Transplanted Life
Thursday, September 02, 2004
 
Home alone
My roommates are out on a date tonight. It's a weird sort of stealth date, since if they meet anybody they know, it's not a date, it's a couple friends hanging out. I'm not sure how wide they're keeping that closet door open; if someone asks them point-blank if they're seeing each other, do they lie? Do they expect me to lie? Because I don't want to.

I'm not sure how certain they are about everything. Carter, for example, has been practically doing a victory dance, like I was some sort of weak-willed wuss for not getting myself a girlfriend. I pointed out that Samantha's previous boyfriend was Dmitri, and she was probably using him to get off the streets. It's thoroughly possible that she was a lesbian to start with. Heck, it might be a part of why she ran away from home. Carter doesn't want to hear that, of course. But I notice Maureen hasn't quite asked her to move into the other bedroom on a nightly basis.

So I'm sitting at home alone, doing chores. Laundry, writing the checks for my portion of the rent and utilities, tidying some stuff up, doing all that while watching the Sox finish a sweep of the Angels.

Random observation: The folks at EarthLink are the most polite cold-callers I've dealth with. Sure, being telemarketers makes that a heck of a sliding scale, but they hung up just as soon as I said "no thank you" midway through their second sentence.

Doug's left town already, heading for his friend's bachelor party. Wei's not having a bachelorette party, since her grandparents have the family booked solid. It's not like she's not already up a wall with her wedding in two days, but she's able to handle that sort of thing; really, she's amazing. If I ever get married, it'll be a ten-minute affair with a barbecue for a reception, but I'm not like most girls. Wei's not doing anything extravagent, but there's still a million details which I'm apparently not quite close enough with ner to help with, but she's on top of them.

Well, think I'll tuck in early; afternoon shift tomorrow.
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Note: This blog is a work of fantasy; all characters are either ficticious or used ficticiously. The author may be contacted at JaySeaver@comcast.net