My roommate does not flush the toilet. Last night I had a friend over, a guy friend in whom I might be interested and hence want to make a good impression, and he went to use my bathroom. When he returned he stated, "There was a deuce in there, the biggest one I've ever seen." I was mortified. How does a nineteen year old girl forget to flush the toilet? What is she thinking? Was she proud of her bowel movement and felt the need to share it with the rest of us, the rest of us being me, because I'm the only other person who uses that bathroom? Does she get some kind of satisfaction out of letting her waste fester until an unsuspecting soul comes across her little package left so carelessly to remind us all that she, too, has a working digestive system? Does she think that I go into the bathroom and say, "Wow, what a beautiful piece of shit, I only wish my shits could be of that caliber." Whenever she's not reading poetry at a club or playing herself in Scrabble she's watching Animal Planet so maybe she feels that if animals are good enough to shit on the ground, she'll be damned if she flushes the toilet. Maybe she's one of those love your body, walk around naked, eat grass and sunflower seeds all day kind of people, maybe she's just really in touch with her feces, maybe she has short term memory loss, but whatever the reason, I DO NOT WANT TO SEE WHERE SHE DROPS THE KIDS OFF AT THE POOL. EVER. Not only that, but I have the pleasure of hearing The Daily Sexual Intercourse which occurs in the bed which is so nicely placed right against the wall where my frizzy head sleeps. Even though we have our own rooms I am still treated to her moans of "Ohhhh Goooood" and "Yes, YES!" at various times of the day, and on one occasion, I even had the privilege of listening in on some hot, steamy morning sex. Oh yea, and she and her boyfriend sit around making cooing noises at each other like they're some kind of disease ridden pigeons fighting over a crust of pizza. I wonder if I cease to flush the toilet and cluck like a chicken if I will get a boyfriend too.

I really think she has some kind of mental disorder where if she sees a clean surface she has the insurmountable urge to throw as much shit as possible all over the place and then never clean it up so whenever anyone comes to visit they think we live in squalor. One incident to be noted is a little event I call "the squash." My lovely roommate made dinner for her boyfriend which consisted of squash and some other bland vegetables. The pair did not finish their meal and some was left in the frying pan on the stove top. A week later, the pan was still there, squash and all, and in the meantime a foul smell had been developing which smacked you as soon as you walked into the room. I thought it was the garbage, but after changing it and still no change, I looked into the pan only to find mold growing on the once squash. I almost threw up. Of course she was gone for the weekend and that was probably a good thing because I most likely would have screamed at her for being such a vile human being. Instead I wrapped the pan in a plastic bag and put it on her bed. I aired our apartment out and within minutes the smell was gone. After an hour I opened her door just to see what it smelled like. It was awful.

She also has a way with the garbage disposal. I've never been privy to such an appliance. Back where I'm from, we throw our garbage in the garbage. We don't mash it up or perform any other kind of voodoo on it. Since I'm unfamiliar with the thing I never use it. She, however, thinks she can throw a small plane down there and the disposal will just come back for more. In the beginning of the year she put chicken bones down the frigging thing and surprise, surprise, broke it. Then she had the nerve to tell me it was broken like I was supposed to whip out my wrench and go at it. I told her to call maintenance and all was well. Until a few days ago. I was sitting at this very desk, typing on this very computer when I suddenly heard a god awful screeching coming from the kitchen. I cringed. No, not again. Not another smelly catastrophe to deal with. Sure enough, as I walked through the kitchen later that night, the sink was filled with murky water with bits of food and her dirty glasses floating around. It's still there today, except today I wrote a note that says, "This is disgusting. Please do something about it," and taped it above the sink. I don't care if writing a note is the baby way out. We've already told her to keep the kitchen clean and she clearly doesn't do that, so me writing her a note does not affect my conscience in the least. I'm going to pay someone to crap on her bed one day, I swear.