So hop on the Drama Express!
What was supposed to kick off my Pride Week Extravaganza–which, while it didn’t end up being an extravaganza, was a more subdued affair among friends that was plenty fun–was immediately marred by a a voicemail from the vice president of my property management company. With no information. Whatsoever.
My mind ran wild with possibilities…Were they going to evict me? Had my roommate choice, Brandon, been rejected, meaning I would have to cover the rent myself for the month while I looked for a replacement? Had I had too many sub-tenants under my lease to allow another person in? What, what, what?
So the panic set in, and I pretty much lost my appetite all weekend–not an entirely bad thing for my fat ass. Still, I managed to make it to Steps of Rome with Mr. Alterhausen and a charming Berkeley alum. Then we had to backtrack to the Haight, where he’d left a credit card at a bar, and from there met up with Pejorative, watching YouTube videos, singing along, and chatting up a ruckus until well nigh 4:00 am.
Saturday, the trio of us met up again for a brunch, drinks, and a showing of the new TV series “Glee”. Mr. Altherhausen and Pejorative passed out late midday, so I slipped home myself for an Absynthe or two before falling over onto bed. And I pretty much stayed in bed all Sunday, useless as the day is long.
So I pretty much missed everything, but it’s not like I haven’t seen it all and done it all before. And it’s not like there won’t be another Pride next year.
Preferably with less drama attached to it.
I got a call from my regular property manager on Monday, and apparently the crisis was over the quote I given Brandon for the rent. Which had never been a problem before. It’s more because it’s the larger room for Chrissake. And the previous property manager had already confirmed it was okay to quote the other roommate whatever I wanted, and I forwarded her email from 2006.
So it’s resolved, the sub-tenancy agreement is signed, and Brandon moves in tomorrow night. I still have significant cleaning to do, but I’ve given him fair warning, and have Friday off. And it’s of course madness at work. But it has been delightful having Mr. Alterhausen here to visit, and he’ll be returning in August before defecting to Taiwan.
I need a spa treatment, a massage, a cocktail that will soothe my mind, and enough medication to make me forget the trauma of this ridiculous little triviality so I can sleep restfully again at night.
