When I left San Diego, and moved to Boston, it was a very scary thing. I had lived in California for almost 11 years. I had seen 2 long term relationships come and go, I went back to school, traveled the world, partied with the rich and famous, lost a parent, started my own business, and experienced some of the highest highs and lowest lows, in my life. Boston was a fresh start. As amazing as a fresh start can be at 34 years old, it can also shake you down to the very fibers of who you are. I literally closed my business, sold everything I owned, shipped a few things out, and packed 2 full suitcases. I didn't know a single person back here in Boston. I searched online, for people who were willing to rent a room or share an apartment. I just needed a place to land, to get settled, and begin the process of starting a brand new life for myself....at the tender age of....um... 31.
Why are you making that face?
I found another gay guy, who was looking for a roommate to share his 3 bedroom in Dorchester, a part of Boston about 5 miles from the downtown area. I had NEVER lived with somebody with whom I was not romantically involved. I either had lived alone, or with a boyfriend. I pictured a a homey apartment, with streamlined furniture. Classic colors on the walls, with fresh flowers in every room. I pictured Pottery Barn, Crate & Barrell...rugged bookshelves, tasteful rugs, and the smell of pine and lavender in the air.
I DID NOT know what I was getting myself into. Lets call him..."Steve".
Steve is in his late 40's. He is a good 70 pounds over weight, a recovering smoker, a total pot head, has to sleep while connected to an apnea apparatus, and is a shut in. When we talked on the phone before I left San Diego, he had said a few times that he was a home body. I was ok with that, because for as koo koo ass as I am, I really like a quiet, clean, comfy home. A homebody is a totally different ball of wax, than a complete recluse. Thats what he is. He is also one of the MOST DISGUSTING people I have ever met.
Fade in....
I get out of the cab, grab my luggage, and walk into the apartment. In all fairness..he was VERY friendly, when he greeted me. We did our hello's, and walked into my new home. The first of my senses to be assaulted, was my sense of smell. It was a fragrance that can only be described as 3 week old litter box, mixed with stale sadness, dust bunnies, and Chinese take out. He has 2......FUCKING DISGUSTING....Maine Coon cats, and he keeps the litter box 6 feet from the front door.
And he cleans it every 2 weeks. And Im not kidding.
Now it was time for my sense of sight to get ass raped with no lube. The hallway that we entered, was painted a 70's turquoise-y, peacock-y, HIDEOUS greenish color. I looked into the living room, to see what can only be described as thrift shop, mis matched furniture, French Canadian grandma lace curtains, a tv set from 1984, a huge fish tank with no water or fish, but DID have neon pink rocks, all the stuff to set up the tank, and a ceramic skull ornament that said, " Gone Fishin'". Am I Jodie Foster, and do you have a collection of rare moths, in the back room?
He had taken over the dining room, as his bedroom. The dining room is centrally located in the apartment,and can be entered through both the living room, and hallway. There was a set of glass french doors, so even if he ever closed them for privacy, ( which he never did)..you could still see right through. Basically, to be in the living room, was to also be in his bedroom. He did this, so that he could lay in bed and watch TV. I looked into his bedroom. The built in cabinets, that would normally be used for plates and glasses, was his closet. There were piles of clothes, a computer desk littered with papers, nick nacks, and dirty dishes. There were Star Trek commemorative plates, all over the walls. There was a teddy bear on his bed. There was cat hair, everywhere.
There are for sure dead bodies in the basement, and im about to be added to the pile.
To say that everything was dusty, and needed a DEEP thorough cleaning, is an understatement.
He took me to my bedroom. While I was still in California, he had told me that my room needed to be painted, and told me I could choose the color. I went to Home Depot, grabbed a paint swatch that I liked, and sent it, along with my security deposit. I had chosen a sort of terra cotta, earthy sunset color. My walls were ORANGE!!!!!!
My room was on orange alert.
The days turned into a few weeks, and some very disturbing things began to surface. He had taken over the back bedroom as his office.....for working with stained glass. He made animals and lighthouses out of stained glass and wires. If that doesnt say ' Im a child molester"...than I dont know what does. He left the house everyday for work at 9:15, and came home at 6:45. Sundays and Mondays were his days off, and he wouldn't leave the house.
Ever.
He smoked massive amounts of pot every night. He would walk in, say hello to his DISGUSTING CATS, and light up within 5 minutes. He would then proceed to either order an extra large pizza, bags of chinese food, or cook up food in the kitchen and leave dirty pots and pans on the stove for a week. On his days off, he would wake up around 9:00 am, and by 9:30 he was high as a kite. He also took 2 hour naps in the afternoon, from the exhaustion of doing laundry. He had total control over the TV. He watched every show, on every channel, every night.
Since we were 2 men living together...we would walk around naked, if we had just gotten out of the shower, or were changing. When I first saw him naked, I noticed that his dick looked weird. It didnt take long before I was forced to ask him why. I like to consider myself an expert on all things penis, but this was out of my realm of knowledge. Okay.....So...the reason his penis looked the way it did, was because he desperately wanted his foreskin back, and proceeded to hang small weights on it, to eventually drag the skin over the head...thus creating a man made foreskin.
Ill give you a minute to really soak that in.
Are you ok? Lets go on.
His toilet habits. People......HIS TOILET HABITS!!!!!!!!!! When it comes to kitchens and bathrooms, bleach is my favorite smell. You can only imagine my thoughts and feelings, when everyday I would go to use the bathroom, lift the toilet lid, and find smatterings of dark brown shit all over the bowl, inside rim, and seat. Im talking about...everyday. I would immediately grab a can of bleach cleaner, and scrub the entire bathroom from top to bottom. His fecal rapings would continue throughout the course of my stay, there. My nickname for him, quickly became " Splatter-pus". I use it to this day, when referring to him.
Steve took a weeks vacation from work, in the beginning of December. I had been there for 3 weeks. For one solid week......he didnt walk out of the house....once. Not one time. He was very excited at the prospect of building his Christmas village display in the living room, ( right next to the empty fish tank), and decorating the Christmas tree. On the day the tree was delivered, I left for the day. I saw it come in, and it was a pretty tree. It was full, had a nice shape, and the pine really covered up the cat shit smell. Whats not to like? When I got home that night, the tree was all decorated. Lets start with what was at the top of the tree. It was a huge mechanical, Santa -esque character. It moved in a side to side manner, kind of like he was waving. It was super old, and you could hear the gears grinding. It had a Cher like face, but it was Santa. It was also Cher like, in that he was wearing a long, sparkley, white faux fur, lined robe and matching hat. That Cher Santa would haunt me . I was pretty convinced I would wake up at 4 in the morning, with Cher Santa on top of me with a meat cleaver. I love Cher, and I love Santa.....but not their bastard love child.
The next thing I noticed, were the Star Trek tree ornaments. As if thats not bad enough, they were fiber optic. In conjunction with the Trekkie ornaments, there were kitty cats, AIDS ribbons, and cartoon characters. If this were anybody else's Christmas tree,I would've LOOOOVED it. The even darker twist to this story, is that he left it up for 30 days, past the new year.
I know that there is a baby Jesus, and I know that he laughs at me.
Maybe the worst thing about my time there, was the DISGUSTING CATS. He loved those bitches, and they loved him...and they hated me. They would hiss, if you just walk past them. They also liked to piss on my bed. I have nothing against piss, as long as it coming from a bodybuilder, shaved head, black dude at the urinal next to me.
Not from a cat.......on the place that I sleep.
They had super long fur, which covered everything in the apartment. Since he never cleaned the liter box, they took to shitting everywhere. They also threw up daily. I will clean, but I WILL NOT clean up after your cunt cats. That was his job, and he didnt do it. There would be a pile of puke, and he would grab a napkin, drag it across the vomit, and that would be it. No soap. No water. No scrubbing. The result would be small orange streaks of dried up cat puke, all over the place. Including his comforter.
HHmmm...went well with my bedroom wall color.
He would talk to them, but not in a " hey kitty kitty ", way. He would converse. One Sunday morning, I remember that one of them was meowing at him in the kitchen. This is what I heard....
" I told you, I fed you already...and you're not getting a treat until later. Its not even noon yet, and youre complaining. NO COMPLAINING BEFORE NOON!!!! Its my day off, and I want to relax......go sit with your sister, so I can get myself some breakfast."
Ok...I really AM Jodie Foster, and instead of moths, my serial killer has cunty cats and Trekkie figurines.
Not long after, I met Russ...and very soon I was out of there. Now that I look back on it, its pretty funny. I feel sorry for him, because I think he battles depression, and just isnt in a healthy place in his life. Weve touched base a few times since, but theres no point in staying in touch. I did take a few pictures on my cellphone, of the poop and puke on his bed, before I left. I look at them once in a while, as a reminder of where I was, where I am, and where Im headed. Nothing says, " Im a success", like sleeping in a bed that doesnt have cat piss all over.
