I have a new roommate. She moved in last week. But then, in my ridiculous six-person apartment which we’ve affectionately dubbed “the Real World,” (I’m the gay one, fyi), it’s not unusual to have a roommate defect and a new one move in. I never saw the last girl, so the new one is certainly a step up.
Marjorie is her name. She moved to the City two weeks ago. She’s from Minnesota in every sense – born there, raised there, went to college there, graduated and got a job in Minneapolis. I think this is her first time away from that state.
She’s got the cute accent and the Midwestern charm. And she’s super pretty. Dark, olive skin. Dark hair. Athletic body type, but petite. Very outspoken. Able to get guys like I’ve never seen. (Consider all the girls on my kickball team and think of someone completely different. Not that I don’t love the girls on my team. But they lack the confidence around guys that Marjorie has. She jokes about her “man-getting” powers. And she definitely has them.)
Marjorie moved into the basement with me, just down the hall. I think we’re going to be friends.
In fact, her arrival couldn’t have come at a better time. I used to spend very little time at home. I was usually at your place. And when I was home, I’d stay in my room, keeping to myself unless I was cooking. I never minded getting my alone time. But now I’m starting to get lonely.
My roommates are nice, I’ve just never cared to make the effort to get to know them. We’re all Craigslist connected, so it’s not like we have a natural affinity to each other. We all get along just fine, though. (Most of us, at least. We do have the one girl who’s a poisoner. But I make sure to stay on her good side.) I’ve been living with these people for a year and a half, so it’s difficult to push the reset button on our roommate relationship. I’m the quiet, gay one who mostly keeps to himself.
But now, with Marjorie newly moved in, I have a nice blank sheet to start with. I think it’s going to be good for me.