Wasn't really all that bad, until the (extremely bitter) end. True... she was recovering from being in some religious cult and was obsessed with new age mysticism crap, but she was rarely home and fairly clean. Then she just decided not to go to work (she'd had the job for about two years and was in her early twenties). Suddenly, she was home all the time, bitching about her lack of money, boy problems and, eventually, me and the guy I was living with. She was unable to pay rent for a few months. Things got worse between the three of us. About a month before everything blew up, she stopped coming home and would be gone for days at a time (leaving her new puppy and her dirty dishes). Finally, she comes back and says she wants to talk. She told us to be out in a week. I considerately pointed out that she had to give more notice, but she insisted that we be gone in seven days. We did end up finding a place that week, but still... Bitch.
A little raver girl, straight out of high school, supported entirely by her parents, a self-described "artist" (drawing one's pacifier on newsprint twenty times does not an artist make). She actually once said that she couldn't clean up one of her messes because she had to preserve her hands for her art. Lived with us for a quarter and a half before we threw her out. Rarely went to classes, but always complained about her workload. Went to parties all weekend, every weekend, then came home and dumped her dirty crap and her ecstasy-addled friends all over our room. For days afterward, she would do nothing but sit on the couch and watch tv, or nap, or cry on the phone. (She cried about everything. I told her to be quiet once - nicely - and she cried.) She had terrible acetone breath when she was sleeping, but it was worst when she got home from a party. When she had to stand up, or walk, or do anything requiring even a small amount of effort, she would issue this whining, irritating-as-fuck moan and stretch out her arms as though we should be expected to help her. She never cleaned anything in our room. Not once. This weekend, she came back to get the shit she'd been storing at our place... She wanted to take her garbage can. Her reaction, upon seeing that no one had taken her trash out for her in her absence (I just threw the thing behind her old bed) was, "Oh gross! There's still garbage in it! Unnnnggghh..."
Pure nutty evil. That was the last time I ever had female roommates. (Contemplating a roommate? Most people I know are better roommates when sharing with the opposite sex.) She was from a rich suburb, but claimed to have grown up poor. Thankfully, she was kept from poverty by a weird middle-aged sugar mama (both women were straight). Maybe I should call her a groupie. Marisa was gorgeous, and she had a lot of people waiting around to do things for her, including a long string of puppy-dog-eyed boys who I don't think she ever gave anything up to.
She used to do ballet in her underwear in front of our giant street-facing picture window. I assume that was a strategy to attract more groupies. She was very picky about things and berated the sick boyfriend of another roommate for spitting out phlegm in the shower. ("Don't tell me you didn't do it. I could hearrr it! Grrrrross!")
Sort of like above, she decided to move in with one of her groupies a month before the lease was up with a week's notice. That meant everyone had to get out, because we couldn't afford the rent. The weekend before we moved we were supposed to clean the house, to get our deposit back. She spent the whole time visiting friends. I spent the last night and much of final afternoon in that house cleaning up messes she'd left. We got the whole deposit back, but I didn't give her any. I was still getting harassing phone calls from her two years after the fact.