This disaster-peice began innocently enough, the way most do. I wasn't listening or paying attention to anyone around me, assuming everyone always wants to hear yes to anything they say - I only smile and nod until I unknowingly just booked at 10 day stay at the Casa Wassa. As a huge fan of empty invitations, "of course, you're always more then welcome here for as long as you like"... who actually takes you up on those offers!?
Somehow, when someone emptily invites me to a dinner and I call to tell them I'm ready and in the lobby - no one's shy about letting me know I wasn't actually invited. Why is it when I put an offer out emptier than Sarah Palin's head space, instead of 10 minutes of 'how rude' silent treatment, I get 10 minutes of 10 trips back and forth schlepping someone else's shit into my bedroom, along with a guest that is far from silent.
More proof that God does have a chosen people - and I am not one of them. Luckily for me however, Jews don't believe in hell - no promises I'm getting into heaven but the Torah does guarantee me at least a trip to it's gates and believe me, when I get there, I have a whole notebook full of grievances. But back to the limbo I call life.
From the very taking up of my empty invitation, I could tell I would never speak without meaning again.
Phone Call 1: "You have a car, right?"
Yes! And so do you.... zipcar!
Phone call 2: "Yea, I totally understand you not being comfortable with me driving your car (... bitch), just leave your T pass on the desk, you know... so I can get around."
I'm sorry, hold the phone - what!? Do I look like a concierge service to you? So now you're telling me that you can't figure out how to get around in a city you lived in TWO MONTHS AGO? If you want to act like your mentally handicapped, that's all fine and well, but I'm not getting community service for this shit so check into your stay with all limbs and synapses in tact.
And finally, to my "there are pillows etc. in the hall closet";
Phone Call 3: "What? I'm sleeping in your bed."
Listen, you self-entitled, little prick - whether I like it of not, my bed is no-mans-land and I am sure as hell not breaking that streak with the likes of you.
So now, in my own home, I have hidden my extra car key so well that I can no longer find it, am one blanket down, and he is on top of my duvet, under said blanket. You want to sleep in the bed? Fine. But I draw a line at my linens. Did I mention all this drama occurred before the first sunrise of his stay? With the sun however, came a whole new slew of surprises for both of myself, and my friend Rob (the gu[P]est)
8am I am awoken by something that could only belong in a bomb shelter. EERGH EERGH EERGH EERGH... I see sleeping beauty to my left at peace, can't be him. And oh wait,... it is. Thinking he is getting up and going to meetings and such, which was the proposed reason for his stay, I understand the 8am duck and cover drill alarm. Instead, upon greeting his shrieking I-phone, Rob stops the siren, but continues sleeping. Now riddle me this Batman, what is the purpose of waking up the Western Hemisphere (namely me) with sirens, if upon waking me up, you fall back asleep? I ask him exactly that, and he says "because it is the only sound that gets me up". Right, now that I follow - but now you're not up... I am.
Turning my morning lemons into lemonade, I go to 9am core fusion, 10:30 facial, buy flowers, get coffee, send a letter - do you see where I am going with this? I get back to my apartment, maybe 1 o'clock. HE IS STILL IN THE FUCKING BED. Or rather he was until I walked in explaining that he best get the hell out of it. Who does that?! When he insisted he'd be staying in the bed... who knew he meant all day? Not in big mommas house... and that's when it hit him that my house was going to be the worst hotel he ever decided to check into.
Rob got up, cleaned up, and learned these are two things we do here before 10am. Nothing to do? You don't get bored, you get boring. And your things? I don't want to see them - so figure it out! Off to lunch, bye!
He looked at me like he had been hit in the face which, ironically he would be later in the evening.
5pm the same day, Rob meets Mariel and I at our favorite spot, Z Square. Z Square was not Rob's favorite spot however, and he felt the need to share how "pedestrian" he found our hang out,... very loudly. Firstly, anyone who uses the word 'pedestrian' to refer to anything other than a J-walker has just got to go. Secondly, rule of thumb: when you're some ones guest, your host could love hanging out in spider holes or crack clinics. If they love it? So do you. However manners or graciousness hasn't struck out stories protagonist yet, why start now? How pedestrian if you ask me. Luckily for him though, the one waitress that makes my skin crawl made her way to the table, so giving into little Hitlers demands - we made out way out to the venue of his choice.
The check comes, and in desperation to leave Z Square, Rob had made it unclear if he was paying for this next venue or not. Mariel and I had been drinking since 3, and jokingly Mariel tosses the check to Rob, who is on the phone. Without even skipping a beat, he turns the phone into his cheek and in the same breath of "yea so, I'm in Boston" screams out
Listen, you self-entitled, little prick - whether I like it of not, my bed is no-mans-land and I am sure as hell not breaking that streak with the likes of you.
So now, in my own home, I have hidden my extra car key so well that I can no longer find it, am one blanket down, and he is on top of my duvet, under said blanket. You want to sleep in the bed? Fine. But I draw a line at my linens. Did I mention all this drama occurred before the first sunrise of his stay? With the sun however, came a whole new slew of surprises for both of myself, and my friend Rob (the gu[P]est)
8am I am awoken by something that could only belong in a bomb shelter. EERGH EERGH EERGH EERGH... I see sleeping beauty to my left at peace, can't be him. And oh wait,... it is. Thinking he is getting up and going to meetings and such, which was the proposed reason for his stay, I understand the 8am duck and cover drill alarm. Instead, upon greeting his shrieking I-phone, Rob stops the siren, but continues sleeping. Now riddle me this Batman, what is the purpose of waking up the Western Hemisphere (namely me) with sirens, if upon waking me up, you fall back asleep? I ask him exactly that, and he says "because it is the only sound that gets me up". Right, now that I follow - but now you're not up... I am.
Turning my morning lemons into lemonade, I go to 9am core fusion, 10:30 facial, buy flowers, get coffee, send a letter - do you see where I am going with this? I get back to my apartment, maybe 1 o'clock. HE IS STILL IN THE FUCKING BED. Or rather he was until I walked in explaining that he best get the hell out of it. Who does that?! When he insisted he'd be staying in the bed... who knew he meant all day? Not in big mommas house... and that's when it hit him that my house was going to be the worst hotel he ever decided to check into.
Rob got up, cleaned up, and learned these are two things we do here before 10am. Nothing to do? You don't get bored, you get boring. And your things? I don't want to see them - so figure it out! Off to lunch, bye!
He looked at me like he had been hit in the face which, ironically he would be later in the evening.
5pm the same day, Rob meets Mariel and I at our favorite spot, Z Square. Z Square was not Rob's favorite spot however, and he felt the need to share how "pedestrian" he found our hang out,... very loudly. Firstly, anyone who uses the word 'pedestrian' to refer to anything other than a J-walker has just got to go. Secondly, rule of thumb: when you're some ones guest, your host could love hanging out in spider holes or crack clinics. If they love it? So do you. However manners or graciousness hasn't struck out stories protagonist yet, why start now? How pedestrian if you ask me. Luckily for him though, the one waitress that makes my skin crawl made her way to the table, so giving into little Hitlers demands - we made out way out to the venue of his choice.
The check comes, and in desperation to leave Z Square, Rob had made it unclear if he was paying for this next venue or not. Mariel and I had been drinking since 3, and jokingly Mariel tosses the check to Rob, who is on the phone. Without even skipping a beat, he turns the phone into his cheek and in the same breath of "yea so, I'm in Boston" screams out
"PAY FOR YOUR OWN SHIT YOU DIRTY WHORE."
Mariel and I wait to absorb what had just happened to make sure it really did when Turrets Timmy strikes again:
DID. I. STUTTER. PAY. FOR. YOUR. OWN. SHIT. YOU. CUNT.
And then, like that didn't just happen - he goes right back to his I-phone calmly talking about the weather.
Mariel storms out, paying for her big 3 drink tab, and I follow her as any friend would. Calling Rob from outside the restaurant, like an overbearing mother he gives me the option of "you can either come back inside and we can enjoy a nice dinner, or not."
Where was the nice in this dinner exactly? And I am pretty sure anything that was nice about it has been ruined by you eloquent vernacular. So, given those two options... I choose not. The one good thing he did do however, was bring 2 bottles of red wine as a gift. So I board the T, Mariel in tow, believing that their great debate had subsided. Well... I was wrong.
As luck would have it, Rob got on the same T with us, and now it was Mariel's turn to share some choice words of her own.
"Great, you're here. And by you - I mean the closeted homo who no one likes whose imposed themselves on Erika's bed" ... hmm I wonder who that could be?
Rob, still on the phone, not skipping a beat; "You are a dirty skank ass whore."
"You're still a homosexual. Everyone on the train knows it. So do you"
Is this really happening to me? Yes. And this continues for a good three stops until passengers can't help but weigh in.
Rob: "I can't believe you'd be friends with this girl. Erika, you have terrible judgement"
Mariel: "Erika has bad judgement on friends? What does that say about you then? Oh wait - worse. Your imposing yourself on someone who isn't even your friend..."
Random Train Rider: "I'm assuming your Erika? Quite frankly, I'd get rid of them both"
Our stop arrives to paying passengers relief, I invite them all over - surprisingly no one wanted to come, but now we're in my apartment. The one place where I have jurisdiction. Rob forcefully apologized to Mariel, and I saw an end to the fighting,... or so I thought.
I'm standing outside when all of a sudden Mariel comes out on the terrace notably more frantic and upset than before. She grabs her bag, apologizes to me, and leaves. Apparently, Rob may have had the last word, but he most certainly did not get the last laugh.
As Mariel storms out, I follow her inside just in time to see Rob, horrified, wiping the spit off his face.
Proof: God may pick favorites... but karma's a bitch.
Mariel and I wait to absorb what had just happened to make sure it really did when Turrets Timmy strikes again:
DID. I. STUTTER. PAY. FOR. YOUR. OWN. SHIT. YOU. CUNT.
And then, like that didn't just happen - he goes right back to his I-phone calmly talking about the weather.
Mariel storms out, paying for her big 3 drink tab, and I follow her as any friend would. Calling Rob from outside the restaurant, like an overbearing mother he gives me the option of "you can either come back inside and we can enjoy a nice dinner, or not."
Where was the nice in this dinner exactly? And I am pretty sure anything that was nice about it has been ruined by you eloquent vernacular. So, given those two options... I choose not. The one good thing he did do however, was bring 2 bottles of red wine as a gift. So I board the T, Mariel in tow, believing that their great debate had subsided. Well... I was wrong.
As luck would have it, Rob got on the same T with us, and now it was Mariel's turn to share some choice words of her own.
"Great, you're here. And by you - I mean the closeted homo who no one likes whose imposed themselves on Erika's bed" ... hmm I wonder who that could be?
Rob, still on the phone, not skipping a beat; "You are a dirty skank ass whore."
"You're still a homosexual. Everyone on the train knows it. So do you"
Is this really happening to me? Yes. And this continues for a good three stops until passengers can't help but weigh in.
Rob: "I can't believe you'd be friends with this girl. Erika, you have terrible judgement"
Mariel: "Erika has bad judgement on friends? What does that say about you then? Oh wait - worse. Your imposing yourself on someone who isn't even your friend..."
Random Train Rider: "I'm assuming your Erika? Quite frankly, I'd get rid of them both"
Our stop arrives to paying passengers relief, I invite them all over - surprisingly no one wanted to come, but now we're in my apartment. The one place where I have jurisdiction. Rob forcefully apologized to Mariel, and I saw an end to the fighting,... or so I thought.
I'm standing outside when all of a sudden Mariel comes out on the terrace notably more frantic and upset than before. She grabs her bag, apologizes to me, and leaves. Apparently, Rob may have had the last word, but he most certainly did not get the last laugh.
As Mariel storms out, I follow her inside just in time to see Rob, horrified, wiping the spit off his face.
Proof: God may pick favorites... but karma's a bitch.
