Everyone needs someone in their life who is just *slightly* crazier than they are. Judging from my own life experiences thus far, statistically speaking, 90% of the time this person will be Italian.
Enter Crazy Italian Roomie*. CIR has packed up 70 lbs. of her life and shoved it into a 4x4 suitcase, flown across the Atlantic, and joined us here in the land of Uncle Sam--where freedom reigns and no one really gives a shit about soccer. So why exactly did she make the move? Was she seeking a freedom from her 7th consecutive year of "studying abroad" in Vienna that could only be found in our great nation? Perhaps looking to escape the suffocating clutches of a country where languishing throughout the entirity of your 20's is socially acceptable? Guess again, friends: She moved here to live with her 40 year- old balding boyfriend who, when all was said and done, wasn't cute, rich, or interesting...and he didn't treat her all that great to boot. Um, and did I mention he is totally balding and old...? Because he is. Ew.
When things turned sour with Baldy, CIR decided to put everything back into that suitcase of hers and take it a couple of blocks over to Casa de Jessica (Which was totally fine- I needed the rent money). During the honeymoon stages of living in Roommatesville with CIR, we had some good times. The majority of them involving dangerous amounts of Chianti and singing Italian karaoke (I'm kind of awesome at "Que Sera, Sera"... And by "kind of", I mean that I'm freaking amazing!!). She was also the perfect wing-woman for me when we went out, as she added a bit of foreign flavor to otherwise ho-hum Midwest bars, but she still had "CRAZY LADY" written all over her, so no guy dared to get too close. Therefore, she would attract the prey with her "Vvvattt ess uur naame??" pick up line (the accent works every time!), and I then I would move in with my endearing charms and all around fabulousness. *sigh* Those were simpler times. Happy times. Everyone just seems more interesting when they have a foreigner with them, I guess...
Sadly, no amount of Kinder Buenos (they are my favorite and her parents mail them to her) or pasta dinners (she is a good cook, i'll give her that) can make up for the day I came home from work and walked into the kitchen to find one of the stove burners on. We have a gas stove, by the by. That means there were actually FLAMES involved, mmmk? Flames actually coming out of my stove. And just so we are all clear here, I'll spell it out: Bitch left the motherf*cking GAS STOVE ON!!! Uh, WHO DOES THAT?!? WHo forgets to TURN THE FLAME OFF??
CIR forgets to turn the flame off. She also forgets to turn the oven off (twice). And she doesn't think it's all that necessary to ever do her dishes, take out the trash, or purchase communal TP. I don't know why, but buying toilet paper seriously pisses me off. Well, wait, I DO know why. BECAUSE I PROBABLY COULD HAVE PURCHASED A SMALL ISLAND WITH ALL THE MONEY I"VE SUNK INTO TP THIS PAST YEAR. At the very least I should have bought some stock in Charmin, that is for sure.
And since I've started with the cleaning thing, I'll enlighten you about this little mini coffee thingy she has. Every morning, CIR wakes up and makes a coffee for herself using this gadget that i'm not even sure is legal in the U.S. to be honest, as i've never even seen anything like it in stores before. BUT I can tell you that it involves coffee grounds and boiling the coffee on the stove (which, as I mentioned above, she isn't so stellar at operating). And every morning, the coffee boils over onto the stove, leaving this skanky little pool of black coffee. Then CIR takes it off the stove (once it has boiled over for a minute or two) and dumps the grounds into the sink, dropping some on the floor on her way over. Never mind the fact there is a garbage roughly 3 inches from the stove. So, to re-cap: Coffee pool on stove; grounds on floor, in sink. And that is where they remain, for all of eternity.
Or at least until I get sick of living in filth and clean them up. Seriously, the last time i checked (i just did), it's wasn't my responsibility to clean up after this chick. But alas. Here we are.
Have I mentioned that I hate coffee? Because I do now.
*names have been changed, obvsly. Also, this an old story I wrote!
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