My Humble Abode

Recently I have moved from my cousin’s house in NE Portland to live with some guys I met downtown near the PSU campus. It’s nice to be a little more central to things, don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I didn’t like riding three miles uphill at one o’ clock in the morning arriving at my cousins place sweatier than a fat guy doing jumping jacks in a sauna, I just don’t have that kind of stamina now that I’m pushing 21 years old and have to beat the whole next level on World of Warcraft before I go to sleep. The guys I live with go by the names Luke and Brandon. These are their Christian names but in the Native American tongue they are called Treefro and Flying Squirrel, don’t ask me why. They both got tattoos recently and that’s when I knew they were legit. I can’t live with un-legit people. I was un-legit once. Now I’m legit. I’m too legit. Too legit to quit. We built another level to their bunk bed so now all three of us live in a three level bunk bed which creaks like an old tree that is about to collapse during a hurricane. The space is a little tight for my taste but they make up for it by giving me foot rubs and rubbing lotion on my body( I have a serious dry skin condition okay!) In the next room there lives a guy named Brian who I don’t see much because he has a girlfriend and he is so whipped it is ridiculous. He can suck on a poopy flavored Popsicle for all I care. He is not really that whipped, I just have to berate him for said relationship because I am secretly jealous and overcompensating for my lack of such a relationship. He is actually a really cool guy and if I was a girl would seriously think about dating him should he ever become single again.

There are always people at our house, which is cool but also tiring. It is a very diverse crowd. L.A. is a homeless Vietnam vet who sleeps on our back porch at night. George is a guy we met form Bulgaria who has hence decided to sleep at our house every night and eat our food but hasn’t really bothered asking permission. Luke and I talked to him once about it but I don’t think he got our American lingo and deep down I feel bad for him because when I think of Bulgaria I think of depressing Russian novels and somehow think that if we do not let George stay with us he will be forced to eat cut-up dog pudding, even though he lives in the U.S. now and has a nicer bike than me. Charles is the next character who comes over and he is possibly the most interesting person I’ve met. He lives at the sketchy motel down the street and gets un-employment checks from the government which he spends on pot, oysters and steak. He told us once that he takes five baths a night while watching made for T.V. movies. He also told us that he saw a dinosaur called a tyranosauraus-raptosaurus and that the government hides oysters in the pillars that support freeways to keep us from learning the truth about our toigel muscle. Sometimes he is on drugs.

There is usually never a dull night and so far I am having more fun than doing mushrooms and riding the teacups at Six flags.