The Shame Game

After the last term, the Sara(h)s doing fewer chores than I do, regardless of the fact that they make messes just as often (if not more), really got to me.

For instance, we all cook several times a week and the result is a huge stack of dishes each night. I found myself washing my dishes and theirs after they had cooked and neglected to clean up after themselves. I won’t lie–sometimes I get so overwhelmed with how many plates and pots and utensils that we have that I just let the dishes sit there until I absolutely have to wash them because no one else has.

Obviously I resent picking up after my roommates, so this term, I started a list to record who has done the dishes. I put our names at the top of each column in order to compare the number of times we each wash dishes, hoping to shame them into doing this chore more often.

“Oh, Roommate, thank you so much for starting this system!” Sarah noted sarcastically when discovering that I had called her out on her shorter list. “I can see that you’ve already painstakingly recorded who has done what in the last month. Thanks for that.”

Sara, who is more concerned with her standing as a reputable member of society when we have guests over, took the hint and her numbers began to catch up to my much longer column.

Sarah, however, has still only washed the dishes four times in the last four months… and she purposely signed in in larger handwriting to make her list look longer. How I love her honest efforts.

Selective Caring

At the beginning of the school year, Sarah joined a student action organization that is committed to dealing with issues such as child labor, the homeless, the environment, healthcare, affordable higher education, etc. She tried to recruit Sara and me as well, and while we decided to donate money each semester and to participate in projects/raising awareness, we couldn’t make a commitment to directing a team with all of our other activities.

I was a little surprised that Sarah would dedicate time to do volunteer work that didn’t pertain directly to her goal to go to med school. Since the organization’s application asked for specific causes that one cares about, I asked her which ones she marked down.

“The environment. I don’t really care about much else on the list,” Sarah stated matter-of-factly.

“Er…you don’t care about homeless people or child labor?” I asked, a little bit incredulously.

“Ergh, I hope they don’t put me on either of those committees. It’s their own fault that they are homeless, and those kids should be lucky to have a job,” she responded with disdain.

Now I know what goes through her mind when she walks by the crippled veterans that sacrificed for her freedom who are prevalent in our city. And good thing the aspiring doctor loves to help people so much.

My Deal Makers/Breakers

Just for fun, and so that you guys can learn a little bit more about me, I’m going to post my deal makers and deal breakers too.

Deal Makers

• articulate/good grammar
• handy around the house
• street smart
• tall enough for me to wear heels
• does chores without being asked
• good eating habits
• opens doors
• not too politically correct

Deal Breakers

• freeloaders
• long nails
• alcoholics
• politicians
• cheap
• pansies
• vegetarians
• doesn’t walk girls home at night
• creepers

Deal makers and Deal breakers

Newly stuck to the fridge today is the Sara(h)’s Deal Makers and Deal Breakers, the list of things that they look for in a guy and the things that would illicit their instant rejection. Some are valid, and some reflect their charming personalities. Let me share them with you.

Deal Makers

• jeans that fit well
• money/power (Sara)
• science major (Sarah)
• passion for something (except Christ)
• ambition

Deal Breakers

• Crocs
• White K-Swiss shoes
• mullet/rat-tail
• irregularly-shaped moles
• excessive back hair
• balding
• beer belly
• pussies
• long nails

This is why I’m confused as to how Sarah is so attracted to Jason, but love is blind, I guess.

Temporary Insanity

Even though my roommates exhibit all the qualifications for the “Wicked Witch” awards, I can’t help but consider them my friends after spending so much time together and sharing so many intimate details of our lives. A big part of me tells me that I’m wrong to trust them, but sometimes they do do nice things (sticking up for me when an asshole guy hurts me) and I really appreciate it. It makes me defensive when other people hurt them as well.

Last semester, Sarah met a guy through a friend in her lab class. He’s a hipster (clothes that don’t match, indie music, smoker, etc.) and that is the type of person she aspires to be (she picked up smoking to look cooler), so of course she is head over heels for him. We all spent a lot of time helping her figure out how to get Jason’s attention, and finally she asked him to a date party. All of us went with our respective dates and had a great time.

A month later, they made out in the library during finals week. Before Jason left for home, he said, “See you next semester!” Four months later and he is still stringing her along. Sarah is really upset that they are not officially going out, and I feel really bad for her.

It’s just weird because Jason seems like someone she would never hang out with, other than the fact that she’s crazy about him–he has no real plan for his life, he doesn’t shower frequently, he doesn’t drive a nice SUV… the list goes on. Maybe she has realized that these things she values are not as important as she had thought. There is hope for mankind!

"My Shit Smells Better Than Yours"

As a household, we all enjoy cuisine of many different cultures; our apartment often smells like food from home/ethnic restaurants around campus or dishes that we cook ourselves. While the Sara(h)s and I agree that Indian food and Thai food are amazing, they are obviously partial to their cultures’ cuisine and I am more partial to mine.

Usually, the smell of leftover chicken tikka masala or pad thai makes my mouth water, but occasionally, the Sara(h)s will have something from their parents’ country that makes me feel a little nauseous (especially the jars of pickled fuzzy goodness-knows-what). When that happens, I crack a kitchen window and go sit in my room with the door shut until the smell is gone.

Last night, I reheated some of the food that my mom made for me (I rarely go home, so when I do, my mom makes one of my three favorite dishes). I was having an incredible meal by myself until Sara got home from class.

“Oh my God, what is that smell?” she exclaimed, wrinkling her nose.

“I went home this weekend, and my mom made me my favorite dish!” I laughed it off.

“Um, can you get rid of it? It smells disgusting!” Sara began making a huge show of opening all the windows and doors.

“You know, I don’t ever tell you to dump your food when it smells bad, so could you not be so rude about it?” I responded.

“That’s because my country’s food never smells bad!” She retorted.

I picked up my bowl and went into my room without another word. For someone who claims to be so open-minded and cultured–clearly, her Poli-Sci major and living in Europe for three months entitles her to that self-proclamation–Sara really has her head up her ass when it comes to her own culture’s faults.

Silent vs. Vibrate

Last night, I was studying for an intense midterm at a cafe for several hours with several friends. I was really stressed out when I got home at 1 AM to Sarah pouting in the kitchen. Great. I mentally prepared myself for whatever was coming next.

“Roommate, did you not get any of my calls?” She demanded angrily.

“No, Sarah, I didn’t get anything.” I pulled out my phone from my backpack to check, and I did have five missed calls. “Sorry, Sarah, I didn’t hear it go off.”

“Are you serious?! I can’t believe that you wouldn’t hear it ring! I was getting so worried that I had to have Rob call you!” She was getting really worked up.

“Well, I had my phone set on ’silent’ since I was studying for a midterm I have tomorrow,” I tried to explain.

“That’s bullshit. You set your phone on ‘vibrate’, which you should have heard!”

“Yes, it vibrates, but I would have picked it up if I had heard it.”

“Well, if it vibrates, it’s called ‘vibrate’,” she insisted.

“On my phone, the setting is called ’silent’.” I added, “Does it even matter?”

“Yes, it does,” Sarah hissed, “because it’s called fucking ‘vibrate’!”

“All right. I’m going to go cram some more. Let me know if you actually need something,” I ended the conversation and walked away incredulously.

… I think she just picked a fight with me over whether my phone setting is called ‘vibrate’ or ’silent’.