The big 4-0 or how having 39 roommates has made me ready for a life partner

If you count my four siblings, who, with my parents, were my first official housemates, I have had 39 roommates in my 31 years of life.  I had to jot down a list before I sat to write this, because I had been pretty sure the tally was somewhere around 26, but I was wrong. I had forgotten a handful of the Walker St roommates in Cambridge, and I hadn’t counted the sub-letters who joined the mix at my places on 101^st and Broadway and in West New York, New Jersey.

Michelle would leave the TV on even when she was out for the day.  Jen would make macaroni and leave it on the stove for a week.  Lori would leave post-it notes on the fridge reminding us to fill the Britta before putting it back.

The way Katherine Heigl’s character in the romantic comedy, 27 Dresses accrued bridesmaid frocks, I’ve collected a football team worth of former roommates in the span of three decades.

I would always be spooked when I heard Matt head out for long distance runs at 4:30am.  I would always be offended when I heard how rudely Todd talked to the deliverymen who couldn’t find our street.  I would always blush when I heard Helen's boisterous sex with her newest boyfriend at the most bizarre hours of the day.  

My number from college is within normal range.  I went from having one direct roommate freshman year to eleven suitemates senior year.   Par for the course, and a pretty important part of the education I received as an undergrad.  Actually, I feel that way about having grown up in a house with five kids – and one bathroom – as well.  You learn a lot of social skills from sharing a space and forming interpersonal relationships with that many individuals during your developmental years.  You’re introduced to a broad range of communication styles.  You’re taught how to interpret cues, how to approach and resolve confrontation, how to simply co-exist when you can’t particularly stand someone at a given point.   You’re exposed to different comfort levels and different cleanliness levels.  You are just constantly reminded that the world does not in fact revolve around you.  Ego?  Who can have one of those when you’re spinning a chore wheel or stuck in a shower schedule?

Kim was the American personification of the Italian word chiacchierona, which means chatter-box.  Aaron blasted house music whenever he did laundry.  Taylor shamelessly consumed marathons of mindnumbing Kardashian themed television.

Of the 39, there are nineteen I affectionately call “Roomie” in cards, facebook posts, text messages and emails – only one of whom I physically live with today.  “Roomie” is a timeless title.  It’s like “Auntie” but less often authentic or “BFF” but less often elusive.  My roomies are some of my favorite people on the planet, forever friends, who I probably could have gone on living with far longer than I actually did.

My nomadic lifestyle feels less abnormal amongst my artist friends in NY and LA.  Gypsies of the theatrical nature, for example, take month or season long bookings out of state for jobs they auditioned for while burning through roommates back in Astoria or Brooklyn or on the Upper West Side.  Rent hikes in these cities make it nearly impossible to stay in a place for more than a year or two, max.  Roommate shuffling and recycling is rather commonplace.  Perhaps my habit of subletting my rooms out while I spent summers in cities like Nantucket and Cambridge contributed to my count rising as high as it has. 

I think David and I might have hooked up had I lived on Martel longer.  I’m glad my crush on Dan had subsided before we went in on the Nantucket house together.   I feel like I actually know what it would be like to be married to Marco.

39 roommates!  The big 4-0 I have big plans for.  High hopes.  Steep standards.  You see, before I agree to share my living space with one more person that person will have to have put a proverbial ring on it.   I’m tired of learning the ins and outs of living with others only to uproot before long.   At this point, I can live with anyone.  No quirk of theirs is too quirky, no peeve of mine easy enough to be pet.  But I want what Katherine Heigl’s character gets at the end of the romcom.  My happy ending will be the one who feels like home.