There is too much distance between fingers and keyboard. Between clock hands and ticks. There were too many e-mails in my inbox to even look at. I'm not ignoring you, I'm overunderwhelmed. Been mentally playing hackeysack with my former landlady's head.

September 1st? 2nd? One of the first post-living in her house days, she agreed to meet me at 9 to ( Read more... )

The walls of my old apartment were not at all like a beautiful woman. And neither was the woman who owned it. Knowing full well I was in Texas for a couple of weeks, she called and left me the following message: "(Safey), it (Insane Landlady Bitch). You no at house when I stop by. You unstable. You artist. I no renew lease for you. You call me."

So ( Read more... )

Crazy racist landlady. Non-bill paying, chickenshit, terrible music listening to, drug addicted roommate. The mice have returned. The barely functioning coin-op washer and dryer have each gone up by about a dollar. Other tenants have been evicted, and there may be a discrimination suit in my landlady's near future ( Read more... )

"You're moving?"  Ben asks when we get back to his apartment.

I've been thinking about it since he got back from New York.  And the phone call I made at work was to Celeste.  Her roommate is moving to North Carolina on December first.  He's leaving behind his old computer, his bed, a few shelves, and most importantly, a room of my own.  No ( Read more... )

There is no rock, no hard place. I am between a buffet and a comfortable bed. Everything but my clothes is packed up and waiting by Ben's door. I spent Tuesday night sleeping on my new bed. Spent last night in the familiar position slightly to the right of Ben. I want these two worlds to converge. I want the ability to spend all night talking ( Read more... )

When I was sixteen, I made a bet with my mother. I would not be caught smoking, drinking, or doing drugs between the time the bet was placed, and my twenty-first birthday. If I succeeded, she'd buy me my first used car ( Read more... )

This month is an ostrich on a canoe. Midnight, June 30th/July 1st, and I am running to catch one of the last buses to take me to the last train between me, and Clarissa's house. Clarissa, who is moving the very next day, has offered me a bean bag and conversation. But first must come the bus. I am thinking "Future Fry Cook. Future Fry Cook." This ( Read more... )

As of July 1st, I will officially be moving out of The Catty Real World. I really like Dr. O, and Evangelical seems like a really nice guy, but once again I came back home early from a trip out of town to find someone other than me in my room, and that's not fucken cool whether FOOD is included in the RENT or not. He also left me a note that my ( Read more... )

I've got about sixty pounds of books, paper, and an industrial strength stapler on my back; on my shoulder is a bag carrying a 1998 era Compaq Presario, a CD RW drive, and accompanying computer paraphernalia; in my left hand is a duffel bag filled with clothes, assorted art supplies, and a pillow. It's cold, and I'm wearing neither a hat nor gloves ( Read more... )

I am a terrible judge of character. I confuse people's generosity with martyr complexes. I can't tell the difference between a wonderful, giving person with a few quirks, and a complete psychopath with moments of humanity. So it is that I completely misjudged the house that I assumed would be Gay ( Read more... )