elanid

THE HOUSEMATE FROM HELLACIOUS HELL.

One of my housemates has been giving everyone trouble since pretty much the first day we moved in, but due to various factors (were I a wicked cynic, I would say for instance, the fact that some of my housemates have no spine), we haven't managed to get rid of her.  Her latest habit is not doing the chores assigned for the kitchen (such arduous tasks as taking out the garbage or putting the dishes away), which has made half of the house wroth with her.  (The other half says "Oh, dear," and then does her job for her.)

Accordingly I recently set out to have a conversation with her about this fascinating practice, which ran aground almost at once.

YOURS TRULY: Dearest Kearstyn, I can't help but notice that you didn't do your very simple job this entire week, thereby requiring other people to do it if they didn't want to end horribly with all the dishes in the house broken on their head.
HOUSEMATE FROM HELLACIOUS HELL: Well, I was at my grandmother's house today.  And it's Easter.  So I really don't think that you have any right to complain.
YOURS: I could not help but notice that it is Sunday, Kearstyn.  My dim recollection seems to be that the week starts on Monday, so far as chores are concerned?
HOUSEMATE: Well, to be perfectly honest with you, I don't give a shit about this house or anyone in it and have no intention of ever doing my chores.  Suck it!

At which point she trotted off into the bathroom and hid there for something like ten minutes while I loitered around on the first floor waiting to deliver my final warning.  Of course, as soon as I tried, she brushed me off again and stalked into her room, resulting in this dignified exchange:

YOURS TRULY: In fact, I think the new consensus is that if your chores do not get done, they will end up in your room.  I should point out at this point that next week you are supposed to be taking the compost out, although naturally if you really want that on your belongings, I cannot argue!
HOUSEMATE FROM HELLACIOUS HELL (slamming door to her room) : Could you shut up now?  Thanks!

At which point I shrugged and went to do homework, because honestly, I have better things to do than argue with her on this through a closed door.  Of course, while I was upstairs, some of my other housemates returned home, and I think you can pretty easily imagine my surprise when I wandered downstairs later to encounter various further housemates discussing the previous exchange in hushed tones.

HOUSEMATE SECUNDUS: Er, Rachel, I hope you don't mind my asking, but don't you think it was a little inappropriate to start the conversation about the dishes with "if you don't do what I say I'll put compost in your bed?"
HOUSEMATE TERTIUS: And also - wait, why are you laughing uncontrollably?  Are you quite sure you're feeling quite well today?  Are you having a seizure?

And so we continue on.  Perhaps eventually the rest of my housemates will muster up the conviction in the righteousness of their cause to say something to Hellacious Hell, but in the meantime I shall enjoy her pointed glares and refusal to talk to me all by myself.

OSCAR THE KIDNAPPED CAT.

Among her numerous other flaws, Kearstyn* is deeply, madly in love with a cat belonging to someone else, which I can nearly understand, because he's very sweet.  His name is Oscar, and he is small and stripey and quite charming.  We know him because while they were away on spring break, he showed up in our alley, and since his owners weren't picking up their phone, we had to keep him until they finally reappeared to claim him.  We were all a bit disappointed, but none more so than Kearstyn (whose idea of true love, by the way, mostly encompasses shutting him in her room and crooning "widdle boy!" at random moments).

However, I do feel that there is generally a line between true love and kidnapping, which is why it was a bit surprising to return home moderately late one night to find Oscar shut in the study room.

YOURS TRULY: Oh gracious, did he run away again?
KEARSTYN: Well, I found him wandering in the street.
YOURS TRULY (with air of dawning dread): In our alley, or in front of their house?
KEARSTYN (incriminating pause): Well, he's an indoors cat!

The other fun thing about this was that she had decided to kidnap Oscar with her boyfriend in tow, so while she and boyfriend disappeared into her room to pursue unspeakable acts (sample Facebook status from the next morning: "Kearstyn Hellacious should remember not to do things her body isn't capable of."**), the cat was dumped unceremoniously into the living room.

At which point Housemate Quartus pointed out that she was having a dance party later that evening, which certain small felines might not enjoy.  In mild bemusement, I retreated upstairs with Oscar and spent a vaguely entertaining evening watching him barrel around the room in pursuit of a stray (and doubtless very vicious) bottlecap while listening to the sweet strains of extremely loud music from downstairs.***

A couple days later, his owners deigned to resurface and carted him off again; I don't doubt that he'll show up again, though.

REASONS WHY MY JAPANESE HISTORY PROFESSOR IS AWESOME

I really don't think I've had any other professor who digresses with such reliability that he or she can get from "Japan is a highly stratified society" to "electric slippers!  They keep your feet warm!" in under ten minutes.


_________
*In her manifestation as Unduly Sucrose Irritation, rather than the rarer and more dangerous Housemate From Hellacious Hell.

**I give you this information on the principle that I suffer, you suffer.  Along which line I should mention that she spent most of that day wandering around in panties and a T-shirt, ice-pack clutched tenderly to her more personal anatomy.

***At least this time no drunk people tried to break into my room.