The Plunge Sucks Me
So, another trial in the life and times of Sullie. I've been freezing fucking cold in this shithole, and when I called my landlady to let her know that the heater was useless and that it must be 40 degrees in my treehouse, she said, "Well, it seems like it's been something every month. Of course I'm going to do something about it, but I've gotta think about the bigger picture here." I was shocked and quite miffed, as anyone who had contracted a cold from several nights in the freezing might be.
Within a couple of days, and a phone call from John Sullivan, Sr., I had been evicted because my landlady is too cheap to provide living conditions exceeding those of a bunker at Auschwitz. The three shitty space heaters she had provided me with had blown the fuse which the wall outlets are connected to, so for a day and a half I had only lights; no fridge, no computer, and of course, no heat. I guess I'm just too high maintenance for this place, needed a home which doesn't stink, is bigger, has a dishwasher and disposal, central AC, and isn't wired through a 1930s fuse box meant to power a few garage lights.
Joe happened to come over on Sunday and helped me fix the problem, replace the fuse, and discover the substandard, hazardous wiring in the garage, as well as the duct-taped plumbing pipes. Fuck lawyers.
So I have a month to find a new home, which will probably be in West Campus. I'm actually really excited, though I'm stressed about money concerns. My new place will be so much better, and it'll be a relief to settle into a place in which I'm happier and don't have to do as much driving.
Work has been exhausting the shit out of me, but I'm really happy to be raking in some bucks again. I have bills to catch up on, which is stressful, but within a month, things will probably be cool.
And all of the gay guys at Central Market want to do me, especially my friend Tommy, who calls me Baby Boy, and told me in a drunken stupor, at his apartment last night (where he was having some CM people over), that he loved me... several times. Said that everyone there questions my sexuality. When I asked Lindsey about this, she said I had a gay quality. Tonight when I was clocking out, some old Italian guy said hello and then asked me, "Tell me, how did they get so many gorgeous guys to work in this section?" I said there were some cute girls too. And a 60 year-old dressed like my dad hit on and winked at me at Austin Java this weekend. It's all quite a shame. I guess as a plus, a really hot chick with humungous jugaboos hit on me at work today and said she wanted to be an actress, which made me feel better for about 4 minutes.
Maybe on account of the cold, but most likely the result of a power surge, my Mac is all kinds of fucked up. I may take it to a Mac Genius tomorrow and see what the fuck could be happening. A bunch of instrument files in the Logic Express synth are missing, Safari freezes up whenever I open it, even Internet Explorer is fucking up, and when I tried to run disc doctor after booting from the OSX installer CD, it glitched out and gave me an error. It's a real bummer. I hope I don't need to replace the logic board, but I anticipate maybe having to drop a few hundred bucks on it to send it off so they can get it back to optimum working order. A stressful pain in the ass.
Heather lost interest in me after reading my previous post and determining that my mention of her was "mean" and "not nice". Then, she freaked out when I kicked the shit out of one of Laura Martin's space heaters that had rendered my apartment frozen and powerless. She muttered those three words I've heard before and reminded me of how shitty girls can make me feel: "You scared me." By kicking the fucking space heater? Granted, I did go off into a rant about how Laura Martin wanted me to live like a Wal-Mart employee in a third world country, but gimme a break. I'm sick of presumptuous jerks jumping to conclusions about me because they think they have the answer to approaching life or what have you. They think that emotions coming from any organic, legitimate place are scary and are too occupied being full of shit and evaluating others to actually be true to and express themselves. I say "presumptuous jerks" like I believe everyone is ganging up on me or something, but that's not the case; and when I say "they", I'm not directly addressing Heather, but quite a few wimps who really need to wake up and smell the coffee.* Gay and a half.
It's Christmastime and it doesn't feel like it. I need to finish draft one by Christmas and it's not coming. I also need to write this challenge song that I was supposed to finish and let Lindsey hear Saturday. Poo. I was feeling very well, but on the day I kicked the blazes out of my space heater, I missed a dosage of medication because I had slept over at Wade's the night before (on account of the cold). Up until that evening, I felt fine, but when Heather acted as if I was Frankenstein's monster and still insisted I sleep over, I found myself feeling pretty down on myself. That was followed by eviction, realization of loss of money, speculation of a future, my computer's problems, and advances by homosexuals far exceeding those by chicks. Oh yeah, and I'm still having that "all alone on Christmas" feeling that usually comes around, which is why I want the story to take place then. It's a hilariously miserable time. Maybe my body's just getting back into whack, maybe it's all this shit piling up, but I would assume it's the combo -- the luanne.
I accidentally recorded 28 minutes of me cashiering with my microtrack, and it's absolutely hilarious. You hear the beeps and me humming/singing constantly, obviously avoiding the customers completely. Then, you hear me say whoops every time I screw up in a way that reminds me of Frank Drebin pissing on his shoe in The Naked Gun. That Microtrack kicks ass for recording song concepts, samplings of funny dialogue and story ideas, as well as real happenings. I need a decent mp3 editor to trim down the files from it.
*Central Market coffee smells good.
Within a couple of days, and a phone call from John Sullivan, Sr., I had been evicted because my landlady is too cheap to provide living conditions exceeding those of a bunker at Auschwitz. The three shitty space heaters she had provided me with had blown the fuse which the wall outlets are connected to, so for a day and a half I had only lights; no fridge, no computer, and of course, no heat. I guess I'm just too high maintenance for this place, needed a home which doesn't stink, is bigger, has a dishwasher and disposal, central AC, and isn't wired through a 1930s fuse box meant to power a few garage lights.
Joe happened to come over on Sunday and helped me fix the problem, replace the fuse, and discover the substandard, hazardous wiring in the garage, as well as the duct-taped plumbing pipes. Fuck lawyers.
So I have a month to find a new home, which will probably be in West Campus. I'm actually really excited, though I'm stressed about money concerns. My new place will be so much better, and it'll be a relief to settle into a place in which I'm happier and don't have to do as much driving.
Work has been exhausting the shit out of me, but I'm really happy to be raking in some bucks again. I have bills to catch up on, which is stressful, but within a month, things will probably be cool.
And all of the gay guys at Central Market want to do me, especially my friend Tommy, who calls me Baby Boy, and told me in a drunken stupor, at his apartment last night (where he was having some CM people over), that he loved me... several times. Said that everyone there questions my sexuality. When I asked Lindsey about this, she said I had a gay quality. Tonight when I was clocking out, some old Italian guy said hello and then asked me, "Tell me, how did they get so many gorgeous guys to work in this section?" I said there were some cute girls too. And a 60 year-old dressed like my dad hit on and winked at me at Austin Java this weekend. It's all quite a shame. I guess as a plus, a really hot chick with humungous jugaboos hit on me at work today and said she wanted to be an actress, which made me feel better for about 4 minutes.
Maybe on account of the cold, but most likely the result of a power surge, my Mac is all kinds of fucked up. I may take it to a Mac Genius tomorrow and see what the fuck could be happening. A bunch of instrument files in the Logic Express synth are missing, Safari freezes up whenever I open it, even Internet Explorer is fucking up, and when I tried to run disc doctor after booting from the OSX installer CD, it glitched out and gave me an error. It's a real bummer. I hope I don't need to replace the logic board, but I anticipate maybe having to drop a few hundred bucks on it to send it off so they can get it back to optimum working order. A stressful pain in the ass.
Heather lost interest in me after reading my previous post and determining that my mention of her was "mean" and "not nice". Then, she freaked out when I kicked the shit out of one of Laura Martin's space heaters that had rendered my apartment frozen and powerless. She muttered those three words I've heard before and reminded me of how shitty girls can make me feel: "You scared me." By kicking the fucking space heater? Granted, I did go off into a rant about how Laura Martin wanted me to live like a Wal-Mart employee in a third world country, but gimme a break. I'm sick of presumptuous jerks jumping to conclusions about me because they think they have the answer to approaching life or what have you. They think that emotions coming from any organic, legitimate place are scary and are too occupied being full of shit and evaluating others to actually be true to and express themselves. I say "presumptuous jerks" like I believe everyone is ganging up on me or something, but that's not the case; and when I say "they", I'm not directly addressing Heather, but quite a few wimps who really need to wake up and smell the coffee.* Gay and a half.
It's Christmastime and it doesn't feel like it. I need to finish draft one by Christmas and it's not coming. I also need to write this challenge song that I was supposed to finish and let Lindsey hear Saturday. Poo. I was feeling very well, but on the day I kicked the blazes out of my space heater, I missed a dosage of medication because I had slept over at Wade's the night before (on account of the cold). Up until that evening, I felt fine, but when Heather acted as if I was Frankenstein's monster and still insisted I sleep over, I found myself feeling pretty down on myself. That was followed by eviction, realization of loss of money, speculation of a future, my computer's problems, and advances by homosexuals far exceeding those by chicks. Oh yeah, and I'm still having that "all alone on Christmas" feeling that usually comes around, which is why I want the story to take place then. It's a hilariously miserable time. Maybe my body's just getting back into whack, maybe it's all this shit piling up, but I would assume it's the combo -- the luanne.
I accidentally recorded 28 minutes of me cashiering with my microtrack, and it's absolutely hilarious. You hear the beeps and me humming/singing constantly, obviously avoiding the customers completely. Then, you hear me say whoops every time I screw up in a way that reminds me of Frank Drebin pissing on his shoe in The Naked Gun. That Microtrack kicks ass for recording song concepts, samplings of funny dialogue and story ideas, as well as real happenings. I need a decent mp3 editor to trim down the files from it.
*Central Market coffee smells good.