The crazy train has just left the station

I don’t have a very good excuse for my general blog disappearance other than that I’m working weird daytime hours and weekend hours and trying to move into a smaller living space. I’m so busy I haven’t even been able to finish my Hannukah list.

I have a lot to tell you. It all started a long long time ago, a year-and-a-half ago when I interviewed a woman to be my roommate. Possibly and hopefully the last roommate I’ll ever have.

I thought to myself,

‘She seems fine, responsible and has a day job.’ At the time I had a night job. I was looking for a roommate I’d never see. She asked,

“Maybe we could have dinner together sometimes?”


And just when we were all set to sign the lease, she asks,

“Is it ok for my mom to come see the place first?”

“Sure. I thought you said your mom lives in Florida.”

“She does, she’s here visiting.”

I considered this a yellow flag, in retrospect it was a red flag telling me to run run away. Instead we signed a lease. She moved in and so did her mom.

Days would go by and I would never see my original roommate. I’d wake up at 10am. There’s her mom. I’d come home from work. There’s her mom. Why did her mom come all the way from Florida to visit me?

It was only a few days in and no one seemed to believe me about how crazy this woman was. I needed proof. It didn’t take long. I woke up, stumbled into the kitchen, with the hopes of enjoying a little of the alone time I so treasured before I got a third roommate.

I walk into the bathroom. The beautiful white claw-foot tub has terrible yellow splotches all over it. I ask my new third roommate,

“What happened to the tub?”

“What do you mean what happened to the tub?”

“It has yellow splotches all over it that have never been there before.”

She peers in at the tub. She acts shocked,

“I was just trying to clean!”

I start scrubbing. I like to keep a clean, neat house and my tub was clean until someone tried to “clean” it. Twenty minutes later it’s back to normal. I settle in for my coffee, blog and Jon Stewart. There’s a knock on my door.

My roommate’s mom is sobbing. Tears are streaming down her face. She flails her arms,

“I’m sorry, I ruin everything!”

I wish I could tell you she went back to Florida and was never heard from again. Alas, there’s more crazy where that came from, but that’s for another blog.

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