There’s an American proverb or classic anecdote that often comes to mind when I begin thinking about women who exist inside of social circle, workplace environment, or those that live in close proximity to me. It instantly conveys a strong message via its simplicity and blunt nature when it hits your ears, “don’t shit where you eat,” it’s simple and direct. A few variations of this phrase are, “don’t shit where you sit,” “don’t shit on your own doorstep,” and probably the most euphemistic example, “don’t be sick in one’s own hat.” All these little one liners of wisdom are all fancy ways to say don’t make problems for yourself in places you frequent.
This is the story of how I ended up having sex with one of my female roommates which eventually lead to me having to find a new living situation. This story requires a bit of back information, to understand completely; so bear with me.
When I first moved out to San Diego, Ca I only knew a handful of people. The whole concept of the trip was to expand my horizons (figuratively), learn more about other people/myself, and discover what else life had to offer. I realized if I wasn’t going to take such a big chance during my early twenties, then I’d likely never get the chance down the road.
Prior to making my move I needed to set up my living arrangements. I made the mistake of moving in with a young guy I found off of craigslist. He lied to me in our back and forth correspondence prior to my moving in. This guy didn’t have a life beyond his shitty job at enterprise rent-a-car and his entire existence was unimaginably plain. Life was work, sleep, video games, and girlfriend; in that order.
I told him I was looking for someone to show me the area, I especially wanted to room with a person that would be up for hitting the bar scene on the weekends. Since I didn’t know anyone in the city, I explained that I would need some major assistance in expanding my social/professional network. I’m able to make friends on my own pretty quickly, but any help would go a long way. He said he worked hard during the week but loved “raging” at the bars with tons of friends on the weekends. In truth, this kid didn’t have any friends. He had isolated himself for so long with a boring girlfriend that he had all but cut all others out of his life. His only “friends” were co-workers at the enterprise rent-a-car. And he never went to bars because he thought they were a waste of money.
He claimed that his “hot” girlfriend had tons of hot friends and it wouldn’t be a problem to pair me up with one of them to hit the town regularly. In reality, she only came over to watch him play video games… and fight. She never spoke more than a few words to me despite my best efforts to create a friendship and I never met her friends.
Chris’ lies were multi-fold. He claimed that his neighbors were hot young fun girls that loved to party. He said they were “awesome” and they had a reputation to “fuck everybody.” The first week I moved in, I heard the people living in house in front of us were having people over. I walked over with a 30 rack of bud-light and a handle of Jack Daniels and said, “Hey I’m Chris’ new roommate, we live in the condo right behind you all. I haven’t had a chance to meet any of you guys yet. I just moved here from Virginia a few days ago and I don’t know anyone in the area yet. I brought some alcohol, can I join you guys?”
You would have thought I said, “I’m going to be performing an abortion in your back yard do you guys want to watch.” Looking around the room, all I spotted were pudgy trashy looking girls with muffin tops. Awkward stares and a long silence were eventually stifled by one girl saying, “Um, we’re pre-gaming right now. We’re not having a party. Thanks.” And they closed the door.
Lastly, this guy claimed to be a regular “weekend warrior” and he said that he loved hitting the bars. We went out once together the entire four months I lived with him. He always had an excuse to stay in. It was either work, a new movie had come out, or his girlfriend was coming over. The first time he ever tried whiskey was with me (which is just sad at age 22). The kid was a loser, slob, and a major douche-bag. After the first week I knew I had made a mistake and I would be ready for a change whenever the opportunity presented itself.
When the lease came to an end after month number four I had already been perusing a new living situation via the Rooms/shared section of craigslist for a few months. I ran into all the familiar problems you can expect with meeting strangers and broken toys off of Craigslist. I got to tour bedrooms that smelled like animal kennels, rooms smaller than my current closet, California corn-flakes (flaky losers), halfway houses, and other bizarre freak shows that ultimately lead me to respond to an ad for a room with two girls in a reasonably priced house only five blocks from the beach and one block from the bars. Things were looking up.
I exchanged pictures and facebook information prior to meeting up with one of the girls. Eventually I set a time and a date to meet one of the girls at a bar so that all parties would be comfortable with who or what they would be moving in with. I was pleasant and friendly during our meeting and kept all flirting to a minimum. This would inevitably be the girl I ended up sleeping with three months later. She was a year younger, not terribly attractive due to the mouth full of crackerjacks she had for teeth, and she also had a slightly frumpy body to boot. In her defense she seemed nice and didn’t come off as someone capable of mood swings, just an overall sweet girl. Let’s call her Annie.
We signed a lease agreement shortly after our meeting up. Within a week and a half I was all moved into my new place. I actually pictured my life being very similar to the show, “three is company.”
Living with girls for just the first few weeks had opened my mind to new ideas about women. Given my previous living situations were dorms, fraternity houses, and my parent’s place; I suppose I had never imagined myself living within such close quarters with girls my own age. My lessons learned from this situation gave me real perspective on the opposite sex despite the unreasonable amount of shit I had to endure.
For starters, I hadn’t the slightest clue that women were more than capable of being major slobs until this experience. I pictured them decorating the house and making it an immaculate fresh smelling palace. Instead, I experienced the cold realities of sharing a bathroom with girls that constantly shed long hairs, had poor toilette etiquette (everybody poops, I just don’t want to see it), and I was introduced to the truly sickening encounters that go with used feminine products. Not to mention these girls were leeches when it came to everything from toilette paper, to alcohol, to ice cream.
One of the more interesting observations I regularly watched with great interest was the blasé nature of promiscuity amongst the women between the ages of 21-25 in Southern California. Here’s a fun fact, all women will go through a slutty stage. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, it just hadn’t sunk in fully until I saw it happen with great regularity first hand. And let’s be clear, we all have our own definitions of what “promiscuity” looks like and what an actual really “slut” is. But even the harmless looking ones will prove this point in various ways not just by dragging a fat guy with a goatee and flat brim hat home from the bars on a Tuesday night.
As you might expect, my roommates vehemently denied that they would ever hook up with random guys they met at bars. Citing that it was the behavior of other girls with low morals who didn’t respect themselves. This was an effort to curtail any type of suspicions that might lead anyone to think otherwise about them. I wouldn’t call it being hypocritical, it was more of a self justification to view others as weak and dirty and themselves as empowered and bold. However, without fail- nearly every weekend, I would make my way downstairs for breakfast and watch a bizarre spectrum of dudes stumble out of the girl’s respective bedrooms from the night before.
When I pried further and discussed dating at length with my female room mates I got some solid perspective on how things really worked. For some odd reason I had a long standing outdated belief that girls didn’t participate in many of the same grimy games that guys played. Clearly I was wrong.Both of the girls said it was pretty standard at any given time that there would be at least two guys they were regularly “hooking up with” or as they put it, “seeing” while they also were regularly flirting via text with a steady four to five additional guys. Much of the text flirting didn’t go beyond texting. But the girls enjoyed the entertainment, attention, and compliments that came from it throughout the day. So in order to continue to inflate their egos they strung the texting relationships along with minimal effort and kept them waiting in the wings just in case one of the two regular guys dropped off. When I asked my room mates’ other female friends if they had similar lifestyle, they all agreed that it was pretty standard and by far not the exception. I don’t want to say this was staggering but it does give you the ability to position yourself and see these things a bit more clearly when trying to figure out where you stand with a lady friend.
That being said, it’s important to realize that even though a girl might be texting/flirting with you at the moment, she’ll likely have 3-4 other guys in rotation who she’s sending the same signals in order to keep her options open and also boost her self esteem. By that same token, there should be ZERO guilt; as a male, for diversifying your portfolio of options for doing the same thing. Because rest assured iceman, you’re not the only bogey on her six.
Finally, I came to the conclusion that when most women are made dumber by their choosing to waste an unimaginable amount of time watching mindless shit on TV. I could come home from work on any given night and be certain the girls were watching shit for brains bullshit reality garbage on television like the Bachelorette, Jersey Shore, or something else equally awful. It warps their understanding of common sense and forces them to behave like the psychopaths they regularly watch on TV. Although there is something amusing about a television program that actually makes you dumber just by watching it. I think it’s a leaching of time and distorts the viewers sense of “reality,” making them less capable people overall. But I digress.
During the first week the other female roommate, Adrienne had made an effort to sleep with me by crawling into my bed after our first “roommate’s night out” at the bars. We had gotten back to the house late and she claimed that she hadn’t set up her bed yet, so she followed me into my room and crawled in my bed. Once there she began making purring noises while sliding her legs around in attempts to caress mine. I’m not deaf, blind, and dumb I can pick up on a hint. But I didn’t want to stir the pot right out of the gate.
Since day one I was determined to keep our living situation platonic; I stuck to my guns. As she kept scooting towards me and making odd noises I continued to mumble things like, “it’s not gonna happen,” “we’ll both regret this,” “go to sleep in your own room.” She took off her bra and made a few more weak attempts at turning me over until we both fell asleep. I was proud of myself for avoiding what would obviously have resulted in dramatics and proved to have been a monumental mistake.
Three months later, and things were still going quite well. None of us had made any other passes at each other. We all seem to get along quite well and we seldom had any tiffs or quarrels. We even went out during the week nights together and occasionally met up at the same bars as a group on the weekends. But the honeymoon would soon be coming to an end.
I was working at a larger corporate organization in the area during that time and earlier in the day, the red cross’ blood mobile had come to visit our building. Ever since I got guilt tripped into donating blood in college with one of my now deceased veteran buddies, I always donated whenever the opportunity presented itself. One of the little celebrated upsides of donating blood is that you’re a very cheap drunk for the next day or so while your body tries to produce more blood to make up for what has been taken out it. This means that your alcohol tolerance is lowered significantly; which implies that you can get drunk on practically ten bucks.
Upon arriving back home from work later that day, the girls invited me out with them to hit the bars. We stopped at three different places within the first two hours and slammed drinks at bottom dollar prices. I was already feeling a heavy buzz after drink number two when I started talking to some marines. The girls thought the guys were attractive and I took no issue with facilitating the introductions. I began chatting with one of them and mentioned why I had donated blood earlier that day. As a result, one of the marines felt compelled to buy us all a round of shots. I thought it to be rude if I even considered declining, so the group of us slammed back a round of tequilla shots. No good deed goes unpunished, so a minute later I showed my appreciation for his gesture by buying a second round of shots for our whole group.
After a few more shots one of my roommates disappeared leaving me and Annie to hang out with the marines. We were both having a great time, but it goes without saying we were both pretty hammered. At some point I checked my phone and realized it was already much later than either of us had planned on staying out. We both had to be up for work early the next day and any further drinking would only increase the dimensions of the hangover to come.
“It’s almost midnight Annie,” I said waving down the bartender and signaling the check sign in the air. “We should get out of here.”
“Yeah I know, I’ll close-out too.” She said grabbing her jacket and sliding her arm into the wrong sleeve.
We both thanked the marine guys we drank with and said our good-byes to some of the strangers we had met along the way as we headed for the doors. We stepped out into the cool Pacific Beach air and headed down the sidewalk towards our house; a short five blocks walk from the bar.
We walked arm-in-arm loudly joking and laughing obnoxiously about the hysterics that had taken place that evening. As we neared the last few blocks I started up with the sweet/over-the-top drunk talk, “Annie, I’m really glad we live together.” I said playfully. “You guys are seriously the best. If you knew how much better I have it now compared with what I first lived with…”
“You and Andrienne have turned out to be so much fun. I guess what I’m trying to say is, I’m really glad we’re roommates. You guys are great.”
She paused for minute as we walked, “I really like living with you too,” she said softly.
A few moments later we stumbled through the front door and we both drunkenly headed to our respective bedrooms. I shouldered through the door to my room and face planted into bed. I was moments away from passing out when I suddenly heard my door swing open. I looked up to see Annie in my doorway. She silently walked over to the edge of the bed and pulled the covers back then climbed in.
“What are you doing?” I asked a bit confused as she began nuzzling into me and kissing my neck.
“Shhhhhhh.” She said softly as she kissed my cheek and was moving towards my lips.
“Pfft! Annie, go back to your room. I think it would be a really bad idea if we did this right now.”
“No it’s fine,” She whispered in my ear as she began to rub my chest. “I want you. You’re hot.”
Laughing at first, “I can appreciate that, but I’m too drunk for this and I don’t think it’s a good idea. Any other night I might show you how play ball, but this isn’t the time.”
I wriggled away and slid all the way to the opposite side of the bed. I put both my feet against her with my back to the wall. I slowly sideways kangaroo-kicked her out of my bed until she slid off the edge of the bed and onto the floor with a loud thud.”What the fuck?!” She yelled at me from the floor sitting up.
“Annie, go to bed. This is not a good idea. Maybe another time, not tonight.” I said in a more stern voice.
She pushed herself to her feet. “Fine Taylor, you’re missing out.”
“I’m sure I am. Night hun.” I called after her as she stomped out of my room and slammed the door behind her.
Not more than a minute went by and I’d almost fallen asleep. WHAM! My door flew open and hit the wall. “Now what?” I yelled frustrated looking upwards and squinting at the silhouette of her figure in the doorway.
I watched Annie roll her underwear down her legs and past her knees to the floor. She kicked them off as she unhooked her bra and tossed it beside my bed. Once again she lifted the covers and slid right back into the bed to nestle up next to me.”Annie, you’re not making this easy for me.” I mumbled. Her hand drifted past my chest and under the waistband of my boxers.
“I’m not a machine, I’m just a man. I’ve tried my best here, you’re not allowed to be pissed at me for this in the morning.” I said looking over at her as she put on the “I’m a huge slut” smile.
We started to kiss and my hands drifted towards her body. The rest of the night gets a bit hazy. I remember blips, or stills of “erotica.” I’ll say this, for a girl with bad teeth she was actually reasonably gifted at oral. I remember turning her around in different positions, legs were extended over shoulders, we were standing then falling, laying sideways while upside down, there might as well have been a back-flip with a people’s elbow drop in there as well. My thought process is that if you’re going to dare to put on a pair of ski’s on my mountain I’m going to send you down the craziest, steepest, unimaginably treacherous slope you’ve ever even conceptualized. And just like any good ski trip you can count on being a little scared, having fun, and expect to be sore but planning your next trip the following day. I’m kidding, but seriously I’m sure if I watched everything from that night from a third perspective while sober, I’d probably pee my pants and be in tears laughing.Go big or go home I guess.
In the morning I woke to realize I was still incredibly hammered. I looked around and knew I was in my own bed. That’s a good start. My eyes drifted to the clock, it was already 10:00 AM. I was confused and out of sorts, was it Saturday? That’s not possible. Was it? I had to try and piece together the previous nights events. I slowly sat up noticing that I was completely naked. Strange but not totally unusual. I knew I was went out the night before, but where did I go? It’s like living the movie, Momento; a pocket of polaroids would sure as shit have helped. I took a visual inspection of my room to try to throw together some type of explanation for my current state of affairs. There was a porn website streaming video on my computer, a few candles were barely flickering on my dresser, and there was a puddle of lube all over my desk. I peered over the edge of the bed and spotted a bra and pink thong laying near the door. Bingo.
“AHHH FUCK!” I Yelled out loud. Smacking my palm to my forehead. Instantly, my mind began racing over the previous nights events. “Did I really fuck my roommate?!” I groaned.
I jumped out of bed I realized it was only Thursday and I was already an hour late for work. I grabbed a towel and threw it around my waist as I stubbed my toe on the door frame trying to get into the hallway, “AW Fuck! Annie!” I yelled out hopping on one foot into the hall way.
I pushed open Annie’s door.
She was passed out face down in her bed. “We slept in! Wake up!” I yelled.
She wrenched her head upwards and turned to look at me, her hair matted to her face. “Huh?”
I turned and ran to the shower.
I stood there in the shower for a bit trying to bring all the pieces of the previous night’s events together with the random images of sex and shots. How did I manage to get so drunk? How did all this happen? Did I really bang out my roommate? I laughed out loud as placed together the chain of events in order all the way back to donating blood in the blood mobile. I was somewhat impressed with my ability to outdo myself and even more so impressed at how my charitable gesture of donating blood had turned so devious.
Once out of the shower, I dove onto my bed and found my phone. I quickly texted my boss and told him that I was running late due to setting my alarm clock for the wrong time and began throwing on clothes. I passed Annie in the hallway on my way out the door and all I could think to say was, “Hey stranger!”
She looked at me confused as I got out of the door and shuffled over to my car still feeling incredibly haggard. I lit up a cigarette and hit the road.
I laughed through half of my commute at how incredibly awkward my next conversation with Annie was going to be. I simply had to write this one off as an unintended consequence of being really awesome. “Good thing I live with chicks,” I said aloud laughing hysterically as I parked at my office.
As I got into my first hour at my desk, I received a text from Annie, “I kind of remember doing stuff with you last night. Can we keep that between the two of us?”
I wrote back, “Well you started it. LOL Sure. Not a problem.”
When I got back home, I had already anticipated having “the talk” with Annie and had memorized a few key talking points. But she avoided me awkwardly the rest of that afternoon and by the time the weekend came around she was all but ignoring me, so I left it alone. We never addressed it. This was likely my fatal error. Always clear the air on these things as soon as possible, time only complicates situations like this. Well I guess my truthfully my fatal error would have been hooking up with her in the first place… or drinking after donating blood. Whatever, I had to play the hand I’d been dealt and hope for the best. As you might have guessed I’m not much of a poker player.
That Friday I had my regular “mo-hawk” artist girl over and received a death stare from Annie as we marched upstairs to my room. From that point on, things were different between Annie and I. She took offense to me going back to my regular girl just two nights after her and I had one drunken crazy night together. Had I sat down and talked it out with her right away, I think this story may have gone differently. After that weekend, Annie took a new hostile attitude towards me. Passive aggressive behavior became the new norm. The other roommate followed suit soon after.
I was no longer invited out to “room-mate nights out” and this would eventually lead to the girls teaming up on me about everything little thing that bothered them. Soon yelling matches over little things began to be a regular occurrence. The girls became even less considerate and started knowingly eating my food, drinking my alcohol, and worst of all; opening my door to yell at me about the volume of my music while I was in the act of having sex with “randoms” from the bar. It wasn’t long before I asked that the three of us sit down and have a rational talk about our current living situation. It was my hope that we could try to fix all the issues and get everything that was bothering us out in the open.
Unfortunately, rational thinking is not one of the things that most girls possess, much less those in Southern California. I laid down ground rules for the meeting (no yelling, personal attacks, etc) and explained that we all needed to act as diplomatically as possible to resolve our problems so we could have a more civil living situation. Within a minute, the “meeting” was turned into an aggressive out-pouring of emotion. Annie started yelling at me as if she was one of the stars of her beloved reality television shows and the other one backed up all of her strange accusations. I could tell she had been saving all the “zingers” she had seen play out on television shows like the Real House Wives of New Jersey, Project Runway, and the Jersey Shore. The issues being brought up were now completely out of left field. Andrienne jumped in and said she wanted to trade rooms. In reality, it was because mine was slightly bigger and had a balcony, but she tried angle it as a “safety issue.” She claimed she felt “less safe” living on the lower level. Her rationale was that she would be more likely to get raped and killed living on the lower level and was losing sleep every night over it. I was in awe of the level of crazy we had stepped into. It was clear that neither of them had any desire to work things out and drew more pleasure out of trying to be difficult for the sake of being difficult. I guess there really is some truth behind the old quote, “hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.”
I tried to cool the situation off by maintaining my composure, speaking slowly in an even voice, and focusing on things that we could all agree on. This enraged Annie as she had mistaken my calm tone for me being condescending towards the two of them. As I struggled to get this thing back on the rails, both girls continued making personal attacks at my overall demeanor and lack of principles. After back pedaling and defending myself to these two idiots for a good fifteen minutes we hadn’t gotten anywhere. In fact we had gotten further away from harmonious living than we had ever been before. After a few more attempts to sideline the outrageous demands and low blows, I threw out the idea of moving out. The two girls silently looked at each other and then back at me and nodded, “we think that’s the best idea.”
“Stupid cunts…” I said to myself. I stood up walked outside and lit up a cigarette.
On numerous occasions ranging from dealings with authoritative figures to customer service debacles my dad had taught me a valuable lesson at an early age. “You can’t argue with crazy.” There are some people that can be presented with a logical case and have all the facts to make the right decision but they choose to defer to their emotions and in the hopes that even though they’re wrong, the sought after feeling of vindication (no, I’m right) is more important than the comprise.
Now I’m not sure if my regular “escapades” would have ultimately led me to end up in the same predicament. But having been through it, I’d rather error on the side of caution and avoid this type of thing altogether. I moved home to Virginia at the end of that month despite having other living options. It was time to quit California dreaming.There are a lot things to take away from my experiment in co-ed habitation. But the greatest lesson from all of this is noting opportunities that won’t bare fruit beyond one night and will enviably poison you. When the writing is on the wall, it’s best to save yourself from the additional stress and simply abstain from the lures of having fun for one evening in exchange for weeks (maybe months) of misery to come. That’s right boys and girls, don’t shit where you eat… unless you’re sure you’re not coming back.
…On second thought, I wouldn’t have this story to tell if I had followed my own advice. Maybe sometimes it’s better to flick matches at a gas can to find out what happens next. Life is short, let your burning bridges light your way.