2002-10-01 || 10:53 p.m.
|| another one of those 'o i love my house! i love my roommates!' entries. ||
i am sitting upright composing an entry in hopes of summoning the energy to give brian a sassy haircut. we are talking about the themes of our house: fake moustaches, tetris, and the strokes. i know. but we cannot choose these things. they are divinely delivered to our doorstep and we have to pick them up whether we want to or not and take them in. like orphans.
oh and lemonade with a healthy dose of blackberry brandy. that's another orphan.
and pre-bedtime ritual smoking on the front porch.
and slapping asses.
and the slogans we affix to our t-shirts (brian: bancroft gay. me: bancroft yay. beck: way bancroft i think. because she was too scared to be bancroft lay. get it? because we live on bancroft way? i know! so funny!).
and flinging ourselves on the couch all dramatic-like, face down of course, to bemoan the most depressing spirit-breaking agonizing condition known as the single life.
(but that is another story.)
(a very painful neverending saga.)
(which we will spend no additional time on because really. dwelling on such things. cannot possibly be constructive. or all that entertaining.)
(unless we go into the scientific experiments and magic spells it, the single life, has spawned.)
(but again. another story.)
but o i love this house. i love the people in it. and i am picking myself up by my mary jane straps and deciding, in a very healthy very admirable way i think, to steer this entry in the direction of The Bright Side.
the bright side:
brian writes emails to inform us that tonight is T.G.I.T.T.T.T. (thank god it's totally terrif taco tuesday). has charmed stewart, the most indifferent unsociable of cats. conjures up magic and potions and candles whose cosmic instructions are written in spanish. dances with me for the reflections in the living room windows. has played a game of tetris with his feet (it was a sunday morning. our hands were busy eating hippie casserole.). makes hippie casserole. lets me lay my head upon his bosom. share a love for elimidate. knows how to make very good coffee and hands it to me while i am splayed out on the floor in jammies watching cooking shows. understands the healing magical merits of taking baths.
becky sings me jennysongs when i am sad. has a tape collection behind the driver's seat of her car completely unaltered from circa 1995 (souixsie and the banshees. heavenly. sisters of mercy, for chrissake.). dances with us in the kitchen. has the most unexpected most exciting dirtiest mouth. is a future librarian. lets me write the best quotes in pencil on the back of our front door. shares my secret outdated unabashed lust for s.p. morrissey. is honestly one of the nicest, so much so you wnat to pick her up and place her in your breast pocket to protect her from the meanies. does not object to dessert for dinner.
and i am. hem. i live in a very small room that is still not unpacked. sing too loud in the mornings sometimes i think. let the cats wander around on the dinner table while we're eating. am undefeated tetris champion, ahem. have grown very fond of the saturday/sunday morning ritual of lying around drinking coffee and watching the cooking shows/listening to this american life. am so blissfully happy here.
now i cut brian's hair. wish us luck and friendly scissors.
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