AWKWARD: Because Perfection is Boring

This girl is the dot, dotty dot dot NOT.

AWKWARD college roommate stories – everyone has one. The roommate who never cleans, lets her food go bad and has sex at all times of the day to the point it prevents you from bringing anyone into your room was pretty much what I experienced living on campus.

This summer I was accepted into a four-week study abroad program through my university.  Before applying for the month-long stay in Dublin, I made the decision that I would live at home and commute my senior year of college to put money towards the trip. So it makes sense that initially, I thought my years of AWKWARD roommate experiences were over – but I was very wrong.

After landing in Ireland and getting lost on the way to Dublin, my small traveling group finally found our new, temporary home. We filed into the lobby and were greeted by our R.A., Mo, who doled out roommate assignments for the next four weeks. The program’s 15 participants would live among three renovated floors of a historic Georgian-period house.

With the assistance of my two floormates, I brought my luggage to the basement quarters of the house where we were living. I took a tour of my temporary abode and exchanged pleasantries with my two roommates. While talking in their shared room, another girl popped her head in with a handful of holy water and asked if we wanted any. After the three of us in the room said a collective and confused “no,” she laughed and brought the bottles into the kitchen.

This was my first encounter with my new roommate. For anonymity sake, let’s call her “Dot.”  I introduced myself to Dot, and recalled seeing her at the study abroad meeting back in March.  She was the noticeably older student who asked a plethora of questions and spoke out about everything she had heard from her step dad who was currently visiting Ireland.

Dot was a 31-year-old broadcast journalism major. She had recently walked during the May graduation ceremony, but needed to pass the program’s two courses to complete her undergraduate degree. Self-proclaimed “one of the 31 smartest people in Pennsylvania” (31 was the exact number she gave), and a former corrections officer, Dot was a spitfire with the attack capabilities of a pitbull. 

Dot was petite and thin with shoulder-length blonde hair. She had big brown eyes and Chinese symbol tattoos scattered throughout her body. Opinionated and vocal, the group and I would soon realize how outspoken she could actually get – and the holy water was just a small splash in the pool.

While getting ready for our first night out, Dot told me that if need be, she would volunteer to be the one who’d wait up for the roommates to ensure the group’s safety.  Dot said she wasn’t trying to be anyone’s mom, but that she couldn’t help but worry since she was roughly 10 years older than most of us.  At the time, I thought that was a good and told her I thought that would be a really nice thing to do.

After the first night of barhopping in Dublin, my group of five girls headed back to our apartments.  Two of the girls decided to cap off the night by going to a dance club.  The two girls had everyone’s cell phone numbers and assured us they could get back safely, so the rest of us walked home and I went to bed. Around 3AM, I awoke to screaming and crying outside on the front steps. I heard Dot yelling at someone, and learned the next day that Dot was furious at us for letting the two girls stay out. Dot had “seen many things” in her life [a phrase she would repeat often throughout the trip] and thought it was reckless to leave them by themselves. Unbeknownst to the incident, the two girls returned safely later that night.

The next day Dot apologized for yelling, but this would be a reoccurrence throughout the trip. I’m sure I haven’t heard about close to half of the arguments she got into with people. I’d just overhear her whispering an apology or see a hand-written “Dear so-and-so, I’m sorry about last night…” letter on her bed, and know that another one of Dot’s uncalled for explosions had recently occurred.

During the first few days in the apartment, Dot had no problem telling me [not asking] “lights out” at midnight and flipping the switch. When I asked if she was done in the bathroom, she’d ask, “Why?”  Perhaps it was the corrections officer still in her, but thankfully after a couple of days she stopped with the commands and questions.  School became the next issue.  Two of my roommates had to share a group computer with her, and the day before assignments were due, Dot would simply take the computer with her wherever she went without telling the others.

One day I was talking to my boyfriend online when I heard Dot walk in with a guy.  She was friends with one of the older guys on the trip, so I didn’t think much of it.  Then, she led a drunken and nearly stumbling guy into our bedroom.  Armed with a bouquet of flowers, Dot introduced me to a man who was no doubt in his forties. I introduced myself out of politeness, and he started making up a song from my name.  The man was “a famed music producer” who told me to check out web sites for a list of his credentials.  I started outlining the bizarre scene for my boyfriend in AIM, who was freaking out on the other side of the screen. Dot then led the guy to our bathroom so he could take a shower for whatever reason.

Dot poured me a teacup of wine that the man had bought her and thanked me for being so cool about everything. Being the talkative person she is, Dot randomly met the guy on the street. They went to a museum together and had dinner at a nice restaurant. He bought her wine, flowers and a book he was featured in. Dot concluded that nothing was going to happen sexually because he was married with four children, but she invited him back to the apartment because he might have a job offer for her in Ireland. She then ran out of the room and out of the apartment to tell one of the others about her “luck.” Thankfully, my other two roommates were in the apartment and told me they weren’t leaving my side.

After Dot returned and her producer friend was done showering, she led him into the living room to rest before he left. I was busy typing all of the crazy details to my boyfriend, when I heard a loud, “Dude, you have a wife and four kids, I’m not gonna fuck you.” After 10 more awkward minutes, Dot finally escorted the man out.

During our second weekend in Ireland, there was a similar scene to our first night in Dublin.  Seven of us occupied a room in a B and B during our trip to Galway, including Dot. After two girls arrived back late from a night out and Dot accused them of being rude and disrespectful since we were technically staying in someone’s house. The girls told her that they hadn’t woken anyone up. In fact, when they had returned, the owners had been awake and in the lobby after going to a late concert. While in the bed next to mine, Dot went on a tirade against my roommates. I woke up scared and alarmed to move for fear she’d yell at me too. After one of the girls told her to “just shut the fuck up,” Dot sprung on the bed and told the girl she would “wrap each finger around her throat” and choke her.  By that point, so much had happened with Dot that no one seemed fazed by her remarks.

During a marathon of watching “Sex and the City,” Dot came into the living room where four of us were sitting and flat out told one of the girls she was “irresponsible.” She criticized one of the guys on the trip, complained that the girl she threatened to choke wouldn’t talk to her anymore and helped herself to some of our roommate’s Jameson – all in the same few minutes.  She then started randomly spurting out about how many times she had moved when she was little. When I had asked about her life growing up, she said, “Honey, I could write a book.”

Dot had many facets. She often laughed, was very spirited and was someone you could always walk up and talk to. However, when her strong personality and alcohol-infused sides appeared, she was unlikable and avoided by many. During one drunken conversation, she admitted she cried the first week of the trip because she felt like an outsider. She knew that she had good traits, but didn’t seem fully aware of how damaging her other qualities were towards any possible friendships.

During our fourth and final weekend in Dublin, Dot found love. She met him after a Guns N Roses tribute concert she attended [the same night she tried to kiss our teacher.]  I awoke Saturday morning to Dot bringing the new guy into our room to introduce us and let him shower. He was handsome and nine years younger than her. He, like the 40-year-old, took her out and paid for everything.  A couple of us went out with Dot that night to meet up with him and his friends. For the first time on the trip she talked about the fiancé she broke up with before the trip and let other details slip out about what seemed to be a whirlwind of a life.

For our remaining days in Dublin, Dot and her new boy would lock themselves in the living room and sleep on the couches each night. He’d come in our room to shower and say hello, and the rest of us in the apartment would marvel that we hadn’t been robbed yet.  During our “farewell” dinner, Dot and I actually talked a lot. By the last night in Dublin, everyone was too drunk and happy to care about any problems. I said goodbye to Dot and her beau, and gave her a hug goodbye.

I spent my last fleeting hours in Dublin packing for my flight home, all while reflecting on one of the most crazy but unforgettable people I had ever met.  Dot – the girl who was engaged three times, got a tattoo on the third day of the trip, bought me a drink or two and sweet-talked a bouncer into letting me get into a club for free.

I jumped into the shower before the bus to the airport arrived, but not before stepping on an open condom wrapper.  It was then that I realized I had truly survived the wildest roommate experience of my life.

~Kathleen Garvin
tua31156@temple.edu
Philadelphia, PA

Photos make all books better...

EXCEPT medical dictionaries. Sick.

7:53AM: You are crazy :-/

In from Seven, our AWKWARD correspondent on the male-end down in Houston, Texas.

OK, you need to seriously post these texts I received from a girl last night. Another date gone wrong. These are all after the date. My phone was on silent and I was sleeping …

1:58AM: Sorry… Something horrible is going on outside my house.  I could not get in …

2.13 AM: It got pretty bad, I thought I had to come back over to your house cause the police would not let me get to my house

2:59AM: Well, I hope you’re asleep.  I’m outside down my street.  My house got evacuated by the swat people.  The real swat people.

3.05 AM: Something happened across the street.  So we were not safe in our house :-\ but i’m ok.

6.26 AM: I’m sure you’re wondering what’s going on once you see these mesages. Call me when you get a chance.  I’m back safe in my house.

~Seven
Houston, Texas

Mix? Match? How about just wear - I'd be fine with that.

I am not your typical female. Fashion bewilders me. My friends and family members all chide me for not having a fashion sense.

But I like my jeans and sneakers. Still, comfort is not professional.

For the past two days, I have trekked through H&M and New York and Company. My lack of fashion sense angered my sister, and confused the poor sales clerks in both stores.

When asked about what I liked, I replied I did not know.

“How do you not know?” said my frustrated sister. “Even I know what I like!”

I can tell you why. In high school, I barely knew the word fashion. I was the editor of my school newspaper who spent more time glued to her computer writing articles than reading the latest fashion trend. Now it has come back to haunt me.

I’m not going to be the next fashionista. Nevertheless, after two exhausting days, I have acquired a number of outfits that, according to the sales clerk, I can “mix and match.”

What does mix and match even mean? You do not want me mixing and matching without supervision. Or before my morning cup of coffee.

Two of my oldest friends recently informed me that they had thought about sending a tape of me into the show What Not to Wear.  They said my “lack of insight into my own fashion style is a problem.”

Can you achieve your own style in your 20s? I sure hope so. Maybe some fashion queen will take pity on me and go shopping alongside me. I’m always curious how some women can instantly decide an outfit is perfect in less than 10 seconds.

It takes me a lot longer than that. I’ve been known to stall for hours. I have no clue what I like, and no clue what I dislike. Even with my sister, mother, and three sales clerks in attendance!

I am a fashion mess. I’m starting to think I’m missing a girl gene - what do you think?

~Stacy Lipson
Philadelphia,PA
stacy.lipson@temple.edu

1 van + 2 lanes + a 20-something girl = 0 police

I used to have a clean driving record.

Then again, I could write a novel about the things I used to have and do. I used to pee in my pants. I used to beat up my sister. I used to have hair past my ass that my mom wouldn’t let me cut off because she was afraid I’d lose my curl.

So, from that standpoint, losing my immaculate driving record is just another rite of passage.

My car, courtesy of my father, is a Saturn Ion. Tiny car. Easy to park. Easy to maneuver on tiny city streets. So take someone who has been driving that car for four years, who thinks a Dodge Stratus is a little too much of a boat for her, and plant her in a cargo van, courtesy of a certain popular van and truck rental place that shall remain nameless.

I was fine for the first day and a half. I parked it, even somewhat parallel parking it downtown. I drove on small streets. I even navigated a tiny McDonald’s drive thru in Radnor.

Understandably, I thought I was home free on the morning I was set to return it.

Maybe I was a little cocky, or maybe I just really thought I was used to navigating the Yacht-sized van through lanes of traffic. Regardless of the cause, the simple act of changing lanes before the Parkway turned to disaster. I swerved from the far right lane into the next lane over only to be met with the sound of what was unmistakably vehicle-on-vehicle contact.

Shit.

Did I really hit someone? What do I do? I see a man get out of a blue car and come up to me. “You have to pull over,” he yells. “You hit me.”

SHIT.

I pull over, which isn’t really pulling over seeing as I’m in a turning lane, and apologize profusely. His car now has a dent on the driver’s side with all of the paint scratched off within the dent. And all I have on this, my rented van, is the slightest scratch of paint on the passenger door.

Still apologizing profusely, the originally pissed off driver warms up to me. Seeing a twentysomething female alone in a huge cargo van is enough to tip him off that I’m not used to driving one of those things. He’s not happy, but he really couldn’t have been more understanding about the whole thing. After we both made a few phone calls, we stood around and had some civilized conversation.

After about 20 minutes, a very angry member of the PPA runs up to his car. “YOU HAVE TO MOVE!” he yells. “YOU CAN’T STAY HERE!”
“We were in an accident,” he says. “We’re waiting for the police.”

Now, I’m not very familiar with traffic accidents, but I was under the impression that you were not supposed to vacate the scene of the crime. I’m pretty sure there isn’t an exception for angry PPA employees.

So we moved. I pulled in front of a fire hydrant; after all, what am I supposed to do in Center City Philadelphia at 10:30 a.m. with a huge van?

Within another 20 minutes, while the cops still have not arrived, another PPA employee (they’re everywhere!) walked up to my van and attempted to give me a ticket. I ran over to him and explained the situation. He did not give me a ticket and got on his radio requesting an officer at the scene.

At this point, the guy I hit had already called 911 twice.

Every few minutes a police car would drive by, but never slow down and definitely never stop.

An hour passes, and still no police. I call the rental company and get out of being charged for an extra day after explaining that it’s been over an hour and I’m still waiting for my first ever police report. (Well, I don’t explain it like that, but you get the idea.)

I call 911, making this the third call plus the radio call from the PPA officer. Finally, an hour and a half after the initial incident, a police officer shows up, saying that he has to make this quick. All for the joy of giving the Philadelphia police my information and putting my name on record. Something I could’ve done without, but I’m a law-abiding citizen.

So, now I officially no longer have a clean driving record. The good news? That rental place, which I am now not a huge fan of (which isn’t helped by the fact that their insurance company contacted me requesting a recorded statement and after a week have yet to return my phone calls), gave me an exorbitant bill and then smiled and told me that I can still rent from them! Oh happy day!

I’m pretty sure I won’t be taking them up on that offer. But thanks anyway.

~Valerie Williams
valerieleewilliams@gmail.com
Philadelphia, PA

OK I admit it - some girls are crazy. 3 reasons why.

Here at AWKWARD, we love men. Really, we do.

And so, when a male reader writes to us with his AWKWARD experiences involving women, our ears perk up. We’re intrigued and we listen. And, after reading his experiences detailing the dating life that is Houston, Texas - we laugh — And a bit of us cries, too, because honestly … some girls are crazy.

Here’s 3 reasons why:

Reason #1: “My sexual past makes for great conversation”

So I recently moved to Texas, and by recently, I mean, I finally got over the whole “I’m going to move back, why try to meet a girl” mentality.

So I’ve jumped into the dating scene. I’ve been collecting numbers for a solid two months and finally decided it was time to act on one. She had been texting me on/off for two weeks, so I guess persistence pays off.

I invited her to dinner where I had a great time. After dinner, I invited her back to my place to watch the Olympics and here’s where it got awkward. So she had worn this big thick belt around her waist which was obviously uncomfortable, so she decided she wasn’t going to wear it while we’re hanging out on the couch. Fine by me.

Eventually, out of nowhere she started talking about her last boyfriend, and how she couldn’t stand him. On their second date she went to a party at his place, ended up getting drunk and apparently he tried to take things too far. She told me she scolded him, etc.

First of all, too much information to begin with. Here’s the kicker - she proceeded to tell me that she was so mad at him, she went ahead and had sex with his roommmate (who had a girlfriend and made her promise never to tell him).

After all of this, she proceeded to go out with this guy 3 more times before breaking it off… and I’m supposed to be interested?

Unfortunately, my night didn’t end there. She then proceeded to tell me about her first girl-on-girl experience with her friend who is married. She broke up with a boyfriend of 4 years in January and apparently wasn’t “satisfied” and told her married friend this.

She proceeded to tell me about her married friend and her playing with dildos while the husband watched. My favorite comment “It was kind of awkward when we had to ask him to get more KY.”

The best part - she’ll be teaching 3rd grade this fall.

Reason #2: “I trick boys into feeding me”

When I first moved to Texas, I needed furniture. Since I just got a job and had a nice signing bonus, I decided to purchase some “quality” furniture (aka “No Assembly Required”).

It was around 4 PM on a Thursday and I walked into Pottery Barn and a young girl welcomed me to the store. I returned the hello and proceeded to check out the TV stands. I’m a guy, so I walk into a store with a purpose, not to find one. I don’t see anything I like, but she comes over and politely asks “Can I help you find anything today?” I tell her I’m simply browsing, so she leaves me alone.

Since I’m not satisfied with the TV stand selection, I decide I need to get a utensil tray and few other supplies. As I’m looking around (2 minutes) later, she comes back again and says “Are you sure I can’t help you?” to which I respond, “Actually, could you help me find a utensil tray?” Her advice: “I would go to Crate & Barrel” I respond, “I’m glad you’re not in sales.”

After a little back and forth, she asks if she can have my number. I figure, girl from Texas, not a big deal, and provide her with my number. That night, I get a text saying that she’s going out with a bunch of friends and they’re all meeting at Niko Niko’s (Greek Restaurant).

When I show up (I didn’t have many friends since I’m new to the city), she advises me that her roommate got sick and it’s just going to be the two of us.

So instead of just asking me out, she tricks me into a date? Awkward. I never call back. She texts/calls. I ignore. After two months of no communication, I get a text telling me that her father is in the hospital and apologizes for not keeping in touch? Really? Awkward.

Reason #3: “I love my Daddy more than you”

I met this girl, we’d gone out a couple of times and it’s always been fun. She seems cool, I don’t hate her friends (yet), and she likes sports.

Everything seems cool, so I finally take her up on the offer after a long night at the bars and come in for “one more drink.” You know how that goes, so I wake up in bed beside her… awkward.

She then proceeds to pick up her phone, and the next words I hear “Hi Daddy, how are you?” and the conversation ends with “Love you Daddy” while she was laying in bed beside me.

What girl would ever call their father after a drunk hook up? Seriously, go to the other room or wait until I leave? It’s not like I’m spending the afternoon there.

~Seven
Houston, Texas

Dictionary.com word of the day // 8.14 // 8:00PM

LACKADAISICAL \lack-uh-DAY-zih-kuhl, adjective:

Lacking spirit or liveliness; showing lack of interest; languid; listless.

The bum on the 6 train this morning was so LACKADAISICAL. As the commuters crammed into the train beside him, he continued on in his nap - a 40 in his hand - as the woman in Brooks Brother sat down beside him.