Horrified is the only word that can sum it up. I really didn't want to go into the kitchen because I could hear all the commotion. But... my desire for chocolate soymilk won the battle.
As I walked into the kitchen I saw Francis in her gym clothes making herself some dinner, and Grant sitting at the kitchen table with a bottle of Seagram's and Seven Up, watching American Idol.
Grant is a 37 year old male.
"Drinking on a Tuesday night?" I inquired.
"Well [some female pop-star] is on tonight, and if I don't have a drink I think I'll explode! I don't normally watch American Idol, but I looooove her!."
"Who?" I needed a repeat, but I still can't remember.
"You don't know who she is??" He said, aghast, and then started to belt out one of her songs - which, by the way, sounds like some teeny bopper pop crap, like Britney Spears or something.
"Um... no." I said.
"Get out! You don't know that song?? Get out!"
Oh, I so wanted to get out.
"I'm not into pop music." Lameass.
"C'mon!"
"Dude - I don't have a radio. I'm not a part of pop culture." Because I have much better taste than that, Mr. Pabst Blue Ribbon drinkin, t.v. dinner eatin, baseball hat wearin, mini truck drivin, baboon.
To which he replied, "C'mon! You're a... SUBCULTURE!"
I grabbed my soymilk and got the F out of there before he started singing again. It was bad enough that every time she came onto the screen he had to screech "Oh, I love you!" like a pubescent 13 year old.
Damn chocolate soymilk...
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Square Peg
Things are pretty quiet and calm in the house. No cat fights, no slamming doors, or threats to break fingers (ah, the good ole days...). Grant, however, seems to stick out here like a sore thumb. It really makes me wonder why he answered an ad seeking a female roommate to share a house with yoga minded, vegetarian leaning, cat lovers.
After the Christmas party, which was smashing, the two of us stayed up until 5:00 a.m. debating the existence of God. I was on God's side. Turns out, he doesn't believe in God. And his thoughts on yoga? "I just think of yoga as an hour of trying not to fart." Ugh!
Don't get me wrong - I don't think he's a terrible person. And the fact that he doesn't believe in God - Not my problem. He's the one going to hell after all... But when he's hacking and coughing at midnight because he's allergic to cats, it makes me wonder about his decision to not only move into a house full of them, but adopt one of his own. At moments like that, I think he's an idiot.
Last week he decided to go on a diet. He's a little on the hefty side, and it is the new year, so he went out and bought massive amounts of carrots, yogurt, pre-cut apples in a bag, and Healthy Choice frozen dinners. All of this food prompted chaos in the refrigerator.
Tyler was the first to complain to me that she had nowhere to put any food if she decided to go shopping. Being den mother, I sent out an email to everyone saying we need to section off the fridge, so we all have our own little fourth of it.
Grant thought it was all about him. Of course, his overstuffing the fridge did spur me to do something that was long overdue - but it was not about him.
Tyler, perpetually afraid that someone is going to get more than she does, was making it a federal case of it, and wanted to deliberate on who should get what shelf for a few days. Finally, I'd had enough.
"Look, this is my drawer, and this is my little shelf," I said pointing at them, "You all can work it out amongst ya-selves," I said in a very New York accent in an attempt to smooth the edge of my tone a little bit.
"Oh whatever!" She huffed and walked away.
Francis and I just looked at each other. We were the ones actually trying to clean out the old jars and condiments left by past roommates, and all Tyler had to do was sit back and complain.
Then her knight in dull chrome armor came into the kitchen. He probably heard all the fuss from his room.
"Oh, hey, yea, you should get in on this..." Tyler said to him bitterly as she left the room.
For Christ's sake! It's just a bloody refrigerator! I could not understand why Tyler was getting so huffy.
Grant walked in and said to Francis, "You know what. Why don't you just leave my food where it is and I'll take it all to work tomorrow."
What an upstanding guy, huh? Clearly, this whole thing was all about him, and with one command it would all be fixed. Francis starred at him blankly.
"Um, Grant, this is more about a long term solution," I said flatly.
Since then, we all have our own little sections and I think everyone is much happier, but wading through the ego to get there was rough.
The fact still remains that Grant is the square peg here in the house, but if I've learned anything since I started this blog, it's that nothing ever stays the same.
After the Christmas party, which was smashing, the two of us stayed up until 5:00 a.m. debating the existence of God. I was on God's side. Turns out, he doesn't believe in God. And his thoughts on yoga? "I just think of yoga as an hour of trying not to fart." Ugh!
Don't get me wrong - I don't think he's a terrible person. And the fact that he doesn't believe in God - Not my problem. He's the one going to hell after all... But when he's hacking and coughing at midnight because he's allergic to cats, it makes me wonder about his decision to not only move into a house full of them, but adopt one of his own. At moments like that, I think he's an idiot.
Last week he decided to go on a diet. He's a little on the hefty side, and it is the new year, so he went out and bought massive amounts of carrots, yogurt, pre-cut apples in a bag, and Healthy Choice frozen dinners. All of this food prompted chaos in the refrigerator.
Tyler was the first to complain to me that she had nowhere to put any food if she decided to go shopping. Being den mother, I sent out an email to everyone saying we need to section off the fridge, so we all have our own little fourth of it.
Grant thought it was all about him. Of course, his overstuffing the fridge did spur me to do something that was long overdue - but it was not about him.
Tyler, perpetually afraid that someone is going to get more than she does, was making it a federal case of it, and wanted to deliberate on who should get what shelf for a few days. Finally, I'd had enough.
"Look, this is my drawer, and this is my little shelf," I said pointing at them, "You all can work it out amongst ya-selves," I said in a very New York accent in an attempt to smooth the edge of my tone a little bit.
"Oh whatever!" She huffed and walked away.
Francis and I just looked at each other. We were the ones actually trying to clean out the old jars and condiments left by past roommates, and all Tyler had to do was sit back and complain.
Then her knight in dull chrome armor came into the kitchen. He probably heard all the fuss from his room.
"Oh, hey, yea, you should get in on this..." Tyler said to him bitterly as she left the room.
For Christ's sake! It's just a bloody refrigerator! I could not understand why Tyler was getting so huffy.
Grant walked in and said to Francis, "You know what. Why don't you just leave my food where it is and I'll take it all to work tomorrow."
What an upstanding guy, huh? Clearly, this whole thing was all about him, and with one command it would all be fixed. Francis starred at him blankly.
"Um, Grant, this is more about a long term solution," I said flatly.
Since then, we all have our own little sections and I think everyone is much happier, but wading through the ego to get there was rough.
The fact still remains that Grant is the square peg here in the house, but if I've learned anything since I started this blog, it's that nothing ever stays the same.
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