The Host with the Least

As much as I enjoy entertaining people, I have been a shitty host. It's not entirely my fault, as my living conditions aren't exactly ideal currently. One of my housemates compared our home to a third world country, which is offensive and unfair... to third world countries. (Besides, they're now called the much more optimistic sounding developing nations, get with the program.) Our washer broke. The internet stopped working, and were it not for the fact that we can sometimes faintly pick up a neighbor's wireless, this blog would never be updated. Our phone was disconnected for unknown reasons since we are still paying the bill. The sprinklers have stopped working and our landlord won't do anything about it, so our lawn is dead. Our bathroom is still out of operation.

Kurosh came this past weekend, but clearly the accommodations weren't too impressive. I gave him a run through of what kind of things weren't exactly working at the time and introduced him to our backyard for when he needed to pee. You know, the usual make yourself at home spiel. "You want to take a shower? There are ways, but that's easier said then done..." Kurosh is a reasonable person, so I don't think it was that bad until he woke up the following morning really having to poop and having nowhere to go. Whoops. To make matters worse, the previous night had been cut short in a fairly unceremonious way when our fuse unexpectedly blew. Since our usual quick fix for that kind of thing did not work, we were stuck in the dark. 10:26 is as good as any time to go to bed, right? I asked.

Needless to say, I was pretty embarrassed. Not embarrassed enough to stop from bringing Christine over after Margarita Mondays. As might be expected after a night of margaritas, I had to urinate. I was intending to have just one drink; I drank so slowly at first in fact that Katy and Amber's dad made of me for having maybe a gulp gone when he had already finished one. But then someone bought me a second drink, and then the employees gave us free drinks, and before I knew it, I had had three and was glad I hadn't driven tonight. So, yeah, as I was saying, I had to urinate, hence, I had to urinate in the yard. Christine was a bit taken aback, her bladder similarly full. We spent an hour or so drinking water, chatting, and then the police showed up. We heard a call from out the window that it was the police, so we all laughed because clearly it must be a joke. Irritated, the police officers repeated, "No really, it's the police." As it turned out, one of my housemate's was, and this has never been clarified, potentially illegally parked. Though the problem was fixed easily, again, it was pretty embarrassing to be like, hi, welcome to my house, feel free to pee in our yard and please ignore the visit from the cops.

Try as I might, for your own sake, please don't accept any invitations from me until I get stuff squared away.