Whenever I go to my old bedroom at my parent’s house, I’m filled with memories. For instance, “dirtyslut” who lived with us when I was about 10. Dirtyslut was a heroin addict, and to support her habbit, had decided that prostitution would be a good option. Needless to say, she was not the most attractive person that ever lived, and I’d hate to meet someone that would pay for her services.
But I don’t have only gross memories of Dirtyslut. I also remember that she gave me my very first camera. The only reason that fact is relevant is that I ended up obsessed with photography. I have a darkroom, several cameras, a digital photography setup, and took a bunch of classes in high school and college. I thought I wanted to be a photographer until I realized I hate taking pictures of people. There doesn’t seem to be a lot of money in nature photography unless you’re Ansel Adams. So I kept it as a hobby. Actually, I use some of it at work, because my department does digital imaging… coincidence? I doubt it.
So back to Dirtyslut. Dirtyslut was in her mid twenties, and she loved to hang out with me, and take me out places, like the skating rink, and McDonalds, and her car… I learned a lot from her, and I suppose I should be grateful. Well, needless to say, Dirtyslut moved on after she had lived with us for a while. Amazingly, now she’s married with kids, living some kind of domestic existence… weird.
Another interesting memory I have from my old bedroom is my college girlfriend climbing through the window late at night. My parents were kind enough to put in an “emergency fire exit” window in the room, since it was in the basement. It turns out that it was also a good “emergency discreet entrance.” Yes, those were good times. Well, they were ok. Ok, they sucked. Whatever.
Another fun thing about that old room was the fact that it leaked very badly. Whenever it would rain, and sometimes when someone upstairs took a shower, the room would get soggy. I would hop out of bed, and the carpet would squish water up between my toes. Talk about a rude awakening. And it was especially unnverving, because I never knew if it was good old fashioned rainwater, or if it was dirty shower water. And regardless, it was moldy and gross. One of the walls had moss growing up the sheetrock… scary. And the stuff wouldn’t die. I put primer over it, the stuff that’s supposed to cover anything, and the next day, the mold would be back, and the primer would be cowering in the corner.
Sometimes it was a blessing living in the basement. If it was the middle of the day and I needed to sleep, it was ok, because the room was always dark. And it was usually quiet. There were exceptions, of course. Like when my little sister would put her clogs in the dryer at 5 in the morning. THUMP THUMP THUMP WUMP THUMP… Pretty hard to sleep with that sound blasting through the air.
Occasionally, portions of the ceiling would fall down, exposing the ductwork, wiring, and massive amounts of spiders. I always considered spiders to be my friend, though, because at least they ate all of the other gross insects. I only killed the poisonous spiders, and had a good, albeit tentative, coexistence with the rest of them.
In my new house, all spiders die. I don’t want them, and they seem to be quite a bit bigger than the other ones. Maybe it’s just because I’m closer to rural Kansas than I used to be, and there hasn’t been enough development to run off the spiders. These spiders are two inches across, and hairy. No spider that has more hair than me is allowed to live. That’s just a general rule I live by. Granted, I don’t have much hair, but it’s still a good rule. Supposedly I could use a “bug bomb” to kill the spiders, but it involves covering everything up, lots of work, and the potential of blowing up your house if you don’t get all of the pilot lights extinguished. So I walk around the house with a shoe… the old fashioned way.
Well, I should probably end this entry. I’d like to close with a politically incorrect joke. “What does Michael Jackson like about twenty six year olds? There’s twenty of them….”