Even forgot why I woke myself up with a high pitched noise out of a plastic box. Showered it right off of me. Casually rummaged around on Moviefone for show times. Quickly seperating my laundry, would hand in the grubby clothes on my way to the flick.

While smelling the pit's of my t-shirts, testing them for washing necessity, I started thinking of the bills needing to be paid. Hoping that the electric bill will show up sometime today so I can pay it on time.

Imagine that. Actually wishing for a bill to arrive. Um, teacher could I have some extra homework for the weekend? What kind of sober responsibility is this shit? Worrying whether or not the mailman lost my light bill. Christ, I need to play some four square to combat this immediately.

Also determined to do laundry ahead of the game. Not even waiting for situation critical. Like using swimming trunks as undies or just free ballin. Wearing the mismatched pairs of socks from the selection of singles. I always keep the singles too as if some laundromat is holding the other one for ransom. Soon as I give them eighty-two quarters I can reunite the knitted couple. Anyway, making sure the spanky wardrobe department is well managed.

It was around the fourth set of shirt pits deeply sniffed that I remembered why I woke myself up unnaturally on my day off in the first place. Rent! Re-organise the schedule. Ditch the piles of whites and coloreds, throw on a man in black outfit, and bounce.

Since not all of my life is grown up, as daydreams of utility bills arriving and early laundry preparations make it seem, I can't just write out a check to pay for my rent. Technically it ain't exactly my rent. I have to deposit cash into someone else's bank account so they can pay their rent. As I sublet, wink wink, free from the actual adult non nomad name signed on lease deal.

Grumph.

It's fucked how much a name on a lease can give one a sense of self worth. Or the reverse, make you feel like a couch surfing sack of compost tied in the middle, living under someone else's bonafide name. I am the curator of the museum of miss sublet's artifacts. Decorations all hers. Electronics, save this sweet sweet machine I am typing on and blowing kisses to, all hers. Piles of her clothes unmanageable in the bedroom. This ain't my place despite breathing and shedding skin particles here for three years already.

Had to carve out a few grottos of spank to make me feel at home. First I had to scrape layers of funk out of here since the chick is a pig. Literally minutes into one of her visits and detritus just falls off her ass. Don't care how much of a double standard it is, sloppy grubby chicks curdle the contents of my stomach. Ugh, and her feet....... Blech.

Alright, had to walk away from the computer for a bit there and beat the image of her flaky flippers out of my mind. My insomnia nightmares need no fuel. Lordy, where's the fucking alcohol.

Back to the grottos. I have a Simpson's action figures and environments display centralised in the crib. Zues, rain down golden coins on me so I may acquire what I am missing from that series. Grrrrrrr, bloody sporking faux punk twiddle stick shitburger Blink82 bastard. Not that I was a huge regular fan of MTV Cribs, but after seeing that asshole have the entire Simpsons line up all nicely showcased in a special cabinet, all purchased from spoils of refuse pandering rock, well I don't watch that show anymore.

Also three handcrafted statuette type things of Fry, Leela with Nibbler, and Bender on top of the television. Pasted a black and white photo of Annie Sprinkle up. Got my ebon lava stone carved fertlity devils from Hawaii out. My expanse of literature and comic books everywhere on display and for the reading. Madman, Hellboy, and Milk and Cheese coasters. Few hints that I have taken sapling roots here.

I am super grateful of her fifty-one cd tray device left behind however. Got a random setting, like my own private dive bar jukebox. Helps muchly when escaping the tards of the planet or doing chores. Think I have mentioned this wonderment before on a previous entry. Will risk being redundant and not slam the backspace key. Good thinking dork. Shut the fuck up, I like that stereo feature. "I like that stereo feature" you sound like an ass. Shut up, I'm going to my room to read Maxim and I'm not coming back out you insensitive prick.

Good riddance.