Success #2 will come when I can successfully passive-aggressively get Rachael to clean her god damn bacon pan. It wouldn't be so disgusting if she hadn't cooked in it at least three times without washing it once. In my initial dish washing, I ran a sponge over the undulating fat to no avail and was therefore forced to make a decision I have faced many times before: let the filth sit and irk me until it gets cleaned (i.e. never) or clean it myself. Strangely, I chose the former, I guess because I refuse to act as house bitch ever again. Over the two weeks since my arrival, the pan has moved to cooked eggrolls and bacon two more times (Rachael feels that her choice to cook and eat an entire package of bacon for breakfast two days in a row is legitimate I guess), but has never once shown signs of scrubbing. Therefore, in my fifth round of doing all the dishes this afternoon, I chose to remove the pan from the sink, still coated in lard and general filth, and have set it delicately upon the arm of the horrifying pleather couch in the living room, still considering what my passive aggressive note will read.
Option #1: Dear Rachael, you and your cat are fucking fat and gross and this is why. Clean up after your god damn self. Love, Jesse
Option #2: I am not going to clean this. Please get it out of the way. If it is not clean in 48 hours, I will throw it away. Please do not use the kitchen again until you learn to clean up after yourself. I am not your grandmother/mother/maid/bitch. Thx.
Option #3: Maybe if you got up before 5pm you would have time to do something other than cocaine.
I think that Option #2 is the most tactful. You might be wondering why I won't just ask her nicely to clean her pan. Well, because I'm afraid of her. Art thinks that she killed Alex (his adorable barn kitten, formerly known as Frosty, now MIA). She's probably 40 pounds heavier than me (a feat for her 5'4"ish frame) and covered in weird tattoos and on her car, scrawled in what looks like White Out, "Sissy girls suck." While I may agree with this sentiment, I would never in a million years paint the mantra onto my car. This requires a certain degree of psychosis. These, coupled with her three legged cat Lucifer who hops around on his front stump of a leg, ensure my silence. On top of that, she's dumb, i.e. wants us to close the windows during the day to "keep the cool air inside." Now, even for those of us not well-versed in physics this seems a little counter intuitive considering that this house leaks air (old, remember?) and the temperature is never actually that hot (this coming from a former resident of the Piedmont, the true hell of North Carolina).
On the bright side, Rachael has BOUGHT a house on S. French Broad which she will be moving into at the end of the month (good luck living in total squalor, honey) and my other housemates, Sam, Art, and the temporary addition of Sam's brother Tom, are low maintenance. The three will plat Left 4 Dead on XBox Live until 4am. I am in bed by 1 most nights, exhausted from gallivanting around downtown looking for work. However, I seem to have found myself some employment at The Green Sage Coffeehouse & Cafe - just part-time for now but the FOH manager was SO nice and the GM made me laugh my ass off. Sounds like a good place for me. Apparently one gets scheduled in accordance with the quality of one's work, so I'm pretty much down. Furthermore, I discovered very soon after my interview that my old ILM friend Rachel works there as well. Shazam! Success #3.
Success #4 will occur when I actually get some hours. Waiting on my god damn security deposit refund from Sunset, but other than that and some generous contributions from my mother I am close to broke. Therefore, I am baking my own bread, will soon be making my own hummus once I wrangle up my food processor from Chapel Thrill. These basics, along with some occasional local tomatoes, oranges, and squash from the Moore garden are acting quite admirably as sustenance. I've made a number of pasta salads!
Success #5 is the free food and half-price drinks I get from Bouchon where Art is cooking five afternoons and nights a week. He gets Wednesdays and Thursdays off and we run errands, go out to lunch or dinner, watch Netflix instant play on the TV, buy puzzles, clean, smoke weed. It's all very domestic. The food is French country, from bouillabaisse to Crepes Suzette, the bartenders are very sweet and know my name (and don't card me!) (15 days!), and the wine list actually makes me LOL. And he looks so cute with his little glasses on, sautéing the evening away.
All in all I've been reading on the porch a lot (I have a porch!), driving through the mountains and getting all teary because I actually live in a place this beautiful. The Netflix is nice and I can't wait until I can contribute financially to my new home. It feels like that, you know. I can't explain it very well, but it's probably the $285/month rent.
