I'm going with "colossal" score on the new roommate situation.
The weekend has been one great slumber party, or something reminiscent of one.
I brought over my junk on Saturday morning; the MIT grad, now doctorate-in-waiting Columbia biologist is sitting with a lady on the couch, cracking open a beer. Really? "This is a no judgment zone," he defends. Clearly, sir, no judgment.
The little grey-haired poodle is traipsing around the living room. My room is (at the time) still inhabited by the guy who's moving (and his girlfriend, and his younger brother and his girlfriend). What a sigh of relief. These people have their "shit together," without having it together whatsoever.
By weekend's end, I'd mediated couples' fights, been outfitted for a date with MIT's scarf as a flourish and watched The Simpsons on a Sunday afternoon, as all Sunday afternoons are meant to be spent.
The other roommate, Duke '05 guy, is awesome as well. Grey-haired poodle (named "Hendrix") was his family dog -- the poor pup spent Dude's senior year with him at a Duke frat house ... sweet dog, little brains.
And they've already taken to defending me, almost making Date come to the apartment to check him out and telling me things everyone wants to hear after heartbreak.
The environment is a bit like Animal House in that there's a slew of people about at any moment who are acting like grown children. I don't mind.