I have lots of bloggy things to catch up on (and lots of actual people to catch up with), but right now I am suffering post-yom tov/post-amazing-friend-visit work overload, so I will just say this:
I am not the best roommate in the world. I have long, loud phone conversations. I don't make my bed when I'm rushed in the morning. I am anal retentive about a lot of things, but a sparkling clean toilet bowl has never been one of them. I keep weird hours. I am more than unfriendly until I have my morning coffee. My books take up a lot of space. When I am rushed in the morning, I sometimes leave open the cabinet that houses the sugar after doctoring my coffee. I may be slightly obsessed with the colors pink and orange (though since I got to L.A., I have moved on to brown, green, and blue). I am pretty good about replacing empty toilet paper rolls, but my track record is not perfect.
But, by my count, I have lived with 24 people I am not related to for the span of at least three months each (and up to over two years). Some of those roommates (including all of those who read this blog) were amazing and some were less than amazing, but I was never actually yelled at by any of them, which must mean something, right?