My year of MVWR hell started on day one. I was living in a 3/2 apartment during my sophomore year of college when my friend D from high school and his friend J came to live with me. J was cool, but D was an absolute nightmare. Prior to moving in, he asked if he could bring his one cat and I agreed. On D-day, he arrived with his one cat, the cat’s sister, and her six kittens! And to make things worse, he already owed me over $400 for rent, utilities etc. After arriving, the bastard only had $80 to his name, proceeded to give me 40 of it, and then nonchalantly informed me that he needed the rest for food. This is definitely one of the times I regret not consulting the magic 8-ball!

Things only got worse. The eight cats he kept coralled in his room decided to use his dirty pile of clothes and streek-marked tighty-whiteys on the floor as their litter box and filled the entire apartment with the stench of cat piss and crap. He then spent the next two weeks sitting on his “6″ watching my TV (when he was supposed to be looking for a job of course). He eventually managed to secure work at Taco Bell for five days before he decided that it just wasn’t for him. Meanwhile, his debt to me kept rising and the eight mangy cats succesfuly shredded not only the newly shampooed carpet throughout the apartment, but the covers to my brand-new tower speakers.

Why keep this idiot around one might ask? Well, if J and I could have afforded the place ourselves, we would have given him the boot. D’s answer to this financial dilemma (with him now earning a wopping $400 per month in 1999 at a local playhouse) was to invite his friend M to live with us too, thereby splitting expenses four ways instead of three (because this of course was the only way D’s sorry butt could afford to live there). M, of course, slept on the pull-out couch and promptly awoke at the first bit of sunlight to loudly play final fantasy on MY tv and my now-shredded speakers on most mornings. One time when I made the “mistake” of asking D for his portion of the bills, he actually threw his wallet directly at my face. He blamed low blood sugar. But wait, there’s more!

M’s cat got fleas somehow, and of course M could not afford the medicine as he was in penury. I ended up buying the poor cat’s medicine, and the fleas soon dissapeared. I added the cost of the medicine to his debt which I now realized will probably never be repaid. My requests to D and M (J pretty much stayed in his room all day eating ice cream and playing video games) to help out with the horrendous mess they created daily around the apartment went unanswered, effectively turning me into their maid. D also slept nude (don’t ask me how I found out!). And then his dad and brother visited for Thanksgiving!

His dad bought stuff for the meal and they cooked and ate it while I was at work (leaving nothing for me of course). I came home from work to find his dad standing in front of the TV–like he was expecting poltergeists to fly out at him at any moment. My new DVD player was definitely to his liking. Fast forward one week: I sat in the living room watching TV and J had returned to place his pizza in the pre-heated oven. The oven door openned, and I heard a loud, “Ooohhhh…Myyyyyyy…God!” As I looked over at the oven, I could plainly see the massive chia-pet that used to be a turkey still sitting in the oven. If it had been left in the oven any longer, it might have sprouted legs and impregnated us all with its spores as we slept. Or maybe it already had…

Things from that point onward pretty much remained as crappy as they had been since he moved in. Towards the end of the year, D decided to move out (as in, decided to leave before I could tell him his sorry debt-ridden butt had to go), taking M with him. Watching him leave was bittersweet. I was relieved to see him go, but was annoyed knowing that I would never see the $500 he owed me. The douche tried to “friend” me on Facebook awhile back. He probably needed some money or worse, a place to stay.

My Very Worst Roommate would wear “tighty whitey” underwear around the house. That doesn’t sound so bad, but let me explain. These were neither tight nor exactly white any longer. They were a dingy grey color and were strategically attached to the not-so-elastic waistband in three places. Didn’t matter who was there at the apartment. Once they were on he would roam freely throughout the common areas. My girlfriend offered to buy him some new underwear at one point. He declined explaining that his were more comfortable. We went to a theme park and invited MVWR and his girlfriend. He showed up in a threadbare tank-top, cut-off jean shorts and the “Bat-Belt”. The “Bat-Belt” was otherwise a normal leather belt but it contained: his phone, a pager (Pager?!!!! Really?!!!! Seriously, who carries a phone and a pager? No, he’s not a doctor) a Ham Radio, (yes, I said a Ham Radio) a big freakin’ folding lockblade knife, (which he reluctantly had to go put back in the car) and…the kicker, a scientific calculator. Still to this day do not know why anyone would need a scientific calculator at Six Flags.

There are numerous water rides there. MVWR would have nothing to do with them because of the burden of being the only one in the park with a calculator that could handle exponential functions and being able to radio those calculations to….well, someone that cares. In fact, most rides were off limits due to fear of losing equipment (ironically not Batman the Ride). His girlfriend seemed to understand this  for some reason. It’s no suprise that we did not invite MVWR to New Orleans with us. I came back from New Orleans very hungover and sleepy on the red-eye. I fell face down in my bed with the plan to sleep for at least 12 hours. Except I keep hearing this “clack” and “slurp” sound from the pathetically small living/dining room immediately adjacent to my bedroom. I went to investigate. There was MVWR in his special “comfortable” underwear (sans Bat-Belt) eating Cap’n Crunch cereal out of a saucepan with a wooden spoon. He spoke first:

“You haven’t been doing your share of the dishes.”

“I’ve been in New Orleans,” I said. “We discussed this. Have you not done any dishes while I was gone?”

“It’s not my job,” he said.

When I went into the kitchen, every dish we owned was piled in the sink.  Apparently, in my absence I should have “arranged” for someone else to do the dishes.