Roommates: I'm sorry, but I am off-the-market. You cannot have me anymore.
Or, at least you random roommate-folk cannot (I'm still leaving myself available for the willing friend, as a possible backup option). But I'm serious this year, I am off-the-market to the rest of you. I don't care how charmed you are by the title "UC Berkeley researcher" (note: it's really not as cool as it sounds, and how exactly is having me and my many degrees living in your smelly garage going to impress anyone?) . I don't care how excited you are about my gardening/baking skills (note: I'm really not thrilled that you are hovering around asking me "what's cooking" thinking it's going to win you a morsel either). I don't care how much you are counting on me to save you everytime that your hard-disk crashes (note: just because we share a hallway and some toilet paper does NOT mean that I'm obligated to fix your computer!!! Get it? Got it? GOOD.). I also REALLY don't give a shit that my "polite, friendly, and considerate" demeanor have given you the impression that I want to become your new best friend and listen to you rant everyday for 3 hours while I'm trying to cook dinner and watch tv.
...Or clean up your used tampons off the bathroom floor.
...Or step around your barf on my bathroom rug.
...Or try to rescue your dead underfed gerbil from the kitchen sink (where he no doubt went to commit suicide to escape YOU).
...Or listen to you boink three guys in your upstairs, creeky, loft without an ounce of shame or volume control.
That's it. Really. We are not going to live together. Sorry, but this era is coming to an end.
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