My housemates share the responsibilities of being housemates from hell
We have 4 people living in my house, Dan, Dre, Oliver, and I.
Dan and I are the only financially responsible ones. Utilities would have been shut off and eviction notices would have been served long ago if we were not there to negotiate with the power company, repo men, etc.
I however am about the messiest person in general I know. The only time I have seen my floor in the past 8 months was when I lost my keys and had to pile everything on the bed. Dan is not the world's greatest chef and once made rice in a rice cooker by taking out the metal bowl inside and pouring the rice directly on the heating element. Oliver is 2 months behind on rent and utilities and has the loudest sex I've ever heard. They are all great guys
Dre is the only one who I truly hate. This guy is so neurotic that he used to have his mother ship him water from home because he thought that tap water had "bad energy". He once asked to borrow my digeridoo because, no shit: "I cooked my dinner in the microwave, so I wanted to bless it with the digeridoo because the microwave might be trying to kill me" He also constantly complains that the house isn't clean, then when we all get together to clean up he will either leave or stand around not actually doing anything, then getting angry when you point out that fact. We all coexist in a sort of Mr. Burns type of perfect storm of faults where we have so many of them that they keep the others in check. I think if someone new tried to move in they would either die of a previously undiscovered disease or chop us all up with an axe in our sleep.
(raulduke, Tue 10 Apr 2007, 6:05, Reply)

A good mate of mine
had the unfortunate experience of living with the flatmate from hell. I will begin by stating that my friend is of dubious personal and social hygiene, as it is, and to that end can be trusted to provide a fairly understated account of his flatmate's doings.

His name was Gary, he was a little bit of a loser.

Gary:

wanked onto plates. Got off on it.
played Van Halen very loudly, very /badly/ on his guitar constantly.
slept with ugly, abusive fat chicks.
was a gaming addict (with dubious personal hygiene ahoy).
drew up cleaning schedules and never fulfilled his quota - constantly complained to my mate that he "didn't chip in".
was anal retentive about food; divided his butter into 16ths so he knew if anyone had used it/meticulously weighed cereal etc.

The other two flatmates, my mate and the other, passed e-mails between themselves mocking this twunt. They went into explicit detail and plotted to leave Gary after their year together.

So, naturally, Gary uses my mate's computer unannounced to find the e-mails onscreen.

Cue anger.

Cue madness.

Cue... Sparta?

Not quite. Gary went silent. For 9 months he did not utter a /single word/ to the other two. He kept himself to himself, his chicks to himself and left the flat with glaring hate. My mate swears he's going to wake up one day to find Gary bearing over him, guitar in hand...
(Schumann makes awesome quiches., Tue 10 Apr 2007, 3:03, Reply)

Lived with god for a bit
I dare you to try and steal some of his milk without him knowing.

Omnipresent twat.

Never anywhere to be found when the cleaning needed to be done though, or the kitchen flooded, or a war started in the toilet, aids, cancer etc.
( Laird Dave Draws Now charges to take off his clothes., Tue 10 Apr 2007, 2:11, Reply)

Sod it i just remembered.....
A motely crew - a nympho (who I fancied for years and only got to fuck once we were no longer flat mates); a gay roommate who was only pretending to be gay coz it was hip in Dramsoc until one day an older guy took him at his word and the only gay in the flatshare came home shell-shocked and with love bites all around his neck; a chinese drug dealer (an early morning visit from the DS left me asleep in my attic bed as they only targeted the half k under Stevie Wong's bed and laiughed at the irrelevance of the nympho's quarter of resin that she offered to hand over). There was also a thoroughly decent music student and his girlfriend and a girl who eventually died of smoke inhalation in a nursing home fire.

The drug dealer was nice enough most of the time - he never handed any of the drugs over to any of use without payment but he did cook the most amazing Chinese food when he was sober. Additionally he did have one hidden talent - an ability to steal dirty washing from the other female flatmates or any visiting woman (who would think the general mess on the housemates' floors hid her knickers and she'd no doubt get them back later). The drug raid screwed that up for him - the search showed that he had 12 or so stinky panties in his wardrobe and they were left out for all to view after he was taken away in the black van that morning. Someone printed the entire story all in the student rag - since he was well known as a member of the Student Socialist Workers Party. Typical trot - eh - a middle class wanker who dealt drugs and sniffed panties. Bet it's just the same today.

His sentence - a small length inside. (And later on refused entry to the USA - poor sap!)
(beaverwastemanagement a real company. I want to work for them!, Tue 10 Apr 2007, 1:35, Reply)

Ah, Oxford...

...Despite what you might think, the majority of people I lived with were perfectly normal individuals who could hold down a job, cook without exploding the oven, and thankfully realised that after a couple of days larking around setting fire to poor people one's clothes need a good scrubbing and must be given to one's butler to wash.

However.

I currently live in a college house with three boys. I say boys, but they are all in their mid-twenties. I regularly find whole tomatoes sitting in the kitchen sink in a good six inches of water looking forlorn, as if someone has desperately tried to rinse them down the 50mm-in-diameter holes in the plug, and for some reason, failed. But since we have a cleaner to sort the kitchen, empty our bins and change our sodding BEDS every day (aaargh, the guilt...the needlesss guilt) this isn't an issue.

What never fails to raise a snigger is the utter and really quite endearing hopelessness of one of my housemates, who we shall call...David. David is extremely posh and has been at uni for six years having his arse wiped with a silver spoon. He's like a posh Mr. Bean. His head is in the clouds most of the time, but I recently overheard him in the kitchen having a desperate phone conversation with his mother asking her to tell him how to make...

...a sandwich. I wish I was joking. But I'm not. A sandwich.

Not the housemate from hell, perhaps, but quite possibly the one least likely to survive a nuclear holocaust...
(jennymnemonic, Tue 10 Apr 2007, 0:47, Reply)

I used to live in a brothel
For my second year at uni, me and four mates had agreed to move in together. For some reason I didn't go along to the estate agents for the viewings, but I trusted my mates judgement.

Lo and behold, they came back from the viewing beaming with pride. They'd put down the deposit for a house with 5 double bedrooms, a huge a bathroom and a full sized slate based pool table (in a room big enough for it too) which also had a cover so it could double as a decent sized dining table.

Unsurprisingly, we were all overjoyed and it soon became the 'party house' for our entire group of friends.

One thing we could never understand though was the strange responses from taxi drivers when ever we got rides home. We'd say the address and most of them would give us a knowing smile and a chuckle.

Eventually, we asked one of them why they did that and it turned out that until we moved in, it had been a brothel.

It certainly explained the gaudy decor and horrible burgandy/gold themed bathroom with giant corner tub.

The piece de resistance however came on the day we found the keys to the garage. Upon opening the door we were greeted with the usual junk you find old garages, but also, a sunbed, and lots of plastic bags full of stuff.

It turned out that they weren't just ordinary plastic bags, but police evidence bags full of porn mags, condoms and lubricant. There was even a credit card machine.

The best bit about it all was that on a few occasions really pretty girls would nervously ring the door bell and ask us 'if we were a business?', presumably because they were looking for work.

I was the first person to answer one of these calls and for reasons that I still curse to this day, I wasn't quick witted enough to invite them in for an audition.

Anyway, I haven't really talked about dodgy flatmates yet, but there was one. Well, two actually. One of them did a midnight flit and just packed his bags and left in the middle of the night without telling anyone. He turned into a bit of a cock though once he moved in, so we weren't that bothered.

The guy we got to replace him though was a right dodgy old bastard. He was from Brixton and had a very big 'crew' also from Brixton.

One Easter when we'd all gone home, he stayed and invited all his mates over. As they stayed the night and the rest of us had gone home, they just slept in our beds (without us being asked about it first). It turned out that the fucker who stayed in my room was a petty criminal, and he decided to go through my draws and copy all of my personal information off my bank statements and phone bills.

The next thing I know, I'm getting four phone bills, each for about £80, in my name, with direct debits set up from my bank account.

Cue me running to the bank to cancel them all, and ending up getting put on something called the CEFAS register which now means that whenever I apply for credit or a bank account or anything, I have to provide about 7 forms of ID.

I later heard that he got sent down for 15 years for his part in an armed diamond heist.

I hope he gets raped a lot in the showers.

(Length? hopefully more than his dishonest little asshole can take)
( HoratioFellatio Taking the the out of psychotherapist, Tue 10 Apr 2007, 0:28, Reply)

mmm, mine seem rather tame...
Still at my first year at uni, was really looking forward to it, and i meet my housemates, who do i get?
Two religious people both named Rachel who can't handle their drink and hate noisy pubs/clubs/areas...it could be worse, but guess how fun my friday nights are. Thank god their not on my course. I shouldn't moan really.

My boyfriends been put with some Asian guy who upon first introduction, proceeded to tell them how he believed suicide bombers plights and he was all for blowing himself since it's for a just cause. Some bitchy gal blames him for the mess made...in the whole flat. He's secretly plotting ways of how to discust them at the end of the year, i've got my bets on doing a shit in their cutlery drawers.
(icely05 suggests killing the frosties kid, Mon 9 Apr 2007, 23:21, Reply)

Strange Boy
Ian.

Ian thought he'd got a cure for cancer. That he was re-taking a post-grad 'enterprise' diploma didn't matter, he'd got the cure for cancer.

Ian had a sloping forehead, a monobrow, a chin the size of Shropshire and a voice that would make Julian Clary sound butch. This didn't stop him asking out every female he'd ever met. I know this, because he admitted it once.

Ian was told by his mum to always use proper crossings at roads. Even at the age of 26, he still did, even if it meant walking 250 yards away from where he was supposed to be getting to.

Ian liked to gatecrash parties. Like the one we had for my mate Steve's birthday. That he was a teetotaller and we all had a bottle of spirits each to see us through the night didn't bother him. Instead, he chose the opportunity to tell us how his uncle went to university with Billy Connolly (!) and how his dad was the guy who copped Mordechai Vannu. Even though his dad was born, and lives in (all his life) London.

Ian was Jewish, apparently. This would have been credible despite the fact he loved a pork pie.

Oh, and one last thing. Ian smelled. He attibuted this to his diabetes, which he said caused his sweat glands to go into overdrive. Fair enough, but perhaps the fact that he seemed to have the same pair of trews on, along with the same cruddy t-shirt, for a year, might have been a more plausible reason.

Still, that was Ian.

Did I tell you about his cure for cancer?
(scentless_apprentice takes two bottles into the shower!, Mon 9 Apr 2007, 23:14, Reply)

Trainee PE teachers
'88, piss poor A-level grades, so off to college in Plymouth to be a teacher ! Woo and indeed Yay. So I get to halls, all OK initially. 10 blokes on the ground floor. Now I had the dubious pleasure of being between "Big" Dave Robjohns (a public school, rugby playing cunt of the first degree) and "Greasy" Dave Graham, (a public school educated sleaze ball). My tale is shit compared to some of the UTTER selfish shit thats been told in these pages, but highlights include my food being constantly stolen from the fridge (to the point I contemplated putting bleach in as a "surprise") and my plates and cutlery being used constantly (which was OK, but wash up after ?)cos I was the only idiot who bought any.
But the piece de resistance was Thursady nights. Now, being a college for retards* they have Friday Saturday and Sunday free so they can express their public school gayness by touching each other up and playing "Wugger" (and 5 days of lectures would fry their poor ickle brains) so every Thursady the tossers got munterd and partied til 2-3 am. I, not being a PE teacher had a full day of lectures so had to be up by 8ish. So every Friday I was stressed, angry and tired. Partly (but not entirely) due to their utter inconsiderateness, I quit.
Greasy Daves highlight was locking a girl in his room (on her own) and laughing at her crying through the door -WTF ?
I had my door kicked off its hinges one "party" night (I was in bed at he time) - that was fun. (And I lost my deposit!).
I had my bed stolen and hidden, took me 2 days to find it.

So anyone who was at Marjons late '88 and remembers me (quiet guy who tried to be a peace maker) and let this happen FUCK YOU ALL.

PE Teachers; amounts to the same thing.
(kitescreech still here, Mon 9 Apr 2007, 22:47, Reply)

University Halls of residence
The joys of living in Halls. The guy next door to me, Paul, spent the whole of the first term driving us all mad. He has an obsession with the song Toxic by Britney Spears, which he broadcasts to the rest of us. He set off the fire alarm more than 20 times, including at 4am on two consecutive days, by spraying hairspray into the alarm. He comes back drunk and yells, bangs on everyone's door to get them up and smashes bottles against walls. He got a £70 fine earlier this term, thankfully, but he's still annoying. Having run out of money, he spends most of his time playing on a console game of some sort with the door wide open, so all I can hear any afternoon is "oooh" "aaaahhhhh" "yesss" and various other sexual-sounding noises which somehow relate to their football game.

There's also the guys downstairs, whose idea of fun is trying to hit each other in a painful male place with a rugby ball, as well as Chris upstairs who drinks 2 bottles of wine before going out and likes to wander around naked. He introduced himself to me on the first day by announcing that he had a large collection of knives with him.

I only have 1 term left of living with these people, before I move into a house with a bunch of people who I have actually chosen to live with, who should hopefully be less anti-social and generally less weird.
( lrjlo, Mon 9 Apr 2007, 22:30, Reply)

My dad
shared a room with an enormous bloke called Steve while at uni. Since my dad was (and is) a dimuniative bloke, also called Steve they became known ad Big Steve and Little Steve. Once at a party he was speaking to someone and he heard a story about these two idiots who made life hell for the people living with them, called Big Steve and Little Steve. Going in to join the conversation he started hearing hundreds of myths about himself, none of which were true. So I suppose he was a meta-housemate from hell.
(Dromedary, Mon 9 Apr 2007, 22:15, Reply)

Another one from music college...
Twas the night before my mid-year scale exam. This was a hideous experience notorious for weeding out the people who weren't tough enough - give them hell halfway through first year so that they can have their nervous breakdowns nice and early, that was their motto. Anyway, I'd practised all I possibly could and settled down for an early night.

My (all female) flatmates were fully aware of the fact that it was my scale exam the next day. So I was rather pissed off to be awoken at midnight by girly shrieks from the bedroom next door. I staggered in in my pyjamas to see what all the fuss was about. May-Ying adopted a suitably scandalised expression and said, "Maria, tell her!" Maria drew herself up, looked incredibly proud and distinguished and declared, "I have just masturbated."

Me: Whaaaaaaat?
Maria: I have just masturbated!
Me: What, in front of everyone???!!
Maria: No, I went into the other room!
May-Ying: How often do you masturbate?
Maria: Once every two weeks
Anna: Is that all?
Maria: How often do you masturbate?
Anna: Three times a week at least
Maria: I don't need to more than once every two weeks
Me: You make it sound like you have a date in your diary! 3.30 - Dentists 4.30 - Have a wank
Maria: Que? Nooooo, I just do it when I feel like it, which is once every two weeks
May-Ying: Do you have to use extra lubrication?
Me: LALALALALALALA I CAN'T HEAR YOU I CAN'T HEAR YOU!!!!
(grandmasterfluffles Come to my Armageddon party on, Mon 9 Apr 2007, 21:56, Reply)

pity me
I shared a flat with frankspencer and apeloverage. What with the salacious mutterings and perversions of the former, and the infuriating pedantry of the latter, I almost went insane. Imagine:

Me: Frank, who was the girl you brought home last night.
Frank: Yeah, sorry. She was a screamer, wasn't she? I've been cleaning her ejaculate off my bedside lamp all morning.
Ape: It's not your lamp - it belongs to the landlord. That'll come out of your damage deposit.
Frank: Thanks for that, Ape. I note your girlfriend hasn't been round recently.
Ape: Yeah, I told her that her sandwich wasn't kosher and it turned into an argument.
Me: She's Jewish?
Ape: No. That was part of the argument.
Frank: She certainly had no objection to pork when I last met her.
Ape: You're thinking of a dream you had.
Frank: The one where I shot a geyser of cum up her coal scuttle? Or the one where she suckled my twitching wand of passion?
Ape: You're a wanker.
Frank: She was better at it than I was.
Me: Boys! Boys! [etc.]
(Fothermucker, Mon 9 Apr 2007, 21:27, Reply)

Cured the slob.
The last time I shared a house with someone I got very bored of their behaviour – the usual stuff, leaving dirty washing hanging around, never doing the dishes, blah, blah, blah….

So as they were male and I was ‘involved’ with them I decided to make life a little harder for him…..

No dishes washed today?

Not a problem….I’ll do them….in my underwear….lacy black underwear….and no, you can’t touch.

Leaving the dirty washing around?

I’ll collect it all up and do your stinking washing…..while wearing a short skirt…and no underwear…..and yet again, no, you can’t touch.


It’s amazing how quickly a slobby housemate cleans up their act. Took less than a week for a total change to take place…
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Mon 9 Apr 2007, 21:14, Reply)

Saddo
In my first year at uni, there was this one south african bloke. He started by growing a massive beard, getting both ears pierced and growing his hair long.
For Halloween he lit a burning pentagram in the rugby pitches (using white spirit and a lot of SU newspapers wrapped in rags).
After that, he made a friend.
With old clothes and even more newspapers. With a papier mache head.
He used to leave it sprawled in the communal bathrooms to "freak out" guests.

Oh and he used to wear really bright shirts too. Neon pink bright.

The worst bit?

That was me...
(nancyboy Oooh that tickles, Mon 9 Apr 2007, 21:03, Reply)

Ewww sticky...
Never EVER play "I have never" with your flatmates on your first night in the house.

Not only had Jim already urinated in the communal shower, he'd also rubbed one off in it. Within 3 hours of moving in.

Sometimes it's better not knowing.
(nancyboy Oooh that tickles, Mon 9 Apr 2007, 20:55, Reply)

Bit of banter
I have a messy room - yesterday's dishes left around, clothes everywhere etc etc - but it's ok, because I'm clean :) There is just one thing my boyfriend does which is a little gross but makes me laugh so I've gotten used to it - he wipes his snot wherever he happens to be at that time - on his shirt, the bed, me (!), sometimes on my towel such that when I use it after I have showered, I re-hydrate the snot and it becomes slimey again. Otherwise, he's a card :D But hey, I also do some disgusting things, just nothing I wish to mention here ;)
( its_hatorah_bitch is b3ta the devil you know on, Mon 9 Apr 2007, 20:13, Reply)

Twat alert.....
In my first year at uni me and my mates all came through clearing and so got put in a nice big house together...Not too bad to start with...except John (or Jonnie to his 'Mummy') was abit of a public school twit asked me one day "How do you work a tin opener" etc.....It all started going a bit weird before Christmas when my mate 'B' noticed John started wearing the same sort of clothes etc in a sort of single White Female stalking type way...'B' went home and said that he was getting a flat top style haircut-John hurried down to town and got himself a similar haircut-He looked a complete twat- Of course 'B' hadn't had such a stupid haircut- he just did it to test to see if John was really stalking him.....Then all of a sudden all the girls in our course stop talking to us....? We then find out John has been telling them that I have been boasting about sleeping with them all (unfortunately untrue) In a fit of rage I take a clump of pubes and put it in his butter.....Two days later when I am out he proceeds to eat a loaf of bread as toast with 'puby' butter on it in front of my other 3 mates (dry puking leaving room in tears of laughter)....john then gets the message that we all hate him becoz he's such a twat and latches onto some other unlucky students!!! He turns his room into a sort of black hole with blankets over the windows etc and only appears occasionally....In the summer term suddenly one of his twatty mates 'MVD' appears with the college porters with the news that John has gone up onto the moors to kill himself-No he hasn't we all say but they need his car registration to give to the police who are searching for him....About 2 hours later John comes in the house, we inform him that half of Devon and Cornwall Constabulary are looking for him---they found him sulking in his car in the Unis car park...he goes to bed but gets 'counselling' from our Chav South Wales housemate Chris about how he should cheer himself up with a nice kentucky!!!!
Generally a twat who anybody who he did'nt actually live with thought he was lovely- anyone who shared a house thought he was a cnut....He left halfway through the second year as he was shit at history....

Sorry about length but 12 years on is still burned into my memory like a tattoo...
(archstanton The gold is next to me....leave me be, Mon 9 Apr 2007, 20:02, Reply)

are you TRYING to kill us?
I shared with two other girls for second year at university - one was a real sweetheart - the other some kind of devil spawn. She used to clean every surface with neat bleach and open all doors and windows even on the coldest days. Whenever we closed them, they were open again within minutes, and you could play that game all day long. She also used to go out leaving the back door wide open, whether we were in or not. She would smoke in the lounge but not in her own room.

Her best though was when I came home one evening and found a strongly noticeable whiff of leaking gas. I discovered it was the fireplace so immediately went upstairs to call British gas out. In the meantime she had arrived home and promptly lit a cigarette in the gas-filled room. Nutter! We didn't even know when she had left at the end of the year because she just packed up and left without a word while we were out.

Then the following year I shared with 3 lads (big mistake!) - coming back after the summer holidays I discovered one of whom had left a tub of a brie like substance in the fridge (which turned out to be a 3 month old slice of lasagne on closer inspection), and another who I answered the door to at 6am one morning to find stood there covered in blood with absolutely no idea what had happened to him. The same who, when I got up one morning to an acrid smell of teflon wafting up the stairs,I learnt had come home at midnight rather pished and fancied a boiled egg. Filled a pan with water, turned the hob on full and then WENT TO BED. The pan had melted to the still burning stove and it took days for the smell to go.
(nutty_nut_nuts, Mon 9 Apr 2007, 20:02, Reply)

After half a year, my first flatmate flunked his exams and dropped out ..
.. so the other room was vacant for a few months. Then one day my landlord found a new flatmate.

He had a wobbly handshake. Spent most of his time in his 8 m2 room which was furnished with a mattress and nothing else. Only emerged to boil eggs. I firmly believe that he lived on a diet of hard boiled eggs since he had no other food in the fridge. It became more and more apparent that he was or had been a drug addict. We avoided each other and I only spoke briefly to him less than five times over five months. Most memorable was his hungry stare at my stereo when he inquired about my holiday plans. By that time I had come to the point that I was plotting to kick his face in if he as much as tried to nick any possession of mine. Eventually my landlord agreed to let him go. One blissful day the mattress was gone and I never saw him again.
(spinoza, Mon 9 Apr 2007, 20:01, Reply)

toys? huh?
as mentioned before, art majors are an interesting lot... my roommate in college enjoyed collage as huis medium most of all... leaving bits of magazine clippings, plastic chips, cardboard, and glue all over every floorspace and surface in our apt... i studied psychology, so i knew i had no more direction than he post-grad...

so aside from general art student lack of want for cleanliness and order in one's living space... i came back to our apt after being away for the weekend to find the bloke asleep on the couch... i walk by, turn on the light to our loo, and take one step in to see what looked like many a colorful rubber and plastic phallus spread out on our bathroom floor... i caught a quick glimpse before my roommate awoke and realized what i had just seen, before separating me from the sex toy display...

now, i know the bloke's got a girl, i know he may enjoy playing with toys with her in their alone time...... but having the 8 or 9 of them all over the bathroom floor while his girl's away? why? how? what? and what was he up to that made him pass out on the couch in recovery from such deeds????

out of respect for his privacy and to hush circling questions in my head i only told him, "i don't care what you were doing, and i don't want to know"

best case scenario for sanity in my living space, "he was just CLEANING them!" i tell myself... but to this day my doubts remain concerning his anal virginity...

oh, and never ever did he ever do his goddamn dishes or clean up after any activity he commenced in within our apt... ever...

... but SO MANY toys????? at once?!??

QOTW repressed memory thearpy continues...
(Manliness, Mon 9 Apr 2007, 19:47, Reply)

I once lived with
Satan.

It was fucking ace. He's so CLEAN.
(thePontificator, Mon 9 Apr 2007, 19:26, Reply)

odd man out
ok try and keep this one short. in my second year of uni, i moved into a house with two girls and three other boys, we'd been on holiday together in the summer and were all great friends, i'd had an intense crush on one of the girls throughout the whole first year and on holiday i finally worked up the courage to tell her how i felt. turns out she sorta felt similar too, but told me to wait until we moved into together so we could see how it goes.

so first few weeks of uni me and this girl are staying up late talking and laughing all the time, but never really getting anywhere, but it's still good cause we're living together and everything is gravy... one day she pulls me aside and tells me that she is now going out with one of our other housemates, (who is my best uni friend). I can't escape, it's a small uni town and I have to live in a house where I have to watch the girl that I love get off with my friend. Added to that, one of the other guys has his girlfriend over all the time and the other two housemates started going out as well. so I spent my second year of uni living in a house with three couples, one of whom I felt deep hatred for... now that was hell....

Until at the end of the second year they all told me they didn't want to live with me, which kinda put the icing on the cake.
(ewe, Mon 9 Apr 2007, 19:10, Reply)

New story since this weekend
Couldn't have come at a better time this, This is the brother again, Saturday lunch with the family, he comes and sits down next to me, and I notice an odd smell, turns out my brother had been wearing the same socks since Tuesday, parents took him out of the room, told him to remove the offending socks, or not have lunch.... he chose not to have lunch.
(Maccy Divided by 0 on, Mon 9 Apr 2007, 18:57, Reply)

. . . . . .
Got off surprisingly well for the whole uni experience, I suspect I could have been the housemate from hell, with penchant for much drinking, drugs and loud music, except 3 out of the 4 of us are still, 10 years on, best mates.
The other girl, well, she was a weird one. A neat freak if ever I did meet one. If we had been in her room and moved ONE thing, eg, turned a stapler the other way round, she knew immediately. Her tins of food in the pantry used to be perfectly and symmetrically arranged with labels aligned to the front. Of course me and my partner-in-crime took great pleasure in periodically spending a few minutes turning everything upside-down, which she handled with remarkably good grace, and a rictus smile.
As she shared a room with my other friend in the first year it gave us the perfect opportunity to turn her room upside down, chairs, bed, desk, poster. Stopped short of the wardrobe. Took us about ½ hour of mischief and giggling, probably took much longer for her to recover from the invasion (mentally).
She met a bloke after the first year, and our second and third years we spent with him in our house virtually every weekend listening to her coital squeaking and giggling and playing the SAME FECKING POLICE SONG over and over. I still cannot listen to ‘Roxanne’ without feeling homicidal.

Plenty of years of professional wastrel avoiding any form of responsibility and living out of nurses homes post-graduation (hey it was dirt-cheap and easy) meant I have sampled the delights of living with different professionals from a variety of cultures. All I can say is . . . No wonder MRSA exists.
The Brazilian nurse who thought it was perfectly acceptable to leave used tampax in an open topped bin in the toilet until someone else emptied the bin..
The doctor who used to plaster the sides of the bath with thick body hair after each bath ( and no, there was no shower, you had to wash it out by hand, ewwww)
Two phillipino nurses (in a tiny flat share of 4) who used to apparently multiply like gremlins, I’d walk in and there’s be, like, 2, I‘d turn round then there‘d be 6, come back later and there were 8. They used to make phone calls back home at all kinds of hours, just never at socially acceptable times (time difference between UK and Phillipines) and because the phone was right outside my door, disturbing us normal working folk who don’t work shifts.
The best was some lunatic couple who I think had left their respective partners/marriages to shack up together, moving into a tiny double room in a dilapidated nurses home. With me three doors down. I think the trouble started after a messy night out where, I admit, we were pretty raucous when we got back, and a formal complaint was made. It was a pretty sociable place for everyone else there but particularly the woman in the couple made things quite unpleasant and focussed on me (probably because I played right back at slamming doors as loudly as she did, playing music loud and generally being a pain. And we had to share the kitchen). Looking back it can’t have been easy for her, leaving the relative comfort of a husband and 2 kids and own home to shack up with a younger man in that place, and a fair bit of guilt must have been involved. Good. She was a total bitch, and they split up not longer after I moved out. Still bitter? Yup.

No length joke, I’m proud of it.
(maggotriddendirtbox fast, feral and sharp as a tack since, Mon 9 Apr 2007, 18:35, Reply)

Redressing the balance
It was me! I was that irresponsible, thoughtless, dirty and smelly wanker. Allow me to give you the other side of the story...

1) I was immature
2) I resented artificial authority
3) I had no insight - I couldn't *see* the mess, nor the distress it caused you
4) I had no concept of social responsibility - someone else would fix what I broke/didn't clean/didn't pay/etc
5) I'd cut 50% of my lectures to slob around in bed, or watch Sesame Street getting drunk or stoned

In summary, I had no concept of a world outside my own miserable boundaries. Technically and clinically I was severely depressed. If only someone had had the insight then to stick me on a fortnight of prozac, I may have been normal, or at least healthier and happier.

Now I'm sexy and successful, but just want to apologise to you all from me, and all my kind back in shared house days. I (and we) don't mean to offend you, we're just removed from reality and up ourselves. Strong chance (as many of these stories repeat) you'll find some strain of mental illness in your 'from hell' housemates - buggers to live with, but don't give up on them. My Mrs didn't, and made a decent man of me.
( 0nyx, Mon 9 Apr 2007, 17:09, Reply)

Sorta off topic...
My girlfriend and I rescued a Yorkshire Terrier this weekend.

We awoke to snow on Saturday morning (and to a major WTF, as it had been in the 80s during the previous week), and as we drank our coffee Eva looked out the window and asked, "Do we have a neighbor with a Yorkie?"

"No, not that I know of. Why?"

"There's one running down the street out there." And with that she goes out the front door, and returns a few minutes later with a tiny wet shivering thing that looked to be all eyes and bedraggled fluff.

We have two dogs ourselves, as well as two cats, so there was food available for the beastie as I called the phone numbers on her tag. One turned out to be not in service, and the other was a cell phone, so I left a message that we had the dog, that she was warm and safe, and that I could be reached at the following number.

Not getting any answer or a return call, and having things to do, we put the three dogs in the kitchen with plenty of food and water and pushed off. Of course as soon as we were on our way I got a call from the owner- a college girl home on vacation who had left the dog with her mother, who in turn had lost track of the little hairball. So I agreed to call her when I was going to be close to home so her mother could come get the dog, and we continued on our way.

When we returned home three hours later we were greeted by the sounds of three very small and very excited dogs, whom I promptly chucked out into the back yard to go piss on everything in sight. While I waited for the owner's mother to arrive I sat and snuggled the little dog, much to the consternation of our own beasts. My cat (the Big Black Hissy Thing) took one look at this tiny dog and gave me a look of disgust before stalking off elsewhere. The Yorkie then encountered my girlfriend's Siamese, whose facial expression was one of "Whoa! Bad flashback! You're harshing my mellow, dude!" before he retreated to his couch to lie there looking stoned as usual.

When the owner's mother finally took the doglet home with her, I sat down in one of the chairs and found myself buried under two very insecure little dogs and a somewhat freaked out Siamese.

Errr, actually I can make this story on-topic: my canine housemates have been extremely clingy ever since, apparently fearing that my affections now lie elsewhere, and the Big Black Hissy Thing chose to spend the night elsewhere. (I think that the Siamese just concluded that it had been a bum trip, as he's back to being his usual Tommy Chong self.)
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Mon 9 Apr 2007, 16:26, Reply)

Housemate
I married her and now we are divorced but not before she took my kids, my money, and self respect.

At least I am now having sex more than once an eon.
(moondust, Mon 9 Apr 2007, 16:19, Reply)

the wank board
A guy I lived with for a year at uni had a headboard attached to his bed.

After about six months, the headboard looked like a giant chrysalis, such was the amount of dried jizz he had wiped on it.

When we pointed it out to him, he threw it out of his window into the front garden, bought another one from a local charity shop.... and started all over again.

*shudders*
(mercemployee, Mon 9 Apr 2007, 13:52, Reply)