So what would a week at I, Asshole be without sex or dogs, or sex with dogs? Or what would it be without a boring story about one of my horrible piercing experiences or puking or puking on a new piercing? Yeah, I thought so. It would be milquetoast.

Well…when I was seventeen and hopelessly stuck in Butt-fucking Egypt, Illinois, my mom took pity on me and my drooping gothic depression and let me visit a friend who lived in Phoenix, Arizona. Hooray! The big city and freedom from parental tyranny for Christmas break!

My friend was Very Cool and I really wanted to inpress him with how much cooler I’d gotten in the four months since he’d moved away. So I put on my best punk rock gear (“when I was your age, you could wear spikes on an airplane”) and listlesslessly ringed my eyes with as much waxy black liner as my eyelids would hold. Whoa, I was cool. Don’t fuck with me, man, I’m on a trip.

OF COURSE I ordered drinks on the plane; what seventeen-year-old flying alone doesn’t try this? I was flying ATA (“Your vacation airline”) and they had tropical drinks galore. I think I had three Malibus and passed out. When I woke up, I was in Phoenix, and it was dark.

My friend met me at the airport (“are you okay, Asshole?”) and my response to him was less than enthusiastic. He had explained his living situation to me before, but it hadn’t really sunk in til I got there. He had a roommate who paid more rent for the use of the apartment’s only bedroom. My friend slept in the living room, and to use the only bathroom we had to walk through the roommate’s bedroom.

It was an uneventful evening; we chatted and he made me a pot of mac ‘n’ cheese since I was ravenous from my airplane binge drinking. I scarfed the whole pot.

Ooooog….bad idea. I was queasy and the roommate had already gone to bed, which limited access to the bathroom. I had just gotten there and didn’t want to barge in. Did the kitchen sink have a garbage disposal? No? Unnnnhh…

I ran outside the apartment and exploded over the railing, into the courtyard. I wonder what the people downstairs must’ve thought when it started raining macaroni? My friend patted my back and looked over the rail at the steaming pile of noodles on the ground. “Wow. Did you even chew, Asshole?”

Next scene: 7 a.m. the next morning.

The roommate had left for work and my friend and I were still dozing, he on his futon and me on my blow-up mattress. We stirred and looked at each other.

“How do you feel?”

“Bleah.”

We heard the jingle of rabies and ID tags against a collar; the familiar sound of someone taking their dog for a morning walk. My friend rose and opened the door for a little air. The sun was coming up and I could see palm trees- Phoenix in the winter is beautiful.

Suddenly the dogwalker broke the peaceful morning silence in the coutyard:

“NO, SPARKY! Don’t eat that!”

I just can’t stop thinking about my old roommate today. Does that ever happen to you? This person you don’t give a rat’s naughty bits about just keeps floating around in your head, uninvited.

His name was Ward, which apparently (he said) was short for Burton. Mr. Husband worked with him for a whole year when we had lost our previous roommate, and we invited him to come and take her place. At work, Ward was punctual, tidy, helpful, respectful- you know, all that Boy Scout good stuff you look for in a roomie. Once he moved in, it was another story.

The first red flag went up when I saw his stuff. First, a dresser and a bed, fine, fine. But then, a box labelled action figures. I thought okay, perhaps he’s a collector. Whatever. But once the box opened, I saw they were all loose. Some were missing weapons, or even legs. He was twenty-six years old, and was obviously still playing with the action figures. Ward placed them strategically all over his bedroom. One lizardman was hung by the neck and used as a decoration (or handle?) for the string that turned on his closet light. Another action figure, a vampire, was placed too strategically in the kitchen. The vampire attacked the top of my mother’s head early one morning when she opened the refrigerator door.

Ward, who was always freshly showered and a snappy dresser outside of the house, was a chronic slob inside. We would wake up in the morning to discover that Taco Bell wrappers from the previous night’s snack attack were still strewn all over the coffee table and floor. He would depart for work in a cloud of noxious boy cologne, after consuming his morning meal which was always orange juice and cereal, eaten from a giant plastic cup from a fast food joint. Though he owned spoons, Ward always ate his cereal with a fork.

Ward was also very clumsy. One time, while he was preparing breakfast, he spilled his juice all over the kitchen floor (“Oops, I forgot to tighten the lid before I shook it.”) and gave it a couple swipes with one of my dish towels. The sticky residue remained on the floor for days, eventually turning into a big grey dirt-coated spot until one of us got fed up and cleaned it up properly.

Sometimes Ward could be fun, though. When we needed a fourth he would play board games with us, or cards. He was usually too busy for this though, since he was almost always with an engaged woman that he was secretly in love with. She was a giantess, really, about 6’5″ or so. I could clearly see the connection between her and all of the “Attack of the Fifty Foot Woman” posters in Ward’s room. I mean, who doesn’t lust after fifty-foot women, right?

The Giantess was also rich and bitchy, and spent her spare time riding horses around. Her horses probably prayed that they would go lame, so they wouldn’t have to lug her giant bones around anymore, or listen to her whiny voice. I had the misfortune of working with her at a coffee/gourmet foods counter at a Cost Plus. One of the Giantess’s confidantes at work secretly despised her, and so told me what she was cooking up behind my back. The Giantess wanted to move out of her parents’ house, but needed a roommate. Who did she want? Why, Ward, of course. Who cares if he still had eight months to go on our lease? The Giantess succeeded in luring Ward away, which was actually somewhat of a relief. It would have been great timing, in fact, if our other roommates hadn’t bailed on us at the same time, leaving us holding the bag for some steep rent. But it was all right. The house was quiet again.

Before Ward moved out, I had known what the Giantess was up to for a couple of weeks, which made things pretty tense at work. One day, as Ward was packing his things at home, I clocked in and saw her behind the counter right away. She was sweet as usual.

“Well, helloooo, Asshole. How are you today?” This was the breaking point for me.

“Don’t you ‘hello’ me. I know what you’re up to, you jerk. I’ll thank you to never speak to me again.” For a giant woman she had a very small mouth, and at that moment the little hinge of her jaw swung shut with a petite snap. The Giantess huffed off. I knew what I told her was impractical, since we worked together, but I just couldn’t stand her any longer.

She narced me out to the boss (how lame for a twenty-five year old woman to handle a problem this way) who called me into her office. I explained the whole thing (she knew Ward; he had worked at her store a long time before transferring to another one) and the boss was fairly sympathetic. She told me I could quit that day, and she would still give me a good recommendation, because I was a good worker and she knew that the Giantess and I couldn’t spend another shift together.

Later, I heard that Ward moved into the same apartments as our other roommates who had bailed on us. They told us that they had seen Ward, and that he was happy and actually had a girlfriend, even. I think they were making that part up.

I’m hoping this will be the end of thinking about Ward and the Giantess. Sometimes you have to exorcise things to get rid of them, don’t you think?