This is not a love story

this is a story about love

Krista and Leila 12/07/2010

Filed under: Persuasive — thisisnotalovestory1261 @ 4:37 pm

Once again, it’s a Monday night in the little dorm room we call home. The ‘we’ of course, being my best friend/roommate and I. The scene is the same every week, I have an assignment due promptly at midnight, and she is prancing around keeping me delightfully distracted. And as though a light bulb had flashed above my head, I sprinted from my kitchen to my computer in one foul swoop. Considering these dorms are the size of a shoe box, it was really more of a half-skip-half-leap, but it was a speedy motion all the same, the inspiration for my assignment burning in my brain. The final post on my blog centered around living with best friend should be my testament as to why friends as roommates are better than strangers. Living with someone you love is not always easy, but long term, it’s more comfortable than living with someone you don’t. With a best friend, you already know one another, you know you’re safe, you can speak your mind and there is a level of privacy unachievable with a stranger.

Whenever you share a space with someone, there are many different levels of comfort that are missing from when you live alone. Strangers are entirely new beings you’ve never encountered before. What if they don’t like the same music as you? What if they think you’re kooky way of lining the cereal boxes up in descending order is stupid? When you live with someone you know very well, the element of surprise is usually lacking. Although sometimes it’s impossible to know everything, with best friends, you know the majority of what is going on under the surface. I know how my roommate’s brain works, the same way she knows how mine does. Being aware of exactly what you’re getting into is very beneficial when looking for a roommate. Last year, I lived with a stranger who turned out to be…difficult, making my living situation less than desirable. I know the aspects of my roommate that didn’t match mine, and knowing what you’re getting yourself into is half the battle of choosing a co-habitant.

As soon as you’re on your own, it becomes abundantly clear there is no adult who’s constantly reminding you the world is not as innocent a place as you think it is. I lived in my own little bubble before I moved out, the knowledge that my parents were always right down the hall left me with little to fear. Within my first week of living alone last year, a fist fight broke out across the hall from me. A girl had brought home a stranger from the bar, and he’d begun getting aggressive and loud. Locked behind my door, peering through the peep hole I saw the entire situation unfold; once the boy had been escorted off the property, the real battle begun. The two girls that lived there screamed for hours about how one of them had jeopardized the safety of the other. Living with your best friend gives a sense of comfort, you know the kind of people a friend would bring home, and they’re likely to think about you before doing so. Also, a stranger them self could be a little on the dangerous side, as well as the safety of your belongings and personal items.

Often time’s people think that when two friends live together, expressing your needs can be difficult, as you don’t want to risk hindering your friendship. However I’ve found when living with a stranger, it is far more difficult to approach a subject that needs attention. When young people live together, cleanliness is often a factor. Who didn’t do the dishes, whose turn it was to vacuum, it was your turn to take the garbage out, and things of that nature. When I lived with a stranger who never cleaned up after herself, I never approached the subject of her mouldy dishes with her, as I didn’t want to insult her and feel awkward in my own home. On more than one occasion I wound up washing them for her, with not a word of thanks. Now that I live with my best friend, the task of dishes is divided among us and neither has a problem mentioning that we’ve fallen behind. It is easier to discuss an issue calmly with a friend, usually you know they’re coming from a place of love and mean nothing big by it. With a person you’re not very familiar with, it is hard to anticipate their reaction.

Another assumption is that with a friend you lose your privacy more so than a stranger. I’ve learned with a friend, it can be much easier to say “hey, get out of the living room, I need to watch this show alone” than with someone who you’re not close with. When you live with someone you don’t know very well, the house is really just a space you share, not a home for the two of you. The bathroom needs to be split evenly, and all the stuff that in there is out in the open for someone you’re not comfortable with to see. Being uncomfortable with someone makes it feel as though you are guest position within a shared space. Living with a friend generally means you’re not hiding much from them, but also that they respect you enough to leave the things you say are private that way.

Two years ago, I moved out of my parent’s house and into a place with another girl. The first time around a stranger, and this time my best friend. I can tell you exactly how this mundane Monday night would have ended last year. I would post my blog, sit in my room turning the volume on my iPod up louder, painfully aware that my roommate sat on the other side of this wall, playing her terrible music at full blast, making dreadful smelling food and yapping as loud as humanly possible  on the phone. This year? I’ll finish, leap out from behind my desk, and tell my best friend she once again had inadvertently saved my blog. Living with her I feel comfortable, safe, I know I can express my needs and I’ve never had as much privacy as I do now. Living with my best friend has changed the way I look at living with another person, and next year; I’ll live with her again without a second thought.

 

Chandler and Joey 11/29/2010

Filed under: Opinion — thisisnotalovestory1261 @ 1:01 pm

It can be said that the biggest test of a friendship is living together. Cohabitation is known to be a make it or break it situation, ultimately causing a change to your relationship. The transition from best friend to roommate can be a tricky one and bring about a plethora of problems you never knew existed. I live with my best friend this year, and it has impacted our friendship greatly.

The upside of living with a friend is you usually know a fair bit about them, and enjoy their company. Living with someone who has common interests isn’t a necessity, but it sure does help. I love trashy MTV shows, and so does my best friend. It makes it easier to live with one another when we can enjoy the same things. Sharing a space with someone who knows exactly the way you act and what kind of person you are is a comfort. I know that when I get too bored, I start to act a little nutty, and my roommate/best friend not only accepts it, but usually joins in on the fun. Trust is a vital part of living with someone, and a best friend can be the most trusted confidant in your life. I knew my belongings and safety wouldn’t be in jeopardy with her as a roommate. Sharing the same group of friends as your roommate can be a great asset, as you needn’t worry about what kind of people your roommate is bringing over.

That being said, the downside to a best friend roommate can be spending every moment of every day with one another is known to get a little bit overwhelming. When you live together and share the same group of friends you literally eat, sleep and do everything else together. Sometimes it’s harder to say no to someone you love. When you’re a starving student, every box of Kraft Dinner is a vital part of survival. When you care about someone, of course you share with them, but it’s easier to look the other way when all of a sudden you’ve only eaten one of the 12 boxes that were in the cupboard. Sometimes little habits aren’t a problem within the friendship until you live together. I am very tidy by nature, and my best friend, God love her, is not. It’s easy to let something little like a popcorn bowl not being washed the moment after it’s finished being used get under your skin, but harder to mention it when you’re good friends.

For me, living with my best friend was the smartest move I ever made. It comes down to the simple fact that every day I come home to someone who truly cares about me, and all the dirty dishes and stolen food aside, my best friend is the best roommate I could ever have.

 

 

 

Gumby and Pokey 10/13/2010

Filed under: Description — thisisnotalovestory1261 @ 7:22 am

I knew she could hear me crying, I could practically feel her think to herself “if she’s still sniffling in five minutes, I’m going in there”. I tried to shove the overwhelming need to cry out deep into my chest, but it would not go. I had managed to keep the tears sitting just within my lower lids thus far. I sat staring at the brilliant white light coming from my computer screen, blinking as fast as my eyes would close, breathing in sharp from my nose. I heard a shuffle, and then a small voice “what happened?” she asked, before I could even articulate something had gone wrong. That once again, the boy who claimed to love me had shattered my heart into a thousand tiny splintered pieces.

The sound of her soft, gentle voice was all it took; the tears spilled over. I started to try and get the words out, my throat constricted like a snake and the only sound I could emit was a cross between choking and suffocating. She came right over, the white towel from her shower still coiled around her long dark locks. She sat down gently next to me on my pink and brown striped bedspread. She just looked at me hunched over; spine curved into a deep C and said “it’s him isn’t it? What did he do?” I explained to her the trigger, what he’d done this time and how I felt as though at any moment the skin would melt off my bones from the red hot heat I was feeling within. She just looked at me for a moment, her eyes swimming. I knew she wanted to tell me he wasn’t worth it, to run as far and as fast from him as I could, that the only way to make it out of this alive was to jump ship; before it capsized. I finished explaining to her all that had happened, and ended with a typical teenage “it just isn’t fair”. She told me it wasn’t, that I deserved more, better. That everyone else loved me, even if he couldn’t treat me that way.

It took less than 5 seconds flat for her warmth to spread within me.  I felt it start in my cheeks, flushing when she named off the other boys that would kill to be in this one’s position, it lowered to my neck and relaxed my throat when she mentioned my family and how proud and supportive they were, finally I could breathe again. It hit my stomach like a shot of warm whiskey when she named off the friends we always laugh with, and hit my kneecaps like a gentle wave licking you calves at the beach when she spoke of the places we’d been and the impressions we’d left.

And like a lightning bolt had shot directly into my chest and pierced my heart, she reminded me that we had each other. That no one ever, would love me the way she did. The way a best friend was put on this planet to love you above all else. To tell you who’s not worthy and assure you there will be others, many others; who if they’re lucky, will be valuable of your time. The kind of love that you never forget, and despite distance and time, never fades. There are some bonds that not only can you see, but you can feel in the deepest corners of your heart, the places you forgot you could feel in. That’s what a best friends love is. The kind of love that picks you up when you fall, and when it hurts too much to bear, they lighten your load and carry your troubles with them. E.E. Cummings had it right when she said “they carry your heart with them, they carry it in their heart”.

 

Buzz and Woody 10/05/2010

Filed under: Language — thisisnotalovestory1261 @ 11:53 am

What language do I speak? Simply stated; English. What language do I speak with my best friend? Well that’s a whole other story. When you know someone as well as the two of us do, you develop your own kind of language. Not to say that we sit around perfecting our Pig Latin; the words we use are in their truest form English, even though we are known for tacking a “ski” on the end of certain words. Often times, lines from movies come to have their own place in our vocabulary. The lines can mean something to us and something entirely different to other people which help us get away with a lot when we’re out in public. We have developed our own little language that is not different at all; it’s the exact same words that anyone else uses, but we use them in our own way.

The other more obvious fact is that she is my best friend, and I don’t monitor myself around her. When we get together, the language can get a little rough around the edges. There was a moment where I was in the middle of a particularly tense game of Super Smash Bro’s with my best friend, and my cell phone rang. Now to understand this story you must know, when it comes to Smash Bro’s we don’t play around and the language gets colourful to say a least. We paused the game for me to answer the phone and knowing it was my mom, I spoke the way I always do with her

“Yes I ate the carrots you sent up, no I won’t be home this weekend, I love you too, goodnight.”

My best friend looked at me and said “That was quite the change of pace.” I didn’t understand what she meant at first. Apparently right before I had answered the phone I’d let out my Smash Bro’s catch phrase when something doesn’t go my way “ah shitballs” that lead right into my “Hi mom” greeting. I had blurred “shitballs” and “mom” into the same sentence.  I always knew I spoke differently to my friends and family, but the shock that my mother had almost heard me say shitballs knocked me off my feet. If my mom had heard me say that word, it would have been my head on a silver platter. Not only did young ladies not use those kinds of words, but they also didn’t use them in front of their mothers. I’m supposed to respect my mom, and treat her as though she is my authority, thus I conduct myself as so. It’s not that I don’t respect my best friend; it’s just that we are young and goofy.

And on a more serious note, sometimes my best friend and I use no words at all, but it’s still a language to us. It’s in the way I don’t need to say a word for her to know exactly what I’m trying to tell her. There have been times when we’re at a party and something happens, it just takes a simple look, and she knows. She knows word for word what it is I’m trying to say and why it is important to me. Other times, I can’t think of something and I’ll literally just say “what’s that thing?” and she’ll know what that ‘thing’ is. There are moments when I’ve been hurt, and she doesn’t even need me to explain why I’m upset.  I don’t ever have to validate why I feel the way I do, and she doesn’t ask me to. We can sit in silence and know what is running through our heads. We can sit in a room full of people and be having a conversation all our own. It comes down to the simple fact that we speak the language of best friends, but only with one another. Using the Smash Bro’s catch phrases and other inside jokes outside our room is unacceptable.

latabledarc.com
 

Wayne and Garth 09/28/2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — thisisnotalovestory1261 @ 3:59 am

It’s 11pm on a Monday night, and I am searching hopelessly for a tiny heart sticker amidst the clutter and chaos that encompasses a 19 year old girl’s dorm room. I’m throwing clothes, shuffling papers and overturning furniture. I am on the hunt for this sticker, because it is part of a bigger picture. The sticker itself is of no importance to me, but it’s the art of winning that I am after. My roommate and I have started a game; not just any game, a game of epic proportion with no end in sight. We got a sticker one day in a happy meal and my roommate stuck it on one my speakers in our kitchen. It wasn’t until she’d left the house that I discovered it, removing it and plucking it onto her light switch. A couple days later I was rummaging through my purse, when I found the sticker cleverly stuck onto my wallet, and thus a game was born. It has become the household’s biggest challenge; finding a new overtly obvious yet inconspicuous place in the others room to hide this little heart.

However, this game would not have been possible last year. It was my first year, and I was living with a stranger; a real prize of a girl who, let’s face it, made me question why I ever left home in the first place. But this year is different, way different. It’s second year, I know the ropes, I’ve done it all before, but this time, I’m living with my best friend. That is exactly what this blog will be about, the trials and tribulations of two best friends living alone and together for the first time. We’re both 19 year old girls who met last year within our program at UOIT. Two girls so similar it’s scary, yet different enough to make this year a fun one. I am a fairly anal retentive clean freak, she a slightly sloppy easy going gal. We both have a soft spot for microwave popcorn and Kraft Dinner, my closet stuffed to the brim with clothes and accessories, hers a little on the sparse side with a few basic pieces. The walls of my room are littered with posters and pictures while hers remain relatively bare. Yet somehow we play off of our differences making a dynamic duo that cannot be stopped. Not to say that we won’t but heads and have our problems, because this is not a love story, this is a story about love, and how to live with it.

The Wayne to my Garth

 

This is a Test 09/21/2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — thisisnotalovestory1261 @ 9:25 pm

123
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Filed under: Uncategorized — thisisnotalovestory1261 @ 9:23 pm

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