Mean Rubber

Photo by Lovelee Dae

Another monday, another kick in the fricken nuts.

Trying to make my peace with the fact that this, like all mondays, royally sucked. I drove home through an extra half hour of stop and go traffic, only to take five minutes to park when I got to my place. This is primarily because the fucking Yeti that lives across from me needed a whole five minutes to waddle her giant ass across the street. There I sat, my car idling, burning off more gas as her two cheeks ebb and flow against each other with the biggest series of retreats and advances since D-day. At $2.79+ a gallon, that bitch owes me at least an ice coffee. And I know she likes Dunks.

My current area sucks so much I couldn’t even sleep off the hangover I got this weekend from boozing everywhere in Boston but my place. Ever try and sleep off a hangover only to fail because one neighbor is busy loudly fucking anyone but his wife and your other neighbor, the 18 year old jailbait, is in the process of running her boyfriend over again? Christ I wish I made that shit up.

Man I knew I needed a change, but I didn’t think it was this bad until I convinced some kind gal to let me crash at her place for the weekend not for the purpose of getting laid, but rather something more along the lines of, “look, I’m a drunk, I hate my place and my area, and I just don’t want to go home”.

And it’s not like I’m going to fall into a relationship and take that all important trial step of moving in. Let’s be honest, drunken underachievers just don’t rate as high as they did in 1940. Hell, to be married by now I’d have to go back to the days of pre-arranged Indian marriages. Even then my parents would probably have had to pay a hefty fee to convince someone to shack their daughter up with Ol’ “Smells Like Firewater”.

But apparently I guess I’m just too much of a dickbag to find a roommate. I mean, I get the fear of living with a moderate drunk and the general assumption I wouldn’t pay the bills because of said alcoholism. Trust me, I’ve been at this since like age 17 and I’ve got a credit rating in the 700s. Why the hell is it hard to find like minded people? Hell, all I meet are yuppies and vegans. What the fuck is a vegan anyway? Is that like a less energetic or strict vegetarian? Fucked if I know, nor do I care. Not sure I’d make it a communal household anyway. I don’t think strolling in on a sunday with, “hey guys, got beer and wings!” would go over too well.

I don’t know, all things considered, can’t say I’m the worst potential roommate. Christ, there’s some gal out there who specifically requests no snoring although if you’re nose is dry or you have a cold, that’s ok. Gee, that’s real fricken kind of you sweetheart, don’t let your heart fall out of your chest. And then there’s the guy looking to fill a place for June 1st. Yep, and I’m still hoping the Bruins win the next series.

I need a fucking change. Or Jesus in my life.