Let us rejoice

The day has come.  Praise the Lord, Charles Darwin, the Great Bambino and all things almighty!   The bitch is moving out.  Yeah that bitch, my nightmare, giant slutbag of a roommate, who I've been living with for the past year.  SHE'S FINALLY MOVING OUT.  Dreams really do come true.  Let's all jump around in celebratory concentric circles while eating oreos.

What will I miss most? It's hard to say.  Maybe all the weird crap that's slowly migrated into the living room as she takes over shelf space with her plastic sword and wig collection.  That's right, wig collection.  Maybe her bringing people back from the bars at night, with one who walks into my room when I'm bed, while the other vomits all over my freshly cleaned toilet.  I'll definitely miss her string of gentlemen friends, who she is always so polite as to go out of her way and introduce me to.  I'll particularly miss the almost-boyfriend who strongly smells of cologne, mixed with ball sweat.  I'll miss smelling him when I come in the door at night, and definitely miss smelling him on Mr. Meowington (Hey Mr. Sweatyballs, what the hell were you doing with my cat?!).

A couple of weeks ago I overheard her phone conversation.  The only way I really know anything about her anymore is through overheard conversations and Facebook.  I feel ok about that.  I heard her say she was fired from her waitressing job.  She also said "I need to return to my previous profession, I'm tried of being poor."  This of course led me to believe her past profession was prostitution (because as Bernard later pointed out, she doesn't have the body to be a stripper).  She then went into a very graphic story of how she met a guy from okCupid on Thursday for lunch, and then proceeded to spend the rest of the weekend having unprotected sex with him until Sunday evening.  She also talked about how she's going on a cross-country trip with a guy she met while on a recent trip to Argentina (Because there's nothing like a crosscountry trip with some foreign creeper you met in a bar and knew for a couple days). Since I'm sharing quarters with an ex-prostitute/giant slutbag, I'm now blaming my own HPV on the toilet seat.  It's the only explanation, really.

It is true, she hasn't been all that bad the past few months.  Aside from being unemployed and therefore home all the time.  Her number of gentlemen callers has also been low, relatively speaking.  Bernard moving in, seems to have a subduing effect on her, causing her to keep to herself.  Maybe this is because Bernard likes to make her feel stupid (not because he's an asshole, but because she tries really, really hard to sound smart and that annoys him).  Bernard and I are hoping to throw a party for her departure.  It will be like a farewell party, except the person leaving won't actually be invited.  We've been planning this since the first week Bernard moved in, theme and all.   Yep, dreams really do come true.