I didn’t move out of home until I was 21, and was lucky enough to move into a huge place with cheap rent that was close to the city. Even better, I got along well with my housemates (two guys and a girl, all friends prior to moving in) and we never had any problems bigger than whose turn it was to do the dishes. Unfortunately our female housemate wanted to move interstate and we couldn’t find anyone in our large circle of friends to take her room, so after weeks of covering the extra rent ourselves we bit the bullet and advertised in the local paper. We wanted a girl to keep the balance even, but as I worked a lot and my two male housemates were home during the day, I let them interview the potential candidates. They decided on “Ally”. She seemed nice, although a bit of a space cadet.

The first week should have been a dire warning. Although none of us were opposed to drugs, we didn’t really do anything harder than weed and especially not with any regularity. Ally spent the entire first week off her chops on ecstasy. Who gets high alone on a Tuesday afternoon just to celebrate moving in?

One night around 3 a.m. I was awakened suddenly by my bedroom door flying open and someone staggering over towards my bed. Luckily I had a clothes horse with fresh washing on it by the door and the intruder got tangled up in it, turned and walked out. When I asked Ally why she was in my room she denied it being her, although it quite clearly was. If that wasn’t creepy enough, a few weeks later I had smoked a joint and was just chilling out in my room watching some TV when Ally walked in and sat extremely close to me on the bed. She started up some small talk and then looked me in the eyes and asked if I liked girls. I’m not gay and I told her this, and she got up and left. One of my housemates later told me she had also come into his room one night while he was in bed, sat down and started telling him she liked him “more than she should.”

She wasn’t working, since she was meant to be studying, but it soon became obvious she wasn’t doing that either. Her parents, who were of some kind of Eastern European descent and didn’t speak much English, had been paying her rent and bills. We hooked her up with a job down at the local pub but she quit after two shifts for no apparent reason.

One Wednesday night she came home at 4 a.m. with two strange men and started blasting drum and bass music. They were running up and down our wooden hall that connected to all the bedrooms, yelling and shouting. One of the strange men burst into my room and asked in Ally was in there and I flipped out and screamed at him to get out.

The final straw came one weekend when both my male housemates were interstate playing a show with their band. Ally was spending a night at home with her friend and I had a night shift so I went out to work and came home straight to bed. The next morning as I was walking down the hall to the bathroom I heard two girls giggling coming from one of my absent housemates rooms. When I opened the door, Ally and her friend were laying in his bed talking. I asked why they were in there and Ally claimed her friend had felt unwell during the night so she slept in our housemates bed, and in the morning she had come over to visit. I asked if the housemate had ok’d this and she gave me an incredulous look and said “Why would he mind?”. Why would he mind you let a strange sick girl sleep on his sheets and invade his personal space and treat it like a common living area? He was furious when he found out.

We didn’t even have to kick her out in the end. She sulked about feeling unwelcome and left a week later. Sucks to be whoever she lives with next!

When I was young, I shared a house with a few friends. Our worst roommate was a drifter named Todd. He was bone thin and had hair like Jesus. He carried all of his belongings in a bulky backpack. Except for his bongo drums, which he kept tied around his neck with a leather thong. Because he didn’t have a job, he had nothing better to do than get stoned, put on a Yes album, and invite other drifters over for a drum circle. They played the stereo at full volume so they could hear it over the drums. The windows shuddered, the floor vibrated and the room stank of a dozen homeless men. They had drug-induced stamina and could play all night.

Todd was obsessed with the zodiac and mentioned it as often as possible. It was the lens through which he viewed every social interaction, from meeting a woman at a bar to purchasing a soda at Kwik Mart, to having a conversation about paying a little rent once in awhile. The first time he met me, he asked my birthday. When I answered, he sneered, “I hate Libras.” From that moment forward, he viewed me with eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Todd enjoyed dropping acid in the morning. When everyone else was getting ready for work or enjoying a cup of coffee, he’d sit on the living room floor, listlessly petting his bongo drum with his mouth hanging open. During one such trip, my roommate and I made the mistake of trying to speak to him about a housekeeping matter (late bill). He cried that we were sending off bad vibes and insisted that he could see our black, nasty auras swirling all around the room. He pulled frantically at his Jesus hair and said, “Uh oh. Now you’ve done it. I am having a bad trip.” He backed away from us, his dilated eyes shining with terror. “Get away from me, Libra!” He diverted all conversations about rent and utilities in this manner.

Todd was always gone, in one way or another, when conversations about money were afoot. But when a meal was prepared, he could sense it from miles away. He would skulk around the sidelines of the kitchen, rubbing his stomach and discussing his acute case of munchies. If I didn’t offer him a plate, he sulked and complained that Libras were bastards.

Todd also had plenty of homeless, damaged friends that he invited to live in the house. There was a leering, thick-necked giant with a bald head and a foot long beard. He thought I was cute and told me with stories that were geared to impress. For example, he told me that he had acquired some rohypnol (aka the date rape drug) and had gone downtown to the bars. After a few hours of drinking, he got bored and tried to get high off of the rohypnol. He dosed himself, blacked out immediately, and woke up the next morning in a municipal flowerbed. I could only be thankful that he was too dull-witted to follow through with his horrible plan. Because I couldn’t really get away from him, I told him he was a jackass and went upstairs to bed. Later, he scared the crap out of me by breaking into my room and trying to cuddle with my unconscious body.

There was also a young hippie who had a wolf for a pet. Of course he named her Luna. Luna was not a domesticated animal. She was lanky, she was clever, and she had a set of razor sharp fangs set in a jawbone as long as my forearm. She put up with being walked on a hemp leash and tied to a park bench, but Luna was only biding her time. The wolf and her owner started squatting at our house on invitation from Todd. “Why do you have this animal?” I asked. “You don’t even have a home! How are you going to take care of her? Can’t you tell she thinks you’re an asshole and wants to eat you?” Todd rose up, his eyes dilated, his hair swishing around, his skinny finger poking in my face. “How dare you talk to one of my friends like that,” he screamed. “You are so close-minded!” A few days later, he banned Luna from the house himself because she had taken a nice acrid wolf piss on his backpack.

Another awful Todd friend was a popular downtown begger. He could always be found sitting on a bench downtown, strumming random chords and taking handouts. He had a rough mane of red hair, a bushy beard, and a heavy leather jacket. Todd invited him to the house, and he soon became a regular. This one also thought I was cute and would not accept no for an answer. After a particularly frightening encounter with him, I fled the house. For days, I either slept in a booth at the restaurant where I worked or at my boyfriend’s place because I was scared to go home.

At last, I was able to talk to my other roommates. We voted to ban the creep from our house. Todd thought this was highly unfair. He discredited me, saying that I had probably given his friend mixed signals since that was a classic Libra trait. It was all I could do not to strangle him and smash his bongo drums over his head. It was not long after this incident that we jettisoned Todd. He had never paid rent or utilities, and his bongos wore on everybody’s nerves. Nobody cared for his choice of company. I saw him a few summers ago. It had been a decade since we lived together. I was rummaging through a bin of nails in front of a hardware store when he approached me. His Jesus hair was shorter, but his face was unmistakable. He looked at me hard, but he didn’t remember me. “You have great legs,” he said. “I’m a Libra,” I replied.

In first year university, I was paired up with three other girls.
While two were decent, if not a little messy, Mel was a disaster. She
never seemed to have any class or work, and spent most her time
tanning, drinking, partying loudly, watching “Bewitched” on her computer
in the common room, shopping for discount Juicy Couture, eating
McDonalds, playing Britney Spear’s “Womanizer” ad nauseum, and being a
general laze-about.

She never did the dishes, but instead would stash
her dirty cutlery in her room, depriving the other housemates of
dishes and glasses. Her blankets, shoes, hair accesories, hair balls
etc would be left scattered around the common room. Her own bedroom was an
utter disaster, and she would often bring over loud, drunken friends
at odd hours.

She left, mid-semester, to go on a trip to Florida and
returned with a Chihuahua puppy. Our apartment had a strict no pets
policy, and the other roommates were a little appalled she would bring
home a pet without telling anyone. The dog was untrained, scared
stupid by loud noises and she would use our dishes to feed it kibble,
not washing the smell of oily dog food off before dumping them off in
the sink for us to clean.

When we confronted her about the dog and the
lack of responsibilities on her part, she had a fit and said we didn’t
get her, that her dogs were the only creatures who truly loved and
understood her, and her awful childhood left her with such a void in
her life only a bug-eyed Chihuahua could fill it. Also, she wanted to
leave the school so the dog was a ploy to get kicked out of residence
without having to break her contract and pay a fine, although she (and
by she, I mean her parents) would have to pay a fee for having the dog
in the first place. Luckily by second semester she was gone and a nice
french girl had replaced her.

Soon after I moved into a townhouse with My Very Worst Roommate , ‘Rose’ took a second job at a nearby restaurant for some extra money. Her new coworkers were into drugs and Rose had always been keen to fit in. Things went downhill pretty quickly from what had promised to be a good situation.

Because our house was very close to the restaurant, it became the favored post-shift hangout for she and her coworkers, as many were too messed up on drugs or alcohol to drive home. That’s not my thing AT ALL, but they weren’t terribly disruptive and I would rather they hung out at our house for a while than drive intoxicated, so I let them be. Then our house stopped being a sober-up crash pad and developed into the after-party that kept  ’Lisa’ (our third roommate) and me  up on weekday nights. I woke up in the morning to the smell of weed and sex noises. Two of her friends were having sex on our couch at 6 a.m. I had to shout at them from the stairwell that I was coming downstairs and they needed to pull themselves together. They weren’t even ashamed, and were even nervy enough to mock me for being rude and jealous.

Soon after Rose attempted to send one of her ‘sick’ (too drunk/high to function at work) male coworkers to our house. Lisa and I told her we wouldn’t open the door for this intoxicated stranger when she wasn’t here to watch him. We argued about it for a while, with her getting angrier at us for not caving, and then finally saying ‘Fine, next time I’ll just give him the key!’ I told her that she absolutely would not, and had to stop myself from adding that I wouldn’t hesitate to call the police. After that, I left most of the discussions with her to Lisa because my temper had grown too short.

Not long after, I woke up on a Thursday morning to find a random guy on our couch. It was still early, so I figured the guy would clear out soon enough. I was wrong – when I finished doing schoolwork and went back downstairs at 4 p.m., he was still asleep on the couch. Rose was gone. Lisa came home around that time, and while we were talking about what to do with him, the guy woke up, turned the TV on, and wandered into the kitchen to look for food! He nodded a casual ‘hey’ at us and made way for the fridge. When I asked him, “Are you aware it’s 4 p.m. and you’re in someone else’s house? Do you think that’s OK?” he just shrugged. We immediately kicked him out. When Lisa told her that she absolutely couldn’t leave anyone unattended in the house and had to explain to her friends that our hospitality had a 10 a.m. expiration, she laughed it off, saying ‘That wouldn’t bother me if it was one of your friends,’ which is both patently untrue and completely irrelevant. Lisa and I were livid, but everything we said to Rose rolled off her back or poked her into a rage that made living with her miserable, so we let a lot of things go.

We shared a bathroom and she was a stickler for cleanliness, which was fine. What was odd, though, was her refusal to allow anything on the countertops – even the handsoap. If I left so much as a hairbrush on the counter, I would come home to find it flung into my room. What she left, however, was completely acceptable – she’d fix herself up before going out and leave her things everywhere. If I so much as moved something, she would flip and accuse me of using her expensive toiletries. It got to the point where she took EVERYTHING of hers out of the bathroom and kept it in her room. She was hypocritical like this about everything – would flip over a smudge of flour I’d missed wiping down the counters, but leave the remains of an explosion fossilizing in the microwave for three weeks; lose it over someone leaving a dish in the sink for more than twenty minutes, but spill a glass of milk on the carpet and not clean it up before she left for the weekend, leaving our house reeking while Lisa and I ripped everything apart tried to figure out what smelled so terrible.

Rose’s paranoia that we were stealing her things got worse. She accused me of stealing her hairspray and Keurig coffee cups and demanded I replace them. I don’t drink coffee and had only used her hairspray once or twice (always with her permission) and wasn’t going to replace them – I offered her $5 for my limited use of the hairspray, thinking that would placate her. She called me a thief and a liar and again demanded I replace the things I ‘took’. I think she no longer had the money to finance expensive habits like $25 cans of hairspray and Keurig cups, especially when all her money seemed to be going to drugs, and was trying to wring them out of me. She’d been fired from her day job for showing up clearly messed up on something, and now the ‘extra money’ from waiting tables was her only income. I withdrew my $5 best offer.

The final straw was rent. Lisa approached Rose for her share of the rent and was told she wouldn’t have it until the end of the weekend, and would just deliver it herself and pay the late charge. Two weeks later there’s a notice in our mailbox, we have seven days to pay up or get out. Lisa and I panicked, tried to get a hold of Rose to see what had happened to her rent. Somehow Rose turned it around to Lisa and I being ‘disrespectful’ to her. She threatened to move out, we called her bluff and told her she was welcome to. As a parting gift she left the taps in the house on while Lisa and I were out to run up our water bill.

When one of my housemates had to move interstate, my remaining housemate had a close friend, Bill, who was keen to take his place. I had my reservations, as his tight-arse reputation preceded him. But he seemed preferable to an unknown.

Upon moving in, a number of minor incidents began unfolding, including:

- A complete adversity to cleaning, leading to a stink cloud encompassing his bedroom so thick you could do backstroke through it.

- Rotating between a total of two meals when it was his turn to cook.

- Mysterious white stains found on the couch following a night out (no, he did not have company).

- Leaving a 1kg block of cheese in direct 35°C sunlight for an entire day, which was returned to the fridge for consumption.

- After said block of cheese ended up in his bed overnight to teach him a lesson, the same block found its way back in the fridge the following morning, seemingly ready for consumption once more.

Enough to make you shake your head and laugh, but things you tend to expect having shared with various housemates in the past. This all escalated however when the other housemate moved out, and we found a new fun and attractive girl to move in.

I often found myself waking in the middle of the night to her yelling at him to get out of her room, after he’d crawled into her bed while she was asleep. As creepy and unfair as this was for her, this paled in comparison to the day the household was abruptly disbanded. One Sunday, Bill returned home at about 6 a.m. following a drug fueled bender at a music festival.

That Monday night, we returned home from work to find Bill on the couch having spent the day at home by himself, behaving as though nothing other than his almighty hangover was amiss. Until our new housemate went to her room to find belongings knocked about, picture frames smashed with shattered glass over the floor, her underwear draw strewn across the room and her covers pulled back with a load of white sticky mess sprayed across her mattress. One messed up individual.

My Very Worst Roommate, was a guy I will call P. I moved to Singapore and needed someone to help pay expenses on a good apartment. I was in the middle of a difficult divorce and one of the only conditions I made to P when he moved in was, “No hookers or drugs, this house is my sanctuary, it’s where my son comes and I need the house to be safe.” I should note that prostitution is not illegal in Singapore. P had moved to Singapore on the pretext of working for a big cable channel. It turned out that he didn’t have any work at all. He wasn’t missing rent, but he was looking awfully worried and I was concerned about missing rent if he didn’t find work. I made a call and got him a job on oil rigs making good money.  He started the job and I headed to China the following week.

I was in China when I got a call from our condo manager at 3 a.m. The manager was furious. “Mr Smith, why are you throwing things out of your 11th story window? You will hit someone! You will get in trouble.” I told him I was in China, and he should call the police because there was nothing I could do. Five minutes later I get a call from my maid. She said, “Sir, P wants me to come and let him into the apartment, what should I do?” Not having any idea of what was going on, I told her I suppose she should but, I could not figure out how P could be locked out – the door needed the key to be turned from the outside to lock it. I texted P and said, “Mate, I don’t know what you’re doing but throwing shit out the window is illegal in Singapore” and decided to ignore the problem.

I get back a week later from China to face a shit storm of trouble. The stuff that had been thrown out was obviously destroyed, but had also damaged the lower ground unit patio roofs – to the tune of $40,000!

Not only that, but there was a lot of stuff missing from the flat including all the chess pieces from my set, a beautiful brass compass and presents from the under the Christmas tree. P would not own up to what had happened and it was only with the help of the security guards and police that I worked out what might have happened.

He had brought a hooker home, probably to celebrate his first paycheck – we saw her coming in on the CCTV tapes. She wasn’t a she though – even I could tell that on the tapes. I assume some sort of dispute over payment or the hooker’s gender had broken out. She had forced P out of the apartment, locked the door and proceeded to trash the place. To give him due credit, he cleaned up a lot of the mess, but tell tale signs were there. He paid for the damages and managed to get off the criminal charges (the cops confirmed he blamed a girl for the damage, but could not provide her name.) When he was locked out and called the maid, she later confirmed to me that when she helped him get back in, he had gone in and there was yelling but he had refused to let her in.

P still works in the oil and gas industry – he’s called the “Chess Master” by all who know this story.

My very worst roommate was once my best friend, but things quickly changed when we moved into a group house and I discovered some rather disgusting habits. I met N freshman year and we became fast friends. We lived next door to each other in the dorms sophomore year.  Although we went to a celebrated party school, she began doing some hardcore drugs that I wasn’t into.  But we remained good friends and we signed on for a group house with a couple other close friends for our junior year. The day I moved in over the summer before fall quarter began, I noticed that she was very upset. She admitted that she had stolen some money from her last roommate, who I knew very well and was friends with. At first I thought no big deal, $20 or something, she’ll get over it.  Turns out that N had taken her former roommate’s credit card and taken over $2,000 from an ATM over the course of one quarter.  The police questioned her and she ratted out some dealers on campus in order to not receive any jail time. So now she had an irate former roommate and local drug dealers on her bad side.

She had a job that summer at a local clothing boutique. She would often come home and give me “presents” like shirts or little knick-knacks.  I was naive enough to think she was just getting a discount or they had extra merchandise. Turns out she had been stealing from them for months and eventually got fired. I would only find out about this months later when I also found out that she got arrested at a grocery store for stealing cigarettes.  So even though she was a rampant thief and was lying to me, I thought she was just going through a rough patch and would get back on track.  Even after she got kicked out of school for blatantly plagiarizing a paper for a psychology class, I figured that she would either re-enroll or wait a year and go somewhere else. I still had faith in her and wanted to be her friend.

She paid rent, but almost never had money for bills (which were minimal as there were five of us sharing a three bedroom house).  Yet she always had plenty of weed, coke and ecstasy — the latter of the two were becoming an increasing habit and starting to scare me. She convinced me that she had it all under control. I was no angel myself and we often threw parties in the house.  We were all underage at the time so I didn’t feel I had the right to judge what she wanted to do to her body. Although the lack of paying bills was starting to get to all of us.

She was having sex with lots of random guys at this time, most of whom she met online and would have one night stands with, and never hear from again. She shared a bedroom with one of my roommates, J. They had a large living space, which they promised to use if they ever had overnight guests. On more than one occasion N would be in bed with some random guy having sex and J would flat out yell at them to get out. Sometimes she would, other times she would wait till J fell back asleep then continue entertaining her guests. One day she came home after being gone for two days with no contact with any of us on the arm of a much older man.  We were all 19 or 20, this guy had to be in his early 40′s. She claimed he was a friend of her dad’s from the Navy. At this time I was still giving her the benefit of the doubt so I believed her. But the last straw for both J and I was when we discovered this “friend of her dad’s” was actually some creepy dude she met online who would drive from two hours away where he lived, pick her up and take her to a motel, then leave her hundreds of dollars at a time. She quite literally had become a crack whore.

So the stealing, lying, not paying bills, drug binges and prostitution just became too much. We confronted her mother about these issues when she called asking where N was because she hadn’t heard from her in weeks. She then confronted us and accused us of telling our mutual friends about the whole stealing incident from her former roommate. We told her right then and there that she had a week to get out, get help and clean up her life. It was really hard to lose such a close friend, but having no self-esteem and an addictive personality turned her into a monster. She asked me to still be her friend and I said I would if she promised to get her life together. This was about 10 years ago. I just read in our hometown news that she was arrested as an accessory to armed robbery.

I lived in a really cool little apartment with my best friend Jane and we decided to share a room and rent hers out to save up on a bit of cash for a few months. It took a while to find a flatmate we thought would suit us, but eventually we met Tom. He was the same age as us, he studied the same sort of thing as us, and he seemed like a pleasant guy to live with.

Things went well for the first month or so, until we noticed the pungent smell coming from his bedroom. Then our food and shampoo started going missing. We didn’t say anything though because we didn’t want to cause a fuss over something not so important. After a while it did start to get on my nerves though, coming home after a hard days work to find the meal I had been thinking about all day eaten by him, it was a little more than irritating. He continuously paid his rent days late, leaving me near broke for a good part of the week, I politely asked him to not do it again, but he seemed to take no notice. And it just became a routine.

One night I came home late to see my bedroom light on. I assumed it was Jane getting ready for bed, but as I made my way up the stairs I heard frantic footsteps, the light switch off and a door slam shut. When I finally reached the top of the stairs, outside my room was a very sweaty, nervous and half naked Tom, wearing nothing but a towel. I was so confused and couldn’t understand what just happened, so I just went on with my own business, hesitantly asking him how his day was. That night I did lose sleep wondering what the heck we was doing, but Jane told me it was probably just a misunderstanding and to let it go.

The very next day I arrived home early from work to find Jane angrily scrubbing all the dishes, when I asked her what was wrong she explained to me that Tom had, for some mental reason, stuffed three pairs of dirty socks as well as two pairs of dirty underwear into the plate drawer? I called him and asked him what the heck was he thinking, to which he responded with “I had friends over and I didn’t want them to see them” and afterward he texted me saying, “I’m just trying to please everyone.” Jane and I couldn’t understand and decided we didn’t like Tom anymore. So we went and stayed with our boyfriends that night.

When Jane and I got back from our night away we found the whole apartment trashed, our food was all gone, every glass and cup in the house was smashed, his bedroom walls were covered in graffiti, and our entire liquor cabinet was empty. No one messes with my liquor. I toughened up and gave him two weeks to find another place, and told him I was taking the money to paint his room out of his bond. That week, it was a little awkward living with him, but we tried to be grown up about it.

One night I noticed my toothbrush wasn’t in it usual place. I felt the bristles and realized they were wet, someone had been using my toothbrush. I counted the toothbrushes in the bathroom and there were only two, when I asked Jane about it she said, “That’s the toothbrush Toms been using the past three months.” On his shelf there was a prescribed toothpaste with “anti fungal gum disease” written on it. I was gagging while I read it. I cannot tell you how fast I drove to the store to get a new toothbrush.

During Tom’s last days of living with us, Jane and I had to paint his room back to the way it was for our next roommate. There was a laundry pile as big as me, as he hadn’t done any washing since he moved in. Next to his bed we found a pile of toenail clippings and scabs. And on the wall was a layer of boogers. The only explanation we have is that he literally rolled out of bed and blew his nose onto the wall. It was absolutely, by far, the most disgusting thing I have ever seen. Or so I thought. Jane and I we so appalled we thought that after all the things we had put up with, we had the right to do some snooping around his room. While going through his drawers we found my favorite book. And on top of my book, were several used condoms. Apparently he thought the only use for the book was to use it as a place mat for used condoms. We couldn’t believe that someone so disgusting had a sex life.

In the end we kept all of Tom’s bond, fair trade for what he put us through really. Last we heard of Tom he was being kicked out of his new place after only a few weeks, we assume they were less patient then we were. I have never had another flatmate who is a stranger, and I ensure I take my toothbrush back to my room every time I use it.

I lived in a townhouse with Aaron (the owner). Aaron informed me that his abusive ex Joe was staying with us for a week. Joe didn’t have any money to leave. Aaron told me Joe would only be there as long as it took for him to get a job. So Joe moved into the spare room across from mine with his hyperactive dog. Aaron informed me that he was being transferred to another location. Joe would also move into Aaron’s old bedroom. Ken, an acquaintance, would be living upstairs too. Ken brilliantly decided to put his gerbil in the dining room…ewww.

We got along for about a week before the police knocked on our door. The police were questioning him about recklessly driving down our busiest
street, as well as ramming his car into another person. Joe yelled and  swore at the police officers. They gave him a ticket. If I had a friend over, Joe and Ken would yell something inappropriate so I stayed in my room or not at home at all. Joe let his dog shit all over the carpet and decided to tell our mutual friends lies about me. I stopped talking to them and was ready to finish the semester so I could move.

After talking to a friend of ours, I found out that Ken and Joe decided to change the wireless password almost causing me to fail a final. Out of the blue I received a text message from Joe telling me that I had a week to get out before I was evicted. I was surprised, so I went up to talk to him. He said that Aaron was behind him 100%. Joe wanted to beat me up and shouted racial slurs but Ken stopped him. I finished moving out, and received many death threats in the process. I’ve heard that Joe and Ken are now homeless!

My final year of school I lived with three other girls, two of them, Jessica and Katie, were great and I remain friends with them, but the other one, Crystal, was a disaster. The four of us lived in a three bedroom apartment, Jessica and I had our own rooms but Katie and Crystal had to share a room. The first couple months we lived together, everything was fine – nobody did anything too terrible. Then, all of a sudden, Jessica and Crystal had a fight and stopped talking to each other. I figured it was just their problem and as long as they could be civil with each other and not involve Katie and I in their feud, it would be fine.

However, soon after this happened, Crystal started becoming unbearable for any of us to live with. First it was little things, like talking on the phone late at night. We’d tell her to quiet down, sometimes she did and sometimes she didn’t. Then it was loud music early in the morning while she got ready and the rest of us were still sleeping. She’d apologize whenever any of us complained about it but her behavior didn’t change.

Then it progressed further. She stopped doing her dishes and they just piled up in the sink, making it impossible for the rest of us to use it. She left all her belongings in the living room constantly even when she wasn’t there, so the rest of us weren’t able to use it. She also left nasty hair in the tub, sink, etc… and this is despite her telling all of us that she was a clean person and lecturing us several times about cleaning up after ourselves.

She started bringing all these guys over and having loud sex in her room, and because of this Katie often felt like she couldn’t sleep in the room so she’d end up at the library. She was sleeping with several different guys and then constantly complained that none of these guys actually wanted a relationship. She even had a pregnancy scare at one time. They were loud frat guys too, so whenever they were over, the rest of us wouldn’t be able to study or do anything productive.

Finally, she smoked weed all the time and all over the house. Now, I don’t mind what people choose to do, but at the least, when she lives in an apartment with three people who don’t smoke, she should go smoke outside or at a friend’s place. But no, she’d smoke in the living room and make the entire place smell like weed. When we confronted her about it, she switched to smoking in her bedroom (except when she was home alone, when she’d still smoke in the living room, which didn’t change the fact that the place would smell when we got home). But since that was Katie’s room as well, that was still a problem. Eventually we all got so used to Crystal being high that we couldn’t imagine her when she wasn’t.

After several attempts by all of us to talk to her about her behavior, she basically said she refused to change the way she was. By this time we only had a couple months left to live with her so we just decided to deal with it. The last few weeks together, the bathroom got increasingly dirty, including the sink becoming clogged. We all knew it was from her so the rest of us didn’t do anything about it, and instead left her to fix it along with cleaning the rest of her filth (she was the last one to move out). She then wrote a long tirade on Facebook about how we should all go to hell for making her “clean the whole place herself.” Sorry girl, but all that filth was yours. Thankfully she unfriended us all so we don’t have to deal with her anymore.