Tag Archives: roommate

It’s that time of the month

Breathe in… and out… in… out.  I just reserved mine and Lucky’s hotel for VEGAS!!! That’s right, May 12-15th be there or be square and I am having to do breathing exercises to calm myself down from it.  What? You’re right; those are different dates than originally planned.  But I’ll let Lucky vent about the date change whenever she feels ready.  Also I’d like to apologize for my lack of posting and for the shortness of this post, my life is pretty boring (with the exception of going to see Lucky and our 5 day drinking binger) and I really don’t have much on my mind other than sleep, eat, and Vegas.

But today, let’s talk just a little about how all the men in my life are on their periods. Seriously.

Anth has had his panties in a twist for the past 3 weeks about St. Patrick’s Day. In The Big City St. Patty’s day is a big deal, there’s a parade, there’s festivities, and everyone gets really wasted.  Anth takes it upon himself to find a bar every year that has a drink deal and tries to force all of his friends to get tickets.  Usually people comply, but I don’t like to be told what to do, and I also don’t like buying a ticket to go out drinking a month in advance.  You know? Shit comes up and I don’t want to be out $30 if I can’t make it to the bar on said holiday. So, Anth has asked me every single day for the past 3 weeks if I have gotten my ticket yet for the bar, and every day I gave him the same answer: No.  There was a time when I wanted to invite High School Crush to come up, because it worked out that all of the people going to the St. Patty’s Day festivities in our group were couples, then I decided I didn’t want to do that.  And now I just don’t want to go because Anth is being so annoying about it.

Then, I came home from Lucky’s the other day and he started an all out BBM argument over St. Patrick’s Day.  Yes, Anth is fighting with me about a drinking schedule.  He went off about how I should just tell him that I don’t want to hang out with them because we’re all grown up’s and they can handle it.  It’s not that I don’t want to hang out with that group of people per say, it’s that I don’t want to be the 13th wheel in a group of a couples that will get drunk and ultimately be all over each other at the end of the day.  Like my life is depressing enough, I don’t need to be around that.

After I thought about the things he was saying it made a little more sense, some other comments he made were, “Why don’t you like me?” “Why don’t you like to hang out with me” etc.. etc.. Since Anth has started dating his girlfriend we really don’t hang out at all.  I’m okay with it, but apparently he isn’t, hence him trying to force me to go to St. Patty’s day to be their 3rd wheel.  Thanks, but no thanks.

Then there’s High School Crush.  Sigh.  We were to a point where we were talking pretty much every day.  It was nice.  But it was still through text, we’d talk about hanging out, but no concrete plans were ever made.  The whole distance thing seemed to still be holding him back, yada yada yada same old tune.  Then this week the texts just kind of stopped.  I’m not freaking out about it; that just uses up way too much energy.  And if it stops for a while? Fine. I’m  out of texting subjects at the moment anyway. I’m just going to blame it all on these boys having their periods.

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Anger Management at its Finest

Hey Kiddies… TGIF! Am I right or am I right?  I’m totes right.  So I had a totally different blog written for today that might have made me a bad person and I’ll probably post it in the future, but some things happened this morning that take precedence over making fun of the less fortunate.  (And I wonder why we only have 5 readers.)

Today started out being annoying before I ever even opened my eyes.  Usually on Fridays I set my alarm for an hour earlier than I normally get up through the week because I want to get to work early and leave early.  Usually I hit the snooze for an hour and fifteen minutes, but today 35 minutes before my alarm went off I heard Anth screaming at someone on the phone.  And that’s how I knew today would fucking suck.

I laid there for about 15 minutes waiting for him to stop so I could get an extra little power nap in before I needed to really get up, but it didn’t happen so I turned the tv on and started watching Home Improvement (per Lucky’s suggestion.)

So I drug my unhappy ass out of bed, got ready and ventured downstairs to see that it had snowed.  UGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  For those of you who don’t live in a giant city that gets large amount of snow, thank your lucky stars.  Even though the city does a fairly good job at keeping the streets clean and most of these people have been dealing with driving in snow their whole entire lives it never fails that SOMEONE will ruin it for everyone and have an unnecessary wreck because they are driving like a jackass.  It didn’t happen this morning, but the day is only half over and I’m totally expecting it to take me 4 hours to get home from work tonight.

After I bitched and moaned about the snow to myself for a solid 25 minutes, Anth came in and informed me that Doogie had been talking to him about our “living situation” the other night and said he was going to be moving in with his girlfriend around May.  So we’re thinking February.  This isn’t horrible news, mainly because I need to get out of my apartment and away from the stress of living with disgusting inconsiderate boys.  BUT, it really puts a time crunch on finding a new job in a city that will make me happy.  I was fully expecting to be able to take my sweet time finding an awesome job and have a place to live while I did it.

So what do I do now? Pray that I can find a job by May and if I don’t I have to sign another year long lease in misery-ville?  I’ve already started the apartment hunting in hopes that I can find a building that will do month-to –month leases, even if it means I have to illegally purchase a gun from a man named Bear in an alley behind a bar to keep myself safe at night, I will not be stuck here longer than I have to be!  Although, if I have to offer mediocre sexual favors to those interviewing me in the future to get a job where I want to be before the move out date, it would be more action than I’ve gotten in the past 18 months, so maybe not such a bad thing.  I’ll make a pro/con list to help and share later; I know you guys will need it to help me decide what to do too.

After all of that trauma set in, Anth then told me that he ate my food and I have no dinner.  I know that I could have worse problems because there are many people out there that do, but these are the life and times of a suburban white girl.  Plus it was either me ranting about this or making fun of a guy who might have mental issues, I feel like I took the high road.

Anyway, I flung open the dishwasher prepared to throw whatever I could grab quickly at his face when I saw my broken wine glass.  Remember when Lucky came to visit and I got us matching (they’re plain, but for drama’s sake) giant wine glasses that hold an entire bottle of wine?  Well that would be the glass that was broken.  Some dickface (Anth) put a cast iron skillet on top of it retardedly thinking a precious fragile stem of a wine glass could hold it.  IDIOT.  So I went off about that as I scooped shards of glass out of the dishwasher and threw them on the floor while screaming at Anth, “YEP! I hope you step on these.  JACKASS!!!!”

Then, he has the audacity to tell me he was kidding about the food and my dinner is still safe and sound in its Styrofoam box hidden in the back of the refrigerator.  OH I’M SORRY FOR OVERREACTING! But why in fucks name would a person say that if they didn’t in fact eat your dinner? Just to get a rise out of me and see how crazy I’ll get? I don’t know.  So I said to him, “Were you testing the waters to see if I’d freak out so you could eat it at lunch?” And he was all, “No Gizzy, I have a lunch date, remember?”  Oh right he does, with the girl that stood him up, twice. “Ok, well, hope you get AIDS. Peace the fuck out.”

And now I’m here.  Doing nothing at work because it’s 10AM and I’ve already had a rough day.  Clearly.  Totally going to have myself a lunch time cocktail in about 10 minutes.  If anyone would like to join me, I’ll be on the parking garage roof.

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Chello kids.  In case anyone was wondering, Anth and the girl that stood him up rescheduled their date for Friday – so no funny stories to report on that mess, BLAST!


Today I need to discuss a serious issue.  Whore houses.  I’m pretty sure my neighbor is running one, and the right and left sides of my brain are having an all out civil war trying to figure out what to do about it. 


When I moved in with the boys last February they sent out an email to all of their friends inviting them to our super bowl party, and when they described how to get to our townhome in all seriousness they said:  “1234 Main Street Unit 5, 2 doors down from the whore house.”  I guess people were supposed to be like, “Hrmm… Main street… hmm… where is that?  OH the whore house, ok got it.”  At the time, I had only been living there for 2 weeks so I didn’t know what whore house they were referring to or if they were secretly talking about me in code with 35 of their closes friends while I was CC’d on the email, so I just left it alone.


Let me first say, our neighborhood has been described as “Posh” by the British man Betty forced me to bring home.  Our house is not posh, but the neighborhood is.  And for those of you that don’t speak British, that means nice.  So to me, it was rather unlikely that there would be an actual whore house on our block so all talk of the whore house the first 5 months I lived there got filed away in my brain.


When summer rolled around I started to notice random whorish looking girls hanging around outside of the condo 2 doors down looking like they had nowhere to be but on their backs. I took that and the comments with a grain of salt since I had never seen the person that lived in the apartment.  One night, I’m getting myself all tucked into bed around midnight when I heard someone right outside my door saying, “Marcy…Marcy…Marcyyyyyyyyyyyyy I need youuuu!!”  This was when I lived in the dungeon so I wasn’t about to flip on the light and find some cray cray staring in the window at me.  In the morning JM had told me he heard it too and was looking out his window and eventually saw the person go in the Whore House.   That was enough justification for me to believe it was actually a whore house.


Later that day I googled, “1234 Main Street Whore House” and found, “Marcy, PhD, Sex Addiction Psychiatrist -1234 Main Street Unit 3” AND “Barry’s Salon and Massage Parlor –  A Happy Ending Massage 1235 Main Street”  So I don’t know, this is either really smart or really mean on Marcy PhD’s part, but it explained a lot.


Apparently at the following home owners association meeting someone filed a complaint that Marcy PhD’s coo-coo birds were littering in the courtyard and you know having a business out of her home was illegal in the association, but they’d look past it as long as the crazies kept their condoms and their cigs off of the lawn.  Fair enough, right?


Everything was all good in the hood until last night when I heard that familiar song, “Marccccyy…. Marcyyy… I need you!!”  Now that I don’t live in the dungeon I had no problem flipping on my light and sticking my head out the window to see what all the commotion was about.  And when I did, I saw a full grown man, I kid you not, dressed in women’s lingerie.  I get that I live in a big city and I do live near the neighborhood that houses all of the gay bars and some of those gay bars have drag shows so I shouldn’t really be surprised to see a man walking around in lingerie.  Except that it was snowing, and it was 4am and we are a good mile from said bars, and he was barefoot, but you know I probably still shouldn’t be surprised because I’ve seen weirder things in my life.   It was a hard argument for me to not call the cops at 4am on this wackadoo, but I thought… you know Marcy PhD is doing a good thing, she’s trying to help these crazies out and if this guy goes to jail it’s not going to help his disease to get gang banged in the butt all night.  Plus, I don’t want Marcy PhD to get kicked out of the association; I need her to stay there in case I ever get addicted to sex.  Right? It’s a reasonable worry for someone who is 18 months celibate.   


And then he reached around into his little knapsack on his back and I thought, “Oh good, he’s going to put some clothes on.  I did the right thing not calling the cops.” And he pulled out a big giant black dildo.  Christ.  There are children in this neighborhood! The children man!!  Honestly, this was so cray cray I could’ve been dreaming, I’m still having a hard time believing I actually saw this happen.  I just couldn’t watch anymore, I turned on my fan to drown out whatever noises he would surely be making and went to bed.  This morning I saw trace amounts of red lace strewn about the lawn, I never heard the cops show up so I really don’t care to know what else happened outside my window last night. 

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