It's true, my roommates are awful.

"But Trench," you say, "don't you still live with your parents?"

YES.

*sob*

*clears throat*

Allow me to elaborate.

Scenario one:

So I bought grapes. I also bought pop tarts, and soda, but y'know what? I'm twenty, fuck off. Thing is, when I come home, my mom looks at what I've bought and says "Huh! Sugar, sugar, and more sugar." "But I bought grapes." "Still sugar."
....
WOMAN, THE ONLY FRUIT IN THIS HOUSE PRIOR TO MY BUYING THOSE GODDAMN GRAPES WAS TWO LEMONS AND A FLAT OF PERSIMMONS. WHAT THE BLUE CHEESED-OVER FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THAT?
And on top of that, they keep eating my pop tarts. Not, as you might imagine, stealing a whole package, or even just eating one out of a package. Oh no. They make off with HALF OF A SINGLE POP TART, and leave the other half in the foil packaging in the box. And I know for true facts that my mother is the only one who pulls whorish moves like that, my dad will just eat the whole goddamned pop tart. Yes, my mother, who bitched me out for buying TOO MUCH SUGAR is stealing my pop tarts. In halves.
I bought them with my own money btw. I'm currently unemployed. Both my parents are currently employed.

Scenario two:

Tonight, my parents ate out for dinner and neglected to tell me. I only discovered this when they brought back an enormous hunk of cake. Well, thanks, you guys, I guess.
Cake isn't dinner, I'm not that bulimic.
Anyway. They went to costco today, so I was reasonably certain that there'd be something edible in the house. I bought macs and cheese for myself recently too, so hey, there's always that, right? They even bought cereal, and it's not goddamn muselix! I should be in the pink!
WRONG.
All our milk was bad. I gagged from sniffing it.
Those sacks of whore went to costco and bought dry cereal. And all our milk is bad. I do not lie to you, I nearly started crying.
And so after about a half an hour of trying to hunt up something edible in our fridge, I come across a pack of bacon. BACON! OMIGOD YES.
It is also quite possibly more than two weeks old, and not completely wrapped up. BUT FUCK IT, I AM THAT HUNGRY.
So I decide to make myself a BLT. I find half a tomato cut open on the counter. Half-dessicated. Because my father is a space cadet and never puts anything away, ever. OH BUT WAIT there's that other tomato that I bought with my own money earlier in the week! Huzzah, saved. But wait, there's MORE!
My mother went to costco knowing that we needed lettuce. So she bought bitter greens in a tub.
...
Y-you... dumb, selfish whore. *sob*
Nobody but her eats goddamn bitter greens! My dad can't stand them either! And then she has the audacity, the ballsack, to bitch me out for not eating enough vegetables!

Verdict is still out on whether or not eating old bacon will kill me.

Scenario three:

The ham debacle.
So I am again, hung out to dry at nine at night and goddamn starving. There is a half a honeyed ham in the fridge. I could go for a ham sandwich. So I take out the ham.
Problem is, it may or may not have been sitting out, not wrapped up, in the fridge, for more than two weeks. I am suspicious, and quite legitimately so, I'm thinking. But ham doesn't go bad easily, so I give it the benefit of the doubt and cut off a slice.
Thing is... this slice, it is gray around the edges. I mention it to my mom, and wonder why nobody ate the ham sooner/threw it out before it got to that point.
She sniffs it, inspects it, and says it should be fine, don't be a pussy.
WOMAN. IT IS GRAY. HAM IS NOT SUPPOSED TO BE GRAY WHEN YOU EAT IT.
So I make myself a chicken sandwich, and go to throw out the ham.
THE WOMAN -STOPS- ME FROM DOING SO. She has me wrap it up in tinfoil and put it BACK IN THE FRIDGE.
....
Two weeks later it was still there, untouched. It's not there anymore now, but I hope to Christ nobody ate it.

Scenario four:

Two miscellaneous incidents that I count as one, because of the similarity of the form of dumbfuckery involved.
I open the fridge, and see something written on the side of the milk carton. A message in sharpie, reading "Gone bad, do not drink."
._.
You lazy whore.
Although thanks for the warning, I guess.
Another day. I open the fridge, and see a tupperware container on the top shelf. There is something written on it. Oh boy, I think I know where this is going.
"Throw this out" is written on the side of it.
My mother's handwriting, both times.
...I suppose I'm guilty a little as well, because instead of throwing out either of those items when encountered, I simply closed the fridge and went down to the local deli for lunch.

Conclusion:

My mother is a dumb whore, and my father is a lazy bastard.

I would buy my own food, but as with the pop tarts, at least half of it is guaranteed to be eaten by someone who is not me. (Thankfully, they don't drink my soda. I don't think I'd be able to handle it if they drank my soda.) I'm unemployed at the moment, I can't afford to keep buying food that will be summarily devoured by my parents.

And to make things just that tiny bit worse, my parents have the audacity to wonder why I'm so unhealthy/losing weight/spending so much time at Wyatt's house.

Bitches.
-_-;