I'm sorry, but i'm a pretty patient guy.

I can usually turn another cheek when struck, bite my lip when spoken to harshly and certainly, put on my poker face when I probably have redlined blood pressure from someone pissing me off. But frankly, if something lasts over the span of several weeks, even I have my limits. The staring contest that is my roommate situation, has caused me to finally blink and bow out. Moving is my only option. I'm kept it pretty classy for the last 8 weeks or so, but this is my rant.

Why is it such a big deal? Because i'm a man of reason. I could understand how someone had a falling out with a partner, or a bout of depression struck someone who was working a horrible, punctual, stress-filled job. But what excuse does someone have when it comes to seeing a grown woman quit eight full-time jobs over a year, consistantly sleep on the couch because she's too lazy to use her own newly purchased bed and live on a diet of Wendy's and gummi bears? None whatsoever. I realize none of these things have a real cause/effect on me personally outside of her recent "extreme makeover, 'Don't Lift a Finger' edition" idea.

What started out as a simple project to paint a bedroom and order some new furniture, has turned my beloved living space into a stagnent indoor garage sale that no one seems to be moving any of the merchandise. Imagine piles of outdated clothes, most of which probably don't even fit (yes, I think I saw a B.U.M. Equipment sweatshirt in there somewhere to gauge the word "outdated"). Next to those piles, shoes stacked on top of shoes, like some kind of national monument that would make any japanese tourist snap a 100 pictures at. Finally, the recliner that is no longer a recliner, but a cemetary for dresses and tops on hangers that will never see the common public because somehow they fall behind in favor to that B.U.M. sweatshirt. And that's just the living room.

My kitchen has been turned into a furniture warehouse as the once accommodating countertop and table space has been bullied by the newest residents of the room's decor... my roommate's new bedroom furniture set. Boxed out by two dressers and a night stand that block most of the counterspace, you wouldn't recognize the cooking room without the necessary stove in the middle of it because I found myself on numerous occasions believing that a liquidation warehouse had replaced my once useable kitchen.

So, why does all this clutter exist? And you think to yourself, "Has she even bought the paint yet to follow through on this project?". Oh yes. The paint sits in the living by the television, which apparently brings her more joy and pleasure than a permiscuous Fabio on Viagara. Every day that I walk through the front door, the untouched paint cans sit with no intention of migrating to the actual room that needs them. Of course, my roommate sits in a slouched position on the couch, usually reading a book, texting some 20 year old busboy at Red Lobster and trying to catch up on Guiding Light reruns ALL AT THE SAME TIME. Throw in her newfound love of drinking, I mean, with multi-tasking skills like that, there's no reason she can't possibly include swinging a paint-covered brush around a room too, right?

Regardless, much like the other 29,381 times in my life, I have to start packing up the truck and relocating my blue-collar life again. All because someone can't treat me like something more than some lower species of animal that apparently doesn't deserve the respect and consideration of someone who contributes to household chores and monthly rent.

Well, I hope she gets around to opening those cans of paint soon cause she's going to have two bedrooms worth renovating at the end of the month.