Happiness isn't

One of the experiences I do not wish on anyone living in Los Angeles is looking for a roommate. It is a very hope crushing task actually. You cross your fingers hoping that one of your friends might know someone normal for you, because what you are left with is...

The "sex-therapist" who can't pay a lot of money in rent and hopes that you have a dungeon like room for her to conduct her "therapy"

(I know that if I type dominatrix, that guy from scranton will check out this blog)

The laid back artist type who wants only a girl to share his studio apartment with a view of the Hollywood sign. By the way, she will be paying all the rent. If she feels that she will need some privacy there could be a divider fashioned so they aren't in each others face 24/7.

or the person who can only pay $200.

I think back to the scariest roommate experience I had when I first moved here. (Given I have had my share of winners) I moved half way across the country to close the distance on a long distance relationship, moved in with my then boyfriend and his roommate of 7 years. The roommate was a known binge drinker, who after a dry spell, revved up his activities shortly after my move in date. There were nights that he would get so drunk, he would get into physical fights with his female friends. I would mainly stay away when this happened and ask my then boyfriend to do something about it.

One afternoon the roommate came home slurring and fall down drunk with a girl I had never seen before. We chatted for a while, or rather words fell out of his mouth,I think about what he was wearing and then they excused themselves to his room. I busied myself with correspondence to my Minnesota friends.

Then I heard something, mistaken for something else at first.

"click, click...click, click"

And I thought to myself as I was in the midst of an email-Is that what I think it is? I heard from my boyfriend once before I moved that he kept one, loaded in his closet. I ask rather loudly

"Sweetie, do you have your gun out?"
"Yeah, she's cool I thought she might like to see it"? (paraphrased from drunkese)
"Is it loaded"
"Yeah"
"Put it away, please"
And she blurts out a very nervous agreement that he should put it away. No one likes a loaded gun pointed in their face by a clumsy drunk man.

I hear him play with it a while more and perhaps put it away. When he goes to the bathroom, I watch her run out of our apartment. I take my queue to lock myself into the bathroom until I can get in touch with then boyfriend.

We move out a week or so later.