I Have A Roommate!

So I haven’t posted here in quite a while, but honestly, not much has happened in a while to blog about, until just recently. And here I am now.

So, I reconnected on facebook with an old high school friend of mine, and we were talking about our hometown of Missoula. Neither of us stayed there very long after high school, but both of us remembered it fondly. Life takes you places you weren’t expecting, after all.

Recently, he moved back to Missoula, looking for nostalgia, comfort, and home. Well, they say “you can never go back,” and it’s just sadly true. The old hometown has changed so much, he was deeply disappointed with the place. It has grown too big, there are too many new stores, new buildings, it is too modern, just… too much like California and not enough like Montana. And he’s right.

So I drove over there (I live in Butte, which is only an hour and a half’s drive from Missoula) and “kidnapped” him for 24 hours. I said “Take a look around you at Butte. We’re behind the times. The city is old, it’s falling down, it’s laid back, informal… this city today is like the Missoula you and I grew up in. You might get that nostalgia you’re looking for here rather than in our actual childhood home.”

And it worked. He likes Butte. I don’t blame him. I like Butte, too. People here are friendly, laid back, the place is NOT posh, it’s just comfy and kinda dilapidated. You don’t have to mind your p’s and q’s around here, because everybody’s dirt poor and we all just sort of get it. We’re all in it together. The attitude is officially informal and mellow.

So, I live alone (with my four cats, two budgies and eleven snakes) in a three bedroom apartment because my mother bought this duplex before she passed away, so I would always have a place to live. And I’m a hair’s breadth away from being a hoarder, this apartment is jam-packed to the rafters with stuff (junk or treasures depending on who you ask), but there’s a spare bedroom with a bed in it, so why should it sit unused? I told him to come stay with me, and he accepted.

I was talking to another friend of mine who works at a local pizza place here in town, and she mentioned that they need a day shift cook. Oh? My friend just happens to be a cook. In fact, he used to own his own restaurant. A quick phone call later, and he’s got a job waiting for him when he gets here. It’s like kizmet. The whole universe conspired to make him move here.

Now he’s been here a week. He’s been working for three days, and loves his new job. Came home from work today with a huge grin on his face and glowing report of happiness on the job. And he cooks meals for me, and I hate cooking! He calls himself my housewife, and seems to be blissfully happy about it.

What worries me is that I’ve been living alone for the last twenty years. I’m used to walking around my apartment naked and not worrying about what other people think and always doing my own thing at all times. I’m worried that the stress of having another human being (even a fantastic human being) in the house will freak me out and I’ll drive him away. I’m worried about this because I don’t want it to happen. Having him here is awesome. I think it’ll be good for me, if I survive it. I want it to work. I want to be adaptable and succeed in this whole “having a roommate” thing. It happened so fast, but it feels so right. The original idea was for him to just stay until he could afford and find a place of his own, but now I’m not sure I want to let him leave. I think having him around could be so good for me if I can learn to tolerate another person’s presence. Maybe he can help me de-clutter and get my life in shape again…

And just so we’re utterly clear, there is no romance happening here. He and I are like brother and sister. And he is as gay as a treeful of monkeys, and I have absolutely no problem with that whatsoever. We can ogle men together, even! It’s all good. Please, universe, let this be as good for me as it has been for him. I live in hope!

What NOT to talk about?

Jeez… it seems like I can’t think of a thing in the world to blog about, then I can’t seem to shut up. What shouldn’t I blog about? So much is going on in my world, my head spins with busy.

 

  • My apartment next door is empty.

    Sort of. Well, my cousin moved out over a month ago, but some of her stuff is still here. I can’t exactly rent the place out, because I have nowhere to put the stuff that she’s left behind, which she either doesn’t want or claims is mine. Two pieces I know are mine, that’s fine. The rest of it? I’ve got no clue what to do with it. Sell it, I guess, or put it in the storage shed. Of course, I can’t lift ANY of it, so that means “get some strong friends to lift shit and move furniture for me” and that’s so much easier to type than to do.

    She’s also left the back yard a pigsty. The derelict chicken coop which takes up at least a quarter of the yard, where all the chickens died last year but hey, let’s just leave that coop sitting there, testament to her failure to keep the animals alive. Because Josie probably wants that, right? Yeah. Sure. And the hutch where their rabbit died, well somebody tore the hutch to pieces, but those pieces are… you guessed it, strewn all over the yard still. Then there’s the swingset, the play house, the kids’ cars (you know, the kind little kids sit in), the garbage can full of carpet, and all the dogshit everywhere. No grass, just dogshit. I don’t own a dog. Never have. Hate them. Yeah, thanks for taking care of the place when you moved out, cousin. I really appreciate all you did for me there. I’m going to sell your kids’ stuff out from under you when you’re not looking. Maybe that’ll make up for the back rent you owe me…. *mutter, mutter*

    A friend said he’d help me spackle in the nail holes and repaint, but since he’s a volunteer, I can’t exactly criticize the fact that he’s nowhere to be seen. I mean, I can, but what a bitch, right? No. I’ll behave. So there’s that.

  • I haven’t written anything in my novel series for about three years. Yeah. My mom passed away over two years ago now, and I was about a year into a dead zone in writing when she passed. It’s like my muse just up and moved out or something. Can’t say as I blame her, really…
  • I have a pet snake now. He’s awesome, and I adore him. His name is Orion, and he’s a baby ball python. Baby as in he was born in February. Yes, I said “born” and not “hatched” because pythons are live-born, they don’t lay eggs. About 20 or so inches long atm, he’s just gorgeous. Unless you’re not a snake person, in which case he’s creepy and slimy the way all snakes are. Don’t worry, I’m not offended. I understand. I’m that exact way with spiders.

    My boyfriend Dave bought Orion for me as his birthday present. He was given money for his birthday, and instead of being responsible with it, he bought (among other irresponsible things) a pair of ball pythons, one for himself and one for me. As a romantic gesture. Now don’t get me wrong, I love Orion, but what the actual f*ck was he thinking buying someone a pet as a gift? That never goes well. What if someone isn’t expecting this? Because I wasn’t. We had discussed the possibility of doing this someday, but then out of the blue, surprise, here’s your snake, sweetie! No, that’s just rude. So now I am a snake owner. And he’s awesome. But kind of like an unplanned pregnancy, really.

    Orion eats live mice. It may be sick and twisted of me, but I love watching him eat. I do. Put him in the feeding tank and watch him throw his coils around some poor, witless mouse and suffocate it… I’m in heaven. It’s a vicarious thrill, I guess. I wish I could do that to some people, some days.

    Orion is spoiled. He’s got a huge tank for a tiny snake (he’ll grow into it), a humidifier that makes his tank look like it’s in a rock video, two heat lamps (day and night), rocks, soil, basking platform, water dish, the works. He is stylin’. He is also a very mellow guy, likes to be held, friendly as you please. We sit and watch tv together, it’s nice.

  • My cat Jack needs surgery. He’s been pretty grumpy for a long time, but it’s been getting worse, so I took him in to the vet and they did some X-rays and lo and behold, he has a bad back. Vet showed me the pictures, and sure enough, what I saw would’ve made me grumpy, too. So the vet wants to do surgery, but it’s $2,000. Like that’s gonna happen any time soon! So she gives him a pain shot for “in the meantime” and I take him home. I put up a GoFundMe page for him, try to raise a little money. Actually managed to raise $505 before the donations stopped trickling in. Which makes Jack the richest cat I know. Yes, he’ll get his surgery, eventually, but not right away. Maybe let me get that apartment next door rented out and some rent money coming in from that first….
  • Anyway, money being tight, I’m not going to the family reunion this fall. Can’t afford surgery for a cat, I’m surely not gonna drive 2,500 miles across the country to go live in a cabin for a week and hang out with the old folks. Much as I would love to, that costs a lot more than two grand, and the money just ain’t there. Maybe next year, if I’m lucky.

And so on, and so forth. Plenty of stuff to talk about, see? In the meantime I’ve found a wonderful website that I’m very excited about called projecturok.org, which I’d highly recommend anyone with any mental health issues check out. It’s aimed primarily at troubled teens, but will work for troubled anyone, really. That’s Project You Are Okay, not Project You Rock, although they do rock. It’s full of videos and blog posts from people who are depressed, or other mental illness sufferers/survivors, so it’s kind of like this huge peer-support group online. The main thing is that in every video, you have to say “you are okay” somewhere in it. I’m making a video, how can I not? I’m excited to share!

I also got a new tattoo recently. It’s a semicolon. Because of Project Semicolon. This is something I’d heard about a long time ago, and I didn’t know they had a website and were all organized and stuff. It was just this idea I’d heard floating around and wanted to do. So I did it, then when I was sharing my photos of my tat, I found out it’s this whole organized thing. Who knew? Well, there ya go. And now I don’t have to go into this lengthy explanation of what my tattoo means to me, because it’s all there in the other website, put more eloquently than I would probably have been anyway.  I got mine on my inside left ankle, and it’s very fancy-looking because me, do something ordinary and normal-looking? Yeah, right. As if.