Alex Finlay, Entry #1, I hate my housemate.

My housemate is kind of insane. It’s not particularly surprising since I live in the Porter Apartments, but this guy isn’t insane in a funny way. “Anthony” bugs the shit out of me. He's the kind of guy that you want to die first in a movie so you don't have to watch him try to act anymore, plus Tweak from South Park. He never buys food, eats mine, and then complains when we have no food. He’ll wander into a room, into a conversation, and interrupt whoever is speaking in order to insert whatever is annoying him at the time (i.e. his major, his parents, me, his classes, his room, his lack of weed, me, his sickness [by the way, thanks for the flu, fucker], his lack of friends, me…). He hates me almost as much as I hate him. And maybe I wouldn’t mind him so much if it weren’t for the fact that he complains so much. In my household, I’m the one who’s anal about the kitchen and keeping everything neat and puts everything away. So “Anthony” asks if we could move the silverware to another drawer and, as a benevolent dictator, I consent to the change. After having the silverware there for a few days, all of the other roommates tell me individually that the silverware’s new spot is retarded, which it is. It’s completely out of the way and it was a really stupid drawer to put it in. But that’s “Anthony” for you. Completely illogical and unpractical. <---mmmm repetitive. But I can’t think of the right words to describe him, so fuck you. Anyway, I moved it back to its original location. When I told him, he freaked out and started yelling at me that I had moved it in the first place and that he was just getting used to how it was and then I moved it to the location he suggested. WTF. THIS BOY NEEDS XANAX MORE THAN I DO. We got into a huge fight that was basically like this:
Him: “Why are you always telling me not to eat your food and to wash my dishes and to clean up after myself???”
Me: *speechless*
He’s crazy. I came into this living situation thinking he’d be the normal one. I was wrong. The former acid dealers I live with are saner than “Anthony”. If you hear a story about a murdered Porter student, hide this blog entry.