Hiroko

Hiroko was the last of many roommates I had, in the top floor (and corner!) apartment on Alta Vista Drive.

I lived there a little more than four years. After coming back from Japan, I moved into a house with four other people. That lasted ten weeks. I had to learn what at 23 seemed a fine living situation, at 27 was just too damn many bodies.

I set out to find a better place. That third floor apartment was beautiful. Huge. Had an air conditioner. A living room and a dining room. A balcony. A master bedroom with double closets, a vanity and its own bathroom. With a bathtub! I love baths. I hate sharing bathrooms. That master bedroom was mine.

Oh, there was an elevator, underground parking, and a pool too. The place used to be a retirement building for over 55's, but was no longer. There was even an empty rec room.

Two reliable female roommates were found, and we were set. The first year was great, then the great movement started. For the next few years, women moved in and out. There were new jobs to go to, and boyfriends to move in with, and marriages to be had; one girl even had a breakdown and moved back in with her parents (I just thought she was sleeping a lot). Through it all, I stayed. The roommates we chose were always female. I'd had it with men and their football and stinky socks and loud voices. I wasn't happy with that gender too much during that time.

Funny though, now that I think about it, I sure dated up a storm. Had a boyfriend or two, and many flings. Sheesh. Maybe that's what I'm doing wrong now. I like men too much.

Anyway, at 30, I made plans with Katrina to go to Greece for three weeks in October. One of my roommates, Christy, had made noises about moving out. I asked her straight out,

"So, what do you think? Are you going to move? Because if you are, I'm going to too. I really want to live in a house. But it would be great to know because I could save money not paying rent during the time I'm gone."

"Oh no. I'm not moving now. Not until spring at least. Probably not 'til summer."

And of course, she had put in her notice a day after I left. My other roommate Shelly, and I had about a week to find someone once I got back from my trip. She had waited because she didn't want to chose someone without me (Remember, this is before cell phones made staying in touch easy.)

We were frantic. We put an ad in the paper, and the weekly freebie one too. Nothing. A stoned guy showed up, even though we had written the vacancy was for a female, and a 16-year-old girl who said she was emancipated from her folks. The last person to show up was a mom with a toddler girl. Pulled on our heart strings, but it wasn't going to work.

Desperate we were. Paycheck to paycheck types, and we had no clue how we were going to cover the extra rent if we didn't find someone. Shelly then mentioned that there was someone at the health club where she worked who might need a place.

Hiroko was 33 years old, was from Osaka, Japan, and was a tennis pro. She came over to the apartment to meet us and check out the place.

It seemed perfect. I'd lived in Japan, so I was pretty sure she'd be mellow. She wasn't young and immature, so we could probably avoid stupid fights about who drank the last soda in the fridge, and she was a tennis pro, which meant she was healthy and took care of herself (you know, no major drugs, sex parties, whatnot).

I couldn't have been more wrong.

But, unaware of what the next two months would have in store for us, Shelly and I enthusiastically invited her to be our third roommate.

(Next up, Moron-ko)