May 3rd, 2004

Hisss

lonely and homeless

The new house is a crazy mess. It's in this horrible chrysalis stage where the potential is ever evident, but details are dancing it out of our range. The water pressure remains minimal, after several landlord and water company calls. Earlier the water co told us (when we called from here) that low pressure was considered an emergency and someone will be out to fix it in less than 2 hours any time, 24/7, just that we have to call when we're there to let them in. Went out, did a bunch of whatever, call again from there and now it's "Call your landlord in the morning and tell him to call a plumber to check blah blah blah low pressure isn't our concern." (I should specify, by "low pressure" I don't mean a fucked up shower head, I mean water barely leaks out of every faucet above basement level. Siamang's been getting by showering here and at the gym, I'm getting by not having moved yet.. which leaves me wondering wtf would be going on if we didn't have my apt overlapping. Dirty motherfuckers, I guess.

The alarm system that was left in place is scary. All of the ground floor windows have these magnetic trip wires weaving back and forth that trigger the alarm if the connection is broken, and above ground windows have a similar mechanism that triggers if the window is opened without disconnecting it from the inside first. There are motion detectors on each floor. There's a button labeled "panic" that neither of us want to press.

I have a dream of one day becoming a pallet thief. He told me a year or more ago about someone he knew, working at a warehouse, who said a big part of the job was catching people trying to steal pallets to sell them on some black pallet market for 10 bucks a pop. I've been fascinated ever since. When I see them, instead of stacked wood I see a pile of $10's, the way cartoon characters on desert islands see each other as turkeys. Today passing a flatbed laden with pallets, I got a gleam in my eyes. It happens every time.

A night like this. How to finish that sentence escapes me. I feel lonely as fuck all and gapingly wounded but I come home to sleep at the empty house and turn off icq. Participation is something to observe.

There is a giant-ass fax machine in my house. It copies, scans, cooks and cleans, and I think it also does windows.

Above the front door, there's this very large, stained glass arc featuring the house number, and there's a switch to light it up. It's fairly bright, and quite pretty. It's also exclusively facing the inside of the house. Very convenient for when you're ordering food and forget where you live.

I've been getting crazy marriage spam from various Nevada-based companies offering to obtain copies of the certificate for jacked-up fees. The last one promised the original, which is funny, 'cause I have the original in my desk drawer.

I still have residual mystery bruises from the trip. One I suspect can be attributed to the terrifying ride on top of that "tallest building not near any other tall buildings" place, but the rest are puuuure mystery. I love a good mystery bruise. (Sarcasm detectors should not be going off.)

Echo and the Bunnymen - Ocean Rain is the Magical Ticket Fairy song.
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