The difference, however, between dating crazies and living with crazies, is that it often takes you much longer to realise that your housemates are a little NQR… they always seem so normal, so friendly, when you’re in the honeymoon phase, cooking each other dinner, playing super Nintendo late at night, doing your grocery shopping together…
But then you start to notice things that are a little off… your food is going missing… there’s bags of rubbish magically appearing on the kitchen floor… your facial soap has pubic hairs attached to it… and before you know it, you’re barricading yourself in your room at night and locking away your valuables!
When I look back, sometimes I start to question if it’s me and hell, maybe it is, but to the various crazies, sociopaths and compulsive liars I have lived with, you’ve definitely made life more interesting… and made me swear off ever living with randoms again!
The 38 Year Old Child
When I first moved in with this guy, I had just arrived in London after travelling for six months. He was also an avid traveller and despite our age difference (I was 23) we got along fantastically and had a great time living together.
I mean sure, there were signs… him asking me to lean out of shot when photos were being taken so his girlfriend didn’t know we were on holiday together… telling me how much he liked to have a ‘token Australian’ in his friendship group… refusing to talk to me after I announced I was moving out… and then keeping my bond…
But still, the penny didn’t drop until a week or two later when I realised he’d been leading his girlfriend to believe we were in the midst of a passionate affair and he was so torn between us he couldn’t commit to moving in with her…
The Angry Door Slammer
My very first experience of living with a nutter, I ended up living with this girl, who was a friend of a friend, after all three of her housmates moved out simultaneously and left her alone in a four bedroom house… I was told they’d all gone their separate ways and the house was so well located she’d decided to stay… It turned out they had ditched her and moved around the corner together to get away from her crazy ways. But it was still months before I realised this…
Initially, she just seemed a litte tense and a wee tad highly strung, but slowly the mood swings started getting more erratic. Power sockets were pulled out of walls, every door in the house would be slammed upon her arrival and departure and she screamed the house down when she couldn’t connect to someone else’s internet, but the highlights would have to be the following:
The time she sat her flu-infected self on the couch and proceeded to:
Grab tissue – blow nose – shove tissue down side of couch – repeat
Several weeks later, another housemate who was on lounge cleaning duty pulled up the couch cushions to find at least ten dirty, hardened tissues still stashed in the base.
The time I had a uni friend over and after demanding to know ‘WHO TOUCHED THE REMOTE CONTROL’ she abruptly told my friend (who she was meeting the first time ‘Oh, it was YOU? Well, yeah, in future just DON’T TOUCH IT!’ Awkward silence.
The time another housemate and I were watching Dr Doolittle while discussing our dislike of guinea pigs (nothing against guinea pigs, but if you’ve had one poo in your sleeping bag, you can understand where I’m coming from) and the angry door slammer walked into the room, announcing ‘Oh, guinea pigs! We should get a house guinea pug!’ We laughed and housemate explained that we were just discussing how much we didn’t like them. Angry door slammer lost it, screamed at us and proceeded to slam the doors so hard her plate flew off its perch on the armchair and shattered on the floor.
We never mentioned guinea pigs again.
The Meat-Eating Vegetarian
In the same house as the angry door slammer, I lived with the meat-eating vegetarian. I was vego at the time and had been for a good five or so years, mainly because I didn’t like meat (don’t judge me, this is no longer the case), but meat-eating vegetarian was in the early stages of vegetarianism and I was never quite sure what her motivation was… perhaps she was chasing a vegetarian boy, or thought being vego made her seem more intellectual… maybe she just thought it was cool.
Alas, she was clearly struggling and would often ask me for advice on managing the lifestyle… and then there was confession, which took place every few weeks:
Tenn… I need to tell you something… I accidentally ate chicken yesterday…
Tenn… it’s so hard… there was LAMB… and it was RIGHT in front of me…
Tenn… you just don’t know what it’s like to be hungry ALL the time!
Oh my god woman, just admit that you’re a carnivore and stop wasting my time! I don’t care!!!
The Peeing Dog
I realise this sounds like a yoga pose, and perhaps it is, I wouldn’t know, but the peeing dog was my last housemate experience and quite possibly the reason I now live alone.
Peeing dog arrived when I was living with a couple last year. They were staying in my house while theirs was being built and although my house is pretty small for three people, things were travelling pretty smoothly and then it happened… peeing dog arrived.
Initially it was funny, that peeing dog got excited when he saw me and couldn’t control his bladder, but then peeing dog got bigger and bigger… and so did his bladder… and I was no longer able to avoid him when he came bounding at me, pee spraying everywhere as he knocked me to the ground.
My dogs were freaking out, the house smelt like dog pee and I was living life on the edge. It all came to a head one day when, after a particularly awkward run-in which saw me with dog pee in my hair and needing windscreen wipers on my sunglasses, peeing dog had been locked in the backyard by himself.
I had been at the park and as soon as I came home, peeing dog started attempting to charge through what was once the doggy door (until he ate the ‘door’ part and it became more of a doggy chute), then decided a better option was to attempt to get to be through the closed glass sliding doors to my kitchen.
He jumped, he clawed and he ripped holes in the fly screen, before landing on, and smashing a porcelain dog bowl to pieces.
I hyperventilated, turned my back to him and walked out of the room to the safety of the lounge, where midget dog, ginger dog and I curled up on the couch and ignored the ruckus coming from the backyard. And then…
Crunch… crunch… smash… crunch… smash…
I snuck to the window to find peeing dog EATING the porcelain dog bowl and had a dilemma… although dumb and with bladder problems, peeing dog did not need to die of porcelain consumption. So I edged the door open and reached out, feeling the warm spray of pee running over me as he pounced on me… and I was done, peeing dog had to go!
There’s plenty more… the shit talker… the hussy… the guy who sold all our household items… and right after the publication of She Thinks You’re a Raving Lunatic, the gripping follow up will be titled When Good Housemates Go Bad… written in collaboration with my friend and ex-housemate, who shall remain nameless but who always managed to not leave pubic hair on the soap, never argued over tomatoes and never left naked randoms in the lounge room.