When it rains, I'm poor.

Oh-my-god-lucky-you. There's a new Stormgren post. Oh, quick, look at what he's saying this time. Oh, reading this is like my eyes getting married and going on a really expensive honeymoon that they didn't have to pay for. Oh no, turns out... this post sucks. Even more "oh no", getting married is like a ridiculously expensive date. A ridiculous-expensive date that your friends, family and some people you secretly hate get to supervise you on. Oh-my-god-lucky-me. I have a nasty bottle of cheap wine to nurse while I mourn two recently relocated close friends. It's true. Two of my very best friends whom I have been living with over the first 4 months in Portland just moved back to the Midwest. That great black hole with all the charm of a racist grandfather or a whiny, white, twenty-something blogger with purple-stained teeth, problem skin, and numerous documented failed attempts at being likable without being sociable. Though the Midwest seems bland and flat and to have terrible weed... well, um... it's all true. And it seems to chew up and spit out young ladies and gentlemen at an alarming rate, but still manages to draw them back for another psychological ass-whooping. This leaves some pretty wonderful people scurrying hither and thither across the country, trying desperately to salvage a good time or at least a full-time job from the slag heap. Though the low cost of living and familiarity of the Midwest are a constant temptation, I have been clever enough to sidestep the old corpse and watch its momentum carry it aft of my person. The West Coast has treated me well for many years now and the extra effort has been well-worth the trouble. Recently however, I found that old dude Life had only been sharpening its knives and waiting for me to look in the other direction, only to exploit my weaknesses and stab me in the back. Oddly enough, seeing as how Life seems to have a terribly distasteful sense of humor, it used its knives to carve a humiliating "hoof arted" slogan into my back as well, just to add insult to injury. That, of course, is a metaphor. Because not only have two of my roommates/best friends moved away, but as a special- albeit slightly belated- birthday gift, I was also laid off at my warehouse job. The job with the fucking raddest work schedule ever! It's true. This is terrible enough, but the realization that my computer and phone have both been broken for a while now adds to the horror. Though my roommate and my partner have both been kind enough to let me bandy their numbers around as my own while I search for employment, this still leaves my life complicated. Rather beaten black and blue, I should say.
The good news is that we've hooked up a couple of new roommates and they both seem awesome. I am still clinging to two of the original roommates/best friends, who remain awesome and the house, though cold, is going to be awesome again soon.

I would also like to take this opportunity to reassure my former roommates and still-best-friends that I am not angry and totally understand. Though they felt like shit and were extremely apologetic, they had perfectly logical reasons to move (though with a little late warning, I must admit) and some things cannot be helped. They are also extended special rights and privileges for being such good friends. Besides, we all know that even if they hadn't moved away, life most definitely would have found a more creative and devious plan to kick my teeth in.
"How, pray tell, could your life get any more shitty or awkward?" you ask, dear reader.
Well, I say, give it a week.

Fuck you, I love you,
Craig