Progress?
Is "cluster-fuck" a hyphenated word?
Everything is still stupid chaotic on my end of things. I'm getting really sick of these survival adventures.
I've been living in, well, let's not sugar coat things, a boarding house since I stopped squatting at Sherry's back in September. It was a decent enough situation to get myself into. Rent is dirt cheap, and I don't have to worry about utilities. But I was looking for better options. This place is run by a very old lady, and I keep odd hours, so I worry that I've been nothing but a nuisance. But that's the least of my problems.
I couldn't move any of my furniture with me. I have to use her stuff. That bed makes me believe that whoever rented it before me was either scary fat or constantly violating that "no overnight guests" rule. All the electrical outlets have scars from minor fires. The ceiling is missing a few chunks. I don't know the people living down the hall. And everything is decorated in a pastel southwestern theme, which upsets me more than the physical dangers of living there. Ugly as sin.
Just over a month ago, a friend from the coffee shop was getting ready to jump town to go to grad school. Would I be interested in his very affordable studio apartment, which happens to be very conveniently located just behind Snelling and University? A resounding hell yes, I would be very interested in that. So I got into communicating with the landlady over there. We talked over the phone, I managed to find a fax machine and sent in my application, and I heard nothing. So I called her again, wondering what the deal was. She was upset, because it turns out this friend of mine just ditched out on his lease, screwing her over hard. Then she ranted and bitched and moaned about her own personal drama, which has absolutely nothing to do with my giving her money in exchange for a place to live, and ended her speech with how she doesn't trust me, due to my association with Mr. Screwthelease.
Really.
She's never met me in person, so where does she get off saying anything about my character? I passed my background checks. I work three jobs, so you know I'm good for the rent money. And what's with airing all of her dirty laundry over the phone to me, a stranger trying to rent an apartment? That's rather unprofessional. She also could have let me know her opinions earlier. I was packed and ready to go, and then she drops this bombshell and calls it a year. Screw her.
So I'm homeless for the time being. I have an appointment with the lady at the boarding house tomorrow, and I know she hasn't rented out the place yet, so I'm going to swallow my stupid pride, kiss a little ass, and, hopefully, get another month out of the place. Worst case scenario, she says no.
I explained this to the guys at the coffee shop. I can keep my stuff under the table in the new rehearsal space, and they're cool with me crashing on the couch for a few days. Not glamorous, but you know what they say about beggars. ("They're only gonna spend it on booze?") We went over this for a few days.
But sometimes my friends suck. Especially the ones with alcohol issues.
Purple showed up on Tuesday with a bottle of brandy, hoping to drink away his feelings. It didn't work. The boy ran out of booze long before he ran out of feelings, and the results have been disastrous.
Why am I always the babysitter? It's really hard to force sympathy on people who drink themselves retarded and spend the rest of the night attempting to induce a concussion. You want to abuse yourself, go for it. But if you actually want help, there are better ways to use your friends, instead of pissing them off.
That bender of his finally came to an end today.
New Year's went well. We made some money and had a lot of fun. We shut down at nine and covered all the windows up with newspaper. We made a spy hole for the door out of duct tape, because that stuff does it all. This guy from the band that I really don't like wound up at the party. I certainly didn't invite him, on account of how much of I nad I find this guy to be. Tyler must of told him. When I told him he wasn't invited, he made himself "doorman" instead. Except he never hung out by the damn door. Just followed around all the girls and tried to flirt. What a jackass.
We had booze to spare, of course. I bought four bottles and two cases of Hamm's, and others donated more upscale choices. All the leftovers were moved into the basement for safekeeping. Purple started drinking as soon as he peeled himself off the floor. When Ellen picked me up for dinner at my mom's, there was half a bottle of gin, about a quarter of a bottle of everything else, an unopened bottle of Applejack, and fourteen beers. When I came back, about four hours later, there was nothing left. Thanks, Purple. There was enough alcohol downstairs to keep us nice and entertained through the weekend, and it was gone.
Things got ugly. He split his lip open by falling into a table while questing for more booze. Then he sat on the floor, demanding that we drink more. For half an hour, we screamed in circles. No, we can't. Because there isn't any. Because you drank it, you ass-hat.
Finally, he fell back asleep. On the couch that I was going to use. Angst.
Another friend of mine just got out of jail for something horribly unfair. He's the philosophical type, and eighty hours what a lot of time for him to think about everything. So I stayed up late with Victor talking about everything and more, making sure Purple didn't asphyxiate on his own vomit or something. It's nice having Victor back. I'm really glad he's my friend, and we're good together.
I thought about just being nice and opening the shop for Purple. Yeah, he was scheduled to open. Just like every damn Friday. But then I realized how tired and cranky I was. I was really mad a Purple and just wanted to take a freaking nap already. So I went downstairs, threw some tunes on the stereo, and decided that it was a perfectly good time to practice my drumming. That got him up and moving, because I am a terrible percussionist.
I miss my bed.
I worked a double, covering for Burnham, who was at the hospital with Betsy. Now he has a daughter, which is so damn cool, except he's screwed. He has a daughter with Betsy. That kid is going to look at him all cute, and smile like Betsy does, and then Burnham's going to have to knock off a liquor store to buy her a pony, and I'll miss him when he's in jail.
That's the story so far. I need to play pinball now, and then take another nap.
Everything is still stupid chaotic on my end of things. I'm getting really sick of these survival adventures.
I've been living in, well, let's not sugar coat things, a boarding house since I stopped squatting at Sherry's back in September. It was a decent enough situation to get myself into. Rent is dirt cheap, and I don't have to worry about utilities. But I was looking for better options. This place is run by a very old lady, and I keep odd hours, so I worry that I've been nothing but a nuisance. But that's the least of my problems.
I couldn't move any of my furniture with me. I have to use her stuff. That bed makes me believe that whoever rented it before me was either scary fat or constantly violating that "no overnight guests" rule. All the electrical outlets have scars from minor fires. The ceiling is missing a few chunks. I don't know the people living down the hall. And everything is decorated in a pastel southwestern theme, which upsets me more than the physical dangers of living there. Ugly as sin.
Just over a month ago, a friend from the coffee shop was getting ready to jump town to go to grad school. Would I be interested in his very affordable studio apartment, which happens to be very conveniently located just behind Snelling and University? A resounding hell yes, I would be very interested in that. So I got into communicating with the landlady over there. We talked over the phone, I managed to find a fax machine and sent in my application, and I heard nothing. So I called her again, wondering what the deal was. She was upset, because it turns out this friend of mine just ditched out on his lease, screwing her over hard. Then she ranted and bitched and moaned about her own personal drama, which has absolutely nothing to do with my giving her money in exchange for a place to live, and ended her speech with how she doesn't trust me, due to my association with Mr. Screwthelease.
Really.
She's never met me in person, so where does she get off saying anything about my character? I passed my background checks. I work three jobs, so you know I'm good for the rent money. And what's with airing all of her dirty laundry over the phone to me, a stranger trying to rent an apartment? That's rather unprofessional. She also could have let me know her opinions earlier. I was packed and ready to go, and then she drops this bombshell and calls it a year. Screw her.
So I'm homeless for the time being. I have an appointment with the lady at the boarding house tomorrow, and I know she hasn't rented out the place yet, so I'm going to swallow my stupid pride, kiss a little ass, and, hopefully, get another month out of the place. Worst case scenario, she says no.
I explained this to the guys at the coffee shop. I can keep my stuff under the table in the new rehearsal space, and they're cool with me crashing on the couch for a few days. Not glamorous, but you know what they say about beggars. ("They're only gonna spend it on booze?") We went over this for a few days.
But sometimes my friends suck. Especially the ones with alcohol issues.
Purple showed up on Tuesday with a bottle of brandy, hoping to drink away his feelings. It didn't work. The boy ran out of booze long before he ran out of feelings, and the results have been disastrous.
Why am I always the babysitter? It's really hard to force sympathy on people who drink themselves retarded and spend the rest of the night attempting to induce a concussion. You want to abuse yourself, go for it. But if you actually want help, there are better ways to use your friends, instead of pissing them off.
That bender of his finally came to an end today.
New Year's went well. We made some money and had a lot of fun. We shut down at nine and covered all the windows up with newspaper. We made a spy hole for the door out of duct tape, because that stuff does it all. This guy from the band that I really don't like wound up at the party. I certainly didn't invite him, on account of how much of I nad I find this guy to be. Tyler must of told him. When I told him he wasn't invited, he made himself "doorman" instead. Except he never hung out by the damn door. Just followed around all the girls and tried to flirt. What a jackass.
We had booze to spare, of course. I bought four bottles and two cases of Hamm's, and others donated more upscale choices. All the leftovers were moved into the basement for safekeeping. Purple started drinking as soon as he peeled himself off the floor. When Ellen picked me up for dinner at my mom's, there was half a bottle of gin, about a quarter of a bottle of everything else, an unopened bottle of Applejack, and fourteen beers. When I came back, about four hours later, there was nothing left. Thanks, Purple. There was enough alcohol downstairs to keep us nice and entertained through the weekend, and it was gone.
Things got ugly. He split his lip open by falling into a table while questing for more booze. Then he sat on the floor, demanding that we drink more. For half an hour, we screamed in circles. No, we can't. Because there isn't any. Because you drank it, you ass-hat.
Finally, he fell back asleep. On the couch that I was going to use. Angst.
Another friend of mine just got out of jail for something horribly unfair. He's the philosophical type, and eighty hours what a lot of time for him to think about everything. So I stayed up late with Victor talking about everything and more, making sure Purple didn't asphyxiate on his own vomit or something. It's nice having Victor back. I'm really glad he's my friend, and we're good together.
I thought about just being nice and opening the shop for Purple. Yeah, he was scheduled to open. Just like every damn Friday. But then I realized how tired and cranky I was. I was really mad a Purple and just wanted to take a freaking nap already. So I went downstairs, threw some tunes on the stereo, and decided that it was a perfectly good time to practice my drumming. That got him up and moving, because I am a terrible percussionist.
I miss my bed.
I worked a double, covering for Burnham, who was at the hospital with Betsy. Now he has a daughter, which is so damn cool, except he's screwed. He has a daughter with Betsy. That kid is going to look at him all cute, and smile like Betsy does, and then Burnham's going to have to knock off a liquor store to buy her a pony, and I'll miss him when he's in jail.
That's the story so far. I need to play pinball now, and then take another nap.