We kicked the roommates out.
It bears repeating.
WE KICKED THE MOTHERFUCKING ROOMMATES OUT.
Ah, the sweet, SWEET relief of a problem solved.
Upon reviewing our financial situation, as well as our emotional state of mind, we have come to the conclusion that not only can we afford the rent here on our own (working three jobs pays off sometimes), but also that we want to stay here for another year in order to save up more money to move, which gave us yet another reason to kick out the roommates: living in purgatory for three months is manageable; living in hell for six is undeniably, ferociously impossible.
So Aaron calls me at work today and asks me if I want to live here for another year, how it makes financial sense, how it'd be nice to explore the area more, to which I say yes, and then I went upstairs and told my boss that I wasn't quitting in three months.
You see? Do you see what I did there? Do you see how I made it seem like it was his idea all along? That, my dears, is the power of the female mind.
The roommates were understandably pissed, but the funny thing of it is, here is what they had to say about it, with glares on their faces that can only be compared to a middle-school tantrum:
"But you guys are moving."
"Well, we decided to stay longer."
"I don't understand why you have so much animosity when all we asked you to do was, like, clean."
Oh ho ho. That, loves, was not at all what this was about. This was about my letting the guy use my car when we went on Christmas vacation, and then him discovering that the leak that had occurred in my car the last time it rained no longer existed (all news to me since it rains, like, two weeks out of the year here) and using that knowledge to take the covered parking space without asking me about it first having agreed months earlier that we could have the parking space when it rains...fourteen days out of the year. This was about them telling us five days we were set to leave that they couldn't take care of the dogs when we had asked them two months prior, and then saying that we couldn't have somebody housesit because they were going out of town but oh, no, actually, they weren't...but they still couldn't take care of the dogs. This was about them not letting the dogs out to pee when they go outside to smoke so that when I get home, Damien pees for, like, two minutes straight (the other option is to leave the back door open for Damien to come in and out, but they aren't kosher with that since we live on the mean streets of Santa Barbara where the crime rate is, like...0). I mean, come on. What kind of people take personal problems out on dogs? Assholes, that's who.
Ultimately, this was about the fact that roommates suck. Period. NEVER. AGAIN.