» Housemates

Who the feck are Stryper?
In my 3rd year at college I shared a 4 bedroom house with 2 guys and 1 girl. The girl was Jan who was from a very christian family in Somerset. She'd been raised in some kind of parallel world that differed only in one respect - that almost everything was prefixed with the word "christian".

She didn't listen to Rock, she listened to Christian Rock. She was immersed to the point of disbelief when no-one had a clue what she was talking about.

"What shite music is this Jan?"
"It's Stryper! The christian rock band? I can't believe you haven't heard of Stryper! Everyone's heard of them. They're just as good as normal bands."

This on it's own was amusing. What made her memorable was that she was also trying to rebel. In 1st year her parents had arranged christian contacts in her new town and she'd dutifully attended various meetings. Now however she wanted to break away and this coincided with her becoming dimly aware of feminism.

Not being the most, um, shapely woman she found it easy to adopt the stereotypical dungaree and combat boot image. She then added to this by rejecting the shallow limitations imposed on women by an uncaring patriarchal society.

She wouldn't be dainty, she stomped everywhere, especially up and down the stairs to her tiny box room. She wouldn't wear deodorant. She'd burp and fart, just like men. She wouldn't wash up. She'd slam doors, wear terrible second hand clothes and play loud music. Although that would still be loud christian music.

In short she did everything she could to turn herself into a walking caricature of unreconstructed masculinity. This, as it happened, also resembled our landlord, a giant barrel of a man whose day job was to deliver fish in an old post office van. He told jokes along the lines of "A man's alone in a room. What does he do?" "Um, dunno" "He has a wank. Hur hur. D'you get it?"

Jan's worst habit was wearing a giant woolly jumper that looked very much like a dead sheep dipped in pink dye. A bad jumper on it's own but much worse when it was the only thing she had on. We would try to eat breakfast as she belched, farted and sat on a broken old sofa with her muff on display. She'd tug the jumper down a bit if asked. It would quickly ride back up. And, in case you're in any doubt, this was the very opposite of sexy.

Did we walk around with our cocks out? No. We didn't even hang around in boxer shorts. She had to go.

Did the landlord rejoice when he heard she was turning into a cartoon man? Was he pleased? Did he appreciate the effort? Did he fuck. He was a fat old sexist, but he was our fat old sexist.

At the end of the month he kicked her out and left the room empty because "box rooms are for weirdos" and he didn't want the rest of us to leave and deprive him of income.

To rub it in the other two guys went to a party the following week dressed as her, wearing charity shop dresses she'd left in the wardrobe. I don't think she forgave them.

The lessons?
1: Don't join Christian Union, the other kids will laugh at you.
2: Read more than one book on feminism, especially if that book is written by Andrea Dworkin.
(Tue 3rd Mar 2009, 11:45, More)