An Introduction to the Flatmate...

I have recently moved in with the new flatmate, hence the resurrection.

I thought it was going to be a safe and simple existence. I had secured a reasonable sized 2 bedroom flat close to work, and figured that a flatmate would be the sensible way to defray the cost of rent. With an eye to the immediate past, I carefully selected a few really safe looking applicants.

Of the lot I liked Paula the best. She was funny, which I like in a flatmate. She has (or should I say had) a professional sounding job - legal executive. Sounded great, no worries about getting the rent money, and a possible source of free legal advice. Great. In our negotiations by email she said: "Don't worry, I'm domesticated." Even better I thought. Someone with a penchant for housework, which would make a change. And she is also hot, as in Daisy Duke hot.

Now, after a few weeks living with her I am beginning to wonder, domesticated in what way? Domesticated like a family of ferrets? Domesticated like a wild fucking pig? Domesticated in exactly the same way as an obdurate epileptic wombat with severe feculant proclivities and alcoholic Tourette's!

Since she moved in she lost her job. I am as yet unsure as to the precise details involved in the termination of her employ, but I suspect that it has something to do with alcohol. You see, nearly everything she does involves alcohol. And not in the way you might associate with a slender professional, more along the lines of a football team.

So of course she is behind in her rent.

And somehow the house is still a sty. Notwithstanding her abundant free time and self proclaimed domestification.

Todays reason I hate my flatmate: she is an unemployed drunken disgrace.