Old Roomie Ties The Knot

A roommate from college recently got married, according to an announcement from our alumni online newsletter. She married a guy who also went to school with us who seems vaguely familiar, but I can’t point my finger on how. I don’t ever recall talking to him. Her name brought back memories as I haven’t spoken to her in years. We weren’t exactly friends.

Like I’ve mentioned before, high school was a horrible experience for me and I couldn’t wait to move thousands of miles away to attend college and assume a new identity of sorts. Boy, did I count the days during that summer over eight years ago. I probably should have had a job, but for some reason didn’t. I sat around a lot at home and packed tons of crap I probably didn’t need for my dorm room.

During mid-Summer, I got a letter in the mail giving me the name and contact info of my soon-to-be freshman year roommate. I was hesitant to call her because I was very shy back then. My mother kind of forced me to contact her and ask if I should provide a fridge, microwave, TV, etc. I don’t remember what we talked about, the conversation was brief or at least unmemorable.

Move-in day finally approached in August and there was that sense of fear and excitement lumped together similar to that first day of school or camp. I don’t think I have felt that way since that day freshman year. It’s funny really. I’ve never felt that emotion during the other three years of college or even starting new jobs.

My freshman year dorm room was in an older brick building that’s over 100-years-old. It was like living in a large old house in dire need of remodeling. The communal bathrooms got gross fast and we had bug problems (luckily not cockroaches). It was a women-only dorm. Our room was considered one of the larger rooms in the building. When I first got there, the roommate already had her stuff moved in, but was out and about with her family. She had something like six siblings and everyone who checked me in kept saying how she had a large family.

My mom shed some tears when she hugged me goodbye that day. I was a little sad too, but not enough to cry. About an hour after that, I finally met my roommate. I remember trying to be friendly and asking her about herself, but I guess we never hit it off.

The roomie really loved the 1960s and 70s. She had an Earthy, retro style about her from the clothes to the books to the music to the posters. However, she wasn’t quite a hippie. Lots of stuff about Lennon, The Beatles, India and China. Almost every day, she wore a peasant blouse with a pair of jeans accompanied with her trademark glasses and bandana pulling her hair back. When my mom was moving stuff into our shared closet, she was impressed at how the girl didn’t have so many clothes. I was at the height of my shopoholic days then. In fact, I was quite the shopoholic throughout college. Looking back, I wonder if I had a problem. I had a huge rubbermaid box where I kept all of my shoes. And there were like 20+ pairs in there. The roommate only had something like two or three shoes for the entire year. Now, I avoid malls. If I go to one, it’s usually outdoor and never buy anything. Money is tight now and even if I did have it, I wouldn’t shop anywhere like I used to. I’m surprised my parents allowed me to have this habit. They should have made me get a job. Looking back, I probably appeared very materialistic. I wonder if I still am. Many of my classmates were scraping by on financial aid and small jobs while I was waltzing around in new clothes all the time.

Although we attended a small college and had a lot of classes together, we hardly talked to each other. We were both quiet types. I think we only conversed with each other at length about five times in that whole year. Most of that year was an awkward silence between us. She would stay up all night with the lights on and have her friends come over and watch movies in our room well into the early morning hours while I was trying to sleep. She never would address me in front of other people by my first name, she would just call me “her roommate.” I can’t sleep with all the lights and TV on, so I would crash in a friend’s room or on the couch in a community room in an adjacent dorm. I didn’t have the guts to kick her friends out and stop her late night movie parties. I never saw her with a guy. At the time, I was scared that she would be one of those roommates that would fuck her boyfriend while you’re trying to sleep. Lucky for me she wasn’t like that. She told everyone how weird I was and yelled at me for being in the room all the time. She really went crazy on me for digging through her CDs once and not asking. I felt bad, but totally lied about doing it. She did help me out once when there was this crazy person on campus who became obsessed with me and called all the time. She did help me muster the courage to rid of this person.

There was lots of roommate drama freshman year, I guess that’s normal, as many people I knew had roommates who transferred, moved out, fought, etc. We survived the year and hardly spoke to each other for the rest of college, except for the rare “hello” in the hallway. We had different sets of friends.

Now she’s married and no longer looks like Earth Mother. She looks great, no more oversized peasant shirts and bandanas hiding her hair. Her husband kind of looks like her. I get a kick out of couples who look alike. I’m happy for her. Aren’t I happy for them all? I can’t help but be a little jealous…just a little. I’m totally going to hell.

Is 26 the ideal age for getting married? It sure seems that way given all these people I know getting married. People I knew from high school and college all tying the knot.

I’m the bystander, not the bridesmaid, but the bystander. That unassuming person on the street who quietly watches…and waits. Yes, I need to proactive. Yes, I need to take charge. Grab the bull by the horns as they say (I’ve had bosses tell me this, how I would be the perfect employee if I was just that take charge kind of gal). Someday, when the time is right, I will be more like this. Or maybe I will never be. I’d have to really be motivated to change and right now I’m just not ready. In about 3.5 years, I will turn 30. And I’ve got this feeling that if I don’t do anything now, I will at 30. I will either proactively seek out single guys (around my age) or change my career or just invest in a good therapist. The therapist might be a good option if I decide to actively pursue men. Right now nothing is happening. I’m fortunate to have a job, but it just keeps eating more and more of my free time without extra compensation. I begin to wonder if it’s worth it. Or I can just keep doing what I’m doing pretending that everything is ok.

March 27, 2009. Uncategorized.