ashaw814
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    • ashaw814

      Let me preface this by saying I have baked a cookie cake pie, amazing mac and cheese, and homemade pierogies. But apparently frozen french fries were too much of a challenge for me. I was living with my best friend in an apartment at the time, and I was always the first home from work, so I cooked dinner. That night seemed as good as any for burgers and fries, so I heated up some vegetable oil on the stove for the frozen fries. Unfortunately, I decided it was a good idea to turn the flame all the way up. I must have had the oil cooking at too high a temperature for too long, because as soon as I tried to add a french fry, WOOSH went the oil. Naturally, I began to panic. Big fire. On stove. Luckily, I was smart enough to remember that water + oil fire = very bad. But my intelligence ended there. I frantically ran around trying to smother the flames with dish towels. But they just made the fire worse. We didn’t have an extinguisher in our unit, but I knew there was one right in the hall. So I ran to grab it, and as I opened the door, our building’s doorman was standing there about to knock. He asked if everything was okay. Clearly, it was not. He radioed for 911 and grabbed the extinguisher. I ran around trying to find my roommate’s cat to no avail. The doorman escorted me to the first floor and into a waiting ambulance. My roommate came home to an apartment on fire, a missing roommate, and a hiding cat. Luckily the cat was unscathed (and we had renter’s insurance), but we still ended up living in a hotel for a month.

    • ashaw814

      My first college roommate was very Christian, had been home-schooled her entire life up until that point, and was very conservative. She would wake up every morning at 6am, even when she didn’t have class, and listen to Rush Limbaugh. And mutter to herself in agreement. One time, I was in the room while she was on the phone with her brother. He was the first of her siblings to attend a traditional high school, and on that particular phone call, he must have been sharing his new experiences. Suddenly, I heard my roommate exclaim, “No, Benji. We must not kill gay people. We must love them into admitting their sins.” Yea. That was a horror show. I was so afraid that a new roommate would somehow be even worse that I stuck out the rest of the year and then transferred closer to home so I could commute.

    • ashaw814

      I dated a guy for four years. From sophomore year of high school to sophomore year of college. We made it through the typical high school milestones, the proms and the graduation, the petty fights and the inevitable make-up make-out sessions. Things started to change when we went to college. He commuted to a local school. I went a little further away and could only make it home on the weekends. He made friends and went to parties. I had a crazy roommate who had been homeschooled her entire life, was raised on a farm and woke up at 6 every morning to listen to Rush Limbaugh. He was enjoying his college experience. I was miserable. We started to have less and less in common, but we saw each other so infrequently, that we didn’t even realize it. Before the year was over, I had made the decision to transfer closer to home so I could commute. Things became strained, but we figured it was just stress and continued along. In January of that school year, my dad passed away. I was with my boyfriend at his parent’s house when I received the phone call. It was eleven at night. My boyfriend was asleep, but I woke him up with my anguished shrieks and cries. I didn’t sleep that night. But he didn’t even try to stay awake with me because he had work the next day. I should have left then. But I stayed for another four months, throwing myself wholeheartedly into his partying lifestyle. I stayed at his apartment every weekend, but we were both too busy drinking with everyone else to actually spend time with each other. And he continued to do really shitty things, like take another girl - one who had been actively trying to sleep with him - to a party I wasn’t invited to as a date. But none of these things were enough to end the relationship. What finally did it was a stupid argument that I don’t even remember. We were in his old Buick Le Sabre with the bench seats. He told me it was over and I cried. We’d been through this before, but somehow it felt different as I walked up the steps to my family’s apartment. I realized that maybe I was better off without him. He ended up calling the next day, full of apologies. We briefly reunited, but I ended it later that week. I knew that I would have way more fun without him.