The weekend of my birhday proved to be entertaining at least. I was looking for a roommate, and more found who I'd rather not live with.
My first applicatant -- who just followed up -- was a girl that was the safest from me falling for. She was not unattractive. But I wasn't attracted to her. She comes in with a puppy, expecting a father. But Maury told me this: you are not the father. So I had to pass. I told her on the phone today that a friend showed interest, and that he would probably be moving in. Which isn't entirely untrue.
It's true that a friend of ours wants to move in. He's shown interest. Unfortunatly for him, he's shown us too much of what he's interested in.
The second caller was a girl I'll call Katie, even though I know her only as Katherine, but was actually probably Kathryn. She was a cutie. Checked out the digs and sat on the couch for a Q&A. I think my roommate scared her off, though. She looked like a Katie that he dated. Acted a little like her. It could have been her. Maybe a clone. He freaked her out with his shocking stares. We said she could move in at anytime. That we were ready for her, and that was probably a little creepy. She said she'd call us, and has yet to.
Back to our friend who, drunkenly tells us both on Saturday night that he's a shoe-in. I say, yeah, but what about your girlfriend. She brings mad drama with you. He agrees, but we insist that that might not be the worst thing in the world.
The third and final girl that comes over is named Libby. I liked Libby. My co-interviewer wasn't around though and I had one comment for him: She looks like your sister. Nope, she's out. Hmmm. I guess sometimes it's a good idea not to say those types of things.
Meanwhile, my drinking friend and potential third roommate is suggesting we go to Union Jacks, one of Portland's many strip clubs. And if it wasn't for the Beam, if it wasn't for the girls that also wanted to go, if I hadn't been at the Matador right before, I might have argued that this wasn't a good idea. But we went.
I saw a naked girl for the second time in as many weeks. Happy Birthday to me. Skinny ones, tatooed ones, tall ones, small titted ones, hot ones, ones I feared carried diseases I don't want, and, finally fire breathing ones.
This one stripper ate fire. She blew fire. She lit herself on fire, and as her finally she tried to light the strip club on fire. It worked. The place didn't burn down, but it caught. The fire eating stripper caught the smoke eating machine on the ceiling on fire and I thought we were going to die. I had my birthday scarf over my breathing holes. I was scared though. I didn't want to leave. I hopped there would be a free lap dance out of this. I was wrong. I did see another show, though. I saw my drunken, potential, now off the list roommate make out with a girl I assumed would marry me. I was wrong.
The attraction for a girl pretty much disappears when you see her making out with a drunken friend at a strip club. You friend pretty much loses his chances of moving in with you when he does such things.
That, and too many babies are having babies. Too many babies having grandbabies. JD. No, JB.
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