My roommate Mike is moving out! In, like, a week! All because of his crazy demon girlfriend, who is 20 years old and ragingly jealous that he lives with two girls, ie. Jane and I. It sucks. She sucks. She actually found him another place to live, one with the same rent but two guy roommates. I can’t believe he is bowing to such weird manipulation. Especially when you consider that because he’s leaving so soon after moving in, he’s losing his deposit here as well as having to pay like two months’ worth of rent, per his contract.

And now Jane has to find us another roommate, preferably male, because we both agree that three girls in one house is just Too Much Estrogen.

On a good note though, I now have lots of friends. I have this group of girl friends who are super nice and have been inviting me lots of places, including to their weekly potluck dinners that take place at alternating houses and always have a theme. Last week was Asian Food and I made possibly the worst entree that has ever been created. It was called “Chinese Casserole” and I found it on the internet. Which I will never do again.

While making it, it called for like 1 1/2 cups of soy sauce, which seemed like a lot at the time, but of course I put it in anyway. It made the house smell like soy sauce for hours. Mike walked in the door and was all, “What’s that smell? It smells AWESOME.” And I was like, “Um, that’s what thirty pounds of liquid salt being heated up in an oven smells like.”

And then at the dinner itself, I was warning everyone not to eat it BUT THEY DID ANYWAY. (People just have no survival instincts, do they?) I took one bite and almost puked, and you guys, I will eat anything. I am like a goat. I do not have a refined palate at all. Fast food? Yup. TV dinner? Tastes like childhood. Gefilte fish? Yes, I will totally eat that, thank you!

But “Chinese Casserole?” HELL, no.

And the weird thing was, a few people took one bite and then looked around furtively and scraped the rest into a nearby potted plant, but a few others really liked it and went back for seconds, dear god. I shudder to think of what their blood pressure readings were after that meal.

Anyway, tomorrow’s potluck theme is Blanche DuBois/Streetcar Named Desire. I think we are all supposed to wear floaty dresses and say “I declare!” a lot, while fanning ourselves with our hands. I can do that. Also I think I will keep it simple and make black eyed peas or something else that comes canned, and therefore doesn’t require me to use a sketchy internet recipe.