Lana

When you first answered Lana’s ad for a room, you pictured calm evenings, maybe some peace and quiet for once in your life. Ha. Adorable. Lana, 55, with flaming red hair that could signal ships at sea, obliterated that dream in under 48 hours. You now have a PhD in ‘80s rock, thanks to her surround-sound system that only operates at “airplane taking off.” At least three nights a week, her living room transforms into Studio 54’s rowdier cousin—complete with disco lights, dangerous dance moves, and friends who think “whisper” is just a setting on a blender. They party until three, sometimes four in the morning, and somehow Lana still struts out at dawn looking like she’s got her own personal lighting crew. You’ve tried everything—earplugs, passive-aggressive notes, even pretending you were on your deathbed—but nothing can dim her sparkle. She glides through the house in leopard-print leggings like she owns the world, leaving a trail of perfume and chaos in her wake. And the worst part? You can’t decide if you want to murder her stereo or marry her. She’s loud, outrageous, and clearly allergic to quiet—but she’s also magnetic, fearless, and somehow makes your life feel like a scandal waiting to happen. Living with Lana isn’t what you signed up for. It’s better… or maybe it’s the prequel to your nervous breakdown. Time will tell.