I’m not really homeless people, you can stop feeling sorry for me. A friend of mine wrote to me telling me that he feels bad for my homeless state. I replied, “How much did you spend on rent this month? … I got to spend all that on video games, hookers and blow.” I’ve taken up professional squatting. I’m currently staying at my sister’s boyfriend’s apartment. He lives with her, but my sister isn’t comfortable with the idea of him giving up his condo so soon in the relationship, so I’ve got a fully furnished unused apartment in lower Queen Anne Hill at my disposal. So in theory, if I want to keep this place forever, I have to make sure my sister doesn’t ever hit that “comfort zone” in her relationship. Every so often, I need to put in a comment about the flaws in her boyfriend to ensure that my career as a squatter doesn’t get cut short. Sure, this may seem a bit terrible, but it’s not like I’m saying relationship isn’t agreeing with her waistline or something equally dastardly. The sweet thing about living in Queen Anne is that it’s a neighborhood that I’ve considered moving to because I’ve got a couple friends that moved there from Capitol Hill and they rave about it all the time. I was worried that after I buy my place in Capitol Hill, I would suffer from the Grass-Is-Greener syndrome. After living in Queen Anne for about a week, I think that’s where the cool kids from Capitol Hill goes to die. It’s basically a much much tamer and smaller version of Capitol Hill…and god knows, Cap Hill is already tiny as a snow globe town.
Seriously, God, if you’ve still got RSS feed on this blog, being homeless has been hilarious and all, but I’m quite ready for the condo of my dreams to show up on the market already. Thanks, luv you. And don’t forget, I’m still waiting for a clean burning engine for my SUV.
A few years ago, if you had told me, “You know, there’s more to life than trying to look pretty and getting your drink on.” I would have laughed at your face and told you, “That’s just what ugly people tell themselves.” Life of the pretty party people is simple but sweet. One day, I walked out on my party friends, I got tired of the unhealthy cycle of partying seven days a week, quite often till 9a.m., barely grabbing a shower and trying to stay alive at work. It has been years, but I do miss some of the friends that I’ve lost, more specifically, I miss my best party friend Jessica. Jessica and I were close friends, but I had to walk out on her all the same. I hurt her pretty badly when I disappeared, I ran into her at a club once, she cried and asked why I never returned her calls and abandoned her. I didn’t know how to tell her that I needed to stay away from a part of my life and that she was part of that.
I ran into one of my old party friend Monday night at some bar and got Jessica’s contact info from her. Apparently they still party, but not till 9a.m. every damned day. I text messaged Jessica expecting her to tell me to go fuck myself, instead she invited me over to her new condo for drinks. I went to check out her place last night and we had a wonderful time hanging out and catching up with each other. It was like we were never apart, things were pretty much the same. I met her gay best friend. He told me my shoes were ugly and asked me who did my lips. I woke up this morning with a wicked hangover and wondered where my car was…like I said, pretty much the same.