Our house - don't be fooled by it's deceptively attractive exterior appearance |
Our room - we keep it clean |
Though I've learned more than I've wanted to about getting friend-zoned, upper deckers and different ways/things to smoke, I wouldn't wish this experience on anyone. From what I can tell, there are about 6-8 other testosterone-fueled residents; it's hard to know for sure because traffic of both sexes is always coming and going at all hours. Nobody does dishes and there are always remnants of food and garbage everywhere. The floors are sticky. People eat our food. There's a ping pong table that can be heard ping-ponging most nights until 2 a.m. I won't even begin to describe our shared bathroom lest I ruin your appetite for the next three days. There are raging parties until the wee hours and there's been quite a few mornings when Sean and I have gingerly stepped over comatose bodies while leaving the house for school at 6 a.m.
The male twenty-somethings that live here think we are the epitome of lameness. When we try and explain that we have class all day and then hours of homework at night, their eyes glaze over and they stop listening. They are nice enough, however, and frequently invite us to the parties they host. I'm chalking this up to a sociological and anthropological "experience" but meanwhile I can't wait to sleep without earplugs and walk around without flip-flops.
The shared party/smoking balcony |
Our room again |