"MG you're insane."
"MG you're going to regret this so much, it is not even funny."
"Gabriella, es un chiste verdad?"
Just sharing some of the phrases my friends and mom said when I suggested that I would be living with two of my friends my second semester of junior year. Plot twist: they're guys.
So here's the thing:
If you're a Boston College student, you know the struggle and insanity of its housing policy. Not only is it a lottery process, but... it's a lottery process. You choose the friends with whom you want to live and then get randomly assigned a "pick-time" to essentially pick next year's home. Sometimes people get lucky and get a great pick-time that allows eight people to live in a four-room, two-bathroom suite (yes, that is lucky). But most of the time, you end up in a battlefield, having to kick people out of your rooming group, anxiety building as you pray to God you don't get placed on College Road (social suicide), and ultimately, ending friendships that are holding you back and that ain't nobody got time for. "Every man for himself" is right. If you wish to know more about this nerve-racking trauma that BC puts us through, feel free to watch this video comparing the housing process to Nazis. Yeah...
So here's the actual thing:
Knowing that I was going abroad fall semester, I did not want to deal with this stress all the way from Paris. And Michael was looking for a sublease since he was going abroad for the spring. And after that everything is a blur, but next thing I know, I am signing some papers and paying deposits and first month rent and boom: I became a real life New Girl.
Except I didn't find Andy and Iggy on Craigslist. And except I am actually keeping my cohabitation with the opposite sex a secret because my dad is a really old-fashioned, Italian, brought-up-with-delusions-of-mafia-grandeur, authoritarian man who cannot find out about this or else I will die. So only a handful of people know. But of course I thought it was a great idea to publish it in a blog post for anyone to read. My edginess scares me.
I now live with Andy and Iggy and surprisingly, it isn't half bad. A lot less dramatic than living with seven girls my sophomore year. A moment of silence for the times we were all going through the same PMS cycle.
Andy and Iggy were one of the first people I met freshman year when we all lived in the same dorm on Newton Campus. We all became really good friends and did almost everything together. During the snowstorm Nemo, we built an igloo that took us approximately three hours to complete and then sat in it for about 20 minutes before we finally began to feel the frostbite. However, little did we know we would eventually come to live in a bigger, slightly warmer igloo two years later.
Andy is very clean. And when I mean clean, I mean we can call him Consuela. He is an angel sent down from heaven when it comes to keeping the house tidy and presentable.
And his food. Oh my God. He is always willing to cook for me and the outcome is far from being the typical, mediocre college food. He actually has had his own cooking show. No big deal.
He also loves to have people over and throw massive parties, which should bother me, but it doesn't. I love coming back home at night and hanging out with whomever is here. It's always in good nature and when I am done being social, I just go into my room and turn on the fan that blocks out all the noise. It's great.
Iggy is a more complicated case. He's a lot more reserved than Andy and likes to keep to himself a lot. Instead of Consuela, we can call him not-Consuela for a lack of a better term. That is, a lot messier, and a much better representation of what people had imagined when I said I would be living with males. Did I mention that we have a sort of history? And did I mention that it ended really, really badly? By badly I mean we hadn't spoken in the six months prior to my arrival to Boston this semester. And he also tried to kick me out of the house. So welcoming. But that is another story for another day that I can thankfully long-story-short it by saying it isn't as awkward as I thought it would be. Phew.
What I have learned thus far:
Living with boys is a lot simpler. You don't like how something is being handled? Then you say it. You don't send passive aggressive group texts implying in a really nice way what an actual pain in the ass your roommates are being. (That works in the seven raging female roommates scenario though). You can also try leaving sad faces on dirty dishes that were left abandoned on the sink. Psychologically, I think that works much in the same way that going from a green card to a red card in front of your whole fourth grade class used to work.
Boys are also a lot more honorable when eating your food. If they eat your chicken nuggets and share them with their lady guests, they'll go buy you a new pack. If they use up your avocado, then they'll give you a portion of the food they made with it. Hence, you as a girl, used to eating your roommate's clementines and taking that to the grave, become a lot more aware of food integrity.
Finally, having fun with boys is a lot easier and well... fun. You get to do extreme things like sledding in the snow at 2 a.m., or having a mini rage with trippy lights after all the other guests have left. So yeah, I'm living with boys, the literal opposite of my kind but honestly, I've never felt more at home.