My Gay Roommate

I have a gay roommate

"You threw something away in the antique trash basket yesterday. Only throw things away in the regular trash basket. The regular trash basket is eggshell blue with a small dark red line about a centimeter down from the rim. The antique trash basket does NOT have the dark red line. You can differentiate between colors, right? Thanks."

For the most part, we get along fine.

"Jen's coming over at two on Saturday to make an almond torte with me, because I haven't done it in forever. She's leaving at three thirty, at which point, we need to put new lampshades on every lamp except the one in my bedroom, because that one gets put away until next spring. We need to have that done by four fifteen, at which point, Trevor and William are coming over for our weekly viewing of 'Mean Girls,' which should be done by seven, provided Trevor doesn't yammer on and on that stupid job he has at the kids hospital, and then at seven I'm going to go work out for about an hour, and while I'm doing that, I need you to scrub the kitchen floor--I'd use this little mini-mop I made out of dental floss and a toothpick, it picks up more dirt--I'll be home at around eight, and then we have the party at eight thirty, and if anyone shows up early, tell them I hate them and they're never invited to anything again. Easy, right? Thanks."

There have been a lot of upsides. I've been able to meet lots of new people.

"Okay, I'm just going to warn you. In about five minutes, a guy in a leather jacket, a guy with no pants, a guy with a mo-hawk, two guys with Brown sweatshirts, a mime, and a really traumatized girl are all going to come out of my bedroom. You are not allowed to speak, acknowledge, or even make eye contact with any of them, and we are never going to speak of this again. You remember those photos I have of you in Bermuda after your third roofied drink when you thought you could fly? Yup. Thanks."

More than anything, he just makes me feel really good about myself.

"Put down those pretzels, change your shoes, and give me that phone before you text some guy I don't approve of. Thanks."

He loves to try new things.

"Laser tag? Why don't we just go cow-tipping? It's pretty much the same thing, right? No thanks."

And he's really good at listening.

"...And that's why I HATE Moroccan food. Ugh. So which one of your relatives died today? It wasn't your cousin, was it? He's so hot. You should set me up with him. He doesn't like Moroccan food, does he? OH! That reminds me--"

Most of all, he makes me laugh.

"Thank you sooo much for the birthday sweater! P.S. You forgot to staple the receipt to the card. Can you go get it? I have about an hour until the store closes. Love me, right? Thanks."

Everything else, you learn to live with.