Life
by Taylor Ryen on April 23, 2012

There's an american proverb or anecdote that instantly conveys a strong message via it's simplicity and blunt nature when it hits your ears, “don't sh*t where you eat.” It's simple and direct. A few variations of this phrase are, “Don't sh*t where you sit,” “Don't sh*t on your own doorstep,” and probably the most euphemistic example, “Don't be sick in one's own hat.” Generally these are all fancy ways to say don't make problems for yourself in places you frequent.

This is the story of how I ended up having sex with one of my female room mates which eventually lead to me having to find a new living situation. This story requires a bit of back information, to understand completely; bear with me.

When I first moved out to San Diego, CA, I only knew a handful of people. The whole concept of the trip was to expand my horizons (literally), learn more about other people/myself, and discover what else life has to offer. I realized if I wasn't going to take such a big chance now, then I'd likely never do it later.

Prior to making my move I needed to set up my living arrangements. I made the mistake of moving in with a young guy I found off of craigslist. He lied to me in our back and forth correspondence prior to my moving in. This guy didn't have a life and his entire existence was unimaginably plain. Work, sleep, video games, girlfriend, in that order.


I told him I was looking for someone to show me the area, I wanted to room with someone that would be up for hitting the bar scene with me on the weekends. Since I didn't know anyone there I explained that I would need some major assistance in expanding my social/professional network. He said he worked hard during the week but loved hitting the bars with tons of friends around the area on the weekends. In truth, this kid didn't have any friends His only “friends” were co-workers at the enterprise rent-a-car. And he never went to bars because he thought they were a waste of money.

He claimed that his “hot” girl friend had tons of hot friends and it wouldn't be a problem to pair me up with one of them to hit the town regularly. In reality, She only came over to watch him play video games… and fight. She never spoke more than a few words to me at a any given time. I never met her friends.

He said there were hot young female neighbors that were “awesome” and they had a reputation to “f*ck everybody.” Apparently they would be a ton of fun to party with. The first week I moved in, I heard the people living in house in front of us were having people over. I stopped by with a 30 rack of bud-light and a handle of Jack Daniels and said, “Hey I'm Chris' new room mate, we live in the condo right behind you all. I haven't had a chance to meet any of you guys yet. I just moved here from Virginia a few days ago and I don't know anyone in the area yet. I brought some alcohol, can I join you guys?”

You would have thought I said, “I'm going to be preforming an abortion in your back yard do you guys want to watch.” Looking around the room, all I spotted were pudgy trashy looking girls with muffin tops. Awkward stares and a long silence were eventually stifled by one girl saying, “Um, we're pre-gaming right now. We're not having a party. Thanks.” And they closed the door.

Lastly, this guy claimed to be a regular “weekend warrior” and he said that he loved hitting the bars. We went out once together the entire four months I lived with him. He always had an excuse to stay in. The first time he ever tried whiskey was with me (which is just sad at age 22). The kid was a loser, slob, and a major douche-bag. After the first week I knew it was a mistake and I was ready for a change.

When the lease came to an end toward month number four I had already been perusing a the Rooms/shared section of craigslist for months in search of my next place. I ran into all the familiar problems you can expect with meeting strangers and broken toys off of Craigslist. I got to tour bedrooms that smelled like animal kennels, rooms smaller than my current closet, flaky losers (california corn-flakes), halfway houses, and other bizarre freak shows that ultimately lead me to respond to an ad for a room with two girls in a reasonably priced house only five blocks from the beach and one block from the bars. Things were look up.

I exchanged pictures and facebook information prior to meeting up with one of the girls. Eventually one of my future room mates and I set a time and date to meet at a bar so that all parties would be comfortable with “who or what” they would be moving in with. I was pleasant and friendly during our meeting and kept all flirting to minimum. This was the girl I would inevitably sleep with three months later. She was a year younger, not terribly attractive due to the mouth full of crackerjacks she had for teeth, and a slightly frumpy body to boot. In her defense she seemed nice and didn't come off as someone capable of mood swings, just an overall sweet girl. Let's call her Annie.

We signed a lease agreement shortly thereafter and within a week and a half I was all moved into my new place. I actually pictured my life being very similar to the show, “Three's Company.”

Living with girls for just the first few weeks had opened my mind to new ideas about women. Given my previous living situations were dorms, fraternity houses, and home; I suppose I had never imagined myself living with in such close quarters with girls my own age. I hadn't the slightest clue that women were more than capable of being such slobs until this experience. I pictured them decorating the house and making it an immaculate pleasant little place to live in. Instead, I experienced the cold realities of sharing a bathroom with girls that constantly shed long hairs, had poor toilette etiquette (everybody poops, I just don't want to see it), and truly sickening encounters with used feminine products. Not to mention these girls were leeches when it came to everything from toilette paper, to beer, to ice cream.

One of the more interesting observations I regularly viewed with interest was the blasé nature of promiscuity amongst the women between the ages of 21-25 in Southern California. Here's a fun fact, all women will go through a slutty stage. This isn't necessarily a bad thing, it just hadn't sunk in until I saw it regularly first hand. And let's be clear, we all have our own definitions of what a “slut” is. But even the harmless looking ones will prove this point while dragging a fat guy with a goatee and flat brim hat home from the bars, because they can. As you might expect, my room mates vehemently denied that they would ever hook up with random guys they met at bars. This was an effort to curtail any type of suspicions that might lead anyone to think otherwise. But nearly every weekend, I would make my way downstairs for breakfast and watch the gamut of dudes stumble out of the girls respective bedrooms from the night before.


When I pried further and discussed relationships at length with these girls and it really gave me some solid perspective on how things worked. Both of the girls had at least two guys they were regularly “hooking up with” or as they put it, “seeing” while they also were regularly flirting via text a steady four to five additional guys. Much of the text flirting didn't go beyond just that because the girls said they enjoyed the attention and compliments throughout the day. When I asked their friends if they had similar life styles, they all agreed that it was pretty common place. I don't want to say this is staggering but it does give you the ability to position yourself and see these things a bit more clearly.

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That being said, it's important to realize that even though a girl might be texting/flirting with you at the moment, she'll likely have 2-3 other guys in rotation doing the same thing to keep her options open and also boost her self esteem. By that same token, there should be ZERO guilt in diversifying your options because rest assured, you're not the only bogey on her radar.

Finally, I came to the conclusion that when most women are made dumber by their choosing to waste an unimaginable amount of time watching mindless sh*t on TV. It warps their understanding of common sense and forces them to behave like the psychopaths they regularly watch on TV. Although there is something amusing about a television program that actually makes your dumber after watching it. Enough of this rant, I could go on for hours here.


During the first week the other female room mate, Adrienne had made an effort to sleep with me by crawling into my bed after our first “room mates night out” at the bars. We had gotten back to the house late and she claimed that she hadn't set up her bed yet, so she followed me into my room and crawled in my bed. Once there she began making purring noises sliding her legs around. I'm not deaf, blind, and dumb I can pick up on a hint.


Since day one I was determined to keep our living situation platonic; I stuck to my guns. As she kept scooting towards me and making odd noises I continued to mumble things like, “it's not gonna happen,” “we'll both regret this,” “go to sleep in your own room.” She took off her bra and made a few more weak attempts at turning me over until we both fell asleep. I was proud of myself for avoiding what would obviously have been a big mistake.

Three months later, and things were still going quite well. None of us had made any other passes at each other. We all seem to get along quite well and we seldom had any tiffs or quarrels. We even went out during the week nights and on the sometimes on the weekends together. But soon the honeymoon would be coming to an end.

I was working at a larger corporate organization in the area during that time and earlier in the day, the red cross' blood mobile had come to visit our building. Ever since I got guilt tripped into donated blood in college with one of my now deceased veteran buddies, I always donate whenever the opportunity presents itself. One of the little celebrated upsides of donating blood is that you're a very cheap drunk for the next day or so while your body tries to produce more blood to make up for whats been taken out. This means that your alcohol tolerance is lowered significantly; which implies that you can get drunk on practically ten bucks.


Upon arriving back home from work later that day, the girls invited me out with them to hit the bars. We stopped at three differently places within the first two hours and slammed drinks at bottom dollar prices. I was already feeling a heavy buzz after drink number two when started talking to some marines. The girls thought the guys were attractive and I took no issue with facilitating the relationship. I made the introductions and started chatting with one of them and mentioned why I donated blood. This guy felt compelled to buy us a round of shots and I thought it to be rude if I even considered declining. No good deed goes unpunished, so a minute later I showed my appreciation for his gesture by buying a round of shots for our whole group. After a few more shots one of my room mates disappeared leaving me and Annie having a great time, but pretty hammered. At one point I checked my phone and saw it was already late and we both had work the next day.

“It's almost midnight Annie,” I said waving down the bartender and signaling the check sign in the air. “We should get out of here.”

“Yeah I know, I'll close-out too.” She said grabbing her jacket and sliding her arm into the wrong sleeve.

We both thanked the marine guys we drank with and said our good-byes the strangers we met along the way then headed for the doors. We stepped out into the cool Pacific Beach air and headed down the sidewalk towards our house; a short five block walk from the bar.

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We walked arm-in-arm loudly joking and laughing obnoxiously about the hysterics that had taken place that evening. As we neared the last few blocks I started up with the sweet/over-the-top drunk talk, “Annie, I'm really glad we live together.” I said playfully. “You guys are seriously the best. If you knew how much better I have it now compared with what I first lived with…”

She laughed.

“You and Andrienne have turned out to be so much fun. I guess what I'm trying to say is, I'm really glad we're room mates. You guys are great.”

She paused for minute as we walked , “I really like living with you too,” she said softly.

A few moments later we stumbled through the front door and we both drunkenly headed to our respective bedrooms upstairs. I shouldered through the door and face planted into my bed and was moments away from passing out when I suddenly heard my door swing open. I looked up to see Annie in my doorway. She walked over to the edge of the bed pulled the covers back and climbed in.

“What are you doing?” I asked a bit confused as she began nuzzle and kiss my neck.

“Shhhhhhh.” She said as she started to kiss my cheek and was moving towards my lips.

“Annie, go back to your room. I think it would be a really bad idea if we did this right now.”

“No it's fine,” She whispered in my ear as she began to rub my chest. “I want you. You're hot.”

Laughing at first, “I appreciate that, but I'm too drunk for this and I don't think it's a good idea. Any other night I might show you how play ball but this isn't the time.”

I wriggled away and slid all the way to the opposite side of the bed. I put both my feet against her with my back to the wall. I slowly sideways kangaroo-kicked her out of my bed until she slid off the edge of the bed and onto the floor with a thud.

“What the f*ck?” She yelled at me from the floor and sitting up.

“Annie, go to bed. This is not a good idea. Maybe another time.” I said in a more stern voice.

She pushed herself to her feet. “Fine, you're missing out.”

“I'm sure I am. Night hun.” I called after her as she stomped out of my room and slammed the door behind her.

Not more than a minute went by and I'd almost fallen asleep. Slam! My door flew open. “Now what?” I yelled frustrated looking upwards and squinting at the silhouette of her figure in the doorway.

I watch Annie roll her underwear down her legs and past her knees to the floor and kicked them to the side. She then unhooked her bra and tossed it beside my bed. Once again she lifted the covers and slid right back into the bed to nestle up next to me. Her hand drifted past my chest and under the waistband of my boxers.

“I'm not a machine here, I'm just a man. I've tried my best here, you're not allowed to be pissed at me for this in the morning.” I said looking over at her as she put on the I'm a huge sl*t smile.

We started to kiss and my hands drifted towards her body. The rest of the night gets a bit hazy. I remember blips, or stills of “erotica.” I'll say this, for a girl with bad teeth she was actually reasonably gifted at oral. I assumed that was a cause and effect scenario. I remember turning her around in different positions, legs were extended over shoulders, we were standing then falling, laying sideways while upside down, there might as well have been a back-flip in there as well. My thought process is that if you're going to dare to put on a pair of ski's on my mountain I'm going to send you down the craziest, steepest, unimaginably treacherous slope you've ever even conceptualized. And just like any good ski trip you can count on being a little scared, having fun, and expect to be sore the next day. I'm sure if I watched everything from a third perspective sober I'd probably pee my pants and be in tears laughing.

In the morning I woke to realize I hadn't set my alarm for work and I was still incredibly hammered. I looked around and knew I was in my own bed. My eyes drifted to the clock, it was already 10:00 AM. I was confused and out of sorts, was it Saturday? That's not possible. Was it? I knew I was drunk, that's a start. I started to try and piece together the previous nights events. I sat up and realized I was completely naked. It's like living the movie, momento a pocket of polaroids would sure as sh*t help me out right now. I took a visual inspection of my room to try to throw together some type of explanation for my current state of affairs. There was a porn website streaming video on my computer, a few candles were barely flickering on my dresser, and there was a puddle of lube all over my desk. I peered over the edge of the bed and spotted a bra and pink thong laying near the door. “AHHH f*ck!” I Yelled out loud. Smacking my palm to my forehead. Instantly my mind began racing over the previous nights events. “Did I really f*ck my room mate?!” I groaned.

I jumped out of bed and got to my feet. It's only Thursday and I'm already an hour late for work. I grabbed a towel and threw it around my waist as I stubbed my toe on the door frame stepping into the hallway, “OW F*ck! Annie!” I yelled out hopping on one foot in the hall way. I pushed open Annie's door. She was passed out face down in her bed. “We slept in! Wake up!” I yelled.

She wrenched her head upwards and turned to look at me, with hair matted to her face as I turned and ran to the shower.

I stood there in the shower for a bit trying to bring all the pieces of the previous night's events together with the random images of sex and shots. How did I manage to get so drunk? How did all this happen? Did I really bang out my room mate? I laughed out loud as figured out the chain of events in order all the way back to donating blood in the blood mobile. Somewhat impressed with outdoing myself and that my charitable gesture had turned so devious yet slightly disappointed in my behavior.

Once out of the shower, I dove onto my bed and found my phone. I quickly texted my manager and told him that I was running late due to setting my alarm clock for the wrong time and began throwing on clothes. I passed Annie in the hallway on my way out the door and all I could think to say was, “Hey stranger!”

She looked at me confused as I got out the door walked over to my car still feeling incredibly haggard. I lit up a cigarette and hit the road.

I laughed through half of my commute at how absurd the previous night was and how incredibly awkward my next conversation with Annie was going to be. I simply had to write this one off as an unintended consequence of being really awesome. “Good thing I live with chicks,” I said aloud laughing hysterically as I parked at my office.

As I got into my first hour at my desk, I received a text from Annie, “I kind of remember doing stuff with you last night. Can we keep that between the two of us?”

I wrote back, “Well you started it. LOL Sure. Not a problem.”

When I got back home, I had already anticipated having “the talk” with Annie and had memorized a few key talking points. But she avoided me awkwardly the rest of that afternoon and by the time the weekend came around she was all but ignoring me so I left it alone. We never addressed it. This was likely my fatal error. Always clear the air on these things as soon as possible, time only complicates situations like this. Well I guess my fatal error would have been hooking up with her in the first place… or drinking after donating blood. Whatever, I had to play the hand I'd been dealt and hope for the best. As you might guess I'm not much of a poker player.

That Friday I had my regular “mo-hawk” girl over and received a death stare from Annie as we marched upstairs to my room. From that point on, things were different between Annie and I. She took offense to me going back to my regular girl just two nights after her and I had one drunken crazy night together. Had I sat down and talked about it with her right away, I think this story may have gone differently. From that point on, Annie took a new hostile attitude towards me. Passive aggressive behavior became the new norm. The other room mate followed suit soon after.

I was no longer invited out to “room-mate nights out” and this would eventually lead to the girls teaming up on me about everything little thing that bothered them. Soon yelling matches over little things began to be a regular occurance. The girls became even less considerate and started knowingly eating my food, drinking my alcohol, and worst of all; opening my door to yell at me about the volume of my music while I was in the act of having sex. It wasn't long before I asked that the three of us sit down and have a rational talk about our current living situation. It was my hope that we could try to fix all the issues and get everything that was bothering us out in the open.

Unfortunately, rational thinking is not one of the things that most girls possess, much less those in Southern California. I laid down ground rules for the meeting (no yelling, person attacks, etc) and explained that we all needed to act as diplomatically as possible to resolve our problems so we could have our more civil living situation. Within a minute, the “meeting” was turned into an aggressive out-pouring of emotion. Annie started yelling at me as if she was one of the star characters of her beloved reality television shows and the other one backed up all of her strange accusations. I could tell she had been saving up all the “zingers” she had learned from watching the dramatics play out on television shows like the Bachelorette and Jersey Shore. The issues being brought up were now completely out of left field. Andrienne jumped in and said she wanted to trade rooms. In reality, it was because mine was slightly bigger and had a balcony, but she tried angle it as a “safety issue.” She claimed she felt “less safe” living on the lower level. Her rationale was that she would be more likely to get raped and killed living on the lower level and was losing sleep every night over it. I was in awe of level of crazy we had stepped into. It was clear that neither of them had any desire to work things out and drew more pleasure out of trying to be difficult for the sake of being difficult.

I tried to cool the situation off by maintaining my composure, speaking slowly in an even voice, and focusing on things that we could all agree on. This enraged Annie as she had mistook my tone as condescending. As I struggled to get this thing back on the rail both girls continued making personal attacks at my overall demeanor and lack of principles. After back pedaling and defending myself to these two idiots for a good ten minutes we hadn't gotten anywhere. In fact we had gotten further away from harmonious living than we ever had been before. After a few more attempts to sideline the outrageous demands and low blows, I threw out the idea of moving out. The two girls silently looked at each other and then back at me and nodded, “we think that's the best idea.”

“Stupid c*nts…” I said to myself. I stood up walked outside and lit up a cigarette.

My dad had taught me a valuable lesson when I was very young. “You can't argue with crazy.” There are some people that can be presented with a logical case and all the facts to make the right decision but they choose to defer to their emotions and in the hopes that even though they're wrong, the sought after feeling of vindication (no, I'm right) is more important than the comprise. Or another way to look at it:


Now I'm not sure if my regular “escapades” would have ultimately lead me to end up in the same predicament I later found myself in. But having been through it, I'd rather error on the side of caution and avoid this type of thing altogether. It's best to save yourself from the additional stress and simply abstain from the lures of having fun for one night in exchange for weeks (maybe months) of misery to come. That's right boys and girls, don't sh*t where you eat… unless you're sure you're not coming back.

…On second thought, I wouldn't have this story to tell if I had followed my own advice. Maybe sometimes it's better to flick matches at a gas can to find out what happens next. Life is short, let your burning bridges light your way.

About Taylor Ryen...

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