Drugs made her cold?

First of all, I'd like to say that I found it very difficult to pick the first story to share with you. For one, I have so many! Also, I wouldn't want to peak too early by picking the best story first and disappointing readers from then on out. I am no Stephenie Meyer (Seriously, what was Breaking Dawn?).

I decided to pick a situation that would fall somewhere in the range of "Did that really just happen?" on the Bitch is Effing Nuts scale.

First semester my junior year of college, I had two different sets of roommate. The second set is who will be featured in this lovely post. And by second set I mean one particular crazy, who I will refer to as Dawn. Dawn and I moved into the apartment on the same weekend, even though it was well into the semester. I had moved into the apartment because my old one contained an ex-boyfriend. She had moved into the apartment because her old one contained roommates who weren't keen on her smoking pot in the common room. Cool.

Knowing that I only had to live with her for ten weeks, I figured the drugs wouldn't be too much of an issue. After all, I had dealt with crazies before, and she seemed nice!

However, as our lovely days together went on, our apartment was gradually becoming more and more uncomfortable, but not for roommate incompatibility. I would come home from class, and our thermostat would be set at 88 degrees. I would promptly lower it to 72, but it would take hours for the temperature to become normal, if it did at all. After several days of sweating in a totally uncute way, I decided to call maintenance. My freshman year, my thermostat broke over winter break, and my dorm was set at a steamy 90 degrees for a week before it was fixed. I assumed that this was a similar situation. When maintenance arrived, he quickly discovered there was no problem. Our heating system was working fine. He asked me if I thought my roommate was setting the temperature, but I thought that was ridiculous. Who would voluntarily set an apartment temperature to be 88 degrees? Regardless, I decided to ask her about it when she came home next.

A few hours later, apartment still kicking it in the 80s, Dawn arrived, complete with bloodshot eyes and a slightly glazed over look. I confronted her about the temperature situation, and the following conversation ensued:

Me: Hey, have you been setting the thermostat at 88?
Dawn: Yah. Like, I turn it up every time when I come in here.
Me: Oh... Are you cold?
Dawn: No, man. Whenever I go to bed, like, I wake up sweating. It's so hot in here.
Me: Then why are you turning the heat up?
Dawn: Dude, like when you turn the heat up, it goes back down.
Me: ...No...
Dawn: Yah, man. Like, if I set it at 88, it goes down.
Me: That's because I turn it down.
Dawn: But I just turn it up whenever I am in here.
Me: But you're hot?
Dawn: Yah, it's always so hot in here.
Me: Then why do you turn the heat up?
Dawn: Because like, it goes down.

At that point, I figured the conversation was going nowhere and went back to my room.

But let this be a lesson to men (and drug addicts?) everywhere: Just because the heat is up, it does not mean that it will go down.

And that is what she said.

And bitch is effing nuts.