home is where the heart is

As an adult I have yet to find a suitable living situation. Forget trying to attain that "home" feeling. I used to think that's what it was all about, that contentedness that most of us have under the abode of our childhood. Now I realize that probably develops with time. So what it's really all about is just finding the place that has more in the pro column than the con.

Hawaii has been a struggle in that respect. Satan's condo, which I shared with Michael for the better part of a year, was never even in the running. Marya's was clearly tentative from the get go, although there was some level of comfort. Kailua had the neighbor's very verbal wiener dog (a generous 8 feet from my bedroom window) and the naked amazonian roommate from Minnesota (who still hasn't returned my deposit) as the obvious cons. No pros could have saved the situation. Not to mention the commute, which is now vitally important since the demise of the Honda.

Here in Makiki, life is a bit simpler. The apartment complex was pet friendly, which was the main draw. Sacrifices were made in various departments. Size, laundry, dishwasher, size, laundry, modern appliances. It's clean! I was finally able to adopt my own cat for the first time in my adult life. You will learn more about Lucy later. Because of the pet friendly nature of the building, we are practically living in a kennel. I've seen one other cat, otherwise we are in dog city. Two doors down there are two maniacal chihuahuas, or some other ugly rat dog breed. They rarely shut up. It's the price I pay. I also suspect that apartment of the constant ganja, although I think there are several culprits. Not that I care, at least not here in Hawaii.

On the other side are the lesbians. They're an awkward lesbian couple. I thought the ginger was a really unfortunate pear-shaped man at first, completely undeserving of the cute hapa chick. Oh no, she's just a really unfortunate pear-shaped woman. They are a downright funky couple. Super nice, but they have inappropriately timed and high-pitch sex. It sounds like a cross between a monkey and the Chiquita banana woman. And I'm guessing it's not the ginger making those noises. The walls are thin and at 7am there's not much else happening to block out the noise.

Who has wild monkey sex at 7am that often?

Other than that, there's just the surfers occupying the house in the back. They're generally courteous, but occasionally they'll start sanding down the boards before noon. Not any worse than the construction or lawn maintenance that takes place each month. Still, I wouldn't mind finding somewhere where I'm willing to have it be more permanent. I'm not implying that most people go without their grievances. It just seems like the pros should outweigh the cons if you're going to make somewhere a long term residence?

back with a vengeance?

I'm back. After a several month long hiatus, I'm not quite sure as to how "back" I am yet. Perhaps I just feel the need this one night. I am left physically exhausted by the day but mentally alert. I know I need to write more often. I know that. And I have often felt the urge, just not the motivation. Or perhaps it's the other way around? I mean well, I swear.

The thought of writing a recap of the last few months is disgusting at the moment. The details of my life are often too much for me to handle, so I shall spare you. Suffice it to say that I have extricated myself from the unsatisfactory living situation. I am the inhabitant of a house for the second time in my life, even if it still is a rental. I'm now living on the windward side, which is a hugely welcome change. The drive is not that much of a hassle.

Chores are becoming an issue. There is a monstrous pile of dishes in the kitchen. Every plate and bowl in the house is dirty and stacked 2 feet high. After being unofficially dubbed the mother of the house, I refuse to tackle the majority of them. I went on a cleaning spree a few days ago, so my share of household duties have more than been fulfilled as far as I'm concerned. And yet the dishes are untouched. I have to draw the line somewhere.

I went in search of a bowl, figuring I could handle washing just one, and discovered that mold has taken a deathly grip on the mile high pile. The dry-heaving set in and I had to exit the kitchen immediately.

After one roommate left for Minnesota for 3 weeks, I am left in a house with men. And Lord knows, men don't know how to clean.