#bad flatmates

[chalkdragon]

This xmas I got my asshole flatmates a present, because I am not a dick.

[put-8-os]

Creepy flatmate round 2

So I came home today with my shopping, music blasting in my ears. It had started raining as I walked by but I was worried as it was quite light.

I get home and open the door. Then I open the door to my bedroom (leaving the front door open) and he slides in without a word and just closes the door behind him. He nearly gave me a heart attack. I thought he was an intruder.

I’m going to tell the landlord to kick him out. This combined with the smoking and the other  shit he pulls is just ridiculous.

[put-8-os]

Stupid flatmates

So this idiot just keeps staring at me while I’m checking my brocolli tots in the oven and then when I’m done he puts his meat pies in.

Seriously?

What kind of person cross contaminates like that? Especially if they’re not going to be eaten by the same people.

I don’t want my vegetarian food reeking of meat pies. I don’t want my food smelling of meat pies unless I’m cooking meat pies.

And don’t get me started on the whole staring thing. Just looking out staring at people. Eww.. it’s like creepy stalker.

Also, nobody appreciates it when you stand outside the bathroom waiting for someone else to be done at 4 in the bloody morning! It’s tolerable in daylight hours but when it’s night hours.. fucking hell.. I’m lucky I was dressed.

And the chain smoking!! Eww.. the place reeks like an ashtray. I’m forever spraying deodarant when I have walk past. It’s so nasty that he smells like a walking ashtray and (I swear he’s smoking in his room).

I swear he’s a bloody wanker.

[put-8-os]

Flatmates.. grr

I hate my flatmate.

I hate the fact that he smokes and pratically reeks whever he goes.

I hate fact that he’s judgemental prick (don’t look your nose down at me just because I choose to eat my salmon without spices when you don’t know how to make your toast lighter so it’s not burnt).

I hate how fussy he is about cleaning and how he only wants to clean the kitchen becuase “that’s the only place I use”. YOU WALK THROUGH THE DAMN HALLWAY.. YOU’RE USING IT AND YOU USE THE BATHROOM TOO.

I hate how he leaves his bedroom door open so the cigarette smell wafts into other rooms.

I hate how his room smells so strongly of cigarette smoke it seems like he’s smoking in his room (I bet that asshole is).

I hate how he smokes near the washing. What kind of moron does that? Why bother doing your washing if you’re going to smoke next to it?

I hate how he leaves his door open and just stares out sitting on his couch like some creepy guy. Close your damn door.

And I especially hate how he tossed my clean clothes out of my washing machine so he could use it! DON’T TOUCH MY STUFF!! I BOUGHT IT AND I LET YOU USE IT OUT OF THE GOODNESS OF MY HEART!! ASSHOLE!!

[bizendal]

My flatmate's cat is using the whole house as his litterbox, and now the place is full of flies. My room is so full of insect spray I feel sick. A dying fly just dived into my hair and got stuck. This is disgusting.

[jeansandsocks]

That's the last time I let my flatmates on my computer

[ramblinramblin]

My flatmate...

My flatmate loves to bang pots and pans late at night. I know.. the natural question is: "Your flatmate's a baby with a drumming fetish?" While the baby part is still under debate (as is the fetish, albeit, not a drumming one), the banging of pots and pans is actually part of a strange ritual my flatmate likes to call "cooking". I add quotes because there's a veil of mystery over the whole practice. He only does it long after the sun has set; far into the night, when every other living soul has given themselves over to slumber. That and the burnt, green-brown remnants still left in the pan (which is still on the stove during lunch the next day) are quite deserving of the "mystery" moniker.

Normally, I wouldn't take issue with his nightly forays into culinary hell... except he seems to have a habit of dragging me along with him. Whether it's the loud crash of metal, his shrill voice laughing with "the neighbor" with whom he's been having intimate relations since before I even arrived in New Zealand, or the vomit-esque smell of burnt garlic, his track record of both waking me and keeping me awake is nothing short of impressive. In fact, if annoying me were a sport, he'd have more rings than the Pittsburgh Steelers. The saddest part of this story isn't even my sleep loss or anger, though, it's that there isn't a fraction of exaggeration within my words. I'm simply relaying the morbid details of this flat's daily existence.

Fact: The smell of beyond-burnt garlic did waft into the bedroom around 3 AM. Fact: It really did wake me with its pungency... twice. And yes, it was honestly the smell of vomit that came across to me, the same way that fried steak comes across to astronauts when sniffing their gear after spacewalks.

Am I to blame? Am I just too sensitive? Is it silly of me to have a sense of smell? Is it arrogant to use my eyes to witness the innumerable messes he makes and the two he has picked up? Do I need to ask forgiveness for the fact that I do not enjoy being welcomed by something resembles an impossibly putrid hybrid mix of cow pie and dog poo (in both appearance and smell) still sitting on the stove each morning when I wake?

If my answer were based simply upon how he acts, the answers to all the above would be yes. Yes, I am too sensitive. Yes, I am being very silly. Yes, I should be sorry. And since he's the only one in the flat whose opinion and sense of well-being matters, I'm afraid I may just have to resign myself to many more nights of metallic drum solos, howling laughter, and enough garlic-vomit scent to make me want to produce my own, more tangible variety. Perhaps I could use the frying pan as my late-night receptacle. Me thinks he'd scarcely know the difference.