My dear friend Joseph, who I unconditionally adore, rode his motorcycle up from Seattle on Friday to stay with us for a really nice weekend get-away full of long walks, Nicole visits, and good food, with a Sunday bonus of home made nut pancakes and an introduction to the Mad Max trilogy.
When he first arrived, I asked him what he thought of where I live:
“This place looks far too normal to have you living in it.”
“What on earth were you expecting?”
“At least a secret pet tiger.”
I’m still uncertain whether or not I should feel insulted or validated, as I did later chase him with a raccoon skull mouthing OM NOM NOM, which he thought was incredibly creepy, (or maybe it was the mouse fetus inna tube, I may never know), so either way, I’m sure I deserve it.
Past that, (and my sudden burning curiosity in regards to how my far-away-friends live and what they might think of my house in return*), it turns out he might be unexpectedly, oddly, at least metaphorically right, because…
Cue the drum roll please…
The Year of The House Guest continues as a word-smithing tiger of pure awesome is going to be joining my mad and crazy “entirely too normal” household of wacky, quiet, movie addicted doom! As of March 1st, my friend Shane, Internationally Acclaimed Slam Poet Extraordinaire, is going to be moving in with me and David for two months while he works on a poetry performance the Cultch commissioned for April. No word yet whether his band, The Short Story Long, will also be spending time on my couch, but if they do, that’s okay too. I always like waking up to random mandolin. Who doesn’t?
*Anyone want to play a game of I’ll show you mine if you show me yours and we all post photos of our chaotic living-spaces that we’ve oh so nonchalantly attempted to tidy before showing to the internet with a false modesty “please excuse the mess”?