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My roommate is constantly convinced that we have been broken into. I regularly get texts about this missing I’m missing or that missing and about the door being unlocked. Today was no exception. Today it was the unlocked deadbolt. He was sure he locked it at 715 when he left and was I at work?

Paranoia.   A direct consequence of using as much speed as he does.

I promise this blog isn’t going to be a bitch-fest about my roommate.  And I promise that it will become more interesting.    Some of the shit that happens to me is so bizarre that it can’t be made up.   Stories of lies, deception, hookers, thieves, drug dealers and incredible acts of sexual craziness await.  And….. maybe a monkey or two here and there.

Ain’t Nobody Got Time for That

Had a real haircut today. It’s been years since I’ve gotten it cut by anyone else but myself. Had an awesome student cut it who I think will be a regular. When I went to pay, the bill was $10 but my card couldn’t handle it. How fucking embarrassing. I ended up giving them $5 in quarters and the card handled the other $5.

Last night Darren came over with $500 worth of toys that were on clearance at the drugstore. He wanted to list them on Amazon so we sat up until 2am bothering the neighbors as we listed the shit. We’re supposed to be emptying his place, but each time we do he ends up buying more shit.

Still haven’t talked to Beavis. He sent me a lame ass text yesterday letting me know that if I wanted to talk that he’d be in the backyard. When I didn’t respond, he retracted. Typical. He doesn’t know yet that I’ve alerted the landlord that he gave his notice on the apartment and asked that he not give him the ability to retract this time.



Sugarbowl with spoonFirst in last out. That was my day today. And yet I feel like everybody else if the credit. I’m long past the days of being the golden child and I realize that the pattern has nothing to do with me. But occasionally, a tiny bit of recognition and go along way.

My roommate is moving out. Because I left the The spoon in the sugar bowl , something I had to find out from the past drug dealer that happened to be at the house when I got home fucking some small tweak . He had gone to the hospital and left them in the house.

This is the fourth time he has threatened to move out. It will be his last.  You see the way I look at it is that it’s my sugar bowl it’s my spoon and my sugar. I should decide whether or not there is a spoon or not. And if it is such a big deal then why doesn’t he just asked me to not do it?  I’m choosing not to engage.