one, i can't wait to have mr. monkey join me and two, i can't wait for us to sell this goddamn house already and move into a self-sustaining unit in a high rise somewhere, preferably one with a view of the water, close to public transport, in a better climate, and wait! we already have one of those! currently rented out to a lovely gay couple who refuse to answer my emails, goddamn them to hell (where they are already going, natch, on account of being evil baby jesus killing sodomites* and all). so yeah - they get to live there, commit various mortal sins, ignore my emails while i chip ice day in, day out. or drink myself into a stupor.
but yeah, i want to live in the city (fuck, any city will do...except maybe winnipeg...or detroit...or pittsburgh...or saskatoon), i want to not drive quite so much because it makes me REALLY angry. i mean it! you may think you have heard me swearing, but if you haven't sat inside my brain while i am driving, you ain't heard nothing. there's motherfuckers piling up on top of syphilitic cocksuckers and caseous cunts and all sorts of linguistic mayhem. i'm telling you, it gets ugly. uglier than girls' night out, because instead of joyful, happy fucks, i'm all about the anger and the violence. so yeah, put me on the bus and watch me smile.
give me a place that has no lawn to mow; no sidewalk to chip ice off day in, day out until my arms hang limply at my sides, my hands swollen to thrice their normal size, the reverberations of the ice pick still...reverberating in my head; no ceiling threatening to cave in - has that paint peel bit gotten bigger? has it? how about now? you have no idea but that is the first place i check when i walk into the house - the peeling paint on the living room ceiling. and oh, yes, we do plan to fix it, but not until we put the house on the market so if the fix-it starts to peel it will be some other idiot's problem.
so if i ever say to you, hey, i'm thinking of buying a house, i want you to smack me a few times. you then have my permission to call me a brain dead moron or a hollow-headed turd. you can even shake me violently. and then ask me if i remember the peeling ceiling paint. or the ice. just mention the goddamn ice. if that doesn't work, nothing will.
*you do know i'm kidding, right? i love gay people. love them. one of my life's ambitions is to have gay friends because they seem like so much lispy campy fun - hundreds of sitcoms couldn't possibly be wrong, no? plus it would piss off my dad. but the ones i do know, refuse to answer my emails. grrrr. thwarted at every step!
edit. note: i've gone and changed the spelling of pittsburgh 3 times! if there ever was a city that did not deserve this much of my attention...ok, i have nothing per se against pittsburgh (or pitsburg, or pittsburg) other than it just sounds like it would suck. if i have any readers from there, i heartily apologize, unless of course you also think it sucks. flashdance was ok, though.