After years of having roommates, some batshit crazier than others, (more on that later…) I moved out on my own and swore I’d never look back.
This was back when I was living in Montreal, where the cost of a large one bedroom apartment downtown roughly gets you a shoebox-size shithole on Pimp’s Lane in Toronto.
I decided to do the
irresponsible adventurous thing and quit my job to move to a city where I can barely afford soap. Living alone was clearly not an option, but lucky for me, an old friend of mine had already been living in the city for awhile, and was looking for someone to live with. Probably shoulda stuck to craigslist, eh, roomie?
With the inevitable stint of unemployment in my midst, I did what any broke person in desperate need of money would do… I slept, and drank.
Rest assured, my loving roommate was always looking out for me. Much like a pet, she was sure I got my nourishment, one way or another. One late morning I awoke to a text that read, “Hey, I’m pretty sure I left a half-eaten peach on my bed.” Followed by, “You’re welcome to eat it.” Thank you. You’re the sweetest.
We have lasted almost a year together now, and she’s awesome enough that I’ve kept track of some of the ridiculous and enlightening things that come out of her mouth.
This morning I stumbled upon this gem.
“I kinda feel like Beyonce’s energy is contagious… Also, I like replacing the ‘boy’ part in her song If I Were a Boy with things that I’m doing at the time. Like, if I’m making beans, I sing ‘If I were a bean’.”
You’re the best.