Assbake?

Assbake?

05.08.05 (3:15 pm)   [edit]
Seriously. The word "assbake" came into my head the other day out of nowhere. I need to update my Obscenity Of The Day page again, it's been a month at least now.

Well, I'm running out of money and I need a place to stay quick, but I do start a new job tomorrow.

I've been out of my head for weeks, driving around aimlessly in the wilderness (well, the Midwest), with fuck all of a clue what I'm doing. I even was about to take my last job back and settle into a place when I bailed on it and instead spent a couple weeks driving all over southern Indiana and Ohio looking for a guitar teaching gig. It didn't happen. Apparantly nobody needs to be showed power chords to bad punk songs anymore. And I was so good at it too!

I worked briefly for a temp agency a year and a half ago, so I came back here a few days ago (been back and forth between here and my parents' in Marion) and went there. They got me a job immediately. So I'll be part of the auto industry at a factory right across the road from the first house that Sheryl and I lived in together. Weird energy there.

I'm looking at an apartment in nearby Lebanon which is a bit more money than I wanted to pay, but it seems to be well worth it, particularly in this part of the area which is more expensive than much of Cincy. That's a joke, though. A month ago I was ready to live in California, which is three times as much as anything here. Shit, back in Marion there's little holes that would cost FOUR times as much in LA. So even though I'd rather be out there, this place has its advantages.

If not for Katie, though, I'd be back there in a second. Right now, I want to put a house trailer in the middle of the fucking Mojave and be Captain Beefheart. Oh FUCK how I wish I could do that. I'm actually thinking of doing the closest thing to that I can here, and save up enough cash to buy one of those little plots of land surrounded by cornfields that you see out in the country here in the Midwest. I don't want to be far from the city, but I definitely relate to one aspect of "good ol' country livin'", and that's being the fuck away from people when you go home. Maybe I'll buy a shotgun and sit on the porch waiting for dinner to walk buy. Yep, I've probably got a bit more redneck in me than I want to admit.

The apartment in Lebanon looks best now, even after seeing a cheaper place in South Lebanon an hour or so ago. It was bigger, had a much bigger kitchen (good for me, since I've got into cooking in the past several years) and there's even a small deck outside (it's upstairs) to sit out and enjoy some air. It's a really nice place for what it is, and after all is said and done it would likely translate into cutting a fifth of the cost off the other place I'm thinking about.

But the funny part is that the woman who owns it (who looks like the prototypical small town Sunday School teacher) is apparantly scared of me. I think she'd rent me the place, I'm pretty sure of it, but the level of uptightness was a thing of beauty and high humour for me. I had to work at hiding my amusement. I had my hair back, black pants and shoes, wearing my Hunter Thompson t-shirt with the Gonzo fist and dagger symbol on front. I did that VERY intentionally. Level the field, say I. I WANT people to turn me away if that's their reason.

She made a point not once, but twice, to inform me that both rooms downstairs were occupied by Christians (to which I wanted to say "Cool! Think they're into buttsex?") and had that sort of heavilly-forced friendliness that I recognize immediately from having grown up with fundamentalist nitwits who are still shocked by the Beatles and who automatcially associate male hair length past the ears with dope-fiends and outlaw rapists. They'll be nice to you. Jesus TOLD them to be nice. But that doesn't mean they want to. Oh, they don't. That might expose them to nasty little things that they have been safely sheltered from their whole lives. Like...oh, I don't know...cable TV, for instance. The horror! The horror!

And frankly, I just need a place to live. When I start bringing in the gerbils and bacon grease, I don't want to have people knocking on my door asking unnecessary questions. I don't need that aggravation in my life.

But it's still tempting. I'll go to the other place first after my first day of work tomorrow.

In other news, I've suddenly found myself addicted to the first Rage Against The Machine album.

Dougie