May 18 Deserved its own blog entry, so you get it today.

Well, the one thing I can say for finals week is that it sure went out with one hell of a bang. May 18 was the last day, during which I had my stats final. FSU’s ever so awesome disability services department couldn’t seem to get it off the computer, however, and that reminds me I need to jump them about it first thing Monday morning. Why didn’t I get to that yet? Because from Tuesday evening on, until about noon today, I was computerless and attempting to figure out a way to not be in said state. Power socket on my Acer netbook’s shot, and I don’t have $100 to give to Acer to make them fix it. Lenovo charger met a horrible demise, and I needed a new one. It only now just got here, after I’ve been searching for the correct adapter for 2 weeks. That, however, is not why I’m here. Oh no.
You see, Wednesday afternoon, I got to watch something very interesting happen. My *former*, (Yes, I can finally say that now!) roommate, decides today would be nifty, just as I’m trying to check out of the dorm, to jump my shit for talking about her dirty gross housekeeping habits, or lack thereof, to my friends. Well, my mother saw her start on me, and sent me to the bathroom because I’d been sitting in a test for 4 hours and I had to go anyway. I turn around and start walking off, only to hear my mother turn around and *yell*, “With the way you treated her, and how you forced her to live, she has every *right* to talk about you.” I’m down the hall by this point, and Mom had stalked off to go look for an RA to do my checkout, presumably before she punched the offending roommate in the face. (Would’ve been fun to watch, not gonna lie…) So then the roommate starts going off on my grandmother about god only knows what. And this girl is literally, screaming, at my grandmother, in the middle of the dorm lobby/living room/common area/whatever the hell you wanna call it.
By this time I return from the bathroom to hear, “For one, I’m 65 years old, and you should learn to respect your elders. And for another, your boyfriend shouldn’t have been living in the dorm with you for at least 5 or 6 months out of the school year. I don’t care how long Krista’s boyfriend was here, and I know for damn sure he wasn’t there for 2 months straight as you claim. You started out a decent human being, but since November, you’ve been nothing but completely disrespectful to Krista, and I don’t give a damn if she talked about you or not. You made her live in filth for weeks at a time, and nobody here at the university did anything to help her, so of course she’s gonna complain.”
I’m hiding in a corner by this point going “Oh christ, oh Jesus, oh fuck. Somebody’s gonna get escorted off the campus, and it ain’t gonna be me.” I’m standing around waiting for an RA to show up, still. Doug finally shows his face, and he’s the guy Shane and I complained to about the safety violations, the uncleanliness, and the general disgustingness in the room. Mom and grandmother relay the story to him, and also the story of the time this girl decided to physically rip a bottle of air freshener out of my grandmother’s hand, and he’s disgusted. When they’re done speaking, he tells us, “We’ve been dealing with her all weekend. Her and her parents. She’s been running around like a raging bitch and disrespecting all the staff here, literally screaming at people, and her parents enable it. they let her get away with it. I don’t even know what her disability is, I’ve never seen her use a wheelchair.” He suggested we call housing. I guess I’ll put that on my list of calls to make Monday morning.
And yes, I did say above that this chick actually yanked a bottle of air freshener out of my grandmother’s hand. It was a Sunday afternoon, I think the week after Spring break, and the room still smelled like death, like it did before Shane had left. My grandmother immediately enters the room and snarfs the bottle of air freshener off my desk and starts spraying. She jumps up, keep in mind this girl’s supposed to be disabled, and a part time wheelchair user, hauls ass over to my side of the room, and *grabs* the bottle out of my grandmother’s hand.
“Oh, you can’t spray that, my boyfriend’s allergic to citrus.”
“For one, your boyfriend’s not supposed to be here 24/7, and for 2, yes I can spray it in here, it’s not a violation of housing policies and it stinks in here, therefore I’m spraying it.”
Mom finisheschecking the rugs like I’d asked her to, they walk out, and I’m left sitting there going, “Did she just grab that… Yes, in fact she did. Who the hell does that? I mean, besides her?”
So yes, indeed, Wednesday’s little explosion was fun to watch. I figured it was a long time coming, because I can’t even begin to count the number of times my grandmother was dying to say something to the roommate and I told her she couldn’t because then it’d come back and blow up in my face. I did tell my grandmother last weekend that yes the roommate was finally getting bagged for her uncleanliness, so I guess she decided it was time.

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