I decided yesterday to try to stop Hulk (my new, goofy roommate) from using my hand towel in the bathroom. I realized that I’m sick and tired of how he has contributed nothing to the house but a giant mess in the dining room (seriously, does he really need to store his hockey equipment and Japanese borderline anime porn there?). So, I removed the towel from one of the three main hooks and put it on a door hook sort of tucked under my bath towel; I have rights to the door hooks and Hulk uses a towel rack. This morning, the towel appeared more outside my big towel. It could have been just the movement from opening/closing the door, but I’m dubious. Before I left today, I tucked it almost entirely under my big towel. If that loser wants to dry his hands, he can use his own towel or his ugly sweater. Yes, I have never seen this geek without a sweater. He has work sweaters and bedtime sweaters, although they all look the same and he probably makes no distinction between them. Hey, I have sweaters, too. I wear them. I enjoy them. They’re nice and warm. But mine actually come in different colors and I actually switch it up by wearing a shirt now and then.
Hulk isn’t a bad guy overall. I’m just a real stickler and not easy to live with. Just ask Captain Larby - he’s seen the dark side of Cool Jesus the Roommate. The good is that I’m very clean and orderly and the house stays that way; the bad is that it’s my way or hell to pay. Swedish Girl has seen this dark side regarding bed-making and dishwashing. So, even though I silently fume that I’m the only one in my house who does any cleaning, there is also a part of me who is relieved that I at least get it done my way, which is, of course, the right way. So, I won’t be home tonight for another nine hours or so and in that time I will be consumed by the thought that this goon is touching my bath towel to get to my hidden hand towel. It’s no wonder I saw a lot of me in Howard Hughes from The Aviator.
After three years of being roommates in college, Captain Larby and I parted ways. Some time later, after graduation, when I was moving into a one-bedroom apartment, I remember the Captain telling me how much I was going to hate living alone. He had done it for one year and then gleefully moved in with three other guys. Captain was telling me how I’d soon be talking to myself because I’d be starving for companionship. Captain and I are similar individuals. We share a lot of traits and characteristics, so I thought I’d hate living alone. Au contraire! I loved it. I miss it. The apartment was always clean and if not, then I had no one to blame but myself. I never had to use a bathrobe or worry about being spotted in my underwear. And I never had to race home to get to the TV before my roommate(s).
Currently, I’m working on a theme/experiment/philosophy in which I never enter the living room if Hulk is already in there watching TV. He has no problem strolling in to catch a glimpse of what I’m watching, although he never sits down. Years ago, Captain Larby and I went years without ever sitting on the same sofa. It was an unspoken understanding to the point that one evening, as Larby was sitting on the sofa watching TV, I absentmindedly sat on the far end of the sofa. He looked at me instantly, I jumped up as if yanked by an invisible giant, and said, “I’m not gay!” We laughed about how this was finally out in the open, but while we discussed the silliness of it, Larby was seated on the sofa and I on a recliner. Good times.
You were audited by the Massachusetts Government. 
