It is one thing to be friends with someone, but it’s a different story to actually live with that person. You see the good, the bad and the ugly. As a native Houstonian, the majority of my graduating class wanted to stay relatively close to home and opted for Texas A&M. I had the opportunity to live with some of my best friends from high school. However, I decided against it. For me, college signified a new beginning. I wanted a fresh start, which meant I was really going to have to put myself out there. I had heard my fair share of roommate horror stories, but I figured as long as I could find someone seemingly normal who didn’t have any weird fetiches, we’d get along just fine. Little did I know, going potluck would lead me to my soulmate — I mean roommate.
Shortly after receiving the first and last name of my future roomie, the creeping commenced. It wasn't long before we had found each other’s Instagram, Twitter and Facebook accounts. On move-in day, I played dumb, asking her questions I already knew the answers to. We had absolutely nothing in common; she was from a small town and ran track all throughout high school, while I was born and raised in the fourth largest city in America and considered myself to be athletically challenged. Weeks passed with little to no communication, until one day I heard the muffled tune of an AC/DC album echoing from her room. As an old soul, this struck a chord with me, and it was at that particular moment that I realized this girl is something special.
The more I got to know her, the more I realized we weren't so different after all. Countless mornings were spent binge watching “Fixer Upper” in our living room, which could've been featured on the show itself. I didn't know it at the time, but that was just the beginning of our ever-growing list of commonalities. Our two bedroom apartment soon became more distance than either one of us could handle, so we would take turns hosting the occasional sleepover. When we weren’t cramming for mid-terms, we counseled each other through stress induced mental breakdowns. After exams were all said and done with, we celebrated with an impromptu dance party that ensued from receiving a decent test grade. The two of us would spend hours driving around College Station blasting early 2000s hip hop before finally ending up in a booth at Lupe Tortilla filling our tummies with chips and queso. As it turns out, we were not only on the same page, but the same letter of the same word.
Many people view going potluck as being a last resort, but given the opportunity, I wouldn't have it any other way. I’ve found my forever friend, and she just so happens to live down the hall from me — how cool is that?
