Over the years I have had my share of roommates.  I’ve wanted them to live here not out of necessity, but because my house always had better energy with another human being in it.

Last week, my longtime roomie Mark moved out.  He got a new gig in St. Louis and was off to greener pastures.  In the 2+ years I lived with him, I saw him a total of 13 minutes.  If I wasn’t traveling, he was.  We were like two ships passing in the night.  We had been good friends for years before he moved in, so I thought he’d be the perfect candidate.  Alas, you never really know someone until you’re living with him or her.  For instance, Mark has a delightfully controlling Type-A personality that works well for him.  Thus, I anticipated him to be a neat freak.  Wrong-o.  His room always looked like a cyclone hit it.

While I’d be in the kitchen whipping up a protein shake or some other healthy tidbit, Mark would traipse in and eat a half bag of microwave popcorn and handful of marshmallow Peeps.  I’m still not sure how he survived for 2 years on that sort of diet, but it was impressive and appalling at the same time.  For two years, I tried to get him to eat breakfast … and for two years, I failed.

I’ll genuinely miss Mark’s friendship and camaraderie and joie de vivre, mind you.  A lot.  I won’t miss the fact that he never took the garbage out unless I held a gun to his head.   (Although it was funny the one time that he shooed me out of my house and out the door.  I said, “What are you doing?!”  He said, “Taking out the trash!”  I still giggle.)

My favorite roommate, by far, was my co-worker Sarah.  Talk about a life force to be reckoned with.  I’d hear the jingle jangle of her keys in the door and knew the party was about to start.  While I was living with her, we both went through ugly break-ups.  We somehow managed to get each other through it through self-medication.   (Uh, gallons of ice cream and gallons of white wine.  Heh.)   We recovered nicely and I gained 10 pounds thanks to her amazing cooking skills.  She missed her calling as a chef.  She’s the only roomie I had that could create fire in a skillet over an electric stove.  She was genius.  And I’m lucky she didn’t burn the house down.

I’ve lived with an FBI agent.  (He didn’t talk much.  But I always felt safe.)  I’ve lived with a cool guy from Philly.  (He talked a lot.  And I loved hearing his accent.  “Yo, Mackie — we’re out of freakin’ caw-fee.  I need freakin’ caw-fee ‘dis morning.  If I don’t get some freakin’ caffeine, I’m gonna bust someone’s bawls.”  Mike sounded like Rocky … with potatoes in his mouth.  He’s in the above picture with me and Mark.)  My first and fourth roommate was Alyssa who I adore … although I still find cat hair on my clothes and that was six years ago.

In ten years of living with a variety of characters, friends and miscreants, I think I’m ready for a break for a little while.  I give it two months before I’m on the hunt again for another roommate.  But we’ll see.  It’s nice to be able to walk around in my underwear and play dance tunes at ear-splitting decibels.  (I learned that from Sarah.  Or, maybe, it was the FBI agent?  No, it was definitely Sarah.)