Category Archives: homesweethome

Not in my stocking.


There were a few years, years and years ago, when my brother and I were quite busy, becoming the people we were going to be.  Like a growth spurth of the brain it left me clumsy and shy, in my own way.  Jesse and I seemed to have little to say to each other.  So we went to see movies together. 

Two days ago, my brother and Bethany were out of town, visiting her family, and I started to miss them.  I was rummaging through the bookshelves and found pretty much every movie we’d seen together for about two and a half years time. 

If you can think of any reason on earth that he’d own Dickie Roberts, Child Star, other than that he loves his little sister, well I’d like to hear it.

One thing in these emails ISN’T a lie.


The Emperor to Jesse

Oh, man. I haven’t been to a party that good since my days as a Rho Omicron Omicron, and even then, we never had a bounce house or a jello pit in the living room (my only suggestion on this is: switch to lime, orange made the dwarf look like an Oompa Loompa). I’d also like to apologize for breaking your glass, but you KNOW how excited I get when the Humpty Dance comes on. The more I think about it, the more excited I get that I was a part of it. Also, the more I think about it, the more questions I have. Did that girl ever put your sheets back? Did she ever remember where she left her clothes? I know we found her panties in the wine cabinet, I’d wear gloves when opening the merlot. I’d still like to know what Jessica and Steve were up to when they came out of the bathroom and there was a map of Delaware on his chest in lipstick.

OH! I hope your dryer’s ok! That was a brilliant plan, though, using it to shake up sodas for the SDSU boys who showed up. Communications? That’s not a major and everyone knows it. And were those the poi firedancers from Oceanside? My ex tried to do a research paper on them, but they continually flaked on us every time we’d show up. I can’t believe they only left a few singed plants when that one guy dropped his. I’d never seen Rebecca run that fast EVER. She was like a gazelle running from a lion, which is impressive when you consider how many people were there. Speaking of, what did the cops say? They seemed NONE TOO PLEASED when the male strippers came as cops. While the Hot Cops and the REAL cops were chatting, I was able to hit up the petting zoo. Let people know that the goat likes to bite. I supposed I’ll need a new tuxedo T-shirt, but that’s fine. It’s not surprising that your sister was bogarting the pony and I’ve never seen a piglet doing beer bongs. Effing epic. My roommates and I will always remember the Portofino Party.

The Derailleur to Jesse

Last night, between the batches of macaroni and cheese boiling over
(luckily, Matt brought his dog to clean up that mess) and the largest
joint ever made contest, I lost my toothbrush. It has soft purple
bristles and is pink with sparkles.

Willow to Jesse

Hey Jesse,
Just wanted to say thanks for hosting such a rocking party last night.
My favorite part was the bearded lady. Not because of her beard but
because of the gobs of liquor she was able to down using just her
feet! Impressive! Let me know where you found her. I’d like to use her
at my next party.

My Homie in Marketing to Jesse

Dude! Kick-ass party last night. I have to say that when I walked in and saw the big sign saying “Donkey Raffle”, I had no idea what I was in store for. However, I had a fantastic time. I never thought that I could have that much fun in one of those bouncey houses, but I tell you what, never again will I drink and bounce. Not a good mix.
When my buddy and I were coming back in the cab (I left my car at your place, hope you don’t mind… we were a little drunk) he asked me who’s party it was again and then I realized that I’m not sure I saw you all night. I know I saw Sarah a couple of times, but not sure I ever said Hi to you, so I wanted to at least say thanks for the kick-ass party and you did a great job hosting it.
Next time though… I wouldn’t bring fire dancers. I thought that was a little much… and I doubt you’re going to get that burn mark to come out.
Thanks again, I’ll pick up my car today sometime.

Jonny Opinion to Jesse

Great party last night dude. Woke up this morning with a dildo in my ear – can’t tell you how long it’s been since that happened. That girl Melanie a friend of yours from work? She’s gotta be the sexiest one-eyed catholic topless trombonist in America. Man. Where the f**k you get an inflatable Obama anyway? On horseback as well lol! He’d make a great transvestite. Speaking of which, tried to upload some pictures I took from the bathroom sink onto flickr and facebook – both sites removed them within an hour – laying low in case they close either of my accounts. Oh and btw, I owe you one microwave, four blank CDs about 1/2 a liter of sunflower oil.
Later bro

Jadon to Jesse

Hello Jesse, hey thanks again if Sarah didn’t pass it on I guess you busy being a great host -Donkey raffle- ? Who would’ve thought?!?- That was worth wait’n for…. I needed to sober up anyways.
I was surprised the fire dancers could perform with in such close prox. to the crowd.
All do something MUCH smaller next month and your totally invited!!!

Jared to Jesse

Merry Christmas Jesse,
I just wanted to thank you again for your hospitality. I have to say, of all the Christmas Eve soirees I’ve attended, yours was, by far, the most spectacular! The fire-dancers out back were over the top, though I must admit I didn’t quite understand the bunny in the bathtub with a reindeer name. I’m so sorry I didn’t get a chance to meet you in person, I just couldn’t find you through the crowd. Either way, I’m sure you’re a hell of a guy extending invites to all your sisters friends like that!
I really hope the bouncy castle didn’t flatten the grass too much and if you need any suggestions for getting the wine stains out of the carpet, just let me know. I managed to convince them to keep the kegs in the garage, but you know how drunk girls can be with red wine… whoopsie!
You’re the best and I look forward to meeting you one day soon!!!
PS. You can definitely count me in for the New Years Eve party your sister mentioned! Mud wrestling and jello shots… I LOVE it!!!

Ikey to Jesse

Thanks for hosting this wikked party last night. I’ll be by to pick up my second place winnings from the donkey raffle. I couldn’t get the box through the crowds, as you can well imagine. Cheers!

Lisslo to Jesse

Jesse! That party was amazing last night. I can’t believe I didn’t see you once — I left at around 4 this morning when the cops were arresting the midget mud wrestlers who were dressed like Mr. and Mrs. Claus. Nice touch, by the way. Anyway, make sure you send me an invite to your next blowout, and I hope you’re having a Merry Christmas. I’m pretty sure I’m still tipsy from all of the eggnog!
Melissa (the one in the purple dress and jingle bell earrings)
P.S. Sorry about the lampshade. I really didn’t think the marbles would do that.

I guess you get the idea. I figure once Jesse gets home and finds out there wasn’t a home-trashing house party, he’ll be less pissed about the glass I broke.

“What’s going to happen at Christmas, an outbreak of leprosy?”


That’s a line from an old kids radio show that Jesse and I used to listen to as kids, an episode about a Thanksgiving gone horribly wrong.  It was also said a lot this past week and a half, as Buckman and I went through a series of insanely awful events.  As in, the hospitalization was not even the low point.

I’m not kidding.

(Quick background info.  Buckman hasn’t been able to find work here, and my company is floundering.  Between the long overdue paychecks and the expensive vet bills, my saving account won’t can’t cover me anymore, and so I gave notice to my apartment and told Jesse to clear the spare bedroom.  Buckman arranged to go back to DC.  Moving day was scheduled for last Sunday, and Buckman flies out tomorrow.)

I’ll start this tale of woe with the Weds before Thanksgiving.  I popped into my gyno’s office for what was supposed to be a painless procedure.  I left an hour later, in tears, minus a bit of my ladybits that I’d been rather attached to, which was taken from me without so much as a warning much less any sort of painkiller, by a device that resembled the lovechild of a fruit picker and a hole punch.  As a parting gift, I was also given a piece of paper which warned me to treat my vagina like a gift, as in Do Not Open Until Christmas.

Lovely.  Thanks.  You’re not my gyno anymore.

The next day, Thanksgiving, dawned bright and clear and Buckman puking his guts out.  By two in the afternoon he was delirious and the question was no longer “should I take him to the hospital?” it was, “how on earth am I going to carry him down three flights of stairs to the car?”

At one point the doctors where prepping him for surgery to remove his appendix, but eventually it was determined that he was suffering from gastroenteritis, which is essentially the experience of food poisoning, just with more pain.

I ate Thanksgiving dinner in the hospital cafeteria, and I’ll admit it.  I felt sorry for myself.  If only I’d known what I know now, I’d have been laughing like Buckman on painkillers.

After a failed attempt at Thanksgiving dinner for Buckman, in the form of cranberry juice from the nurses, I took him home.  He’d lost eight pounds that day.

Friday was a lovely bright spot in that week.  I left my dying cat and recovering Buckman to look after each other and watched my sweet Samantha marry Mickey, on a boat, in a full day extravaganza of food and dancing and food and did I mention food?  And more dancing.

Sometime in the night that night, Dulce yakked all over the bathroom rug.  Which was a delightful little surprise to find at three AM, when I joined her.  All of Sam’s carefully prepared goodies were seeking escape from my body, through any route possible.

Yes, it turns out gastroenteritis is contagious.

I crawled back to bed, only to find that Dulce was not going to be outdone in the sick department, and had thrown up there to.  I piled all the laundry by the door and slid in under another blanket.

I spent the next three days not packing and moving as planned, but meditating through the pain of stomach cramps, trying to hold down popsicles, and maintaining a quarantine of the apartment against wonderful helpful friends.

Come Monday, I could stand for short stretches of time, and I used this newfound power to drive Mau to the vet’s office to say goodbye.  I was too weak to dig his grave.   Buckman, Jesse and Bethany had to do it for me.

Did I mention my therapist just went on three weeks vacation?

Tuesday, now days past my moving date, I managed to box my things, and my wonderful friends all pitched in to help me pack.  In the middle of carrying down boxes, the fella I’ve been seeing, well …. he gave me reason to decide not to see him anymore.

We loaded up the car, and Angelica’s SUV.  And then her battery died.

I finally cracked.  I sobbed until Triple A showed up.  Somehow I managed to get through the rest of that night, get everything moved, and clean the apartment.  In hindsight I’m not even sure how.

Fast forward to today.  I’m alive.  The past few days have been a lot better because, well, they’d pretty much have to be.  Plus I can eat full meals now.  And I’m unpacked.  Rudolf enjoys playtime in the backyard, and Dulce’s starting to recover from the stress of the move.

I guess what I’m saying is, I think I’ll live.

Thank goodness for steroids.


They’ve bought Mau maybe two more weeks of relative comfort, after which we would expect to see a very quick decline.

Two weeks is also the amount of I have left in my current apartment.  I’ve avoided talking about my job on the internet for obvious reasons, but at this point they can’t afford to fire me.  Literally.  To fire someone you have to PAY them, and that hasn’t been happening in a timely manner for months, or at all for weeks.  We’ve been teetering at the brink of folding for awhile, and I suspect our time is almost out.  So far I’ve kept afloat but between vet bills and the lack of consistent paychecks I can’t continue.

I don’t want to wreck my credit over this, and as much as it KILLS me to give up my warm little apartment, I’m lucky to have the option of staying with my brother for awhile.

Since Mau’s health will most likely begin to plummet right around moving day …. it’s not worth the stress on him, just to gain a day or two.

Mau will not be making the move with me.    For almost nine years, virtually my entire adult life, my sense of home has been rooted around my cat.  Please tell me how I’m going to get through this, and don’t say steroids.