The other night at the Continental, a dude told me that I looked just like his former roommate.
"Oh, that's nice," I said. It's always hard to respond to that kind of comment, because, to be honest, I don't really care.
"No, really -- you totally look just like her! She was crazy -- bipolar, and stopped taking her meds. She didn't tell me that until I'd moved in." This last part was said a little bitterly. NY real estate is hard. If I had mental issues and was off my meds, I wouldn't tell perspective roomies either.
"So we totally stopped talking cause she was so CRAZY, and then she stole two of my dustpans--TWO--so I moved out."
For future reference: if you're going to compare me to bipolar people, can they please be interesting bipolar people? You know, the kind that stay up until all night painting great works of art. Dustpan-stealing bipolar roommates are a bit mundane, as the crazy spectrum goes.
I once had an involvement with a guy that thought New Year's Eve, 6AM, drunk at a bar was a good place and time to tell me I was bipolar. I responded my putting my head down on the bar and crying, which I guess didn't help much with my "I'm-not-bipolar" argument. It seemed like the best response at the time. So hey, continental dude: only people I'm dating get to call me bipolar, or compare me to the bipolar people of the world. Stop it, or I'll steal your replacement dustpan.