I’ll say this about Jason as a roommate: to his credit, he never….

… was so lazy that instead of walking the ten or so feet to use the bathroom, he instead just peed in empty 40 oz bottles.

… had some deadbeat friend constantly hanging out at the apartment, one that tried far too hard to be eccentric, like wearing elegant women’s gloves, and bitching about how much he hated gay people, even though he made money posing nude for a gay artist.

… made me feel bad when I broke news that I had just gotten laid off, even though he just laid off from his brand new job for taking too much vacation time to get plastic surgery done.

… let the stove get so fucking filthy that there’s (at least) a quarter inch thick layer of grease covering everything, which not only cannot be cleaned, but has well over a year’s worth of dead bugs and pubic hairs, all trapped like that mosquito in amber, a la Jurassic Park.

And trust me when I say that I have even tons more crazy stories about ex-roommates.

Here’s a few hilarious happenings that come to mind:

* Running around the apartment with a broom, banging the ceiling to quiet the rambunctious toddler on the floor above.

* Yelling down the nose of a Russian landlord, demanding the hot water work, because “… that’s all a man want’s in America!”

* Watching him try to fix anything. To his credit, he’s full of gumption, but not adept with tools that aren’t shaped like video game controllers.