Tag Archives: yogi

La Vie Quotidienne: A Memoir of Everyday Encounters

Living with the soggy roommate is no easy task, mind you. Naturally, it entails endless awkward encounters and eyeroll-worthy conversations that make you wonder why any divine power, hypothetical or not, would want to wish this suffering upon you.

While the last 10 months have certainly provided me with a fair share of these moments, the last few weeks have brought an unprecedented tension into the house, and consequently, countless eyerolls from me. Here’s just a sampling of a few from the past several days.

May 30th, 2016: SR looks at me disdainfully while I blend my smoothie in close proximity to him…ok bitch, side-eye me while you fry your sad fucking bologna and eggs like you do every miserable morning of your life. News flash: running for 20 minutes and coming back to processed meats and frozen food will not transform your soggy body, that damage is probably irreversible.

May 30, 2016: Despite our four-person table being transformed into a three-person table from being pushed into the kitchen corner for months now, soggy had found it perfectly acceptable to attempt to squeeze into the corner in order to consume his usual, very delectable breakfast of fried eggs and bologna while Milk, our other roommate, and I, were enjoying a pleasant morning conversation. Not only did it not make sense, for he could have easily eaten on the counter, it made the situation very awkward for all of us. I see that table’s seating transformation as a symbol of the social atmosphere of our house–and him violating that was uncomfortable to say the least.

May 31, 2016: Again while enjoying the solace of each other’s company, Milk and I were abruptly disturbed by none other than the sogmaster himself sitting IN BETWEEN us, just to eat a bowl of fucking cereal. …..Seriously, you couldn’t eat it anywhere else in the house like, say, YOUR ROOM?? Where you spend most of your time anyways?? Seems legit.

There are certainly more to come, until next time..

xoxo Yogi

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The Zucchini Chronicles: An Introduction

When I moved into this sweaty apartment last August, I never would have imagined that my living situation would deteriorate to this point. What started out as a reasonable, if not almost pleasant, experience gradually evolved into me hating every second that I have to spend in this god-forsaken place. Why you ask? Blame none other than what Milk and I have labelled “the soggy roommate”.

Who is the soggy roommate? The soggy roommate is an entity which has permeated every facet of our life at home. Instead of safety, what we live in is a perpetual state of fear– Fear of the soggy roommate and the terror that he inflicts. Everyone in this house has their own story to tell about their experiences with this creature of filth, so allow me to share my perspective.

Upon first encounter, the soggy roommate, whom I will from now on refer to as simply ‘SR’, ¬†was a relatively quiet, albeit nice individual. He seemed friendly, and for awhile was a nice companion to watch movies or play Xbox with. However, as the cold of winter set in, things began to change a little.

This tale requires a little bit of backstory. Rewind to Autumn: Milk and I had taken on the roles of the unspoken caretakers of SR. In other words, every night, Milk and I would labor in the kitchen, cooking rather delicious food to feed ourselves, and SR. Would SR contribute to these dinners in the form of manual or monetary compensation? No. Did he every show an appropriate amount of gratitude towards us for feeding his soggy body? Of course not. Eating the food we created seemed to be but a necessary task– a chore even, done only for the sole purpose of sustaining his miserable existence.

Ah, his miserable existence. I can imagine the only thing worse than living with SR is being him. This is the man(child) who, either knowingly or unknowingly, consumes a multitude of expired food, be it parmesan cheese, ranch dressing, or even MEAT. Yes kids, he left a wiener in the fridge for probably two weeks and then put it in his wretched spaghetti and ATE it. And thats not the only thing he’s left in the fridge for an extended period. As Milk mentions, we have taken the liberty of throwing out many near-rotting foodstuffs, such as mushrooms and blackening tomato sauce. The final straw for me and SR, however, actually was several weeks ago, while SR was out of the country.

In February, SR had made a laughable attempt at pretending to eat healthy, a serious divergence from his usual prepackaged, processed, and/or frozen meals. This was in the form of purchasing a package of mushrooms, and the main villain of this chapter, a zucchini. Luckily, we were all saved from the mushrooms by our good judgement early on, and managed to throw them out when they clearly were starting to go bad. However, as weeks passed, the bottom-lefthand crisper of our fridge became a taboo subject amongst us. It was something we all just simply ignored, because we all knew that what was decomposing in the drawer was something none of us, but SR of course, wanted nor were obligated to deal with. Finally, one fateful afternoon, a champion was chosen, and unfortunately Milk and I’s fellow roommate was that person.

Not only had that zucchini rotted to the state that it had turned black, but it had been housing some…unwanted guests. In our fridge. The one that we all share. Something snapped in my mind that day, a bubbling hatred that had been festering in my soul for months had finally boiled over. From then on, I had sworn SR as my mortal enemy.

Over the months, Milk and I had seen SR’s true colors, ones that exist simultaneously in both contradiction and harmony. One the one hand, SR is the embodiment of a privileged white male who expects everything to be done for him and holds little regard for those around him (to the dismay of Milk and I, who view him as strolling through life with convenient ease). Yet on the other hand, he is a manchild, who lacks the necessary skills to function independently, and is clearly struggling to survive without mommy to hold his hand through everything.

His other crimes include, but are not limited to: stealing Milk’s food, leaving foul odors in our bathroom (presumably a result of his abhorrent eating habits), being a public nuisance (i.e. chewing loudly, not picking up on social cues) etc.

Through this blog, Milk and I can hopefully alleviate some of the pressure weighing down upon us, and can power us through the remaining days until our lease ends and we can live in peace once again.



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