Sometimes on Fridays I take a break from thinking up stories and interesting tidbits to share and delve into my currently unpublished blog that goes all the way back to Nov of 2006.
When I first moved to San Francisco I lived in a horrible little apartment that had a mice infestation, and a shitty room mate. I would routinely write letters to her via my blog. This letter comes directly after the last Friday Flashback (Christmas, 2007). At this moment in history it’s January 2nd, 2008 and I had just returned back from Seattle.
I know I have been gone for almost two full weeks and that probably confused and possibly even bewildered you, roommate. I can only imagine your distress at not having me there to curb your completely immature, inconsiderate behavior. Whatever did you do?!
I must confess that the day I left Seattle to fly back to our cozy abode, I had an intense panic attack involving sweating, nausea, and irrational (yet hidden) aggravation at everything moving or speaking. The fear: You hadn’t taken the garbage out for all that time and the mice had devoured my entire bedroom set. I don’t deny my crazy, I choose to accept, embrace and laugh at it.
My first apartment in San Francisco… before I knew there was mice.
When Patrick helped me carry my bags into our apartment, I was grateful you weren’t home to hear our exclamation of “What! Is that smell?!” I do know that the old crusty pot pipe on the kitchen table probably had something to do with it. But I wouldn’t find out the real cause, you sneaky roommate you, until hours later.
In the meantime I busied myself with Ousting the place several times (unscented) and being pleased that the garbage in the kitchen was virtually empty. After lugging my bags into my shoebox-sized room, I scanned my empty cupboards for an english-muffin-butter dinner, padding around in my stalking feet. At one point standing on the carpet, I realized that my socks were, indeed, wet.
Tiny, tiny little mice filled room.
I was puzzled.
When I went to the bathroom a bit later, I was startled to see a lot of my toiletries from the shower resting on the back of the toilet and on the sink. Not in the shower where they usually live, room mate. And the most puzzling of all was the disappearance of the bath mat. Which is an integral part of the bathing experience!
So I knocked on your door and asked you what happened. All I got was a vague answer that the bathroom flooded, but that it wasn’t poop. Thanks for the reassurance. And that you had cloroxed it. I believed you, even though the floor was still pretty sticky. And then you said you took my shampoo etc out of the shower so that your visitors wouldn’t use them. Odd. And annoying that you didn’t put them back.
This morning on my way to work I saw the vomit covered sopping wet towel in the garage, room mate. Could an extremely high flow of vomit possible clogged our three-in-one flushing toilet? Ive heard fables of such things happening but never truly believed in their mystery. Could this had been the bathroom Unicorn I had heard tall tales of?
I get that you like to party, but you live a disgusting life and I had to swallow extra hard to keep my breakfast down and focus on my light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel move before april in order to not march back in and shatter your stupid pipe all over the kitchen floor. You are not the only person who lives here! (Hello, the other person is me.)
Note: I don’t know what a “three-in-one flushing toilet” means…. do you? Cuz, 2011-2012 is out of that lingo loop.