You got something you wanna say?

Email me direct at:

Friday, June 29, 2007

Genius G and the Cash Register... as requested

G was studying film at Uni, and as such, often needed props for his projects. One such project required a cash register so G offerred to go into the city to fetch one for his group... fair enough, making sense so far, right?
On the way home, with cash register in tow, G decided to score... Now, our G didn't drive, so he needed to haul cash register and his considerable baggie of weed on the train to get home. Now, our dear G could be described as scruffy looking on a good day (and this day hadn't been a good one) as often he would wear the same clothes for days, and the concept of a hair brush... well, it was almost as foreign a concept to Genius G as a daily shower. But our G cleverly recognised that, especially with cash register in tow, he looked a little suspect to say the least, and so, just in case the police stopped him, he devised a cunning plan! G decided to hide his stash inside the register draw and lock it, as he believed it would be the last place the police would think to look. In his defence, he was clever enough to come up with a back-up plan, should they request to search the register though, and was primed to claim, if questioned, that he couldn't open the register as he had no key, which he had cunningly concealed in his shorts pocket.
Devious, no?
Upon getting home, fortunately without being noticed by the Plod, we inquired as to whether or not he was aware how questionable he looked carrying around a cash register. He stood proudly before us and, with chest puffed explained his cunning plan for fooling the authorities.
It was at this stage that T noticed a BIG HUGE MASSIVE red button on the register that said 'Cash Draw Open' and pressed it, exposing the registers illicit contents, no key required.

Thursday, June 28, 2007

Housemates...Ahhh, the memories!

So... I've been keeping up to date with the misadventures of the mysterious P on and just between you and me, I am strangely fascinated by him. It is comically tragic and has made me pause to remember some of my own shared-house experiences... memories I'd thought buried far beneath carefully manufactured layers of psychosis.

I lived with a gent we'll call G... G, who liked to roam the house in his girlfriends bra and a pair of shorts, liked to smoke pot (I know, it's a shock, right?). He liked it a lot. I once made the mistake of telling him he could eat a can of soup I had bought because he had no food. And that is how it began. Apparently my 'sure, you can have that soup' actually translated to 'take whatever you want when you want, and don't worry about replacing anything, it's my pleasure'. This went on for weeks, even after a number of conversations and intense negotiations where he swore every time would be the last time, it will never happen again he swears. Remember I said he liked to smoke pot, therefore he often got the muchies. One day I come home to discover EVERY bit of food I owned had mysteriously been devoured. No dinner for me!
Now, in my defence, this had been going on for quite some time and my frustration was at boiling point, we had a massive argument and just at the moment where my rage reached fever pitch my cat appeared. I grabbed her and when G turned his back on me, I sprung, dragging my poor poor pussy cat down his naked back. Obviously the fright had made her claws extend because there were 7 freaking awesome scratch marks on his back.
He stopped eating my food, and although my cat avoided me for a few days, it was worth it.

What I've learned when share-housing (not all of which are related to this story alone):
1. A cat is not a weapon and they do not appreciate being used as such.

2. Your housemates' bong does not go in the dishwasher. It takes approximately 5 rinses to get the smell out, and you need to hand clean it twice to remove the residue.

3. Have ONE designated drinks fridge. Drunk people can only count what they see, obviously if you started with 11 bottles of vodka and there are 9 left, no matter how drunk you feel, you must only have had two. And except for the fact that your housemate has been grabbing bottles from the 2nd drinks fridge all night you are probably right. One drinks fridge means you can all keep track and will avoid alcohol poisoning and wishing you were dead the next day.

4. A room-mates guest who prefers to sleep under the kitchen table instead of the spare bed or couch is not normal. BEWARE you will probably get up to see him standing naked at the window waving to your neighbours the next morning and wearing your socks.

5. Do not buy a cheap metal-framed fold out futon couch. It will seem like a good idea at the time as an inexpensive way to put up visitors. You will find over a very short period of time that the support poles fall out the bottom due to excessive wear in the areas where peoples' groins commonly meet and you will only be able to sit right in the middle or to the sides with a lean.

6. Do not freak out if you come home one day to see your new housemate scrubbing the carpet dressed in a pink tutu, white tights and your favorite pink camisole. One day you might marry him.

There are many more lessons I have learned, and a million stories to tell, but I think I will leave it there for now... I must get back and see if P has let loose with more of the crazy!