They all apply to my life…the words in the title, I mean. Along with misunderstandings, bitches, assholes, selfish opportunists, raging lunatics, and a whole mess of bullshit. None of the aforementioned actually are synonyms, but whatever. I doubt anyone will read this anyhow.
My existence is a long, long, long string of misunderstandings and unfortunate events that have culminated into this very moment. I am currently planted, sulkily, and bit drunk at my kitchen table with two of my three roommates, staring into our living room…sans furniture.
The incomplete clusterfuck of our once-decorated downstairs is almost too odd, not to mention tacky, for me to take in; pristine wooden floors, granite countertops, stainless steel appliances, and….one large dust bunny disaster area, and the dirty, equally dusty outline of the beautiful black high def TV that formerly stood there.
Not even 24 hours ago, our bachelor(ette) household was perfectly peaceful, with no cause for dissent. Until… wait for it now… someone locked our front door. (Anticlimactic? I thought so.) Immature? Certainly. Justified? Absolutely.
I don’t expect an outsider to understand, but the way things happened is highly amusing, nonetheless.
The tale of how three roommates were stripped of a couch and television to their fourth, less loyal roommate is a long, winding, twisty, turning, bitchy one. One which involves lots of hyena-like cackling, probably a book of spells somewhere, at some point, novel-length text messages, and a cornucopia of blood and gore..just kidding about the last part. But I won’t say that it’s not still a possibility. I also have my suspicions about hidden cameras and/or private investigators, but most of my friends would tell me that part is due to my acute paranoia issues (which emerge in periods of high stress and caffeine/nicotine deprivation).
Now, don’t get me wrong. I am normally the most unwavering of pacifists. Whether or not that’s due to the plethora of alcohol and marijuana at my disposal, who knows? Or really even cares for that matter. The point is, anger is not my favorite emotion and I do my best to avoid it. But there are times when even the most passive of pacifists have no choice but to jump off the tie-dyed, psychedelic, dank-smelling hippie bus at Funky Town, and catch up to the Bad Girls Club on their way downtown.
Weaves half-missing, handcuffs, and smelling of whiskey and bad decisions just might be the way this one goes. But I guess it’s just a situation to watch. And by situation, I mean brawl. Or… cat fight? Maybe just a calm, rational discussion about why I think she’s just a little psycho.
All I’m saying is I would be scared to come get the rest of my stuff. Well, probably more curious than scared. But I’m also a lot more fun than she is. I took the stick out of my ass a long time ago, and since then life has been fab! I’ve always wanted to make that suggestion to her, but I’m afraid that’s kind of just the way her face is and she would get all mad. Pacifist, duh!
Either way, I plan on painting signs for our new art gallery/cat gymnasium/yoga studio that used to be something as useless as a living room, fully naked (or at least topless) when she comes to get the rest of her stuff later today. And that…might just be worth the many, precious hours of mindless trash TV consumption she is taking away from all of us, just to see the look on her (and her boyfriend’s) face.