Speaking of hairstylists…

COUNTDOWN: 4 DAYS TO SIX FEET UNDER

Vile Eric, my third and least desirable roommate in New York City, was not a hairstylist. I'll tie this together, though. I promise. Stick with me.

I met Vile Eric through Marshall, a Seth Green lookalike I had met on Nerve and hung out with a few maddening times. Vile Eric was scheduled to come by and look at the apartment at 9:00pm on September 11, 2001.

8:30pm that day, I get the call. You still want to come over? I asked, in shock. Well, I still need a place to live, and I can't figure out what else to do with myself right now. Fair enough. Vile Eric came over and looked at the place - he dug it. Then we went to the Parkside Lounge and rehashed the day over drinks. I had a new roommate.

The great thing about Vile Eric initially was that he didn't move in, but he still paid rent. For two months. Awesome. Also, he was a bartender and I'd go hang out on Sunday nights when the bar was dead and drink for free. Our amicable relationship changed considerably when he actually moved in.

First, there were the girls. Four nights out of five, Vile Eric would bring a loud, drunk girl home from the bar around five in the morning and have sex with her on my futon. I would have been more forgiving on a weekend, when I didn't have to get up at 7:30.

Second, there were the friends. They were all hairstylists who looked like rock stars. There was Matt, the Billy Idol hairdresser. There was Todd, the Jon Bon Jovi hairdresser. And finally, there was Wayne, the Tommy Lee hairdresser.

One day, I came home from a date early because I had a sudden attack of the flu, and the Rock Star Hairdressers were watching a fight on the Big Screen TV and doing lines. I asked where Eric was, and was told he was at work, but he'd told them they could hang out. I went in my room to stew, and called Little Kim to tell her all about it. When I had worked up the nerve to kick them out, they were already leaving. I went off on Vile Eric the next morning, and he promised his friends would only be there when he was present. He did not keep that promise. Vile Eric was also a slob. I will not even go into what cleaning the bathroom was like when he lived there. I was dying to kick him out, but I couldn't afford the rent by myself.

OK, back to the hairdressers, specifically, Wayne. Wayne was dirty and hot in that way that I'm horribly embarrassed to admit I find appealing. Like Tommy Lee. Or Kid Rock. And yes, I have dirty thoughts about both of them and then have to take a shower. Wayne also had a very intoxicating scent, like pheromones times 100. Whenever I'd go to the bar, I'd have to warn one of the girls to keep me away from Wayne, especially since he was always hitting on me. One night I actually decided I was taking him home, and Little Kim actually dragged me out of the bar and made me go home alone.

Wayne spent a couple of nights on our couch because his girlfriend threw him out (hard to imagine why). I came home from work one day and walked into my room. It smelled like Wayne. I asked Vile Eric if he had let Wayne sleep in my room after I left for work. He'd lied and said no. Then he gave me Percoset to try to get back into my good graces. He didn't.

Finally, one day Vile Eric left me a note saying he was moving out at the end of the month. I did the happy dance and found The Roommate of today, who has been with me ever since. Her presence has more than made up for the four months spent with Vile Eric. The moral of the story is, do not find a roommate via online personals, and do not agree to let someone move into your home on the day of a national tragedy.