Friday, January 13, 2006

Guest Blogger: Stacy's Angry Couch

Goddamnit, he's doing it again.

This Nimrod comes home and immediately hops his skinny ass on my cushions and turns on Letterman.


I used to live with this lovely long haired redhead, but she used to cover me in this nasty yellow sheet, so I could never see what was going on.

The sounds, oh the sounds from her apartment sent my imagination racing!

All I hear now are episodes of Star Trek interrupted mometarily by the sounds of vomiting coming from the bathroom.

I know. I know. I should be more compassionaite, but Jesus Christ, how much barfing can one guy do over a lifetime??

Hold on a second...

(Herbie the Elderly Couch starts to couch, softly at first, but then it becomes more violent until an object comes flying from between the cushions.)

Sorry about that. Goober let the remote control slide between my cushions again.

When I first heard I was going to be leaving to join the living room of a semi-famous radio personality, I started to get excited. I mean, imagine the tight asses that would be placing themselves upon my face.

Instead, I get Boney Ass in his boxers eating Cheetos and wiping his hands on the underside of my cushions.

Dumb bastard.

These unfortunately will be the final words I ever utter, for upon moving to his new edifice, Nimrod will be giving me away.

I watched him as he composed the ad earlier for Craigslist, and all I could catch were the words "free", "garage band", "back porch" and "moody."

I take offense to "garage band." I'm definately a "first college couch" kind of furniture.

But nobody ever listens.


Every once and a while, when Stick Boy comes home and is about ready to plop himself down upon me once again for an evening of slugadashery (I just made that word up by the way...I'm a clever couch) I want to flip out my hide-a-bed and slap his ass to the wall.

Goddamnit that would be funny.

But that would break all the rules.

And I'm a law abiding couch.

If you have lots of tight asses around, despise televised science fiction and don't wipe your hands on the furniture, I'd love to be your new couch.

Peace out bitches.

Wednesday, January 11, 2006

Greek Goddess in Turmoil

It's been nearly a week and I haven't heard a word.

Her catheter had been clotting on and off for some time and when I spoke to her last Thursday she said she probably was going to be admitted to the hospital.

She promised, oh my goodness did she promise, that she would call and update me once she felt well enough.

That call never came.

The first time I attempted to call, her voice mail was full.

This exponentially quadrupled my worry.

A couple days later I left a message, but to no avail.

I'm trying to be patient and hope for the best, but that's not one of my strong points.

A year ago she just stopped calling. For three months. Our friendship has been volatile in the past, so I figured I'd done something to infuriate her and she was just ignoring me.

I know, dopey me.

It turns out she nearly died after her last catheter surgery. They really did a number on her digestive tract and she has a difficult time to this day keeping food down.

And the pain in her surgical scar still causes her incredible suffering.

When we met over my vacation, we went out for pizza and she told me all her plans for when she gets well.

How she wants to write a book exposing what the Turks have done to her native Cyprus.

How she'll produce the chilling stage play based on her book that will truly bring light to the situation in Greece.

How she wants to try to make up in some small way all the suffering and worry she's caused her family.

You may scoff at her plans, but if any one individual can see their dreams to fruition, it's my favorite Greek Goddess.

Which is why she has to get better. She just has to.

If life has any shred of decency left in it's polluted, mangled form, she will.

I hope.

Monday, January 09, 2006

2 Cats + 1 Stacy = A New Home

I managed to find a home today after very little effort and even less frustration.

In May of 2004, once the realization of the beginning of Dialysis began to sink into my already traumatized little mind, I decided I didn't need to inflict my impending illness on any other member of the human race.

So I rented my own little Stacy Bachelor Pad.

If I had any furniture, or disposable income, I would have kept the place and pushed on.

But loud music to the left of me and hollerin' rednecks above proved that it was time to move.

Reluctantly I decided it was time for another roommate, but before I began this meandering adventure, I set some ground rules:

1) No dudes.

Except for my paisano Ted, I have had awful experiences with male roommates.

2) $500 a month was my limit.

Any more per month and I might as well look for a studio.

3) No more than one roommate.

You're just asking for trouble.

4) No more Coddingtown peeps.

I've had a gun waved in my face enough growing up in the armpit of California known as the Central Valley. Why endure another season of this?

5) No 101 commuting.

A four mile commute may seem like heaven to most of you, but when it's on our two lane freeway (the only freeway in Sonoma County) I'm just wasting my time.

I ended up only seeing three places and the third one was the one I wanted.


She was a retired lady who seemed nice enough and she checked my references thoroughly (which I totally understand) but she kept listing rules she'd created for the house. No guests overnight. No guests period. No cooking in the kitchen. No akdjl;ajdsfakdfja.

Sorry, but everything she started to say just melted into gibberish. Although she offered me the room and it was in a fantastic neighborhood, I turned it down.


Another beautiful home in Bennett Valley (which is the pristine area to live in Sonoma County) and it was really close to work. The woman who lived there was a very alluring short-haired brunette, probably early 40's with a four year old who spends every other weekend with her.

The room was really small, probably 8' x 10' and there would be two other male roommates in the house. I met most everyone in the house and I really had a great vibe, but the size of the room plus the amount of people were true negatives to me.

On my drive back to work, she actually called and offered me the room. I said I'd call her the following day, which I did and wished her the best on her search.


When she responded to my e-mail from her posting on Craigslist, she was very goofy on the phone.

But not in a "she needs medication immediately" kinda way.


Or silly. Maybe even a little loopy.

Since I seem to excel at all three of those, I decided to play along.

Her name is Catherine but everyone calls her "Cat". She's in her late 30's and has returned to college to get her master's in Psychology.

This is what I gathered as she continued to speak as we toured her apartment.

She had been there for four years and has had interesting and troublesome experiences with roommates in the past.

Two were bi-polar. One had a disturbing preoccuation with marijuana.

The fourth just simply disappeared.

One thing I had going for me in all these roommate visit's is I don't give off a creepy vibe.

In fact, if you look at my photo you'll see I have that Ron Howard, all-American, Mom's apple pie kinda face.

At least that's what I've been told.

Or at least that's what I'm telling you.

I can't quite remember at this time.

Anyway, the room is about 11' x 13' and one of the eleven foot walls is a complete closet. There's storage space upstairs in the hallway, in the pantry downstairs next to the kitchen and over the parking spot.

It's also only a mile and a half from work with no freeway driving.

I will also be sharing the space with her pride and joy, "Cinder" the Wonder Cat.

Cinder is all black with a few white spots on various parts of her body.

And she didn't bite or hiss, so I've got that going for me.

Neither did Cinder, so all is well.

The complex also has a pool and covered parking and seemed pretty quiet for a Saturday afternoon.

And the most excellent part: no security deposit.

She's subletting the apartment and she has a cat, so she didn't feel right charging any deposit.

This means when late February rolls around, $500-$600 will be in my pocket and ready to use to catch up on bills.

To quote the late, great George Peppard from the 80's TV show "A-Team":

"I love it when a plan comes together."