Don't go chasin' waterfalls...

...because the motherfuckers will come to you when you least expect it, usually on a Sunday morning when you've just gotten out of the bathroom to find water dripping out of the ceiling onto your bed. (I'll explain this in a bit...)

I'm going to try to start posting in here much more regularly, partly because I've been meaning to use this as a venue for my writing/performance jones (too bad I can't do audio posts; I've been told the best part of my stories is hearing me tell them), and partly because I'm feeling shamed into it...you see, my friendly acquaintance Rob just started his own Blogger blog recently, after holding forth on MySpace for quite some time; he's always been a kickass writer with a hysterically warped view of the world, but his recent posts have raised the bar so high that I can only bow before him and hope to catch up to his level of...well, I'm not quite sure WHAT to call it, but I'm sure I'll think of something. *smirk*

My good intentions may have to wait a bit, though, as my apartment is in a certain amount of upheaval--my bedroom ceiling sprang a leak almost 2 weeks ago, and I've been camping out on the futon in the living room ever since. The actual leak stopped very quickly once the plumber came by and determined that the problem was the second-floor shower in the apartment above me (funny, I didn't realize there WAS a bathroom right over me), but I now have a gaping hole in the ceiling right over the head of my head, covered by a contractor's trash bag screwed to the ceiling ("Why not use duct tape?" "It won't stay on."), and with a hole poked into it just in case the damn plumbing starts dribbling again. To add insult to injury, while I was musing aloud to myself whether I should even think about sleeping in my own bed, or just give up and decamp to the living room, the plumber offered this helpful bit of advice: "Why don't you just kick your daughter out of her room?"

I don't HAVE a daughter.

I DO have a female housemate (the lovely and charming Laura), who is, admittedly, 18 years younger than me, but the only "children" I have at this time shed like hell, puke on the floor, and crap outside the litter box on a regular basis. (In the increasingly unlikely event I ever do manage to spawn, I figure looking after Jezebel and Delenn will stand me in good stead in terms of dealing with general ickyness.) When you're tired, freaked out about your home possibly falling down around your ears, and feeling rather sensitive about your age, you REALLY don't need random strangers telling you that you look old enough to have a daughter Laura's age, believe me.

Needless to say, I redid my gray roots the very next night...

In the meantime, I'm having to go online while sitting perched on the edge of my bed, which has now been shoved to the opposite end of the rather small room from where it usually sits, which means that my Comfy Chair is now in the kitchen, where it's holding a trash bag full of clothes and shoes for Katrina survivors until I find a place to drop them off. I feel as if I shouldn't complain that much, especially in light of the horrific events in NOLA and the Gulf Coast, but damn it, I'm paying too much rent as it is to live in a freaking BASEMENT (excuse me, "garden apartment"), much less not having full use of my property and fucking up my back sleeping on the goddamn futon, AND having to lock up all the cats in the living room during the day just in case the contractor/landlord's cousin by marriage deigns to show up and actually patch the friggin' ceiling (the cats have both litter boxes, food and water, soft places to sleep and a window to look out of, but I still feel like a rat having to shut them up like that)....OK, I'll shut up now, just needed to vent a little... *sigh* Anyway, it' s much easier to spin funny yarns about rock star dolls, generally freaky people, and former clubowners who jack off with conditioner when I'm nicely settled into my chair, and so further anecdotes will have to wait a bit--I do promise, though, that I'll tell the strange story of how I became acquainted with none other than G.G. Allin very soon.