Would you like a small pox blanket?
The word "roommate" can evoke fear in the hearts of most, ice-cold shivers to sliver down one's spine and grown ass men to curl up into a ball and cry like babies especially if you've lived through college roommate horror stories. We've all heard of them: too dirty, too clean, she's a slut or she's a prude, he never leaves the room, he plays guitar hero all day, he smells or she steals my stuff. That's just the tip of the iceberg. I myself have been pretty lucky in the roommate pool. Sure, freshman year I had a messy, blonde, lesbian, clepto-maniac, daddy's lil rich girl, coke-head roommate who was arrested the day after moving into our freshman dorm at NYU but she never really bothered me and on an even more positive side, she provided me with a butt-load of great stories to share with family and friends.
So after four years of evading the roomate from hell, here I am, 23 years old, and its finally caught up with me. The thing is, though, that this is not my first time living with this girl. I never had a problem before, but somehow, after four years of college, I have ended up back in my mother's house and she's the craziest roommate I've ever seen.
I know plenty of other college alumnis who came back home and experienced the shittiness of living with your parents again, however, their gripes usually revolve around their parents lack of respect for their independence and their parents treating them like children again.
No. My problem revolves around something completely different:
My mother doesn’t like the sink to be wet and she can’t stand when the garbage can is full of garbage. OK. Now let’s take a minute to ponder this as I did the first time she twisted her face into a disapproving chagrin and stated these “you’re living back in my house, kiddo” guidelines.
The sink, I mulled over in my head, that’s sole purpose is to hold and dispense water, can’t be wet? SMH
Not to mention our clear plastic garbage can with the white garbage bag wrapped meticulously inside and over its rims to catch any food scraps, tissues, or general garbage should not have garbage inside of it?
Puzzling, I know, and you better believe that I quickly stated the inherent irony to my mother. Her response was that it’s not the water, per say, that bothers her; it’s the water spots that are left on the sink when it has not been dried properly that gets under her skin. And as for the garbage, well obviously, we shouldn’t leave garbage hanging around inside the garbage can because it is dirty.
In a week we probably go through 5 disposed paper towel rolls used to dry the outside and inside of the sink every time I filled up a cup of water or washed my hands and 52 trips downstairs, into the garage, to empty the garbage cans.
My mother is the type to rearrange the dishwasher according to her special dishwasher loading design which apparently optimizes our dishwasher's washing ability and rearrange the contents inside our refrigerator so that it is aesthetically pleasing when you open it to reach for the milk carton.
Im in the worst kind of hell. It's not as if she just lives in her OCCD (overly compulsively clean disorder) world and doesn't bother me either. No, she bothers me every day about how after I shower, the shower doors must be left approximately 15% open on both sides so that the air from the window will dry it properly. I live with Mother Monk.
On the good side, I have never felt such a deep and concentrated inspiration to apply to graduate school and get the fuck out of here as I do now. But until I am accepted into some school and have a means to leave my roommate/mother in her disinfected and color-coordinated world, I'm on that new diet regimen where I don't eat anything and definetely don't drink anything ... Damnit! I refuse to use the goddamn sink! I'll swallow my spit, thank you, and tell myself it's worth it considering how good my reflection of me in my skinny jeans looks while I windex the shower handles.
Today is a day that will be forever marked in history; and not because Honduras, after a violent military coup against it’s democratically elected president, has decided to mediate their political crisis. Nor because today marks almost a month since Iran has broke out in bloody protests and shady media coverts. No, today, there is only one thing to talk about; only one focus for every breathing person in the entire world, including some random rice farmers in Timbuktu and it’s the Michael Jackson Tribute.
With a star studded cast, live television coverage on several TV networks including CNN and MTV and millions of viewers worldwide, it was nice to see the world stop burning for one second to admire a brave and beautiful cultural icon… excuse me, the cultural icon of the Century. Even the persistent, depressive rain in NY subsided for a while in honor of the King.
And while watching the tribute and all of the people whose hearts Michael Jackson has touched, from Magic Johnson to John Mayer to his 3 children, all I could think was “Fuck all the Michael, haters! And yes that includes Kat fuckin’ Williams!”
It seems like now, in death, people have realized the huge disservice and pressure the media placed on a man who had grown up pretty much entirely in the lime light. Can you stop for a second and imagine, I mean really imagine that type of pressure? Really? Imagine how you felt at that big game in high school, in front of all your family, friends and neighbors playing for a college scholarship or to impress the girl of your dreams… Now imagine that magnified by a million, complicated by shitloads of money and how it would be to feel the weight of all those expectations, of your nerves, of your fears, of defeat and humiliation being thrown onto you non- stop since you were 5 years old. >DAMN<
Yes, I think for that reason, the media could’ve cut Michael a lil slack. Shit, give the guy a fucking break.
Especially since Michael was unarguably one of the most generous and humanitarian celebrities the world has ever seen. He was always pushing for some cause, trying to get people to care about the environment and African babies way before Angelina Jolie made adopting them cool. Even in death his generosity is insurmountable considering how he has left 20% of his estate to various charities.
So, all you Michael haters can go play in traffic. Who on this earth can touch Michael? Madonna? That bitch stole an African baby and tried to call it adoption! I don’t think so. Elvis? Puhlease! We all know Elvis stole his sound from niggas. The Beatles? Close but they have not transcended racial barriers and cultural lines like Michael has. You can go to the smallest, most remote village in the smallest town, in some barely inhabited island off the coast of nowhere and for sure, all 10 people in that village have heard of Michael and love his music.
That is why today will be remembered for years and years to come as the day the world bowed it’s head in consideration and whispered “Long Live the King!”
Need I Say More?
