No, that greasy, burned-on-eggs pan in the sink is not mine. The crumbs on the counter, you ask? I haven’t had toast for days. Don’t get me started on the bathroom, locking or not locking the front door, and my personal favorite, the territorial possessions issue.

For some of you, these arguments sound far too familiar. The rest of you probably live in Wallace super-singles and have not had to conquer the trials of sharing your space with other human beings.

Oh, the joys of roommates.

With easier classes, charming accents and few responsibilities, studying abroad in Ireland may seem an ideal experience. It comes as no surprise, however, that being in a new location does not change the nature of living so close to others. Seemingly trivial items can elevate to issues of the utmost importance.

“Has anyone seen the larger bowls, or pint glasses for that matter? I think Ian may be stashing them,” my roommate Emily spat, as though someone had stolen her car.

“I haven’t really seen them – maybe Ti-ti knows something about it,” I said.

Admittedly, I passed the buck here. Although I did know the whereabouts of one missing pint glass, -by my bedside, of course – our Italian roommate Ti-ti, whose English is a work in progress, made a perfect scapegoat.

“Ti-ti, where are the bowls?” Emily enunciated exactly.

With a smile and a nod, it became apparent that Ti-ti either did not understand, or was too clever to be involved in the unfolding drama.

With a sigh, Emily decided to drink her milk out of the only remaining liquid-bearing vessels: shot glasses.

Given that missing bowls could merit such frustration, sometimes I’m quite certain our international abode may have more issues than the United Nations could ever solve.

Surprisingly, however, the bowls re-appeared later that day, just in time to witness the next roommate bonding moment.

“Emily, did you make soup for supper last night?” I inquired, nonchalantly fishing for the source of two sticky pots on the stove.

“If you’re asking about those,” she said, gesturing to the pile, “they aren’t mine, and I am going to let them sit there until whoever used them washes them.”

And thus began the cold war of dirty dishes; with five “innocent” roommates, it soon became apparent that the sticky mess would most likely biodegrade into trace elements before being claimed.

Two weeks later, realizing the ridiculous nature of boiling potatoes in a frying pan, I decided that it was time for action and benevolently spent four minutes scrubbing someone else’s creation out of the ideally-sized pot.

And during those four minutes, I began to wonder why we live together at all. Certainly, it’s cheaper to share the space, but if money was the only issue we would all live in tents by the river.

Clearly, it’s not the aesthetics, as I doubt anyone longs for dirty laundry on the floor or the garnish of hair in the sink.

Debatably, it could be for free food, but only if you’re “that roommate” who thinks they won’t get caught eating everyone else’s groceries – trust me, we know. We’ve started licking each slice of lunch meat when we get back from Hy-Vee.

I believe the real reason we put up with all of the annoying nuances of living together is quite simple – we want to be together.

Despite spots on the mirror, I never would have stumbled upon “savage” clubs or tasted fresh Italian bruschetta without my international roomies.

As for my ISU partner in crime, Kayse Nation, it’s always nice to have someone who completely understands frustration about the ridiculously expensive new athletic complex at Iowa State, but who I don’t need a webcam to discuss it with.

When it comes down to it, roommates can be obnoxious, dirty, annoying, or noisy, but it’s always nice to have someone to come home to and discuss whether rugby really is harder than Gaelic football.

Roommates, despite their uncanny ability to drive us crazy, are indispensable. If you don’t believe me, ask my and Kayse’s plant, Dolores.

– Julie Young is a senior in psychology from Indianola. She is studying in Cork, Ireland, this semester.