My Roommate is a Certified Lunatic - Part II

I want to talk about my love/hate relationship with my roommate. He’s a condescending douche bag. I mean that in the nicest possible way since we still live together but obviously our relationship doesn’t matter that much anymore because I’m telling this to the “The Internet”. Here’s the problem: He has an eating disorder that he will not accept. It’s not bulimia. It’s not anorexia. It’s orthorexia, which you’ve probably never heard of. Orthorexia means “the fixation of righteous eating”. Basically, he won’t put anything into his body unless it’s “pure”. Flax seed oil, fresh wheat grass, water buffalo yogurt, bee pollen, bee testicles…essentially whatever sounds weird.

Honestly, I couldn’t care less about what he puts in his mouth. What drives me insane is that he always gives me this “tsk tsk” look when I’m eating anything. I mean I could be eating a unicorn burger. And I know for a fact that he would say,
“Hmmpf…I only eat unicorns hand-fed by virgins. But you eat whatever you want. I’m sure isn’t that bad for you.”

Why would he say something like that? I’ll tell you. He’s a prick. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that by his request, we are not allowed to have petroleum-based cleaning products in our house. Which again is fine. I saw Inconvenient Truth. I get it. But sometimes I find that lavender-scented dish soap doesn’t really do the job.

So I have to hide a secret bottle of 409 under the sink to kill bacteria. I know I’m funding terrorism by buying petroleum-based product. Guilty. I’m part of the problem. I’m sorry, Planet Earth. But I would rather die in an airplane explosion caused by Al-Qaeda than puke to death from salmonella because I was dirty.

I remember one time I came home and I wanted to cook something. Fortunately, Captain Planet was meditating in his room probably to the sounds of whales masturbating or whatever he meditates to. Which was awesome because I was able to eat in peace. He finally came out right after I was done eating and had already cleaned up. He beelined to the oven, sniffed the air, then he made “the face” and said,
“Did you clean something here?”

Here we go but this time I was ready.

“Yeah! It was a salmon burger but don’t worry it was wild caught salmon not farm-raised because we all know farm raised salmon is high in PCB. Is that acceptable?”

I thought that would wipe the smug look off his face but what he said next floored me,
“Oh, I wasn’t worried about what you ate. I was more worried about what you used to clean the counters with. It smells like petroleum-based products?”
“Ri-ight, I decided to risk it and use something a little stronger than orange peels and almond-flavored water.”
“Why? The stuff works.”
“How can something that says ‘Non-Toxic’ kill bacteria. You need toxins to kill! I could drink this and nothing would happen to me.”
“I wouldn’t drink it.”
“Really? I would.”

Then I did the bravest or dumbest thing in my life. I sprayed some into my hand, looked him in the eye and drank it.
I didn’t die and forgot about it. But later that evening at my girlfriend’s apartment, I felt nauseous and had a painful headache . Unaware of my “brave” protest, she became concerned and asked if I could remember what I ate.

“Umm…let me see…I had some yogurt, granola and fruit for breakfast, then a salmon burger for lunch…and…umm…ahh…I drank some kitchen cleaner.”
“You’re an idiot.”

Here’s a little public service announcement from TaoOfDan.com:
If you have to drink kitchen cleaner to prove a point then you’re roommate might be a douche.