The Fucking Internets | Half of life is fucking up the other half is dealing with it. – Henry Rollins

Fucking Apartment

So, I’ve moved again.

I’ve finally got my own place. I’ve moved out of my mother’s house, which I was grateful to have been staying in while I started to get my shit together. No more dinner waiting when I get home, which is okay, because I now have an ample supply of frozen burritos and ramen noodles.

I’ve moved into Downtown Winston-Salem, which is the place to be, apparently, if you have to live in Winston-Salem. I’ve not had the chance to venture out, between all of the working and being poor. That should change next week.

The Not Venturing Out thing, not the working or being poor thing. But next week, I’ll be less poor (not by a lot) and will be working hours that are a little more fucking normal.

Of course, in order to venture out, I’ll need to avoid some of the more interesting locals. Like Robert, the man who smells like he has rolled in beer while and perhaps after drinking it. He’ll sing. And he’s told me that God gave him the gift to see that I’m a good guy. He’d probably think I’m an even better guy if I were to buy one of the TV’s he’s selling, or give him a couple of bucks since I don’t need a TV.

Then there are the people in the next apartment, who don’t necessarily need to be avoided, but I want to avoid anyway. When they’re not fighting about who the fuck knows what, they’re knocking on my window because they’ve locked their keys in. Never mind the fact that even if I let them into the lobby, they still can’t get into their apartment. I also need to avoid their boots and socks, which being insanely fucking offensive in odor, are apparently best left in the lobby, rather than in their apartment. And while I appreciate their motives, I don’t appreciate the smell.

The inside of my apartment is fairly sparse at the moment. I now have a table and a couple of chairs, courtesy of my brother. I have my bed, headboard, radio in my room. I have my 4G wireless modem, my Xbox 360 and my TV in my living room so that I can watch streaming Netflix and Hulu. I have my Einstein bust.

My electric range was last cleaned when it was bought used from the Kramden’s in 1958. I’ve cleaned it as best as I could, and am no longer scared shitless of it, but I have yet to be brave enough to make a meal on it.

Hence the frozen burritos and ramen noodles. Because I have a coffee maker and a microwave.

All I need now is my couch, and more of my random books, movies and video games. And some cash to go check out some of the clubs and bars that pepper the area.

What I don’t need is roommates. For the first time since Bush Sr. was in office, I live completely alone. The only roommate I could ever accept at this point would be my daughter, but to be honest, if she moved back with me, I would need to move. Because even though I could never get the kid to sleep in her own room, instead of the living room, teenage girls need their own room. But I don’t think I’ll have to worry about that until Summer at the extreme earliest.

But one of the best things about having the apartment to myself (especially now that I have a table), is that I can now work in relative peace, quiet and without interruption. Unless you count season 7 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

So expect to hear more from me in the coming days, weeks and months. I have like, five fucking blogs that I now need to try and keep up with. I have things to write, and re-write.

Oh, and also I have a podcast with my friend Joe. This is a plug. Catch it at http://nottheshow.com.

Now leave me alone, so I can rock again.

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