fifty-eight sixteen

"Welcome to the Monkey House"
-Kurt Vonnegut

Entering the world of homeownership changes you. Yeah, you work a little harder and everything, but something fundamental happens. You start to care about things like grass, appliances, and plumbing. Where I used to make a phone call to the landlord when the dishwasher broke, now I have to fix it myself...er...I mean...wait around for the repair dude.

Still, it's nice. As the office's resident single guy, my house is now the last bastion of freedom for the married guys who want to play poker. Which is good, because the only piece of furniture I've purchased so far is a casino-style poker table.

Last week, I had the inaugural party at 5816. Good times, but I got made fun of...

Dr. J. - Hey, Matt, where are your cups?

Me - I haven't unpacked them yet.

Dr. J. - What am I supposed to drink out of?

Me - Just empty out a Coke can, rinse it out, and drink out of that.

(Laughter from all...directed at me)

Ster - Matt, where's your plates?

Me - They're in a box in the garage.

Ster - How am I supposed to eat this pizza?

Me - Eh, I have tile flooring and a dog, so don't worry about a plate.

(Derision...directed at me)

Willard - What's in that third bedroom?

Me - That's not my third bedroom. I call that the "hamper."