I just wrote a beautiful letter to my future roommate on Roomster, and I clicked “Save Changes.” I then changed said page and the paragraphs and paragraphs about what it’s like to live with me disappeared in an instant. I would like to try and recreate it here.
Dear Future Roommate,
The only thing you need to know about me is that I am a writer and I cannot live alone. I spend hours with my computer and I need it to understand the world, because I reflect on everything that’s just happened to understand the future…… but I need people to pull me out of my introspection. I see patterns in behavior like a professional sociologist, but I do not have any interest in going that direction as a career. I want to be a speech writer in the White House stable, and I will not give up on that dream. I have also started my own church, named “St. James and All Sinners.” I am running it as a religious organization because I am not ordained, and praying on the words and the spaces in between as I figure out what it takes to fix it. You would think that I don’t have room for both of those dreams to prosper at once, and you would be wrong about that. Writing touches everything, and it’s the only thing that can. I love the line Mason Williams wrote about envying water because it could touch a woman fully, and he could not. It is amazing how well writing and water go together, which reminds me that I live a fucking hour from Galveston and to just get my ass over there.
I curse a lot. You’ll have to be okay with that or you’ll hate me from day one. I am also the funniest person in the room if you are okay with just how inappropriate I can get. I am a former line cook, and if there is anyone whose career I want it’s…….. wait for it…….. Anthony Bourdain. I plan to get even emotionally with a restaurant after I’ve left it, because there are always as many quirks about his jobs as there are about mine. In terms of how good a line cook I am, I really don’t know. I could hack it in Portland at a pub but I fell from grace quickly at fine dining. Here’s the problem I uncovered when I really thought about it. I cut weird because I have monocular vision, and therefore no depth perception nor angle of convergence needed to make my knife hit precisely where I wanted it every single time. I can cut easier with French knife skills than Japanese, but it’s still never as perfect as it needs to be. I have a champagne palate and shitty, shitty knife skills. Therefore, I feel best in the realm of executive chef, one that doesn’t stand there and make food all night but can rock your face off with menu ideas. I’ll never be an executive chef because the kitchen is a meritocracy…. therefore, you will love it when I cook for you and it will take less than a minute for you to love me forever with everything that you are as long as I will do this every night.
If you are also a cook because it is the greatest thing on God’s green earth, I ask that you not be a bitch about working with each other instead of against. We can be better cooks together than we can be apart, and I am not opposed to bartering my services in exchange for room and board if you need a nanny. I have often thought of adopting or having a child, and living with them is an acceptable compromise. Two of the greatest jobs I’ve ever had were babysitting for twins, a set of infants and a set of, ummm, seven year olds, I think. John and Katie, and then Jacob and Emma were the lights of my life, and I was 15 and 16 and an adult when I was their nanny, respectively. They were so curious about the world and it made me a better person, one day at a time. Plus, my dad choked knowing what a bad driver I was when John and Katie’s dad offered to let me drive his Dodge Viper (he owned a car rental place and therefore he drove cars like a drug dealer in a completely and honest full of joy kind of way). What gearhead wouldn’t want to play with every toy on the playground? I would die. Die.
I am a lesbian. Here’s what that means in terms of living with me:
You want me to move in immediately because we have so much in common, including women. I am a better wingman than you are, I will bet you a thousand bucks because I know I can beat Teddy KGB, motherfucker. You will be a better boyfriend than you ever thought possible, because I am single and therefore I am boring and have time to focus on what a douche you are and how to fix it. By the time I move out, you will be a metrosexual work of art, and every woman you know will have a crush on you because I am ‘enry ‘iggins and you are fucking Eliza Doolittle, bitch. I look forward to being able to become “accustomed to your face” in a very Sherlock and Watson kind of way.
You will want me to move in immediately because I will treat you like the goddess that you are. I will help you run your household and if I am in any way attracted to the way you look I will tease you about it by lightly flirting but it will never go anywhere. Maybe if I was 25. I’m not. I am single and therefore I am boring, therefore I have time to focus on what a douche your boyfriend is and how to fix it. I’m really good at it, because I understand men in a way you don’t. They will open up to me in a way that they can’t to you, because I am a loving ear without their need to act like a valiant protector and advocate. I have references. If you are the type girl that thinks you can change in front of me, get the fuck out of here. Are you kidding? Treat me as cautiously as you would a male roommate, because even if I am not interested in you, I will blush and die every time I see your boobs.
I like for you to party around me. I will be the one locked in my room, writing about what I hear. If my desk is near a window over the back yard, I ask that you have a pool for obvious reasons. It would be great to be able to look at the menu without ordering, capiche? Yes, I like boys, too. Preferably gay ones so that it emotionally doesn’t go anywhere AND you’ll tell me what clothes to buy and possibly dress me like William Sledd. My perfect roommate relationship is that you are the kind of rich that wants to spoil me because I am the lesbian that wants to spoil you at home by being a GREAT companion. If you know what that means to me, you can be my Doctor if Argo regenerates. Just treat me like all the other boys you have laying around your house. We are ALWAYS going through the drive-thru at Starbucks, why are you even asking?! You can live anywhere in the world, I don’t give a shit. Just relocate me. It’ll be a new start for me and a way to have a patron without having to blow you. You will love me at the gay bars because if you’ll buy all my drinks, I will drive you home. By this I mean you will pay for the mocktails, bitch. I still want to be festive. If you are so inclined, buy me a screaming laptop and I will write about what happened while we’re still in the club so that the next morning you know to which you need to make amends. Yes, I will remind you that the car is parked on the sidewalk in front of our house until you die, and you’ll say, “too soon” A LOT. If you are a hairdresser, fuck it. Marry me. We’ll work it out.
I’m going to fall in love with you if you are in any way attractive to me. I will fall in love with you anyway if I live with you for more than three months. No fucking way. Not doing that…………………… again (Briana was in ROTC….. shiver). Maybe if I had a girlfriend. Not now.
Three out of four ain’t bad.
I would love it if you were in the military. Seriously. I will absorb your stories if you don’t mind me putting them down on paper (such as it is, bitch). For free room and board, I would be happy to be your companion if you are disabled and funny and offensive as shit. If it flips your shit to hear jokes that would make normal people throw up, you need to pick someone else.
If you have ever gotten an allergy to alcohol and broken out in handcuffs, please be far enough along in the program that I do not have to worry about your relapse 24/7 because I will. I will love you until I just can’t anymore to try and protect you. Let’s just don’t on that one. If you haven’t been sober for two years, I do not want to live with you. The dopamine of “new relationship” will have us blowing each other up on a daily basis if you haven’t ditched the fog of addiction and come back to your right fucking mind.
I think this is a pretty accurate description of what it’s really like to be me. I hope you’ll remember that I was so honest, and always will be.
Because I am a writer, and that’s all you need to know.