:: m e l i s s a’s insane ramblings ::

First, understand you must enter the sharehouse with a certain level of commitment. Like heroin addiction or being a fan of obsure Scandinavian death metal,sharehousing is no hobby. It’s a lifestyle.If you sign up,bunker down and take good with the bad. The camaraderie with the insanity. The beery afternoons with the two-week-stretches of eating nothing but 2 minute noodles. Welcome to a world of poverty,debauchery, incestuous relationship and the restless search for new methods of procrastination.

Overwhelmed? Fear not. Join me on the brown couch. That fixture of any self-respecting sharehouse. It’s not always brown,it’s not necessarily even a couch - it coould be a moldy beanbag or a broken futon - but it’s the allegorical heart of the sharehouse. From it’s central position it sees all the dramas,comedies and convulted game shows on television and in real life. Let its piling upholstery form a comforting hug around you.Resign yourself to losing the remote and occasionally your mind in its folds. And inevitably, while searching for bus-fare change in its mysterious crevices, amongst the lint,pizza crusts and stubby lids, discover the pearls of wisdom the couch silently stockpiles. Let’s get our bearings.

KITCHEN: The origin of most sharehouse violence. There’s the milk/bread nightmare where someone always quietly consumes that last slice or drop of milk. Then there’s always the fry pan dilemma.If anyone can ever be bothered cooking,be sure they won’t clean up.This is the only tip of the house hygiene iceberg. At soem point almost every sharehouse-hold will sit down and work out whether it’s worthwhile to eat off new plates each meal or alternatively wash up the caramic variety.

And there’s the minefield that is the fridge: where even the most delicate manifesto of food allocation means nothing. It’s a dog eat dog world and your Tim Tam’s are NEVER safe.

BATHROOM: Second only to the kitchen as a source of conflict,the violence of the bathroom battle increases exponentially:
1) When the bathroom is used by more than one housemate;

2) When said housemates are of different genders and hygiene standards;

3) Depending on degree of hairness of said housemates.

Girls,say hello to stubble remnants coating the basin,inevitable accumulation of pubes in the corners,shampoo rustling and soap violations. pull out your copy of What Fungus Is That? and settle in for the endless Cold-War-esque stand-offs as to who will clean the shower.

You’re in for a world of fun with barbeques,healty outdoor pursuits and the opportunity to indulge your horticultural whims. Throw in a hills hoist clothesline and a $7 cask of fruity lexia and you’ve got the perfect setting for a " Goon Of Fortune" mini Olympics. Having a backyard also makes share house cleaning much easier. Got clutter? Throw it out the window. Dodgy housemate shot through leaving a crusty mattress and trails of unpaid bills? Add them to the pile! When the junk starts to pile up and the weeds get beyond chest-height (and they will),conduct random checks for stray backpackers. They should be paying some sort of rent!

M e L | s S a

Now Playing : Caramel - City High

I’m convinced that public trasport is the cretion of the devil. After an 8 hour day filled with gruelling lectures, maybe a suprise quiz and the unfortunate discovery that you left the final page of your assignment at home - your day from hell is topped off with a joyride on one of the Brisbane City Council’s luxurious public transport services.

The pungent aromas of sweat,chewing gum and ‘bus driver’ infiltrate your nostrils as you step into the bus. You soldier on. Sitting down in a spare seat, you brace yourself, waiting in anticipation of one of the devil’s minions…

Surely you know who I’m talking about? Common henchmen include:

- The diva in front of you who closes the window on a 40 degree day because the wind has put a hair out of place;

- The creep who sits right next to you despite the fact that the bus is practically empty; or

- The arsehole that just sat down in the aisle seat, and reserves the window seat for his backpack.

I have come to the conclusion taht the only feasible solution to this disturbing epidemic is for the governmen to intoduce ‘public transport lisence’! * stay with me for a second, this is workable * Remember in Australian Primary schools that only the students who wrote well enough were allowed to write in biro and received a pen license. And we don’t have idiots running around the streets brandishing guns thanks to gun lisencing. If the government believes that half-wits to continue using our public transport services? I just don’t understand how Mr Beattie organises his agenda! Until Pete gets on top of this - I encourage everyone to take ‘public transport law enforcement’ into their hands!

From now on re-open the bloody window if you want to. Casually move to another seat if the person beside you resembles a serial killer (then call ‘000′ for backup). And please, please,please feel free to crawl over the person sitting in the aisle seat, throw their bag out of the window and delight in their perplexed/enraged expression as you ride home! Happy travels…

M e L | s S a