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03.27.2002 - 11:28 a.m.

You know what I'm going to do when JB and I finally buy a house? I'm going to install a water heater the size of the freaking Hubble telescope. No kidding. Because, frankly, I am really sick of our wimpy-ass heater that is responsible for our forced Super Quick Focused Showers. Showering in our apartment is kind of like running one of those you-wash car washes, where you shove in quarters and you've got a timer running - and you lather stuff up really quickly because you've only got a minute left and oh shit you're going to leave soap on the windshield quick rinse rinse rinse time's up.

It's impossible to just relax and enjoy the hot water, you have to run through your ablutions like 1-2-3. Because if you fuck off and just stand there for a while - you're gonna be shaving your legs in the freezing cold, missy. So I'm saying, when we get a house, I'm installing something that allows me to lounge around until all my skin wrinkles up like a wadded kleenex.

I've had it worse, though. Man. Back when I was 17, I lived in a building in Portland that was ostensibly an 'artist's co-op' but was basically just a collection of stoned riffraff. We all shared one bathroom. I think there were 15 people officially living there, plus assorted odds and ends who would stay with friends. One bathroom. It was unbelievably gross.

Putting the toilet situation aside (where it will stay, thanks, over there in a corner I won't revisit) the shower was the sort of shower where you wash the soap before you use it. It was always clogged, so you had to bathe military style: turn on water, get wet, turn off water, soap up, turn on water, rinse - end of shower.

God, and the KITCHEN. It was so nasty no one ever ventured in there. It was like spores would attack you the instant you turned your back. Everyone lived on Old E 800 anyway, but if we cooked it was on hot plates in our rooms.

Our 'rooms'. What a joke. Basically this was a building that was only zoned for commercial usage, and someone got the grand idea of letting a bunch of kids live there and pay rent. The rooms were basically big office spaces, with cubelike walls that didn't extend all the way to the ceiling. No one could have real beds, because these were supposed to be 'artists' work spaces' and were subject to inspection. So we all had futons, or just curled up on a pile of blankets, or made a freaking nest out of newspaper, or whatever (I had a futon, ok? I wasn't a total animal).

It was all very Punk and Totally Rebellious. Except that it sucked, we were all probably paying an insane amount of rent for this hellhole, and sometimes really shitty bands would come play in the main area (what would be a lobby in an office, I guess). Did I mention the walls did not provide any sort of sound protection? It was exactly as loud in the rooms as it was standing right next to the 'stage' (some plywood spraypainted black).

I can't remember how long I lasted at that place. Maybe a few months, before packing my stuff and hauling ass to a real apartment. I still can't believe that bathroom.

This diary entry was brought to you by the Association of Well-Maintained Yet Meandering Goat Trails.

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go back ::: forward

03.26.2002 - The thing about eating no carbs is that every trip to the kitchen is a mini tragedy.
03.25.2002 - I'll say this for the whole egg-dyeing orgy, though.
03.22.2002 - Lo, the suckage hath been great.

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I have moved. - 1.03.2005
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Plus I am convinced my butt is extra big when it's upside down. - 12.22.2004

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