Why I Kicked Him Out

A few people who read the blog asked me why I kicked out my old roommate. They said it wasn't clear. He and I, we were good friends. And still are. Although now we're on kind of a little bit of a hiatus as far as I'm concerned. I need a little distance. I need to get that friend vibe back. The hard part about getting it back is that living with my current roommate, living with Kelly shows me how different it is to live with someone who actually gives as much as they get. Someone who gives a shit. Is present. And cleans. Who takes initiative, is respectful, pays bills, pays rent on time. And cleans!

Usually, I'm not the kind of person to kick people out or end friendships, but I am the kind of person to let myself be taken advantage of or get stuck and feel stuck. (See series of bad jobs, see old blog entries for reference). Until I can't take it anymore. (This, by the way, is not why I had my most recent nervous breakdown. Which for me is really just losing it for a night. That kind of came out of nowhere. Happy one minute and then... randomly crying?! For an entire night! I know, people are insitutionalized for less. Which wouldn't be so bad if I had insurance, could live rent free, and have all day to write... But more on that later).

My old roommate? He has a good heart. He's fun. He knows everybody. And gets invited everywhere. Women, men, kids? They all love him. My mother? She loved him. So did my cats. He's loveable. End of story. Funny, a great dresser, a better drinker. He has great hair. And presence. He knows fashion. He reads Vogue. And watches "Sex and the City." The guy goes out every night. Luckily, in cabs. He's well traveled and well connected. Even though he doesn't use the connections. Because he's not the most future-oriented. That's why I worry about him. Or, the most responsible. He never has money. And it doesn't seem to faze him in the least. Or change his lifestyle. He's happy all the time. But not in an annoying way. And that's nice to be around. As a single women? You can almost always depend on him to be the guy who shows up when the other ones don't. He's a great date. And got along with anyone I ever dated. (I think they missed him more than me when all was said and done). He's a good listener when you catch him at home. That's why to have him let you down, have him take advantage of you feels like such a betrayal. But of course, I have to take responsiblity for that, too. I let it happen.

When he first moved in, I was still in denial about having to have a roommate. I had just gotten dumped by my agent and just come to the conclusion that my newfound career in odd jobs wasn't going to pay the rent. And him? The friend he was living with had just sold his house, so he had nowhere to go. He had no furniture. He had no dishes. No pots and pans. No towels. No stereo. No TV. No stuff. Me, I had stuff. (Of course, now it's old stuff. But nonetheless, it's stuff.) He also didn't have a car so he didn't need a garage. Which was good because parking around here is a bitch. Neither one of us spend a lot of time in the bathroom, so sharing wasn't a big deal. And as for random men sleeping over? It didn't seem to be happening for either of us (bummer, right?). We said it was just temporary and then it just seemed to work. So he stayed.

For awhile, we had a lot of fun together. We had dinner parties. We shared Thanksgiving and birthdays. He made me laugh. He even vacumed once or twice. The ex-convict? His friend. He didn't have a checking account so he would pay me the rent in 100 dollar bills. Until I convinced him to get a checking account so I didn't have to keep going into the bank looking like a prostitute-- and not a very well paid one. In the beginning, it didn't matter if he was a few days late with the rent, because I had enough money to cover it. Then it started to matter, because I didn't. And him? He got later and later with it. And me? I got more and more stressed. Around the apartment, he did less and less. And never kicked in for things like toilet paper or cleaning supplies. He would have people come stay for the weekend and they'd take over the apartment. He wouldn't be around. But I was. They brought dogs. That scared the shit out of my cat. They brought kids. And personal baggage. It wouldn't have been so bad if he had asked. Which he sometimes did. But not always. Then I went out of town and he used my cell phone without telling me. And made long distance calls on my land line because he didn't have one. He also used my car. And didn't fill it with gas when he was done. He'd come home at 3 in the morning and wake me up because he didn't take off his shoes and we have hardwood floors. There was the night he locked himself out and called me a bunch of times to let him in. Finally, I got up and checked my messages. When I opened the door, I found him passed out on the stairs outside the front door. After that, I couldn't get back to sleep. Sometimes, I'd say something. But other times, I was too exhausted to deal with it. I had other fish to fry. Getting my life back together was taking all of my energy. And it wasn't going so well.

The other stuff, sure it grated on my nerves. But the worst part was the financial thing. Especially after I filed bankruptcy. He knew I didn't have a cushion anymore. He knew when the rent was due. Still, he'd pay late. Bounce checks to me when did pay. Go out night after night during the week. And bounce checks. I was staying home every night, working every weekend, eating tortilla soup day after day to make sure my rent was paid. Yet he didn't seem to care. The clincher was when he told me he put the rent money in my bank and the next day I went to the bank to make a deposit and the money wasn't in there. The rent check was already sent. I called him from the bank, concerned. He said he had made the deposit. Cash. I asked him when. He said the day before, right before the bank closed. I asked if he got a receipt. On the other end of the phone, he shuffled through papers pretending to be looking for one. He said he couldn't find it. The phone cut out. The people at the bank were looking through my account, through their records. To see if they had extra cash. I was in a panic. They were trying to help. Until my old roommate called and said, "I never put the money in the bank." I was furious. I felt like such an asshole. I couldn't believe he lied to me. I couldn't believe I got a slew of overdraft charges. Yes, I made him pay me back. But it took awhile.

Clincher number two was when he went out of town-- to Chicago, and stayed out of town when the rent was due. He called on the 4th to say he was fedexing the check to arrive the next day-- on the 5th. So I came home to get the money (on my one day off the entire year-- which he knew) to make it to the bank before it closed. The rent check had already been sent. I waited and waited. No fedex man. It was 4 o'clock. So I called my roommate. Asked where it was, if he'd sent the check overnight to be left without signature. He said "yes" and that'd he'd call fedex to see what was going on. A few minutes later, he called me back and said it was en route. It never showed up. The rent check cleared. I had overdrafts in my account. And zero money for the weekend. I couldn't drive to my writing workshop because I didn't have money for gas. I couldn't do errands. I canceled dinner plans. On Saturday, the fedex guy left a slip. Late Sunday night, my roommate came home. On Monday morning, another slip was left outside the door. By the time I finally got the fedex, I saw that my roommate had sent it two day and not to be left without signature. Which made no sense because the check couldn't clear in time. Not to mention, he had lied to me again. When I went into his room the next morning and told him it wasn't okay that he was off having fun while I sat home all weekend unable to do anything because of him, he waved me off without a word. Really. With a flick of his wrist. No apology. Nothing. I was furious. So I told him that the rent had to be paid on time the next month or else he'd have to leave.

This is the thing: I wanted him to come through. He was my friend. I didn't want to have to kick him out. I don't like being the bad guy. Not to mention, kicking him out meant I'd probably have to move out, too. And he knew that. So that's why I don't think he took it too seriously. But. Not so satisfying to just threaten him. He didn't seem to care and it never seemed to change things. So I called him from the car and said he had to leave. I was shaking. I cried. Because he had been one of my closest friends. We'd been through a lot together. Yet, he saw what was going on in my life and how stressed it made me and he didn't care that he was making it worse. Do I think he did it on purpose? I don't know why he did it. I think he may have lost respect for me because I let him get away with all of that shit. Or maybe I lost respect for myself and he jumped on the bandwagon. I'm not really sure. I know it was a lesson. I know it needed to happen. And I'm sure we'll get past it. But it still makes me sad.