They do try. The roomates. That are mine. My roomates. It is the haphazard, indiscriminate, unsystematic, arbitrary way in which they try that a young gentleman such as myself must call into question.
Take the lawn for instance. For the past few weeks, we've been putting a small amount of effort into prepping the yard, cleaning it up for summer growth and beauty. I've done my fair share of raking and bagging to be sure, I enjoy yardwork to a certain degree, and would do the majority of it happily if I had more free time.
My kindhearted Bendite stoner roomates also enjoy doing yardwork, in that they like being outside and communing with nature, and thinking about how nice it would be to have a well groomed lawn and vegetable garden and hanging marihuana cigarette plants and maybe a llama because hey, who doesn't think llamas are funny. This leads them to wander outside, trailing clouds of white smoke faintly reminiscent of the character pigpen from the peanuts cartoon, and begin plugging away until invariably they lose interest halfway through the job.
These inconsistent efforts have resulted in our garden being partially raked and planted with nothing, our grass partially watered and partially raked, with piles of dead leaves and plant detritus/hank poop creating randomly placed Hopi burial mounds all over the yard. (Hopi because you better hopi you never step on one since its 9/10ths dog turd). Instead of finishing the raking job by bagging up their scrapings or at least wheelbarrowing them all to the rubbish pile behind our shed, those gentle natives became confused with their responsibilities and moved straight to mowing, resulting in our grass being mowed...kind of. Sqwiggly lines now trace across our property with no rhyme or reason apparent from ground level, sometimes avoiding the poo mounds, sometimes running right through them, the mower guided by an invisible force of inertia only apparent to those whose minds have been over-exposed to the noxious fumes generated by burning that most stickiest of the icky.
Standing on my back patio in uffish thought, I can only assume that they have created a quarter acre tapestry of art which while invisible to the unaided eye, reveals itself like the great Nazca desert lines to those icarus-ish ascended beings who have taken to the heavens, or at the very least to our shed's rooftop. Tomorrow is another day however. Maybe this time I will help.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Monday, April 20, 2009
Friday, April 17, 2009
You're going to like this one.
I got to leave work a little early today, because if I didn't they would have to pay me overtime for the week, and they just did not want to be the ones that would give me the extra money. That's fine, I called the athletic club and signed up for an extra rock wall shift tonight. They pay me more there anyway.
As I was leaving Harley the bossman asked me to take one of the VRod motorcycles home for the evening to put some miles on it and break it in so we can rent it out. Being the helpful gentleman that I am, I agreed to take the brand new 20 thousand dollar drag bike home for the evening. I planned on getting up early tomorrow and riding for a while before work. Great. Grand. Good times.
Plans have changed. The bike didn't quite get broken in, just broken. A 70 year old lady in a Jeep Cherokee decided to make an illegal lane change downdown and hit me on my way to the athletic club. We were on Colorado Ave at a place where it is one way, with two travel lanes. I was in the left lane looking good and feeling good. The old lady was in the right lane looking old and feeling old. We were just tootling along, minding our own business, until she realized that she needed to make a left turn. Halfway through the intersection she wanted to turn at. From the right lane. With me in the way.
This is the part where her decision making process differs from mine. Where I would have 1) been in the correct lane, 2) remembered when to turn BEFORE the turn, and 3) LOOKED before I slammed through several lanes of busy traffic SHE decided she was making that turn damn it, and nothing was going to stand in her way, not common sense, not generally recognized laws of the road, nor even a handsome young gentleman astride a brilliant blue motorcycle.
Old lady hit a Max Tyson. Crushed my exhaust pipes, pushed me around like a tsunami of senility, ripped the front end off her Jeep. She did those things. I shredded the cherokee gnar on my drag bike, bounced around like a meth head at a daft punk concert, and got out of it without dropping the bike, or getting seriously injured. Cause i'm the man. Oh, and i'm invincible. We already knew that.
It could have been worse. The cops that came were motorcycle cops, and they cited the lady for driving like a crazy person, hitting a Max Tyson, being old and senile, and still having studded tires on her truck. I got out of there with a slightly banged up, but drivable bike, 20 minutes late for work at the gym, and her insurance information so that she can buy Cascade Harley Davidson some sweet new pipes for their rental VROD. Seats.
As I was leaving Harley the bossman asked me to take one of the VRod motorcycles home for the evening to put some miles on it and break it in so we can rent it out. Being the helpful gentleman that I am, I agreed to take the brand new 20 thousand dollar drag bike home for the evening. I planned on getting up early tomorrow and riding for a while before work. Great. Grand. Good times.
Plans have changed. The bike didn't quite get broken in, just broken. A 70 year old lady in a Jeep Cherokee decided to make an illegal lane change downdown and hit me on my way to the athletic club. We were on Colorado Ave at a place where it is one way, with two travel lanes. I was in the left lane looking good and feeling good. The old lady was in the right lane looking old and feeling old. We were just tootling along, minding our own business, until she realized that she needed to make a left turn. Halfway through the intersection she wanted to turn at. From the right lane. With me in the way.
This is the part where her decision making process differs from mine. Where I would have 1) been in the correct lane, 2) remembered when to turn BEFORE the turn, and 3) LOOKED before I slammed through several lanes of busy traffic SHE decided she was making that turn damn it, and nothing was going to stand in her way, not common sense, not generally recognized laws of the road, nor even a handsome young gentleman astride a brilliant blue motorcycle.
Old lady hit a Max Tyson. Crushed my exhaust pipes, pushed me around like a tsunami of senility, ripped the front end off her Jeep. She did those things. I shredded the cherokee gnar on my drag bike, bounced around like a meth head at a daft punk concert, and got out of it without dropping the bike, or getting seriously injured. Cause i'm the man. Oh, and i'm invincible. We already knew that.
It could have been worse. The cops that came were motorcycle cops, and they cited the lady for driving like a crazy person, hitting a Max Tyson, being old and senile, and still having studded tires on her truck. I got out of there with a slightly banged up, but drivable bike, 20 minutes late for work at the gym, and her insurance information so that she can buy Cascade Harley Davidson some sweet new pipes for their rental VROD. Seats.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Nothing
I got up a little early this morning so that I would have time before work to go to Rite-aid and pick up the photos I had left there to be developed, but I lost all my extra time by taking a gigantic dump before I left the house. By the cold moons of Jupiter it was big. So big that I took a picture on my phone. As soon as I learn how to upload my phone pictures to the interweb, I will show it off to you.
In any case, I went to Rite-aid after my poo and got the photos, so I was a little late for work. Whatever. I work 8:30 to 6:30 every day. Except the days that I work at the athletic club, then I work until 9pm. That's a lot of working. Especially because Tuesdays and Thursdays I have to teach dance for two hours in the evening on top of that. I'm okay with this because 1) dancing is fun and 2) I have a crush on my partner. She's a bit of a cutie.
So, the purpose of my ramblings for the day are as follows: I worked all day, and then finally got home and was looking forward to uploading my photos to the interweb to show off my new place (and sell some stuff on craigslist), and Rite-aid had given me the wrong photo CD. Instead of pictures of my house and my treasures, I have pictures from some small mexican child's birthday party.
I might just post those instead.
In any case, I went to Rite-aid after my poo and got the photos, so I was a little late for work. Whatever. I work 8:30 to 6:30 every day. Except the days that I work at the athletic club, then I work until 9pm. That's a lot of working. Especially because Tuesdays and Thursdays I have to teach dance for two hours in the evening on top of that. I'm okay with this because 1) dancing is fun and 2) I have a crush on my partner. She's a bit of a cutie.
So, the purpose of my ramblings for the day are as follows: I worked all day, and then finally got home and was looking forward to uploading my photos to the interweb to show off my new place (and sell some stuff on craigslist), and Rite-aid had given me the wrong photo CD. Instead of pictures of my house and my treasures, I have pictures from some small mexican child's birthday party.
I might just post those instead.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Grilled rabbit and hard boiled eggs. Get it?
We cleaned out the garage last night and had a 4 person dance party until 3:30am, and that is in no way awkward.
I took pictures of my new place a few days ago, hopefully I'll get those posted here and on the facebook soon for your viewing pleasure.
Envy me.
I took pictures of my new place a few days ago, hopefully I'll get those posted here and on the facebook soon for your viewing pleasure.
Envy me.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Mit wie hast du gesprochen?
Schlampen.
Since pay day fell on the weekend this past week, I was the one that was lucky because I was the one that is the person that received his thing that is a paycheck early. So obviously Saturday night my roomate Nick and I hit the town. We started with a few beers at JCs, where we were met by my friend Melissa from work and her girlfriend Hallie, who was visiting from Medford for the weekend (I've been there, they have a red lobster) (There are no red lobsters here in the desert) (Probably for the best).
Hallie is a cutie. After JCs we wandered to 28, which is a coffee shop during the day and then a bouncing hot spot bar for old people in the evening, where we met up with Bre and her new boyfriend Justin, and his father John. (ie. Old person) This place proved to be an entertaining diversion for a time, as there was a groovy jam jazz band playing, and really funny old people dancing very very poorly. Favorites of the night included small skinny grey haired man in purple turtleneck, and chubby old man in beret.
After 28, we split up, with plans to reconvene later. Bre and Justin went off too look for Drama-friends, Melissa and Hallie went to collect our buddy Curtis, and Nick and I went to the brew pub where he works for some cheap/free beers. At the brewery I engaged a converted vegetarian in congratulatory conversation, welcoming her back to the correct side of the food chain, and made bedroom eyes at a super sexy little thing named Chloe. (Cleo?) I don't remember, but she was foxy. Bre eventually found us and dragged us across the street, where he little brother's "punk" band was playing a show.
Musically, they were pretty tight, if a little bland, but my rage was piqued by their neo-emo, orange county, long hair and tight pants, girly man look. I will never understand such things. Why wouldn't every man want to look like a viking? What do they have against being awesome? In any case it was funny seeing tyler screaming and keytaring his little heart out while eleventeen year olds threw him their training bras in between crying in the bathroom because they just got their first periods and tampons hurt so much.
After suffering through 1.3 songs Nick and I bid Bre and Justin good night and enlisted the services of Minitruck II in bringing us to Timbers East aka redneck bar aka ghetto bar aka fight, because redneck and ghetto just don't mix well bar. While there, Curtis and Melissa played a little pool, I scammed on Medford Hallie and Nick gazed around in wide eyed wonder, having never seen a redneck ghetto fight bar. Then we went home. Then I slept for a couple hours. Then I went to work at the gym in the morning. There I was hung over. Then I napped. Then I finished nerd novel Ch. 14. Those are the things that I did.
Since pay day fell on the weekend this past week, I was the one that was lucky because I was the one that is the person that received his thing that is a paycheck early. So obviously Saturday night my roomate Nick and I hit the town. We started with a few beers at JCs, where we were met by my friend Melissa from work and her girlfriend Hallie, who was visiting from Medford for the weekend (I've been there, they have a red lobster) (There are no red lobsters here in the desert) (Probably for the best).
Hallie is a cutie. After JCs we wandered to 28, which is a coffee shop during the day and then a bouncing hot spot bar for old people in the evening, where we met up with Bre and her new boyfriend Justin, and his father John. (ie. Old person) This place proved to be an entertaining diversion for a time, as there was a groovy jam jazz band playing, and really funny old people dancing very very poorly. Favorites of the night included small skinny grey haired man in purple turtleneck, and chubby old man in beret.
After 28, we split up, with plans to reconvene later. Bre and Justin went off too look for Drama-friends, Melissa and Hallie went to collect our buddy Curtis, and Nick and I went to the brew pub where he works for some cheap/free beers. At the brewery I engaged a converted vegetarian in congratulatory conversation, welcoming her back to the correct side of the food chain, and made bedroom eyes at a super sexy little thing named Chloe. (Cleo?) I don't remember, but she was foxy. Bre eventually found us and dragged us across the street, where he little brother's "punk" band was playing a show.
Musically, they were pretty tight, if a little bland, but my rage was piqued by their neo-emo, orange county, long hair and tight pants, girly man look. I will never understand such things. Why wouldn't every man want to look like a viking? What do they have against being awesome? In any case it was funny seeing tyler screaming and keytaring his little heart out while eleventeen year olds threw him their training bras in between crying in the bathroom because they just got their first periods and tampons hurt so much.
After suffering through 1.3 songs Nick and I bid Bre and Justin good night and enlisted the services of Minitruck II in bringing us to Timbers East aka redneck bar aka ghetto bar aka fight, because redneck and ghetto just don't mix well bar. While there, Curtis and Melissa played a little pool, I scammed on Medford Hallie and Nick gazed around in wide eyed wonder, having never seen a redneck ghetto fight bar. Then we went home. Then I slept for a couple hours. Then I went to work at the gym in the morning. There I was hung over. Then I napped. Then I finished nerd novel Ch. 14. Those are the things that I did.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Forgiveness treats
I.am.sorry. At least, that's what I would say.... IF I WERE SORRY!!
I'm not sorry. I've been very busy trying to keep a roof over my head and food on the table, but do you care? Nope. Of course not. You just demand demand demand, pawing for my words with your greasy little monkey paws, completely oblivious to the costs, both physical and mental, that I am subjected to in order to keep you supplied with witty anecdotes and engaging life stories.
Now that I have that off my chest, here come the engaging life stories.
Work sucks. Well, thats not engaging. It's still too cold for me to uncrate our rental bikes and start prepping them by riding many hundreds of miles whenever I want, so basically i'm reduced to doing heavy labor for minimum wage. With my super sweet college degree. I did at least officially apply to move into sales, which, if successful would land me some uberappreciated commission money. Yesterday I had to take a surpise day off from work to switch my summer tires and wheels for the studded winter tires I had on minitruck, which I was crabby about because the day before I had spent 400 dollars tuning up the naughty little ride cause she was becoming undeniably disobedient.
It all turned out pretty well though because after I slept in a bit, I switched the tires and wheels, and I gave her a quick wash, which i'm sure she appreciated. Then I continued my reign of achievement by cleaning the entire house, doing laundry, raking the front lawn, doing some bidness in town, chatting with babes I ran in to, and cooking a delicious mooseloaf dinner with green beans, pasta and rice.
Today, lurking in the harley shop sucked once again but (at least there is a but) after work was swing dancing class, which is a lot of fun. Because i'm the teacher. It's also nice that the actual professional I partner with is kind of a babe, not the least because she's 1) a dancer, and 2) a mommy. I asked her out for drinks and she said she couldn't tonight, buuuut she invited me to her place next wednesday. Scandalous, I know.
Thats whats up.
I'm not sorry. I've been very busy trying to keep a roof over my head and food on the table, but do you care? Nope. Of course not. You just demand demand demand, pawing for my words with your greasy little monkey paws, completely oblivious to the costs, both physical and mental, that I am subjected to in order to keep you supplied with witty anecdotes and engaging life stories.
Now that I have that off my chest, here come the engaging life stories.
Work sucks. Well, thats not engaging. It's still too cold for me to uncrate our rental bikes and start prepping them by riding many hundreds of miles whenever I want, so basically i'm reduced to doing heavy labor for minimum wage. With my super sweet college degree. I did at least officially apply to move into sales, which, if successful would land me some uberappreciated commission money. Yesterday I had to take a surpise day off from work to switch my summer tires and wheels for the studded winter tires I had on minitruck, which I was crabby about because the day before I had spent 400 dollars tuning up the naughty little ride cause she was becoming undeniably disobedient.
It all turned out pretty well though because after I slept in a bit, I switched the tires and wheels, and I gave her a quick wash, which i'm sure she appreciated. Then I continued my reign of achievement by cleaning the entire house, doing laundry, raking the front lawn, doing some bidness in town, chatting with babes I ran in to, and cooking a delicious mooseloaf dinner with green beans, pasta and rice.
Today, lurking in the harley shop sucked once again but (at least there is a but) after work was swing dancing class, which is a lot of fun. Because i'm the teacher. It's also nice that the actual professional I partner with is kind of a babe, not the least because she's 1) a dancer, and 2) a mommy. I asked her out for drinks and she said she couldn't tonight, buuuut she invited me to her place next wednesday. Scandalous, I know.
Thats whats up.
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