Published: August 30, 2007

I step out of the bathroom to find a BB gun pointed straight between my eyes. The shirtless, tattooed bandit lowers his weapon and shrugs disappointedly when he recognizes me. He lets out a loud belch and heads back to the couch to join his fellow cretins. As I trip over BB pellets and inhale the stench of beer, sweat and yesterday’s lunch, I wonder to myself how this fine establishment recently became my boyfriend’s ‘home sweet home.’

When I first heard the news, I admittedly wigged out. Why would an intelligent guy with a growing career and a girlfriend choose to make his home in a decaying house alongside seven frat-type guys? After hours of fighting, threatening and opposition, it became clear that he was going to move unless I refused to let him. Who am I to stop anyone from fulfilling their dream of living in a chaotic, dirty house at an undisclosed college known for its lack of class? He went.

Although I was bitter, a good friend of mine suggested that I spend time at his new residence, just to give it a chance and clear the air. It immediately became apparent that none of the other guys in the house had girlfriends. The whining of loud, obnoxious sorority girls penetrates through my boyfriend’s door as we try to watch movies in his room, only to be drowned out by the incessant banging of a newly-installed drum set that makes its home in the basement, directly below his room.

When the shrieks of these girls die down, and the living room resembles a third-world country struck by a tsunami, the party is considered done. There is always a new friend to be made after one of these events, and you can always find him sleeping on the downstairs couch with one shoe on and his mouth wide open, snoring.

What about a quiet night? There are none to be had. Rumors of rat and roach sightings circulate regularly. It’s no wonder, since the front porch and alley next to the house are constantly overflowing with cans, bottles, garbage and cigarette butts.

The drive down to his place is enough to wipe me out for the night. The highway that leads to his house is narrow, packed with 18-wheelers going 90 mph, and it splits unexpectedly at every point imaginable.

In all fairness, my boyfriend has attempted to make his living situation more bearable on my behalf. He found an alternate highway that leads to his house, which is a lot less intimidating. He also installed jumbo speakers in his room to drown out the round-the-clock noise that makes it virtually impossible to sleep.

Despite the fact that I could probably go on for eternity complaining about all of the aspects of this typical college scenario, I have decided to suck up the fact that my boyfriend has relocated here until next summer. Most of his roommates are nice guys and some of them even clean up once in a while. While I’m not about to pack up my things and join him in his animal house, I’ll respect his decision to live there and do my best to hold things together.