By Karen Brain

Early into adulthood, I realized a few things about independent living. Due to my physical disability, I knew I didn’t want to live alone. I need help occasionally, like opening a jar. In an emergency, I’d need someone to call for help if I couldn’t do it myself. In addition to the usual requirements we all have, I need respect for my disability-related needs, like “don’t move my stuff out of my reach.” I quickly learned the best way to accomplish this was to be the authority of the home – I make the rules – and I would explain to each roommate why these seemingly unusual rules existed. It was a twofer; I educated them about disabilities, and my home remained as accessible as possible to me.

Plus, as my disability progressed over the years, I could offer reduced rent in exchange for assistance – laundry, cleaning, shopping, and other chores and errands. I wanted a written agreement. I wrote my lease and could modify it as needed.

The first place was a four-bedroom, two-bathroom unit on the ground level. I occupied the primary bedroom and bathroom, while my three roommates shared the guest bathroom. Mostly (and intentionally), I rented to short-term roommates and those who were not home often. But I was not home often either, so it worked well.

Until then, my only experience living with anyone other than my parents was with hospital roommates. Over the next couple of decades, I gained a lot of experience. I mean, A LOT. I quickly learned humans are FASCINATING. I’m not mentioning all of my roommates here, nor am I including all the stories for each roommate I do mention. I’m just including a few gems I call “Roommate Adventures.”

I find giving names to things (items and actions) helps with caregiver services. Each of my toes has its own name because it’s faster to say, “The sock seam is stuck on Jeff,” than to play, “Guess which toe I’m talking about.” Especially if it involves pain or an itch when response speed is crucial. Also, I’m amused by people’s reactions when I’m introduced to someone named Jeff, and I say, “Oh, I have a toe named Jeff.” I guess this is why I nicknamed roommates – habit, and as it turned out, future storytelling.

Stinky Feet.

Of my stories below, this one is likely the most relatable to those who have lived with roommates. The roommate had a constant, strong stink. I named this one Stinky Feet; you can guess the source of the smell. This wasn’t his first time living with a roommate. I wondered if the smell was the reason his previous roommate situations ended. Had anyone else in his life mentioned it to him? Was he aware of it? How the hell would I address it?

I knew if I ever had a smell like that, or spinach in my teeth, I’d want someone to tell me so I could fix it. In fact, if I found out afterward that someone knew and didn’t tell me, I’d be upset. The trick is to know how to tell them. One of my lessons in diplomacy was being gentle, kind, and respectful while being clear and honest. I decided it must happen when we were alone and had time to talk.

One night, when we were watching TV, he removed his shoes and put his feet on the couch. The source of the stink was now on my couch! I silently screamed to myself like the kid in the movie “Home Alone.” I started the gentle conversation. “Do you smell that? I wonder what that smell is; where is it coming from?” Long story short, he knew about it and was concerned but didn’t know what to do, so we made an action plan together: he’d make an appointment with his doctor, pay extra attention to feet washing, and store shoes outside on the covered patio. Significant improvements were made after that.

The Decorator.

He had just moved here, was 30 years older than me, said he had plenty of roommate experience and ended up asking out a few of my gay friends. Privately, those friends each told me, “Girl, NO.” Pretty early into living together, he started telling me his opinions on how to “improve the place,” which included replacing all of my furniture with his furniture from storage. Somehow, in his mind, this seemed reasonable. While in my mind, I wondered what planet he was on. He told me how much he missed his furniture and showed me pictures. It was big, gaudy furniture that looked like the Roman Empire met the 1980s.

One evening, I came home from work, opened the front door, and saw the entire place filled with big, gaudy, Roman Empire met the 1980s furniture. For a second, I thought I walked into the wrong unit. Everything was different – the art on the walls, the dining room table and chairs, the couch and coffee table, the recliner, the oversized entertainment center, and the rug underneath the coffee table. It was like a Reverse Robbery. My stuff was gone, and in its place, ugliness. My blood was boiling. I wondered which of us would end up doing time due to this.

He must have heard my reaction and slowly walked out of the bedroom. He said, “I thought if I showed you, you might like it.” Working hard to control myself, I said, “You thought wrong.” I found my stuff shoved in the back corner, stacked like Legos from floor to ceiling. I went to my bedroom and researched ways to kick him out.

This was my first lesson in asking a roommate to move out. The following day, with my written 30-day notice in hand, I walked over to him and said, “It’s clear to me you don’t want to live here in this home, and that’s okay. I see you need your own place, where you can decorate in your own style and have the comfort of your own furniture in every room. So this is your 30-day notice to move out.” In the end, he left early, and I had to find help getting my stuff back in place.

Champ and Stripper Pimp.

Stripper Pimp was in town for a four-month contract job. He shared with me one day that his other job back home was “managing the money of stripper friends.” He explained they would give him the money they earned from dancing, and he would keep it safe for them. “So, you’re like a Stripper Pimp?” I asked. The name stuck.

Champ was a full-time student. I quickly learned he liked to argue and fight with people. It was annoying to me, but to some others, it was intolerable. We had multiple conversations about this within his first month after moving in. He also liked to wash his hands often. His OCD hand washing wasn’t the problem. It was his reaction if someone else was using the sink when he needed to wash his hands.

Champ and Stripper Pimp did not get along. Champ was like a Chihuahua, small but fearless. In contrast, Stripper Pimp was more like a Rottweiler. I warned each of them privately, “Don’t fight. Just stay away from each other. We have a no-fighting rule in this home. If you fight with him, there’s a good chance you’ll get kicked out. If you physically fight, you’re definitely out.” With Champ, I added, “If you egg him on and he hits you, he’ll kick your ass.” With Stripper Pimp, I added, “Don’t let him egg you on, you could really hurt him.”

One day at work, I received a call. I never received personal calls on the work phone. I figured it was an emergency or bad news from family. Nope. It was Stripper Pimp. He didn’t even say hello. “Okay, Karen, don’t worry; I didn’t kill him; he’s just passed out.” I replied like an angry parent, “WHAT DID YOU DO?!” After eating, Champ felt the need to wash his hands in the bathroom sink, but Stripper Pimp’s girlfriend was using the sink area to do her hair. (Champ preferred the bathroom sink to the kitchen sink for some reason.) When she refused to move out of his way, he picked her up and tossed her out of the bathroom. Stripper Pimp went into the bathroom and punched Champ. Champ lost that fight. Shortly after that, they both moved. Lesson learned: Consider household dynamics when selecting roommates.

Public Works.

This guy had a collection of construction and street signs. Unfortunately, his collection continued to grow while he was living with us. One day, we found a “Safe-T-Lite” on our patio, with its fully functioning, bright orange, blinking light. Our neighbor called to ask if we were okay or if the blinking light was a distress call. What?! I discovered the light when I got home. Unwanted bonus: the light provided an interesting day glow in my bedroom. He had done it again; a new addition. As a temporary solution, we covered the light with a shirt. Somehow, this made him mad. Yet he seemed oblivious to our anger. We confronted him together when we were all home. “Why do I have to get rid of it? I live here, too. I get to have stuff,” he said. “Not Public Works property, you don’t!” I replied. “Why?” he asked. “Because we’re not landing planes here,” one roommate responded. “And your Bat-Signal is announcing ‘The thief is HERE!’” another one said. He was outnumbered and eventually removed it. But I’m not sure if he returned it. Lesson learned: Stop looking for roommates on Craigslist.

The Happy Ending.

He had just been discharged from the military and started school. She had moved here to start school, too. One day, my friend and I walked in the front door and said hi to these two roommates who seemed to be watching a movie together on the couch. As we passed, the blanket slipped off her shoulder. Then I realized she had a bare shoulder, and it was winter. As my friend continued walking down the hallway to my room, I returned to the living room. They were scrambling under the blanket, trying to put on their clothes. Standing before them, I said, “Just to be clear, there’s no bare-assing anywhere but in your bedroom and bathroom. You have two bedrooms to choose from. Do it in one of them.” A couple of months later, they told me they were moving out to get their own place together. While I was truly happy for them, I now had to find TWO new roommates. I’m pleased to report that I was able to find new roommates quickly, and the happy couple ended up getting married. They have two beautiful children and still send me a holiday card every year with their pictures, which I love. Lesson learned: Routinely clean furniture, not just for the spots you can see.

Roommate situations are helpful in making ends meet, which is a necessary solution for many. Hell, I might need to add another one now so I can afford eggs. It is a great opportunity to learn how to manage the diversity of human behaviors and personalities. I think it prepared me more for the real world and working with others. It’s important to note I’ve had many more positive roommate experiences than negative ones. My favorite roommate was the one I married. Come to think of it, I could probably shred that lease now. May your roommate adventures be positive ones!

This article was originally published in the 2025 Spring Issue of Las Vegas PRIDE Magazine, and can be read in its original format here.