Friday, June 20, 2008
Unlike my dad, my bird Baby isn't much of a whistler. She is more of a chirper, clucker or a screecher. In fact it is her morning ritual that she gets on her perch near the window and screeches for what seems like ages, talking to birds blocks away. After she settles down she is content to cluck away - unless I leave the room, at which point she screeches again to ask where I had gone. She rarely makes a true whistling sound though.
Today she was sitting on her perch looking out the window and from out of nowhere she whistled the first bar of the Robin Hood song. It blew my mind. She only got the first three notes right, but the rest of the notes seemed to me to be in time with the music.
I went to congratulate her awesome singing. I was hoping she'd appreciate the praise and sing some more, but instead she just flew to a lamp above my desk and started making a weird sustained gargling noise as she pecked at the lamp.
I decided to see what she'd do if she actually heard the song, so I loaded it up on YouTube. As the short introduction played she continued to gargle and peck - until Roger Miller started whistling. At this point she started listening intently. After a few seconds it seemed to me that she decided to whistle along, and she tried her best until the whistling ended on the song. Then she went back to the pecking.
We listened to the entire song and althought she wasn't whistling the melody, she was whistling loud and proud so I thought I'd give her another chance. I restarted the video and she gave me a few good notes, but then decided to leave while she was still on top.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
This is an email that Chino sent me this morning. I thought it was funny.
Yesterday Chino and I went to the River Trail after work for a walk. When we returned, I pulled into the garage and we both hopped out of the car like I do everyday. There is a single brick step that leads up to the back door to my house that is in the garage. So, Chino and I are walking to the step, I am about two feet from the step when something on the step moves and hisses. IT WAS A GOD DAMN FUCKING SNAKE! The snake was 25 feet long, black, slimy and fangy. It was a Anacondacobramoccasinboaconstrictor.
I flipped the fuck out. I started screaming at the top of my lungs and ran out into the back yard. It needs to be noted that my traitor of dog ran away in fear to the backyard instead of protecting me from the Anacondacobramoccasinboaconstrictor. Shannon, who heard me screaming, comes barreling out of the house--thank God he came out the front door because if he would have opened the back door the snake would have went into my house (which was obviously it's objective). I say "IT'S A ANACONDACOBRAMOCCASINBOACONSTRICTOR!!! KILL IT!" Well the sneaky 45 foot long bastard slithers behind some shelves in the garage and Shannon can't get to it. By then I have ran into the middle of the street (I needed distance from the snake infested house) and am screaming at my husband that either he locate and dispose of the Anacondacobramoccasinboaconstrictor or else I am never stepping foot in that house ever again! I was completely prepared to go live in a hotel---a snake free one that is.
So Shannon moves the shelves and finds the 50 foot snake, takes the shovel and slays the beast. He then proceeds to pick it up and inspect it to prove to me that is was dead.I determined (from the middle of the street) that is was dead, but all night long I expected to find a snake somewhere in my house.
Shannon "claims" that the snake was only 18 inches long, non-venomous black runner. Well he is just deluded! He was a fucking 60 foot long poisonous Anacondacobramoccasinboaconstrictor!
I will never be able to go in my garage again. I honestly couldn’t sleep last night because I was worried that one of its family members and made it inside my house! I can't live there any longer. I am calling a realtor today.- Kara C.
P.S. Don't be confused. In her story she refers to 'Chino'. Chino is actually her dog's name, but I call her Chino too.
P.P.S. Don't worry. There wasn't a 90 foot long Anacondacobramoccasinboafuckingconstrictor loose in Saskatchewan. Chino lives in North Carolina.
P.P.P.S. I like how she combined all the different snake names into one, but she must have more snake knowledge than me because to me a moccasin is a shoe.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
What are swear words really? Aren't they are just words that represent places or things or actions? We almost always have a non-swear to mean the same thing, but if it is the same meaning, what is the difference?
Is there really any difference between the word shit and the word poop? Both words describe the same thing, yet one is said repeatedly to kids of any age, and one isn't allowed for them to hear until they are fourteen. Why does a different set of letters make such a difference?
There is a TV show called Battlestar Galactica. The writers wanted their characters to be able to swear, but it is a TV show so they couldn't. They decided that since it was a science fiction show, and the characters are all from a different planet, they could feasibly substitute the fake word 'frak' for the real word 'fuck' and the viewers would buy it. On this show it isn't uncommon to hear frak used as an expletive, or to hear that someone is frakking someone else. I am not completely sure, but I think they have even said "frak off!" They use it in an exact one to one replacement. Everyone watching the show understands the sentiment or action behind frak is exactly the same sentiment or action conveyed by the word fuck - yet it clears the censors. Once again, it isn't the meaning of the word... it is just the arbitrary letters that make up the word that are offensive.
Speaking of offensive, you may recall that I swore off the dating site www.plentyoffish.com (abbreviated from here on as PoF). I had been on the site for at least a year and I enjoyed using it. The only problem is that nobody knew what 'transgender' meant and I was getting sick of explaining it all the time. I decided it might clear things up for people if I changed it to read 'transsexual' instead. The next day my profile was gone.
I had no idea what had happened, so I just created a new profile. The next day that profile was gone too! Over the next few days every profile I made containing 'transsexual' was automatically deleted within minutes after creation. I could only imagine that the owners of the PoF website considered the word transsexual so vulgar and so offensive that any profile containing the word would be removed without warning (even though I had been using 'transgender' for a year and the definition of transgender includes the definition of transsexual).
At first I decided to forget the site and never return, but the injustice of it pissed me off so much I wasn't content to walk away for longer than an hour. As a test I made a new profile without the word and it was allowed to persist more than a day. I started sending messages to the moderators of the site. Nobody I spoke to could tell me why I was removed once, let alone multiple times. I presented my theory that the word transsexual was somehow deemed too vulgar and any profile with that word was auto-deleted. I was assured this was not the case. They said they had no explanation for why dozens of 'transsexual' profiles were removed when an otherwise identical profile was allowed to stay.
After a month or so my profile was still there, and I changed it to include 'transsexual'. Whatever the reason was, apparently transsexual is not a foul word to them anymore, but after using the site for a while I've discovered that many words still are.
Tonight I was on PoF chatting with a guy who said he was a big animal lover. We sent several messages back and forth and he mentioned having a dog, a cat and a bird. I mentioned that I had a cockatiel and suddenly he stopped replying. After a few minutes I made a joke, "I guess you are not a cockatiel lover!" No reply again.
About five minutes later he sent a message, "Hey where did you go?" I thought it odd since I had sent him two messages since his last one. I decided to check out what messages actually went through, and it looked like both messages containing the word cockatiel had been blocked. I decided to resend the first message, substituting c0ckatiel (note the zero instead of the 'o') for cockatiel and it went through.
Cockatiel is a fowl word, but not a foul word (oh that was a terrible, terrible joke). I don't think the problem was the entire word, but with it's constituent parts. It looked to me that the owners of PoF are upset by the letters 'c', 'o', 'c', and 'k'. They them so offensive that they won't even let any part of a message through if it contains that simple combination of three little letters in that specific sequence.
I couldn't help but notice that the word wasn't bleeped out. I would have thought the message would carry through, but 'cock' would have been turned into 'c**k', or something similar, but it wasn't. Instead though, the entire message was just blocked and deleted. This says to me that at some point a decision must have been made that no amount of information can redeem a message that contains a couple 'c's and an 'o' and a 'k' in some particular sequence. I now know the policy, but I just can't wrap my head around it. If indeed I wanted to say cock in the vernacular definition of the word, now that I know it is blocked there are other terms I could use instead that mean the exact same thing (I tried as many as I could think of*, and they all got through). Once again they are not concerned about blocking meaning, just those particular letters are censored.
I wonder how many broken hearts there have been after a shy man gathers up the courage to ask a woman out for cocktails only to have her never reply - because the PoF blocked the message for containing an arbitrary set of letters that they find offensive.
Right about now I find the letters PoF offensive.
* When I said I tried as many as I could think of, I meant it. I picked someone who had emailed me previously and I replied to him several times. Each reply contained one word that can mean the same as cock. Luckily I could only think of three alternative words, but even so... next time he logs in he will have three messages from me: "Penis", "Dick" and "Schlong".
P.S. Something shocking happened on PoF a couple weeks ago. I wish it had been censored so I wouldn't have had to see it. I logged in to see a picture of my ex-friend Rob smack in the middle of the screen. It was really upsetting to see his picture there... I mean come on, that picture is five years old! BTW, best line ever from a dating site profile: "first date? well that would probably be after a while of e-mailing, maybe talking on the phone eventually." Oh don't aim too high Rob!
P.P.S. I know why I don't often go on dates. I just got a message from a guy who said "I like to try different things, if you are interested." I replied with "As in food? I've always wanted to try ostrich burgers." It was a glib answer, but I just hate it when a first-time message cuts to the chase like that. I can't help but read his message like so "Hey, I am only talking to you because you are different and I want to try having sex with you." Am I wrong on that?
P.P.P.S. I still have a lot of resentment towards Rob. I am trying to get over it. Granted today's comments aren't exactly going to rekindle a friendship, but I've extended the olive branch at least a dozen times over the years. I do it by sending an email every so often after a particularly good episode of Doctor Who or Battlestar Galactica. I just want to discuss the program, but he has never replied. I guess where I harbour resentment Rob harbours something much stronger. Am I wrong on that?
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
Sunday, June 01, 2008
That weekend Dad asked me to help him out. He was going to build a patio using paving stones. I said I couldn't. I had already committed myself to helping a friend move. I didn't see him much that weekend. If I had only known it would have been his last.
On Tuesday morning I was laying half-asleep in my parent's basement when my mom burst into the room. She was extremely upset and said that dad had suffered a heart attack while out picking up more paving stones.
We rushed to the hospital. To be honest I don't know how or when my sister arrived, I just know we were all at the emergency room at the same time. We gave our name at the desk and the nurse said to follow her and she'd get the doctor. Someone, I don't know who, asked if he was alright. The nurse said she'd get the doctor to speak to us right away. My mom said "Is my husband dead?". The nurse said "Yes he is."
There is nothing worse than thinking about the 'what ifs'. What if I had helped him? Maybe he wouldn't have been so strained. If I was involved maybe I'd have been with him to help load more paving stones. What if I had been there to tell him to take a break? What if I had just taken that last chance to spend time with him?
I thought about things like this for years. I thought about it so much that every time I was reminded of my dad, my heart would sink. I'd think of what I might have had if he lived longer - what I should have had. He was only in his 50s, he should have had more time. I'd think about what I was missing. I'd think of the what ifs instead of thinking about him.
Over the years thinking about dad became easier. I was better able to think about the happy memories with my dad instead of dwelling on his death, but it was still really hard to get past that sinking feeling.
Quite a while ago now I was on Facebook and saw a person who I hadn't spoken to since elementary school. His name is Glen N. I actually met him sometime in the 70's when we were both in 'Beavers'. This is when he met my dad too, as my dad was a Beaver leader. (Beavers is the group that comes before 'Cub Scouts' which is the group that comes before 'Boy Scouts'.) After Beavers Glen and I went to different elementary schools for years. When his school closed he came to my school (and we may have even gone to highschool together).
When he came to my school we were not exactly friends. We not only hung out in different groups, but the only time I remember spending time with him was one afternoon when he was repeatedly hitting me over the head until his hand hurt and he had to quit.
That being the case I was apprehensive about saying hi to him, but I realized this isn't the playground anymore. He wrote back and he didn't realize who I was at first. He said he went to school with my brother Andrew. I explained that I am actually that same person with a new name.
He didn't react poorly at all to either my transsexuality or to the fact that we didn't part on good company years ago. In fact the only thing he said was that he had heard about my dad's death. He said that my dad helped him out through a lot of tough times when he was younger and in trouble. He said he owed my dad a lot. Glen's words seemed so real and heartfelt, they really affected me.
I haven't seen him on Facebook since. It was like he came on just briefly enough to say something great about my dad and then he disappeared.
I think about dad a lot. The day we lost him was the worst day of my life. It is taking me a long time to get over that day. It has taken a long time for me to think about that day without crying. Lately happy memories of 30 years of life with my dad have replaced the sad memories involving his death. I know I'm his kid so I am biased, but my dad was a great guy. I've always been proud of him, the things he did when he was around, and I'm proud of what he has left in me. I have a lot of qualities in myself that came directly from him and I am better for them all. Being proud of my dad is nothing new, but thanks to Glen I was given a chance to hear something new about him that I didn't know, and another reason to be proud.
I remember my very first day of Beavers. I didn't know what Beavers was but I knew there'd be a bunch of kids there and I was very excited that *my* dad was going to be a leader. He said he was probably going to be called 'Rusty' because of his hair colour. I didn't know yet that they gave the leaders special names. I couldn't figure out why anyone'd call him Rusty at all, but sure enough he was introduced to everyone as Rusty, and that is what all the kids called him - except me.
I called him Dad.
I miss you Dad!
I picked out a good chunk of tree and trimmed down it's branches. It was about four and a half feet tall and the branches I left had good angles for perching on and landing on. Mom and I went to Home Depot and picked up a big flower pot and a bag of rocks. All I had to do was put the branch in the pot and anchor it with the rocks.
Baby watched me as I was putting it together, and as I dragged it into place. As soon as it was done she flew straight to it and just hung out for about an hour. Here are a couple pictures of her on it.
Playing with the twist-tie hilding up the toy
(instead of the toy)
Checking out the bark
Looking out the window
(from her angle she can see out)
Finally playing with the toy
(I had to re-hang it, she untied the twist-tie shortly after the first picture)
Coming to find out what all these flashes were coming from.
Aaron wouldn't pretend to be lost in thought when I spoke. He wouldn't pretend to not hear me either. He'd just ignore me. I found it odd that'd he'd ignore me since I am not much of a talker to begin with. Not only that but we so rarely saw each other that even if I spoke to him everytime I saw him it would be three days since we last spoke.
At first our conversations went like this:
Sarah would be in the kitchen making supper and Aaron'd walk in the door.
Sarah: "Hi, how are you?"
Aaron would take off his shoes.
Sarah: "How was work?
Aaron would walk into the hallway into his bedroom. Sarah would hear the door close.
After he got to know me better our conversations went like this:
Sarah would be in the living room on the laptop and Aaron would walk in.
Sarah: "Hey, how's it going?"
Aaron would sit down on the chair and turn on the TV
Sarah: "Anything good on right now?"
Aaron: "Fuck! Enough questions."
Fuck was actually Aaron's most oft-used word. It was applied to every scenario where he felt words were unnecessary - which was every scenario. I don't know why it annoyed him so. Granted, sometimes I'd speak to him while he was watching TV and he'd say "Fuck, I'm watching TV" Unfortunately by this time I had limited my questions to matters of money, and I guess he didn't think that the question "Can I get the bill money on Friday?" trumped his movie. I certainly did.
I guess he thought that I didn't need to ask. He did always pay me on the day he said he would, but apparently I didn't trust him to pay without reminding him and perhaps he sensed that distrust. I didn't give him an opportunity to pay me without having asked him first. I didn't give him a chance to reap the benefit of the doubt. Maybe always having to confirm his unspoken intentions like that got under his skin. He probably felt he was nonverbally conveying his intentions well enough and felt insulted when I asked him.
In the short periods of time I did see him, if he was conveying anything nonverbally I was completely incapable of reading it. It seemed to me that I knew nothing about him and nothing about his intentions toward anything. Still, I was aware that every time I spoke to him now it was about money or some sort of chore. I forgot that he got just as annoyed when I'd say "Wow it's nice out today" as he did when I'd say "Can I get that $30?" and I began to think I should go a little easier on him.
When we were down to four days left in the apartment I braved pissing him off by speaking to him. He was watching an anime DVD in the living room. I said, "Well, we almost have to leave here soon." He didn't take his eyes off the TV. "What are your plans?"
Aaron looked annoyed and still keeping his eyes on the TV said, "Plans about what?"
"About the apartment" I said.
"I aint got no plans about the apartment." Aaron was not well-spoken.
"Well you should, we have to leave here in a few days. Like my plans are that I am going to pack over the next couple days, the movers are coming on Wednesday, and I'll do clean up Thursday and Friday. Friday will be my last day here."
Aaron said, eyes still on the TV, "Friday will be my last day here too." If it was possible his eyes seem to become more focused on the TV and in some subliminal way ended the conversation.
That answer didn't satisfy me. Conspicuously absent to me was the mention of when he was going to do clean up. I knew the 'fuck' was coming soon if I kept talking, but I had to ask... "So do you think you are going to do any clean up?"
And then it came. "Fuck! What do you think?" I decided this was it. Nearing the end of our relationship I'd finally give him the benefit of the doubt right here right now. My instinct was screaming at me to nail him down on a yes or no, but I decided to ignore it. I concluded that his answer meant that he would do some clean up. I then nodded, said ok, and walked away.
Well, I thought wrong. Aaron not only didn't clean, he left garbage in his room for my sister and I to take out for him. That'll teach me for giving someone like him the benefit of the doubt.
P.S. You may wonder why I chose him to be a roommate in the first place. The answer is: He initially showed up with his older sister. In her presence he was completely polite and well-mannered. On his own though he was a nightmare.
P.P.S. I actually had to clean spit off his walls. Spit.
P.P.P.S. On Wednesday he texted me, "Did u find a roommate yet". On Thursday I asked him if he was asking to be my roommate in my new place. He said he was. I was dying to laugh at his face... but at this point I didn't know yet he wasn't going to clean, and he also owed me $64 so I didn't. If you ever get a chance to read my blog Aaron, then know that my thoughts at the time were "Hahahahaha AS IF! You're the WORST!"
I hope you like it.
As I round out my last few weeks living in this apartment I have a lot of mixed feelings. On one hand I absolutely love this place, and I will be extremely sad to move on. I will miss that huge balcony and all the naps I had out there on my balcony futon. I'll miss my cozy living room, and I will miss my neighbourhood. I can't imagine ever choosing to move away under any different circumstances. On the other hand I think maybe my feelings of happiness probably come from inside me and not from my apartment. I am still very reluctant to move, but very excited at the same time because I think that it is very possible that it won't matter where I live, I'll end up being just as happy anywhere. On the third hand, I am anticipating having a wonderful time living someplace without a roommate.
If you are familiar with my blog you may know that I have had troubles with my last three roommates. My most recent roommate Warren, well... he was just too 'Warren' for me (see previous blog article). The guy before that, Mark, didn't have a job, never cleaned himself, watched Lord of the Rings several times a day, and faked a suicide attempt one night for attention. Before that was Curtis. Curtis was my best 'guy friend'. We got along great. We had similar interests, we hung out, we fixed cars*, went camping and fishing, and played video games together. I miss him a lot... but he hated transsexuals, so he had to leave.
I believe the way to go, when choosing a roommate, is to move in with a stranger or semi-stranger. It worked out great for me when I agreed to be Michelle's roommate. She and I went from being casual work friends to being lifelong friends**. Living with someone really puts a strain on the relationship. Even though I knew both Mark and Warren before they moved in, it was only as acquaintances, so now that I've parted company with them I have no regrets. If I ever moved in with a good friend again, like Curtis was, it is scary to think that something might happen that causes us to never talk again. So despite my lack of success living with strangers, when it came to finding a new roommate last month I didn't think twice about putting an ad in the paper.
Aaron was one of the first people to respond to the ad and he was the first person to show interest in living here. He is a 20 year old native man who, prior to moving in here, lived on a reserve. I was sure he wouldn't have much in common with an ethnically unremarkable 36 year old transsexual woman, but at the same time his situation and mine complimented each other. He needed a room, and I had one. He didn't have any furniture and I do. He didn't need the parking spot, and I did. Best of all, he worked nights and I worked days.
I would spend my days quietly working, and he'd spend his days quietly sleeping. Shortly before I was off work he would leave for his. By the time he arrived home I'd already be in bed. I was a bit sad not to have the social aspect of having a roommate, but after a few weeks I realized this was probably the best arrangement ever. I had no complaints, and as far as I knew, neither did he.
As it turns out he did have a complaint, and it was a big one.
Aaron and I do have periods of interaction on weekends and on his days off. He would still sleep all day and stay awake all night, but we'd usually both be around in the evenings. It was during this time that I began to learn about some of his eccentricities. It started off one day last week when Aaron was telling me about how he had just spent four hours reading the bible. I'm sure you all know by now that I can't imagine any reason for reading the bible, but even I will admit that there are reasons out there that are way better than Aaron's.
Aaron sat down at the computer that day to check his Facebook page. For those not familiar with Facebook, you can add 'applications' to it that give your page added functionality. One of these is called Funwall, and it allows anyone on your friend list to post items to your wall. These items are mostly funny pictures or videos. What happened on this day was that someone posted a video about a Britney Spears' song that when played backwards reveals a hidden message. The video is intentionally quiet so that the viewer has to turn up the sound. The video plays legitimately for 20 seconds or so longer, then suddenly a scary face appears and you hear a very loud (because you just turned your sound all the way up) and terrifying shriek. This demonic face is supposed to scare the viewer and give him or her a good laugh, but in Aaron's case it scared him so much he had to retreat to the safety of his room and read the bible for a few hours.
When he told me a demon appeared to him on Facebook I didn't know what to say. Even if I did know what to say, I didn't get a chance to say it because he started talking about how he had to talk to his sister's exboyfriend, the drug-dealer psychic. I don't know his name, but let's call him Larry. Aaron explained to me that although Larry calls himself a psychic, he can't actually see into the future. What he can do is talk to animals, Dr-Doolittle-Style. According to Larry, the animals of course, can see the future. These animals then relay the future back to him and that is how Larry is able to counsel people in matters of the future.
I just want to pause here from the main story to talk about something very interesting and possibly scary about the animal kingdom. Aaron tells me that Larry is a very successful drug-dealer because he can never get caught. Oh sure, the police try to catch him, but the animals are always on the lookout and send warning with plenty of time for Larry to escape. Clearly these animals like Larry a lot, but why not just predict him up a winning lottery number? I think the animals want man to spread drugs around to bring about mankind's downfall that much sooner. Once we are out of the way, then they can take over. I can't imagine fighting a cocker spaniel as it is, but imagine fighting one when you're high and the cocker spaniel is precognizant! That'd be impossible!!
I just want to take another pause here to say that I am very disappointed with my lot in life. Not only was I burdened with being a transsexual, but my only super-power is being able to smell things from far away, and that is a really sucky super-power. I'd way rather be able to talk to animals than smell them.
Anyway, after Aaron spoke to Larry for a while he came out of his room with a worried look. The animals told Larry to warn Aaron to be on the lookout for danger. It appears they have spotted The Devil here in Saskatoon. It reminds me of a few years ago when Bill Cosby was scheduled to do a show in town, and a couple days earlier someone purportedly spotted him buying a pair of shoes from a store on Broadway. Was it really 'The Cos', or just some random black guy? Did those animals really see Satan, or maybe it was just a guy with a sunburn? I can't say for sure, but I imagine those animals are not all that smart. Whatever they saw though, it had Aaron on edge. (I should point out that the animals also saw God, but Aaron didn't seem concerned about that. Probably because who has God ever hurt eh?)
If things were not already bad enough Aaron had more troubles. I have two lamps in my living room that were putting Aaron on Spiritual-Def-Con 4. Yes, my lamps were stressing him out. I have one weirdly shaped lamp that doesn't really shed light, it just has a pinky-reddish glow about it. Aaron feels the glow is just too reminscent of Hell for his tastes. I figure Hell, being fiery and all, is probably more of a flickery-yellow-orange, but I don't read the bible, so what do I know?
The other lamp is one of my favorite possessions. It is an iron sculpture of a woman with stained glass butterfly wings that my mom gave me after I told her I was a transsexual. This lamp also casts a reddish glow, but the problem with this lamp isn't the glow so much as the wings. Aaron feels they look a little too much like wings of a demon. Personally, I feel that demons are probably less colourful and butterfly-y, but again, what do I know?
(I took a picture of both lamps, but I couldn't figure out how to turn off the flash, so everything looks bright and the glow is washed out. In reality the room is dark except for the reddish glow from both of these lamps. Note the evil spikes on the bottom of the demon wings. I've totally pretty much never poked myself with them)
Anyway, that night Aaron was distressed. He made a pot of coffee and started writing notes into a notebook. (Oh what I wouldn't give to read that notebook!) I left him to his zealous writings and came to my room to play with my cockatiel. (That sentence has a really unfortunate ring to it doesn't it?)
A few minutes later Aaron knocked on my door and hurriedly mumbled something at me. I had to ask him several times because he was not only using his patented mumble, but he was speaking really fast. Finally I understood that he was asking if I had any sleeping pills. He said his mind was racing and he just drank a pot of coffee, but all he wanted to do is go to sleep. I said I had some benadryl that would do the trick and I handed him the bottle. He asked how many he should take and I said one or two. He asked how long it takes and I said to give it an hour.
Ten minutes later he came back to my room and said that nothing was happening. He asked if he could take some more. I know that every now and then when I wanted to be particularly mindless for a night I have taken up to four of them at once, so I said, "I guess, but no more than four."
I guess he misunderstood me because in one lucky flick of the bottle four pills landed in the palm of his hand. I expected to see him put two of them back, but instead he swung his arm up and tossed all four pills into his mouth at once. I had time to say '... uh' and then I saw him swallow. About half an hour after that I heard him stumble into his room.
The next day I waited and waited for him to wake up. Aaron told me he hadn't paid his rent yet because pay day is Friday, and rent was due on Thursday. I wanted to make sure he paid before the weekend. Sixteen hours after Aaron went to bed he groggily came out of his room. He said, "There's something in here..."
I started sniffing the air. I thought he meant that he could also smell that empty can of tuna in the garbage. I was about to tell him that we should take out the garbage, but then he said, "... something evil... I can feel it... I felt its presence all night. I dreamed about it."
I am a smellophobe, so I would argue that the smell of a old tuna can is evil, but after last night's conversation about demonic lamps and facebook videos I knew that isn't what he meant. I told him there is nothing evil here, and that perhaps the six sleeping pills had something to do with his trippy dreams, but then he said, "No. That Facebook Demon came back last night. ... there's something here alright... I've got to get out of here. How much do you want for one day's rent? Ten bucks?"
I said "What??"
He explained that it was the second of the month, so he has only been here for one day, and he had to leave immediately to get away from whatever the evil thing was in the apartment. I was told him that he owed for the entire month and that he needed to give one month's notice before he could move out. He went into negotiation mode at this point and repeatedly gave me a firm counter-offer of "I'll pay half, not full" but eventually after an hour or so I managed to convince him that this wasn't a negotiation, and that there are legalities to consider. I got the entire month's rent out of him, but he was firm that no matter what, he wants to leave and get away from the demonic presence so he gave his one month's notice to me.
I didn't know when the place would be sold, but I understand I get several months notice if the new owners need me to move out. There is a chance they may have wanted to rent out the place too, but I didn't want to live with the uncertainty of it all. I called the owners of this place and gave my notice as well. It was a day late, and the owners grudgingly accepted it, as if somehow that one day was a huge deal to them but they are willing to throw me a bone***. Giving notice was a sad thing to do, but at this point I had to do it. The owners are selling this place, and I just don't want to sit around waiting for that to happen, and I certainly don't want to find a new roommate only to find out the place is sold a month or two later. I really have no choice but to leave now.
I've had a lot of good times here. This place just gives me a happy feeling all over. From the huge balcony to the cozy red glow in the living room, and even, believe it or not, to the experiences I've had with roommates, this place means a lot to me. There is nothing about living here the last five years that I won't miss. I know I should look at the bright side, but right now I'm having trouble finding it. My new place is bigger inside, but it costs almost twice as much to rent. It does have a balcony, but it is tiny with a crappy view of the parking lot. About the only thing I can definitely say is positive is that my new place is a one bedroom and has no room for any roommates.
Aaron is the last one.
I'm so relieved.
* When I say Curtis and I fixed cars together, it was more like Curtis would ask for a tool, and I'd hand it to him. If ever the engine needed to be turned over I'd do that too.
** I think that we are closing in on 14 years since I lived with Michelle, and I still talk to her every week. Thanks for sticking around Shelly!
*** Yes it is true. Rent must be given on the first of the month. He is within his rights to our notice was too late and force us to stay another month. I just have to say it was almost sickening to hear him use that tone with me, as if he is doing me a huge favour. He bought the place three years ago for $75,000 and is selling it for $190,000, and in the process making me leave my home of the last five years. I'm sure not being a stickler on a technicality isn't going to be a problem financially, in my opinion it is the least he could do.