If It Feels Good Do It

I remember when I put a picture of Marie’s place on here. Some people were nauseous.

Meanwhile, in San Mateo our apartment has gradually devolved in to that type of mess. I imported many habits from my trip to Asia. Some habits good, some habits bad, but mostly, the worst. I don’t get high any more. Narcotics are like, severely illegal in Japan and Taiwan. But now every night disintegrates into a haze of intoxication. At least I eat food at the same time. And I’ve taken Ross along with me. “Drink more! Drink more!” I always say it. “Drink more!”

So a bunch of aluminum cans and bottles piled up. And trash. Lots of trash. And we had one advantage that Marie didn’t have in terms of making a mess: a dog. Stuff got chewed up. Stuff got pissed on. Stuff got shit out. Pieces of tissue and plastic were everywhere.

Had one advantage. Past tense. Ross took her to the pound yesterday. He couldn’t take it anymore. She will probably be put to sleep, which sucks. Everyone of course, tells Ross, “That’s fucked up.” But no one of course, actually takes the dog home with them either.

The thing is, Cookie isn’t really Ross’s dog. It’s someone else’s dog. Someone else who also likes to say “that’s fucked up,” a lot whilst doing fucked up things. It’s actually nice that Ross took care of a dog that wasn’t his for a year, but not many people will see it that way. They are willing to say “that’s fucked up,” but they are not willing to do something actually about it. That’s the nature of the average person.

Of course, if someone wants to prove me wrong, Cookie is at the Peninsula Humane Society. Pick her up soon, before the fatal injection.

And no saying “That’s fucked up. I would take her, but…” You might as well say, “I want you to think I’m a good person, but I’m not actually willing to be a good person.”

And there I am yesterday cleaning up the mess. Jon coming over to watch the Superbowl so I clean up fast. The place looking horrible. Cans everwhere. On the floor. On the couch. Under the couch. Lodged in between the wall and the refrigerator. Anything with significant surface area has a can on it. No more dog. But, dog shit in the trash. Dog piss and puke on the floor. And the smell. What a smell. And when I was about halfway finished cleaning up doorbell rings.

Oh shit.

I open the door. “What’s up man? Here already.”

“Yeah, the game is about to start, Dog.”

I’m sure he noticed that things were not quite normal. But I acted normal anyways. That’s what I do. I used to run around apologizing for anything that could be perceived as a transgression. And a lot of things can be perceived as a transgression. Actually, most things I do are transgressions. But now I just act normal even when things around me are not. Life is more fun that way. And you get laid more often.

It was a good Superbowl this year. I wanted the Cardinals to win since as a Raiders fan I categorically hate the Steelers. Alas they did not. But at least it was a good game. And at least I got to tell Jon a few jokes about “fucking my wife in the ass.”

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