How to pick the right roommate for your witchy commune
My home in North Denver is special. Not just because everyone who lives there pays a quarter of the rent that the average person in the city pays or because we make our own kombucha as a household. It's because we live communally.
Living at our house is kinda like being part of The Plastics. Except without the mean girls part.
But this isn't an ordinary commune; we don't eat from the same box of cereal or share toothpaste. We're also not like the many dirty punk houses I've stayed in across the country where none of the rotating fifteen roommates has done the dishes since 2012 and there are sixteen bicycles in the living room that don't actually belong to anyone.
This commune is more like a family -- a family with a designated chore list, hierarchical sibling power struggles and a free box. (For the uninitiated, a free box is a place where you can put gently used things you no longer want. It's like the last stop before the Goodwill for yoga pants, bedside lamps, swimsuits, etc.)
So when it was time to replace one of our beloved co-habitators, we knew it would be a special challenge. Not everyone is fit to live in our home, the Witch House House.
Spells and hair-changing chants AKA business as usual at my house.
Why is is called the Witch House House? Because we all believe that we are magical beings, and because it is also a play on the internetty, so-called musical genre, witch house.
Anyway, one of our beloved witches recently decided to move to the Pacific Northwest to follow her musical dreams (because that's where Nirvana came from, duh). But finding someone to replace her was giving me nightmares because the task of picking another perfect person -- someone who can accommodate all of our rules and idiosyncrasies in a very small space -- felt like it would be an impossible feat.
For instance, I freak out whenever anyone leaves food in the fridge that is not in some kind of smell-proof container; one of my roommates prefers to be naked more than she is clothed; and one of us is very particular about the toilet seat being down at all times, as to not let the "poop germs" out into the air. We are difficult people.
We all posted notes on Facebook attempting to encapsulate what living in this house was like, hoping to attract the right kind of person. Again, our house isn't that weird, but if you've never lived with people who do their own composting, play accordion and chant, and are naked a lot, it can be shocking.