part 2...

in case you haven’t read it elsewhere (ie on my silly myspace profile) here is a quick introduction to my current living situation (if you’ve already read this, please skip it & continue w/the rest of this post).

a more civil introduction you’ll get later on. for now this is what i know:

my newest roommate is one matthew mcfall. depending on how tight he is he might mention also that his friends call him “king jelly toes”, although i have never heard anyone call him that, be that because he doesn’t actually have any friends or just because “king jelly toes” is a stupid, stupid name is up to debate & by “up to debate” i mean i don't think he has any friends. he was in a tragic motorcycle accident, tragically the motorcycle is no more. i’m not sure what all got fucked up in the accident but from what i can gather he spent a fair amount of time in the hospital afterwards. my girlfriend might or might not call him “head-trauma matthew”. he’s got this piece for the smoking of the ganja & the getting ripping high (i’ll get a pic up sometime) that he’s always hitting. always. he pack his bowls half-tobacco, half-pot. after a few hours of constant smoking this produces an odour both sugary & salty, but the sugar is saccharine & the salty smell suggests a sea-side whore who’s just been with thirty drunk fishermen, rank & vomitious. i don’t care if vomitious isn’t a word. this is the way my house smells right now, & it is seeping downstairs & into my room & the headache i’m developing i can’t be trusted with.

what else.... his buddy steve typically comes over every monday. they watch the mariners or some other game & get a little drunk. well steve gets a little drunk, mcfall gets fucked, but most of that is the constantsmokingofsugarysaltypottobacco. then they start playing cribbage. when they play cribbage it sounds like they are rearranging the furniture. naked. yeah, they must be naked, because they are also gigglgggling.... a bunch... & i can only figure if you are giggling that much you must be naked, naked & drunk & high & suffering from a little or maybe a lot of head trauma.

& none of this is to say that matthew isn’t a good guy. because he is, although did i mention how loud he is? or that when he watches the game he has to have two tv’s on, the one in the living room & one in his bedroom, you know, for that real stadium effect, with the echo & all. but he also needs this real stadium effect when he’s watching south park. or world championship poker. & also how i’m sure part of the problem is what he is watching because i’m gonna put it out there that john stewart might sound good with an echo but you won’t catch matty watching any of the daily show. nothing with humour or wit or a point or a jewish guy who makes him feel stupid. oh no.

ok. yeah, i feel better. god, i love living here.

i don’t like being uncomfortable in my own home. the novelty of spending an entire bus ride home imaging what zoodiscothequemadhouse i am knowingly headed towards has worn off. it has worn off mostly because i am no longer of the mindset that the best one can aspire for in an afternoon after work is getting blitzed by nine. which isn’t to say that day-drinking (spending a drafternoon) isn’t fantastic, because it is & is sometimes sorely needed, but doing that everyday, nah that’s just wrong. i also realise that drinking everyday is a from of escapism & i am worried about head-trauma-boy. i am. but that concern just can’t seem to break through the cloudy haze i am blessed with each day upon opening my front door.

& so here i am in the office of my part-time job, blogging (after doing my alloted work, certainly, of course), insteading of going home &, well hell, i don’t know, maybe, maybe blogging there. (of course, if i were at home, i wouldn’t be drinking folger’s coffee singles insta-cup nor listening to the raveonettes & although i wouldn’t be aware of it, that’d be something i’d be missing out on. my new part-time job proffers some unique perks & a mild sense of tranquility that i’d be foolish not to partake of. like right now, first the folger’s coffee singles: amazing (although the grumbling stomach might be sounds of discontent). second: i was just perusing the complete adventures of Curious George for a quick break. third: there is no one else here, which isn’t to say that i wouldn’t have broken out the curious george if my boss where here, i probably still would have & my boss would probably have some long, drawn out, expletive-engorged anecdote which related where he bought the book & how the clerk atempted to over-charge him & how he, first, got the clerk fired & then, second, got the clerk employed in his office so that he could fire him himself. but more on my new job later.)

but honestly the best part of right here, right now (jesus jones...) is the quiet. it is fucking quiet in this office. i feel horrible that i haven’t blogged in so long, but i find it hard to write while trying to mellow out contact high & tone down the homicidal fantasies. it might sound incredulous but one of the reasons i took this job was for the great prospects of quietude. it is beyond mentioning because it is so patent, but i shouldn’t have to take a second job just find some peace & quiet. i really shouldn’t. it should really be about the money, right? eff.