This is Why I Can't Room with Strangers

I am sick of my roommate. She wonders why she can't find anyone to room with her next semester. HA HA. WONDER WHY.

She has become the biggest Debbie Downer that I've ever seen. I want to get the little theme that plays on SNL when she comes on, just to play it when my roommate is being especially annoying. First sunny day of the season? It's obviously not pretty, just look at the mud. Awesome that they're serving pancakes at lunch? Off course not, her's aren't the exact shade of wheat. Great that we're having a snow day? Now she can't drive home.

C'mon, life isn't a damn misery for you, you little spoilt brat. Get over yourself.

Now, though, she's crossing the line.

I've dealt with her leaving the television on when she leaves the room and I'm still there, even though I don't have the remote and never watch my own television.

I've dealt with her randomly rearranging the room into the worst possible arrangements, even if she does it when I'm at work.

I've dealt with her moaning about missing her boyfriend when he's less than an hour away, when mine is sixteen hours from here.

I've dealt with her ignoring the fact that I use headphones whenever I watch television online, a concept that she will never grasp.

I've dealt with helping her with homework for months.

I can't fucking stand her touching my stuff too. If we had previously agreed that it was a shareable item, I wouldn't mind. Television, microwave are cool for her to touch. Just like I use her printer and fridge. But lately, she's been crossing the line.

The other night, I came home to lights around our room. Meaning that she'd climbed all over my bed to hang them. I can deal with that, even though my laptop is always on my bed and I'd rather her keep a five foot radius from it.

Then my nightstand, which happens to be near her since she rearranged, had all of my stuff pushed into the drawers. Okay, moron, that stuff wasn't yours. That was mine. Why are you touching it?

Then my desk. I cleaned it this morning, only to find that she has raided my popcorn that I bought for movie night. No. Not shareable food. That's why it wasn't in the bin.

Finally, tonight, I notice my trashcan was touched.

Me: Were you under my bed?
Her: No.
Me: My trashcan was moved. (Obviously it was you, there are only two of us)
Her: I might have moved it.

Thank you for admitted you lied to me seconds before. Kindly stab yourself in the uterus so you can never spawn, and fail out like you're destined to do.

I'm happy you lost your job. I'm happy you can't find a roommate. You're intolerable. A spoiled brat. I'm so done with you.