.

Later I was texting my mom and I said that I hadn't really realized how many people I would be saying good-bye to. She replied with, "I knew!" You think she could have told me, right?

My BFF showed up a little after 3pm that day. We chit-chatted until it was time to go to my belated birthday/send off dinner. I was expecting about 8 people at least. And like every other time I have a birthday get together, most don't show. My BFF was there, as were my friends ST and HS and her boyfriend. We still had a wonderful time. After dinner, my BFF and I went to Rick's Dessert Diner in downtown Sac. I abhor downtown Sac and avoid it whenever possible. However, my BFF loved this place and wanted me to experience it before I left Sacramento. It was definitely worth the wait in line. I bought a piece of cheesecake and I think it's the best I've ever eaten. It was delicious.

We eventually hit the hay sometime around midnight, and I was exhausted, having been up for about 30 hours. We both slept in late on Sunday morning, and felt like slugs, so we stayed on the couch just talking. She finally left in the late afternoon.

When I said earlier that I didn't realize that I had so many people to say good-bye to, I was serious. I am kind of a homebody, although I do like to get out once in awhile. For lots of reasons, I don't have much a life in Sacramento. Partly because of my hours, partly because I'm a homebody, and partly because I'm shy. But once I had to start saying good-bye to people, I realized that I do know lots of people down here. Many I consider friends. And many I am sad to leave, not knowing when I may see them again.

And while I am sad to leave the people, I will not be sad to leave Sacramento. Or my job. While it was a good job, it was never what I really wanted to do. I never wanted to be a lab rat. And that's exactly what I became. I learned a lot by working there, things I never would have thought I would know. But I am glad to say that I am no longer an employee. In regards to to the city - I am not a city girl. While I like some things a city can offer, and I enjoy visiting sometimes, I do not enjoy living in it.

My BFF and I had this very conversation. I asked her yesterday, "Does it ever amaze you sometimes how we are best friends? We are polar opposites in so many ways!" She laughed and agreed. She is a city girl through and through, while I am a country girl, amongst other things.

On Saturday, I will be moving into my new place in Sticksville, USA. I am excited to begin my new life there. I am still nervous and scared. But everyone I know, in real life and in the blogoshpere, has been so supportive and wonderful, that I know I have made the right choice. 

And the best part about this last weekend? I actually slept laying down for the first time in two weeks. That means my horrendous cough is improving! I awoke on my side, all curled up, which I haven't been able to do since this cough started. Oh thank God for the little things.

With Tex, my main man.

Memory Lane Wednesday: Pen Pals

Not long ago, I had an old pen pal find me on Facebook. I was so excited to hear from her, as it has been a couple years or more since we'd written letters. I mean, real letters. None of that e-mail crap.

I started writing to pen pals in 6th grade. My history teacher told us about a program that matched kids based on similar interests after filling out a form. My first pen pal was from Canada, and we wrote back and forth for several years. After that, I had pen pals from several countries, including Greece, Italy, England, and Ghana. 

For a long time, those letters were my only real mail that I received. I'm not counting cards that family sent me for Christmas or my birthday. I mean, until you live on your own, you really don't get mail. And even then, it's bills. Sick joke that is. I looked forward to getting those letters. It was so nice to get a letter. A real letter.

AF in England is the one who found me on Facebook. I don't know how long it took her to find me as I know there are hundreds of people with my name. I'm glad she did, though. I squealed with delight when I saw the friend request from her. She and I wrote for probably close to 10 years, and our biggest shared love was horses. She and I could easily write letters that were 2-4 pages long, sharing what went on in our lives.

Nowadays I forget what it's like to receive a real life letter. I get some Christmas cards in the mail every year, and a few birthday cards. But no letters. It's kind of sad, really. It seems to be a lost art form. We went from handwritten letters to e-mails to Facebook and MySpace. I've even gotten bad at just e-mailing.

My pen pal letters used to bring big smiles to my face and I couldn't wait to open them up to see what was new their part of the world. I miss that. Not that I'm not happy to be able to keep up with AF on Facebook or anything, because I am. And communication is a lot faster that way. And I don't miss having to run to the Post Office to make sure I got enough postage for an overseas letter. Because trust me, it takes forever for the mail to get it back to you if you don't have enough postage on it.

Even though technology makes it easier and faster for all of us to communicate, I miss sitting down and writing a letter to my pen pals. And I miss getting their handwritten ones. I'm sure there will come a generation when they won't even learn to write, they'll just type. And then it will all be lost. Sending and receiving letters will probably be a long lost art form for years to come. But I had fun while it lasted. And that's what matters most.

For the Love of Books

Now that the spreading of the Blog Love to all my wonderful followers is done, I shall attempt a real post. If you don't know what I'm talking about, go here to find out!

Yesterday I finished a book. Not that this is like a news flash or anything, as I love to read. I used to always carry a book around with me as a kid - drove my parents nuts. However, after I finished the book, I realized even just a few years ago I might never have tried it. Why? It wasn't by Dean Koontz.

I admit, I am a huge Dean Koontz fan. It's extremely rare for me to not enjoy every word written in each of his novels. I am constantly lying in wait for his next book to come out in paperback (I'm not a fan of hard cover).

But it got me thinking. Or rather, remembering. I have always seemed to be quite selective when it came to my books. As a kid, I only read horse books. This of course limited my reading material. I had few exceptions, but if I found a book that had anything to do with horses, I was reading it. I guess you could say I was slightly obsessed? I mostly remember reading The Black Stallion series by Walter Farley as a kid. I read those so many times I can still tell you about every book. I actually wrote to Walter Farley for school once. We all had to write a letter to our favorite authors. I was singled out as mine was the only one who happened to be dead. I wrote to him in 1989 I believe, and he had passed away only in the last year. I was so disheartened to hear that my favorite author had passed on.

My great-grandma gave me my first non-horse book that I remember enjoying. I believe it was Sweet Valley Twins. I was around 11, I think. After that, I slowly branched out. Very slowly. I was still obsessed with horses, so I was still after those books. I used to spend a day of the week in summer with my Nana, who would take me to the library. I usually always got the same books, just re-reading the same material. One summer, I decided I wouldn't check out a single book I had already read. It  was a huge challenge for me. But I made it. I read new books for the whole summer. And you know what? I enjoyed them. I used to live going to the library with Nana. Then libraries became my study hall and the bane of my existence in college.

I eventually branched out into the books written by R.L. Stine. These lead me to my first Dean Koontz book, Strangers. I've been hooked ever since. I've tried reading Stephen King, but his shit comes from so far out in left field I have no idea how that man sleeps at night. The few books of his that I've read, I did enjoy but they were so freaking weird they actually gave me weird dreams. Something Dean Koontz's books never did. One book that I read that I wound up loving was The Diary of Anne Frank. I later bought myself a copy at the Holocaust Museum in Washington, D.C.

A few years ago, though, I ran into a snag. I had read all of Dean Koontz's work to date, and Stephen King did little to help me sleep at night. I had nothing to read and I was anxious for a book. Enter Harry Potter. I had happened across the movies and found that I enjoyed them. After the 4th film (Goblet of Fire), I decided I would try to the books. I had heard nothing but good things about them. I loved them. I devoured them. And when the 7th book (Deathly Hallows) came out, I realized there was no way I would be able to wait a year for it to come out in paperback. It's one of the rare books I own in hard cover.

After enjoying Harry Potter, I thought, maybe I should just try random books. So I did. Soon I had a stack of books on my dining table just waiting for me to read them. I'm not a speed-reader, I enjoy just lounging with a book. I would browse the book section in Target for something that caught my eye. I'd spend ages in Barnes & Noble's trying to choose. I enjoyed every book I bought and tried.

I read two of Alice Sebold's books, Lovely Bones and Almost Moon. I'm still on the fence about the latter. I enjoyed the former, however. I read Look Again by Lisa Scottoline. If you haven't read it, you should - my mom borrowed and won't give it back as she has a line of friends that want to read it, too! At least I'm getting my money's worth!

I also started to attempt the classics. I started with Jane Austen. And of course, I started with Pride & Prejudice. I admit it took me a bit to get into it. No one talks like that anymore, that old English and we no longer use a portion of the vocabulary they used back then. I had to break out the damned dictionary. And luckily for me, the Barnes & Noble Classics have notes by scholars in them, defining some words and describing other things so I didn't have to look shit up on Wikipedia or something. I mean, really, how many different types of carriages did there have to be??? Anyway, about half way through the book I couldn't put it down. I had to know. Then I moved on to her other novels and loved them almost as much as Pride & Prejudice. And my best friend introduced me to the hilarious Jen Lancaster - some of her stuff had me laughing in such fits I couldn't stop for 30 minutes.

The book I just finished was loaned to me by a co-worker, who shares my love of Pride  Prejudice. It was called The Pemberley Chronicles, and it continues the story of everyone in Pride & Prejudice. I did get a wee bit tired of hearing about all the happy marriages, but really enjoyed the book.

I recently purchased a book by Kathy Reich, whose books spawned the TV show "Bones", which I adore. Now that I'm done with my recent read, I will be trying out Kathy Reich. 

I also want to continue attempting the classics, although some of them seem to scare me. For lack of a better term. I tried Uncle Tom's Cabin, and got about 2 chapters in and realized I had absolutely no idea what was going on. I couldn't understand anything. I tried a couple more times, to no avail. Perhaps some books make me wonder, simply because of the classics I was forced to read in school. No offense to anyone, but Steinbeck bores me to tears. I pretty much failed every quiz relating to The Grapes of Wrath because I never made it past that damned turtle chapter. And I hated Lord of the Flies and Animal Farm. Because I didn't like the premise of the books I had to read, not to mention I was forced to read them, I think these are partly reasons why I can stand at the Classics section in Barns & Noble for an hour and walk out with nothing. However, one day, I will actually try another one.

I'm not saying I was right or wrong as a child to be so selective in my reading. I did learn a lot about horses that way. My love of Arabian horses comes from the Black Stallion books - in fact, my first horse was Arabian. But I see movies that are being made out of some of the classics like Narnia, where I enjoy the movies and I wonder if I would have enjoyed the books as a kid? We'll never know now if I would have.

For now, all I can do is keep moving slowly forward and dive into all sorts of new worlds.

Except for Twilight. I don't do vampires. Even sparkly ones.

 

Psycho Suzi, Part XVI: Reflection

This will be my final posting of Psycho Suzi, not counting future times that I may refer to her. For all of those who require a large bowl of popcorn to go with these posts, I apologize that it comes to an end. Many of you have said how much you've enjoyed reading my stories about (quite possibly) one of the dumbest people around. Also, among the bitchiest. I had no idea it would take 15 posts (or 16 including this one) to tell my story of living with that deranged woman for a year during college. Trust me when I say, it was never easy living with her. Not once. Not even for a millisecond. I saw the way she treated her "friends". I heard her stupid remarks. Her face is forever burned into memory, her voice like nails a chalk board.

Many of you have called me a saint or an angel for having put up with her. I agree that it was an act of God that I didn't kill her in her sleep. I know I could not have handled prison at all, and the thought of being someone's bitch gives me nightmares. Honestly, being a bitch doesn't bother me. Being someone's bitch is a whole different ball of wax.

It was a very long and hard year for me. My friends and family got me through it - letting me vent on a daily basis. I don't know how they withstood that for a whole academic year, but they did. They are the real heroes of the story. Without them I may have required thousands of dollars in therapy to make it out. Or the nice men in white coats may have been called. Or I would be writing this from prison.

I learned a lot by living with Suzi. It was definitely a "character building" year. I learned how to put up a front for when I deal with crazy people now. Like at work. I learned you can't win with crazy. You can't reason with them. You can't negotiate. Basically, just figure on losing and you're already ahead. But I also learned it can be fun to play with them and piss them off and watch them stew.

In my current job and in previous ones, I've had people ask me how I do it. How do I put up a "front" and appear civil to the crazy peoples' faces? How I do manage to look like they don't bother me? Unfortunately, it's not something I can easily explain or teach to someone. It seems like it's one of those things that comes to you after you've experienced something enough. Like living with it. Living with Suzi, many times I had to find a "happy place", a place where she couldn't get to me easily. I could appear happy to her yet be boiling under the surface. In addition, I didn't allow us to talk about a lot of anything. I really didn't ask for details about her and Joey. I didn't ask much at all, period. We barely talked about school, even though we were the same major.

Like I said earlier, my friends and family are the true heroes of it all. How my schoolmates and co-workers at Petco ever continued to study with me or invite to parties, I will never know. How my family didn't just disown me I'll never know. I know my parents felt guilty during that time, but financially it just wasn't feasible. And as much as I wanted out, I understood their dilemma. I never blamed them. In all honesty, how could I? I was the one who saw an opening at the time I needed one and I took it. I just didn't know how fucking crazy the bitch really was. The truth is, you really don't know someone until you've lived with them. You can only hide the flaws so long.

The next year, my last at college, I lived in a small studio apartment on the edge of town. I rarely saw Suzi, which was a relief to me. Sometimes she'd come into Petco. Most times I could see her through the store-front windows and I would mutter something about my psycho roomie and run to the back and hide in the bathroom. Or pretend I was doing stock. There were few times I couldn't get away. Once while I was working the register, and another time I was in the process of hiding and turned a corner and nearly ran her over. Once she even got on my case about not being on the e-mail list for the club she had been a part of - The Professional Animal Science Society. She had graduated, so I had taken her off the e-mailing list (my job as the secretary). However, she got all bent out of shape about it. I plainly told her that we still meet at the same week, same day, same time and if she was truly interested she knew where we hung the fliers in Plumas Hall. She never showed up. Shocker. By the way, she threw her "Nuh-uh!" argument in on that, and held up a line of customers to be all pissy with me. Classy gal.

Since I've moved to Sacramento, I've only heard stories from Betty every so often. Betty would still see her roaming around. Oddly enough, we found that Suzi holds grudges very well. She apparently started harassing Betty at her place of employment (a local sandwich shop) for a good month. Suzi had a new little friend, and every time they ordered, they filed a complaint about Betty - how she had horrible customer service, how she screwed up their orders, etc. It got to the point where Betty's boss finally had to take her aside and Betty had to rehash the roommate story to her boss. Luckily, nothing happened to Betty - Suzi lost that game, and eventually stopped showing her face at that particular sandwich shop.

It took a good couple years at least before these stories stopped making my blood boil and started becoming downright funny. These stories are ones where I typically like to tell them in person so I can see the reactions on people's faces. It's priceless.

I know there are so many others out there that had bad roommate experiences; each one is different. I know that mine was probably mild compared to some. At least she didn't try to suffocate me in my sleep or lace my cookies with arsenic or something. I tried to do everything to where she wouldn't have to come to me to have me "do it right". Like the time I apparently missed a teeny tiny spot of pasta sauce on a pot handle. It would have taken her 30 seconds to scrub it off. But instead, she came knocking on my door and hounded me for 10 minutes on how to properly wash dishes. Seriously, WTF? And I still had to clean it off so she'd shut her freaking trap.

So, while Suzi was a nightmare to live with, in the end, she gave me funny stories. She helped give me the ability to deal with stupid crazy assholes later in life. She helped to teach me how to grow a spine and stand up for myself. And that even though sticking her wet laundry on her pillow seems like an awesome idea, it's probably not. Because I'd have to deal with the aftermath that would have included the parental units from Hell. And that simply wasn't worth the hassle. Someone once mentioned they would have put a crayon in with her clothes . . . that might have worked - had I owned a crayon.

I hope you enjoyed my Psycho Suzi stories. For those that were always wondering what happened next . . . 

We survived.

And Karma is still a bitch.  

Psycho Roomie, Part XV: The Finale.

At some point during the year I lived with Suzi, I got this idea into my head that perhaps I should look for an internship. Something that would be interesting to me. And I really didn't give a hoot where it was, so long as it was in the US, since I didn't have a passport at the time. Actually, I have a passport now, however, I have no money with which to travel. However, in case I suddenly have to be on the run - like if Suzi ever found out about this blog - I have my passport to run off to Mexico or Canada.

Anyway, I wanted my internship to deal with horses. Now, maybe I was looking in all the wrong places, but those seemed fairly few and far between. I applied to odd fellowship/internship programs in Kentucky, horse capital of the world, and never got accepted. I finally did find my salvation in a little business called EquiGen in Florida. They are in the business of embryo transfer.

I was itching to put some distance between myself and Suzi and 3000 miles seemed good enough to me. I emailed the owner regarding internship possibilities and snagged it. I felt so lucky. I thought this place was a huge facility with tons of people. Turns out, it's on quite a bit of acreage, but with one building and basically two employees - the two owners. And their volunteer interns. But, that was still perfectly fine with me. I was going to be spending the summer in Florida with horses. It couldn't get much better than that.

It became official around March that I was really going to run off to Florida for the whole summer, and Suzi (of course) mentioned all of this to her parents. She was probably all freaked out that I wouldn't pay my share of the rent while I was gone for 9 weeks. She kept telling me that it seemed like a great opportunity for me. I knew there was something behind all of it.

At some point that spring, her parents came for one of their many visits. I was getting some stuff of mine from the hall closet which was between my bathroom and the front bedroom. Her parents were sitting on the couch and brought up that Suzi mentioned I had snagged an internship. They asked for some particulars, like what I would be doing, where it was, etc. I answered their questions, just knowing there was something else they weren't saying.

And then, her dad picked up the "snake in the grass" and whipped it out. He started lecturing me about how I was still under obligations here at home while I was off gallivanting around the country.

I will repeat that: He started lecturing me.

Did they really think I'd skip out on the rent? I don't want that much bad Karma floating around me. Seriously. When I told my parents about it, they were upset as well. They couldn't believe he had the balls to start lecturing me - me, who had really done nothing to do deserve being lectured.

This is when the shit hit the fan. This is when it started to get ugly. And this is when I stopped playing so nice with Suzi. The last month I lived there. The month of May.

After talking things over with my parents regarding money while I would be gone, we decided that I should not have to pay for PG&E or cable. I wasn't going to be there to use the air conditioner, the washer/dryer, or any other appliances. I wasn't going to be watching TV there, either. I must mention that my family helped me get to Florida, money-wise (for which I am eternally grateful) and what little I did have went to pay the gal that I lived with for rent and gas, and groceries. I didn't spend money on anything other than that, really. I came back as broke as when I left. But it was fun and totally worth it.

Now all we had to do was tell Suzi. Actually, I had to tell Suzi. When I did tell her, I thought her head might explode. She started using her grown-up argument of "Nuh-uh!" and going on about how I'm under obligation to pay my half of the bills. My argument that I wouldn't be there to use either the TV or the power fell on deaf ears. Shocker.

She, of course, involved her parents. Which meant I had to involve mine since 3 against 1 is unfair in any circumstance. My mom even talked to a lawyer, who agreed with us on principle, but said that it was really more trouble that it was worth, and to just pay something. So began the negotiations. We finally got them to agree that cable was not a necessity and that I wouldn't have to pay for it while I was gone. PG&E was a different story. In the end my dad did some math and said that we wouldn't pay any more than $50 for the time I was gone. And that if the bill came out that our share would be more than that, we wouldn't pay extra as I wasn't the one who was living there at the time. Meaning I obviously would have had nothing to do with bill increasing.

Here's where it got down and dirty. During these negotiations, I had told my parents about Joey staying over all the time and that money-wise, I had never heard of an offer from him to help out during his stays. My dad mentioned something to Suzi's dad about it, and he argued that Joey wasn't there very often. When my dad called back to tell me that side of the story, and that they argued that I had had over-night guests myself on several occasions. I actually laughed. I then told my dad this: "Dad, they ought to know just how often he's here. They pick him up at the San Jose airport and drive him up here. They also pick him up when it's time for him to leave and take him back to the San Jose airport. Would you like to know the exact times he was here?" When my dad said yes, I told him that Joey was there for a week in November for his first visit, a week in February for Valentine's Day, a week in March for our spring break, a week in April for Easter, and the entire of month of May to support Suzi for her graduation. Then I asked if he'd like to know how many over-night guests I've had. Of course he said yes. I told him that my cousin had visited my first couple nights, and my best friend had stayed two, maybe three nights. So, all in all, my over-night guests in total maybe spent 4 or 5 nights in the year I lived with Suzi. As opposed to Joey's estimated 7 to 8 weeks of time he had spent in our apartment.

Just so you know, that shut their asses up for good.

And of course, during May I was slowly packing everything I owned so that when I left for Florida I was ready to move when I got back. My mom had brought down a huge box filled with boxes for me from her office. It sat in the living room because it was huge and awkward. I started filling my bedroom with filled boxes. Now, this was no small feat as I had very little space for this in my room. I had to move other bits of furniture in different directions so I could make space. That huge box of boxes annoyed Suzi to no end. I freaking loved it. However, the closer it got to her graduation the worse she got. She wanted it in my room so it wouldn't be an eye-sore when her family came for graduation. My argument? Just tell your family your roommate is packing and there are some boxes around. People understand those things. Oddly enough, that wasn't a good enough argument.

One day, while I was in my room packing, she came to the door - she never set foot inside - and basically yelled at me to move the damn box into my room. I stood there, in my tiny room and yelled right back, "Tell me where in my fucking room I'm going to put it Suzi? On my bed? Please, tell me, where I have space for that box?" Naturally, her come back was something akin to "I don't know". Eventually I got Joey to help me move it into the third bedroom, although it barely fit in the doorway.

By the time the semester was over, everything I owned was packed away. If it wasn't packed away for moving, it was in a suitcase for Florida. The only food of mine left in the kitchen were things that had to be kept refrigerated. All of my electronics I took to my parents house because I didn't trust the bitch with my stuff. My bed was torn down and standing against the wall. As was my computer desk. I had changed my address on my bills to go to my parents house while I was gone. The only thing in the living room that was still mine, was my popazon chair and my TV stand which her TV was now on, and my coffee table. My dining table was still in the dinette nook. I had found a studio apartment across town, we already had a deposit on it. The day after I got back from Florida, we would clean the apartment and move my stuff and we'd be done with Suzi forever.

When, after I returned from Florida, I did come back to clean, Suzi and I barely said a word to each other. Her mother came to help us clean as well, and we left the apartment spotless. The manager was quite impressed. We pretty got much the full deposit back.

And just like that, my "dark year" of living with that psychotic, dumb, naive bitch was over.

Psycho Roomie, Part XIV: The Initials

Before we had even moved in together, Suzi had us sit down with her mother to go over house rules. And other random stupid stuff. I'm not kidding, her mother was there. Please read this if you haven't already. In that post, I mention our sit-down meeting regarding our living together and how we'd work things out. Things like, sharing condiments and such. The three of us agreed to share such things and whoever used the last of it would buy more. Sounded fair enough.

A few months later, I borrowed a couple packets of her hot chocolate as I was out, with every intention of buying her more. I got bitch slapped twice - once by opening up the cupboard the day I bought her more to find a box with her mother's handwriting that said "Suzi's Hot Chocolate!", and "Suzi Only!" all over the damn box; and the second time by Suzi giving me a box of her hot chocolate in my stocking for Christmas. If you don't believe me and have yet to read about this, please go here.

I bring this old posts up, because of the sheer bitchiness and stupidity of this girl. All the agreements that were made, out the window. I'm not sure why we bothered with the pre-move-in-meeting at all, actually. Possibly to just waste a few hours of mine and Betty's time. Because we had so much freaking spare time being full-time college kids with near full-time jobs.

Sometime in the spring, April or May, I noticed a change in the kitchen. It was subtle, but it still made me think, "This chic is fucking insane."

One day, I was in the kitchen (not sure why, but I'm sure I had a good solid reason), and I happened to see Suzi's bananas. She bought a bunch of bananas each time she was in the grocery store. She wouldn't just tear off one or two, she'd buy a big ol' bunch. It was a rare day that she actually ate a banana. Nine times out of ten, those pretty green/yellow bananas turned brown. Sometimes black before she threw them out. Complete. Waste. Of. Money. I had to stop what I was doing, and actually slide the banana basket towards me to inspect said bananas. I wasn't dreaming. She had actually written her initials on the damn bananas.



Now, let me say this: I never once ate one of her bananas. They are not my favorite fruit. I will eat them, but I don't really care for them. Never really have. I don't like banana flavored things, either. So, it was safe to say, that unless someone held a freaking gun to my head at that point I wasn't going to eat one of her bananas. And before you ask, this was months after the hot chocolate incident (that was before Christmas).

So why was she suddenly writing her initials on the fruit?

I haven't the foggiest idea. Hell could freeze over before I could even come up with something remotely credible. I mean, besides the obvious fact that she was fucking psychotic.

I went about my business. I never mentioned the banana thing to her. In the next week or two, I started noticing her initials on other things. Like her butter. Her mayonnaise. And other random shit. I was slightly dumbfounded and had no idea what prompted this. I mean, how could it be the whole hot chocolate thing considering that had been like 5 months prior to all this happening? Delayed reaction perhaps? Doubtful.

Also, I have to mention why she had her own butter and mayo. She used the squeezable jar of mayo - which isn't a big deal, but I equate that to like, camping or BBQ style mayo. It's easy and accessible when you have lots of people that need mayo. As for the butter, it was blue. I shit you not. You think that stuff is invented for kids? Hell no. It's invented for psychotic idiots who think blue butter is cool. Personally I find it disgusting and treated it like it was the plague. I like my butter normal and yellow please. Thank you. I mean, it looked disgusting in the bottle (oh yeah it was squeezable, too), but it looked wrong on toast. I shudder just thinking about it.

Anyway, so I start finding her initials on all sorts of things. Things in the fridge and things in the cupboards. So I play along. I start initialing my shit. My ketchup, mustard, mayo - you name it, I initialed it. Hey, she started it.

Finally, on a week when her boy-toy Joey was visiting she said something. I walked into the kitchen for something and they were sitting at the dining table, eating. She said something like, "So, are we not sharing stuff anymore?" Seriously?! I simply replied by saying that I had noticed her initials on a lot of items, so I took that as my cue that we suddenly weren't sharing anymore. Her argument? The ever so childish "Nuh-uh". I mentioned the bananas and several other items that still bore her initials - clear as day. Whatever she said was complete and utter bullshit, and I shrugged my shoulders and said, "Not my problem."

You know what happens to crazy people when you stop playing along with them? You piss them off. It's fucking fantastic. It was at this time that I stopped playing as nice as I had been. I didn't go out of my way to piss her off, it just happened. I got tired of saying, "Oh I'm sorry, I misunderstood." There were no more "misunderstandings". I called her on her shit and she didn't like it. I would tell her if she could think of another solution then fine, otherwise fuck off.

And you know what?

I don't know about her, but I had no trouble sleeping at night. ;o)

Psycho Roomie, Part XIII: Suzi and Vet School

I still shudder to think of the possibility of this girl being a veterinarian. Typically, that's a smart person thing. Like, not just book smart, but common sense smart. Of which Suzi is not. I think I may have already proved that with stories about the air conditioner or the cereal box. She was fairly book smart, but the common sense part needed some (a lot) of work.

Getting into vet school is really hard. For those that don't know, vet school is typically twice as difficult as medical school to get into. Just like medical school, you have tons of prerequisite courses you have to take, just to prove you can handle tough classes. Everyone who applies has taken the same classes and has pretty much the same GPA. The thing that sets you apart in vet school is how many hours you put into working with animals - like vet clinics, animal rescue groups, humane societies, etc. Plus any other extra curricular activities you can think of. Oh, and also, which part of veterinary medicine you'd like to practice.

At the time Suzi was applying, large animal vets were in demand. The trick was that even if you didn't want to deal with large animals, you could say that you wanted it to be your focus and you could change your focus later, once admitted. The large animal vets are probably still in demand. Suzi actually wanted to work with small animals and "pocket pets". Pocket Pets are the small furry critters, like hamsters and rats. Pocket Pet vets also tend to see a lot of exotic animals, as well.

Vet schools require an applicant to work so many hours under a veterinarian. Some students do it through volunteering, others work as kennel or reception. Most vets and technicians are happy to let potential vet students observe surgeries, or teach them restraint procedures, medicating pets, among several other things.

Suzi basically did the bare minimum required hours. And she bitched about the whole time. She worked as a kennel tech for a vet clinic in Chico. She constantly complained about how she was treated there, and how some other girl who started after her got promoted to reception before her. My first thought was the other girl had a brain.

I took what Suzi said with a grain of salt. I've done the kennel work, and yes, it can suck. Especially if you have a mean boss who wants to make your life a living Hell. However, I knew other people from school that worked in that clinic and I never really heard bad things about them. Except from Suzi. It was all bad when it came from Suzi's lips.

Suzi did internship credits for her hours at the clinic, basically it was an easy A. At the end of your hours, your boss reviews your work - fills out a form and everything. The student also has to make a poster for the Ag Department, and I think you had a write a paper. I don't remember her poster, I think I blocked it out.

I do, however, remember something from the review. She had left if out on the dining table, in plain sight, so it wasn't like I was spying or anything. I thumbed through it and found this one line that stuck with me: "Needs more common sense when making routine decisions."

It was a good thing she wasn't home, because I about died from laughter. This all fit the stories I heard from classmates that worked with her. Apparently, she constantly had to be told what to do. She constantly asked what she had to do. It's pretty straight forward for a kennel tech. Pick up the kennels and litter boxes, keep up with the laundry and dishes, feed the animals, medicate those that you're allowed to, help keep exam rooms clean, and if you're lucky, help the receptionists file back patient files. It's not a glorious position. It's a very dirty one. And many times very stinky.
Suzi apparently thought she was above all that, and she told me so on several occasions. I nearly went blue in the face trying to explain this to her. I apparently don't learn well from my mistakes - you can't win with crazy. The thing is, is that all vets started out as a kennel attendant at some point. You have to earn your way up. Prove yourself. If you can't remember the kennel attendants duties on your own, they'll never promote your stupid ass. But because she was "Pre-Vet" she thought she was above all of this. Being a vet is typically a dirty job. The bigger the animal, the bigger then mess. They all start out by cleaning the mess up.

Applications are due in the fall. And they make you wait until March (at the earliest) or April to hear from them to see if you got in, or if you'll be taking filler classes for another year. I don't remember how many schools Suzi applied to, it was 3 or 4 I think. I know she applied to UC Davis, Colorado State, and I can't remember where else. Come spring, I find out from her that she got rejected from all she applied to. It's not shocking. Most first year applicants don't get in. Even if they're 5 times better qualified than Suzi. It's just a part of the weeding process. Suzi was very depressed about this, because, "now what would she do with her life?"

This coming from a girl, who I shit you not, was counting on her so-called "learning disability" to get her into vet school. Apparently there isn't a name for her learning disability, because she has several traits of several disabilities. The biggest contributor? Stupidity.

Did she apply again the next year? Doubtful, but it's possible. From what I've heard from Betty over the years, it would appear that Suzi never made it to vet school. So, for all of us who have pets - we can breathe a sigh of relief. She did for awhile, want to be a paramedic. My first thought was I didn't want to live in any state in which she held that profession. But from what I've heard, she works at one of the local clinics for the hospital in Chico (like one of the people walk-ins). Would you believe Betty (the third girl that Suzi practically forced out of our apartment) had her has the gal who took her into a room and took her vitals? I told Betty that if it had been me, I would have stormed out and demand that someone else work with me, just because of the history that's there.

But yes. She didn't get into vet school. I don't believe she's an actual nurse, probably not even an LVN or a CNA. More than likely, she's a Medical Assistant.

I really hope I never have to see a doctor in Chico. Ever. Suzi might be there.

Psycho Roomie, Part XII: Suzi and Boyfriend

I'm not kidding. This chick somehow managed to somehow get a boyfriend. Still can't figure out how. I'm pretty sure Witchcraft may have been involved. Possibly blackmail. Maybe some (a lot) of liquor. Perhaps a severe head injury.

When I first met her, she had a boyfriend. She then got herself summarily dumped because she gave him an ultimatum - she wanted to be engaged by Christmas or she wanted him gone. He left. Sort of. He was still on lease for their apartment, so she was forced to live with her ex-boyfriend for an additional six months. Serves her right, in my humble opinion.

At some point during the fall semester (our first semester of living together), she mentioned that an old friend was coming to visit. She somehow knew him from when he used to live in San Jose or something. At the time this took place, he was a firefighter in Colorado. So, really, this boy should have seen the signs and known to stay as far away as possible. Staying Colorado would have been a good start. However, Joey was being forced to use vacation time, and so he thought it would be awesome to come visit an old friend. She kept touting how hot he was, and of course the fact that he was a fireman made him that much hotter. She finally showed me a current picture of him, and I wasn't overly impressed. He wasn't unfortunate looking, but I've seen many firemen that were way hotter than he was. Her standards of "hot" were obviously different than mine.

I believe his first visit came sometime in November. Possibly early December. He stayed at our place for a week. For some reason, Joey seemed smitten with Suzi. I never once had a problem with him - he was a nice guy and we got along. The biggest flaw I could find was that he was smitten with Suzi.

Within a few days of him being in town, they decided to become an "official" couple. One evening, hours after Joey left from his first visit, she came to my doorway. I remember sitting on the floor of my room, working on classwork for my Reproductive Physiology class, when I felt her evil presence and turned my head to look at her. The following conversation ensued:

Me: Did Joey leave already?
Suzi: Yeah . . . I miss him so much already.
Me: I get that. Long distance relationships are really hard. (FYI, I did that. For a long time.)
Suzi: Yeah. I wish his visit had been longer.
Me: Are those pj's new? (I had noticed her firemen pj's)
Suzi: Oh yeah . . . we got matching pajamas the other day.
Me: (Alrighty then. Freak.) Oh that's nice.
Suzi: And we each got a plush dog (Dalmation). Mine's name is Dal, his is named Mation, and when we get married, we're going to get a Dalmatian and name it "Dalmatian."
Me: (blank stare) Awww. That's cute. (OMFG, gag me - somebody . . . anybody . . .)

When she left me alone, I nearly beat myself to death with my Repro-Phys book. I mean . . . REALLY?! It's like naming a Dalmatian "Spot", or a Chihuahua "Spike" or "Butch", or a Bull Mastiff "Tinkerbell".

Come January, she went off to Colorado for a week to visit him just before school started. It was a blissful week. It was so freakin' awesome to come home, just knowing she wouldn't be there. Such freedom! Too bad it didn't last longer.

Spring semester was dotted by several visits from Joey. Spring semester started at the end of January, and Suzi had gone only the week prior, and was back the day or two before school started up again. Joey, visited a week in February for Valentine's Day. A week in March for our Spring Break. A week in April for Easter. And the entire month of May so he could support Suzi for her college graduation. (I'm so not kidding on that last one) The only thing that really miffed me about him visiting so often was that, as far as I'm aware, he never once offered to help pay for anything whilst visiting. Especially during his long visit in May. I have no idea if he offered anything to Suzi and she refused, but he never said anything to me. He could have pitched in a bit for rent, cable, and PG&E, considering he was "living" there for a month.

Unfortunately, Joey visits also meant Suzi's parents would be visiting. Oddly enough it wasn't to ensure their daughter's virginity. Joey always flew into the San Jose airport, where Suzi's parents would pick him up. They would drive him up to Chico (which is about a 3-ish hour drive each way). They would drive back to Chico to pick him up, and drive him to San Jose airport where he flew out. Like Joey couldn't rent a car and save everyone the trouble? Like Suzi couldn't do some of the driving herself?

During one of his visits, Joey had an interview with a local fire chief. Luckily I was home to save him from utter failure and embarrassment. He came out of Suzi's room in wrinkled slacks and white button down shirt. I told him he could not go to a job interview like that, traveling be damned. No one would even think twice about him looking like had just rolled out of a suitcase. I said something like maybe his girlfriend (who was standing right there) could iron his clothes for him. I found out that day, that Suzi had no idea how to iron anything. I told him to change and I would iron his clothes for him, considering he, of course, didn't know either. I attempted to iron the clothes, with no luck. Suzi started mocking me, that I couldn't get the wrinkles out. Bitch, at least I tried. Of course, I still had one trick up my sleeve: The infamous Fluff Cycle. I stuck the clothes in the dryer for 15 minutes of "fluff" and - Wha-la! not a wrinkle left! This is how Suzi found out about the fluff cycle. But she never used it, even after I explained what it was. And how it saved money. (In the end, Joey did not get offered a job with the Chico Fire Department).

Over time, the long distance seemed to wear on the relationship. Apartment walls are fairly thin. And doors are excellent listening tools. Also, it helps when your psychotic roommate is rather loud. I heard several phone conversations in the last couple months I lived with her late at night. I could only hear snippets, which bugged me, as I wanted so badly to have super-hearing to hear both sides of the conversation. Many late night phone calls were late night phone fights. I could hear things like, "Why are you jealous? You have nothing to be jealous of!", "No, I don't regret giving myself to you!", "I'm not going to let anyone treat me like this!". And so on.

Now, Suzi is the type of girl who, in my mind, would try to make her boyfriend jealous. I wasn't really around her a lot while she was with the first guy, so I didn't really get to witness to much there. At the beginning of the fall semester, she befriended this guy in one of her classes. We will call him "Bob" simply because I can't remember his name. Nice enough guy, though definitely not my type. She lead him on. They studied together, a lot. I saw her lead him on - the things she said, did, etc. He finally brought her some flowers, and suddenly she called him a stalker, and told me that if showed his face at our door to call the police. Prior to Bob, there was another guy-friend of hers that she hounded until he practically had to get a restraining order on her. She would call him, text him, and email him so much that she pushed the guy away. And she the balls to complain to me (this was just before I moved in with her . . . should have been my first clue, huh?) about his behavior. How he'd shown all sorts of interest in her and the second she showed interest he ran away. Um. Honey, you weren't showing interest. You were a relentless, stalking, jealous bitch.

By the time the end of May rolled around, and I was preparing to run off to Florida for 9 weeks, Suzi and Joey were engaged. I thought it was rather quick, but I wouldn't be surprised if Suzi laid on the pressure. The kind of pressure that she had laid on her ex that she wanted to be married before going off to vet school.

When I came back from my internship, and cleaned the apartment with her, I did not see the engagement ring that had been on her finger when I had left. During the next year, when she would sporadically grace me with her evil presence at Petco, I never paid attention. However, I'm pretty sure that Joey finally saw the light, and dumped her sorry ass. Or possibly, she dumped him and he probably went out to celebrate the fact that he longer dated a psychotic bitch.

And as far as I know (though no one has really seen her much recently), I really don't think she's married yet.

Psycho Roomie, Part XI: The Laundry

Just so we're clear on this, I had no idea when I started this that I'd end up with eleven parts thus far. But I figured I've got ya'll hooked, and I've come this far, so it's not like I can stop until I tell you about moving out.

Suzi made every day life things complicated. Laundry, for instance. I've never seen someone wind up with so much laundry. I've also never known anyone else to drag it on for eternity. Seriously.

My first two years at school, I has to use the laundry rooms provided by the apartment complex that I lived in. The machines were coin-operated. I learned extremely fast that you don't do laundry on the weekends if you expect to get it done in a timely fashion. After my first week of laundry, I then picked a day during the middle of the week to do my laundry and always had my pick of washers and dryers. And I think only once in that time frame did I walk into the laundry room to find that someone had removed my laundry so they could do theirs. It gave me the creeps to think someone else had touched my laundry, and almost did it over. But I probably didn't have enough quarters.



One of the two perks of living with Suzi was that our apartment had a washer and dryer in it. (In case you were wondering, the other perk was having my very own room). When it was originally three of us living there, I figured we'd all just wind up picking a day to our laundry and that would be our "day". I could typically get mine done in a couple hours if I was at home and stayed on top of it.

It was unfortunate when I learned that would never happen. Even when it was down to just me and Suzi. I found it very hard to get to do my laundry. Why, you might ask?

Because this chick never stopped doing laundry. Seriously.

She would put a load in the wash, forget about it for a couple days, then stick it in the dryer and promptly forget about for a few days. However, every day she'd remember it, and would turn on the dryer again and would promptly forget about it. I shit you not, she'd "dry" dry clothes half a dozen times before she would finally take them out to fold them. Only to repeat this cycle with the next set of clothes she would put in it.

I would even ask her in person or leave her a note on the white board in the kitchen regarding the laundry. Something polite like, "Suzi, I'd like to do my laundry on Wednesday. I'm running out of unmentionables." Many times she'd at least finish what she had already started, and I'd squeeze in for a two or three hours and do my laundry on the day I requested.

Every week we went through this. Every week.

There were a few occasions that I knew she'd be heading out of town, and she wouldn't finish her laundry. So I would remind her every day to please finish so I that I could do my laundry. She would get all rude on me and complain about busy she was and she would do it when she had time.

I'm going to digress for a minute here and say that she was no busier than myself. I worked a minimum of 30 hours a week, I had 5 or 6 classes - all of them lab classes, I had study groups, I had friends that wanted to hang out, and I had family to visit, too. She worked barely 20 hours a week, had 4 classes, and if she wasn't hanging out with her friends, she was talking with them on the fucking phone. I was lucky to see my friends on a social visit, it was usually at a study session. Now, I will admit some of her classes were tougher than mine, being that she was Pre-Vet. However, if she had put as much effort into actual studying as she did on the phone, she might have actually gotten in to vet school. (insert evil laugh here)

Back on topic. (ahem) Sorry.

Now, even though I would ask her several times to please finish her laundry (I always said please and everything because I didn't want her to beat me with a wet sock in my sleep), several times it didn't happen. She'd leave for the weekend, laundry still unfinished. Sometimes she'd be walking out the door and say, "Oh and I didn't have time to finish my laundry, so you'll just have to wait." The first time I heard that, I said out loud as the door shut behind her, "Oh fuck that shit." I immediately turned around, pulled her (5x) dry clothes out of the dryer and dropped them on her bed. I then moved her wet clothes out of the washer onto the hall floor. Now, I hate having to touch other people's laundry. So I had to, um, put socks on my hands to touch her clothes. Shut up. My mom insisted that I drop the wet clothes on her pillow to teach her a lesson. I almost did. I actually walked to her pillow with clothes in two and then I had an image of her getting me back somehow. Like with poison or suffocating me with her underwear. Either way, it wasn't pretty and I didn't want to die. So I didn't do it. I actually regret not doing that.

I would get my laundry done and put her wet clothes back in the washer. Now, unless she was a complete idiot (which most times I did think that), she had to know I moved her clothes to do mine. She never said anything. And each time she left for the weekend, we went through this.

I must also tell you something else. It shocked the shit right out of me when I found this out, because I couldn't figure anyone who actually did laundry didn't know this.

She'd never heard of the "FLUFF CYCLE". So, when she kept turning on the dryer every day because she'd suddenly remember she had clothes in there, she would turn it on the HEAT CYCLE for another hour. No wonder the PG&E bill was high. Each load she "dried" at least three times. When I said something to her, she said she'd never heard of a fluff cycle. She'd been at that apartment for 3 or 4 years by this time and had never see the "Fluff" mode on the dial. Nor had her super-brilliant mother (gag) ever taught her daughter about the fluff cycle.

And one other thing she didn't know how to do: iron. She didn't know how to use an iron, how to handle one, anything. I may not be the world's greatest when it comes to ironing, but I can do it. I hate it, but I can do it.

Seriously, did her parents teach her anything?? I mean, besides how to be a stupid bitch?

Psycho Roomie, Part X: The Cereal Box

Shortly before Christmas of 2002, my mom drove to Chico to come help me do my Christmas shopping. It's a tradition she and I have. She knows or has ideas as to what I can get people, and it's a good excuse to have a "girls day" and some fun.

I was getting ready that particular morning, and walked out to the kitchen to get something. Possibly a drink of water. Possibly breakfast. I have no idea. All I recall is needing to go to the kitchen, so I did. I saw a box of Suzi's cereal on the stove. We had burner covers, so it wasn't like it was sitting on a stove-top burner that was on and she was trying to burn down the apartment building or anything. Although, after the whole hot dog thing, I'm not sure I would be surprised if she did that.

I pick up the box of cereal (I believe it was a box of Cocoa Puffs), and find that it's empty. Completely devoid of cereal or the bag that holds said cereal. I'm pretty sure I had a look on my face that resembled this (although, maybe not quite so exaggerated):



I looked the box over to see if maybe there was a game on the back she wanted to play. Nope. I looked the box over to see if there might be a recipe of sorts she wanted to use. Nope. I looked the box over in case I saw something she wanted the proof of purchase to send in for. Nothing. There was absolutely nothing of interest in or on this box of cereal. For the life of me I couldn't figure out why this box was sitting on the stove. I figured it was trash, so I tossed into the garbage. (Now, she was home at this stage, so I could have just asked her but, that would have meant I would have had to talk to her.)

Upon going to my bathroom at the front end of the apartment to do my make-up, I noticed another surprise. A mess of DVD's on the living room floor. It may have been Dawson's Creek. Since they were in the main walking area, I went ahead and moved stuff towards my tiny entertainment center so no one would accidentally step on it. There was no way in Hell I would spend money on that horrid show.

I finished getting ready in my room, probably checked emails and whatnot. I eventually needed to go back into the kitchen. Or walked through it or something. Either way, I noticed something. Something that looked oddly like the cereal box I had tossed away. I walked up to the stove, and my eyes were not playing tricks on me. Suzi had obviously been in the kitchen since I had, and taken the box out of the garbage. And set it directly on the stove where it had sat previously. I just stared at it, thinking maybe the box my psychically tell me why it was sitting on the stove. Again. Well, shocking as it might be, the box told me nothing. If it had, I would have needed the boys in white coats to take me away. I put my hands up like it held a gun on me, and backed away. For whatever reason, I looked at the living room, and I'll be damned if that mess of DVD's wasn't exactly where it had been prior to me moving it - right smack in the middle of the floor.

By this time she was gone. She hadn't said anything to me about either the cereal box or the mess of DVD's. I decided that since she went through the trash to get that cereal box back, she actually needed it for something.

When my mom showed up, she first saw the mess of DVD's lying in the middle of the living room floor. She asked me about it and I told her what happened. She moved the DVD's like I had, closer to the TV, out of harms way. I told her that it would back in the middle of the floor when we got back. In the kitchen she sees the empty cereal box, and asks me about it. I again tell her what happened, and told her I was just going to leave it there. She tossed into the garbage. I tell her that it will be right back on the stove when we get back.

We spent most of the day shopping. Had a wonderful time.

When we got back to the apartment, the DVD's were back in the middle of the living room floor and the cereal box was back on the stove. Not joking. The look on my mom's face was priceless.

Eventually, mom left, and it was back to just me and Suzi. I never asked her about the cereal box or the DVD's, and she never said anything. I didn't move or toss anything, because I had a sneaking suspicion that it would be moved back again anyway.

A couple days after that shopping day, the cereal box was in the trash. Suzi had finally thrown it away. Being that it was on the top, I picked it up to see if anything had changed about the box. Nope. Not a single thing. And once she was done watching Dawson's Creek, it finally got packed up, too.

I'm thinking that those nice boys in the white coats should have been called in regards to her.

Psycho Roomie, Part IX: The Hot Chocolate Incident

I was spoiled by my first roommate experience. I have to admit. When it came to sharing things, we typically didn't mind. We tried to be considerate about it. Like if she and her boyfriend used the last of my butter, they'd buy me some next time they grocery shopped. Her boyfriend often asked me for stamps. He actually would give me exact change for each stamp he took. If I ate some of her crackers, I'd buy her a new box next time I was at the store. Often we'd ask before we took anything, but there times we'd have to say something after the fact.

During college, my first three years anyway, I lived close enough to campus that I walked. I enjoyed my walks to campus. Mornings were always nicest, in the summer it was before the heat of the day. In the winter, the crisp air was nice even if it did sting my eyes. In the winter I often walked with a travel mug of hot chocolate to help keep me warm. This was in addition to a sweater, a coat that goes to my knees, mittens, scarf, and a hat. No I didn't attend school in the Mid-West where temperatures can often be below zero. It's still California, but for those that live in the Northern part of the state, winter can get cold.

With my first roommate, I'd often "borrow" packets of hot chocolate if I ran out. I'd replace them. She didn't have to ask me to. I did it on my own, out of consideration. That and Karma's a bitch.

The winter I lived with Suzi, I, at one point, ran out of hot chocolate. I hated buying cups of hot chocolate at school, because even though they tasted awesome, it got expensive. Plus I would burn the taste buds off and the roof of my mouth with the first sip, so everything felt and tasted funny for the rest of the day. You can stop giggling at me now.

The morning I realized I was out of hot chocolate, she had already left for the day. I decided I'd take a packet. I had every intention of making sure I bought her more - I had to go to the store in a couple days anyway. It wasn't like she drank it near as much as me; I rarely saw her drink hot chocolate. She used the Nestle brand, with the marshmallows in it. I used, and still use, Swiss Miss. It's cheaper and you get more packets in a box.I left her a note on the whiteboard in the kitchen that I took a packet, just in case she kept inventory. It wouldn't shock me. I made it up, and ran off to school. When I came home, my note was gone. She had written nothing in return. When we were home together she didn't say anything, either. I figured she didn't mind.

Next day, same thing. On the third day I finally made it to the grocery store. When I picked up a box of her Nestle hot chocolate, I discovered it was twice the amount mine was, and she got less than half of what I got packet-wise. I hadn't noticed a taste difference. And the marshmallows got in the way of the sippy-hole of my travel mug. I still bought the damn box, because I had every intention of giving her the whole box to repay what I took.

I got home, groceries in tow. Her mom was in town for a couple days. Again. While she came across as nice, the woman was a hoverer. Way more than the average mother. She was constantly worried if we kept the front door locked, as "some stranger from the street could just show up" since we lived right on the road. If she was so worried about her daughter's safety, why didn't she have Suzi move? In fact, we weren't in a bad part of Chico. That's what I didn't understand. Minus the random dumpster-diver, we had no trouble at all.

Sorry, I digress, again. Suzi and her mom are out for the time being. I start putting my groceries away, and I opened up a cupboard. What I find is rather upsetting.

It was a box of Suzi's hot chocolate, with torn pieces of binder paper taped all over it. In Suzi's mother's handwriting, it said the following, "Suzi's Hot Chocolate!", "Suzi Only!".

I was more than offended. I had left the bitch a note regarding the hot chocolate. And she has her mommy go out and buy her a new box because I took 3 packets?! WTF?

I grabbed the box I bought for her and nearly tossed it. Instead, I took 3 packets and rubber-banded them together with a sticky note that said: "Here are the packets to replace what I took. I had every intention of replacing them". I had intended on giving her the whole box. Oh hell no. Not now. I stuff the remaining three packets into my box of Swiss Miss that I had just bought. I stuff the box down into the bottom of the garbage - out of sight.

A few weeks later, it was Christmas. She had made us stockings to hang outside our bedroom doors and put presents in. I put shit in hers. Whoa. Not literal shit. Just shit. I bought stupid kids toys and she was in love with them. Second childhood my ass - she never left her first. What did I find in my stocking?

A fucking box of Nestle Hot Chocolate with Marshmallows.

I got bitch-slapped without being touched.