Tales From Room 1109

So, if I hadn't made it clear over the last 40 posts or whatever, I've been living in a dorm room for the last 9 months or so. As a sophomore in college, I think it is safe to say that doing a second round in the dorms after freshman year was singlehandedly the worst mistake I have made in college thus far (but taking "Rocks for Jocks" follows close behind, just fyi). You can safely assume that as I prepare to spend my last night in this tomb of a room the hallelujah chorus is blasting as my climactic background music. 

Okay, so you might be wondering why I regret living in the dorms. Boy, where do I even begin? 

Do I start with the roommate I had for 2 months that liked to get up at 7 am every single day of the week without fail to eat a bowl of cereal as loud as she possibly could as if she was actually trying to wake me up? (Note: I didn't even have class until 12:30 so being woken up at 7 was liking waking up to Satan's buttcrack) Also, she was diabetic so I already kind of hated her for that. When she moved out in October, I pretty much celebrated by not wearing pants for an entire weekend.


Do I begin with the heathens I had living on my floor? I think I'll start with that one because it's still pretty relevant.

So, my floor is upperclassmen coed, which I thought was going to be cool and possibly increase my chances of finding my one true love (WHERE ARE MY SUITORS??). Nope. Not at all. While not everyone on my floor was terrible (mostly the people who I never saw), the rest of the floor was almost a sequel to "Carrie." I can't even count the times I tweeted about wanting to dump pig's blood all over all of them and then proceed to burn them all up in a school gym. I'm not violent, but these violent thoughts possessed me quite often. (writer problems, guys)

My floormates could possibly be the most inconsiderate people I have ever met. It's basically this one big clique that call themselves "The Party Planning Committee" (but I have actually never seen them plan anything ever). It consists of Troll Boy (he literally looks like an ugly ogre), High Leprechaun (and not even a cute leprechaun like in The Luck of the Irish), The Advanced High Schooler (he was 17 when he started his JUNIOR year of college this year soooo yeah), Biracial Miss Piggy, and The Blondes (roommates who just happened to be blonde).  You know, I'm sure they are all nice people, but no. I lost all respect for them when they decided it would be okay to have a party in the hallway in the middle of the night. No.

They are seriously the loudest people I have ever met. They don't understand common courtesy for
people who may or may not be studying or sleeping.

Yes, maybe I am a party pooping stick in the mud, but if anyone (and I seriously mean ANYONE) disturbs my sleep, I automatically hate them. My sleep is my preecccciioouuss. Take it away from me, and you will die. Eventually.

It's people like them that make me wish I had an alcohol problem. I'm not even due for that until I hit 30. Stop trying to drive me mad! 

Will I miss any of them? No. Not at all. In fact, I'll probably still hate them years from now. They'll be the first to die whenever I start writing horror novels (after my erotica goes viral, of course).

Next year, I hopefully won't be fantasizing about killing my roommates (OMG can I be British and call them flatmates?). But if I do, this blog will probably be the first to know.

But seriously, I have the worst luck with living with people. Thus, I'm probably going to die alone. Just saying.