You let just a little bit of time pass, you don’t want to post another post.  Dunno why that happens. But look, here I am writing and it feels kind of like ripping off a scab; there’s that good feeling of release like you finally done it, it’s no longer itching at you and there it is, but there’s a sense of shame: here’s me revealing my blood and pus, no one else wants to see or hear this horrific underbelly of my life, so prosaic and visceral and ugly.

So here it: the scab, the blood, and the pus.

I got me a houseguest.  He’s a charismatic douchebag, not a lick of malice in him but more than his share of mischief.  He’s super good looking and has fucked more women (and probably more than a few men) than any person has any right to, but he’s down on his luck now, has nowhere to go, and he know I’ll kick him out on the street in a New York second if he pulls any shit.  He has a sweet nature and is beating himself up for having struck out in L.A. yet again, reduced to living in his car there and couch-surfing, before coming back here.  (Granted he’s couchsurfing once again, but he’s on familiar ground.)  He was due to stay with some other guy in town but he died the day before Regor arrived. This is exactly the type of implausible story you’d expect a charismatic douchebag to tell, and sure enough he’s telling it, yet I believe him.  You’d have to know Regor.  This is exactly his type of luck.

WTF, you say.  What possible good could it do me and my life to have this idiot here?  Well, a number of things.  I’ve known the guy for 15 years and although I loathed the guy within minutes of meeting him, I’ve come to have a soft spot for him, arrogant prick though he was.  I know of secret ways he tried to help out the homeless and the powerless when he was in power and it cost him nothing.  It makes me feel good (to some small degree) to be able to provide shelter for him.  It’ll provide some impetus to get my house cleaned up to guest standards.  In fact, he did about a year’s worth of dishes for me while I was out last night.

Although I received his emergency beacon/text at 4 yeterday, I went ahead with my plans and went out last night to catch some shocking improv in Central Square with Esined Odacrem (shocking in that it was consistently funny- really funny- throughout) and caught a beer and some potato skins afterward with her and the cast.  We chatted a bit about her boy issues: the guys she’s been dating, sleeping with- or not- and generally flirted for a good while, until I had to return.  (I’d told Regor I’d be back around 10.)  She realized she had no money, so I berated her for not being able to buy my me MY items, slapped down $15 for her items, and stole her license as collateral.  She’s a lot of fun to flirt with.  I arrived home and Roger had washed all that shit, cleaned out the sink, and scrubbed off the top of the stove.  Yeoman’s work, even though I realized today a thin scum of grease now covers the admittedly shiny, crud-free dishes.

Plus it’s nice to have someone around that loathes himself more than I despise myself.  Or at least who does it more openly.  He may be a weasel and a chiseler and an insecure douchebag and a manipulator and an egomaniac, but as I am guilty on all counts I merely accept him in- for the moment.  We’ll take it day by day.  Perhaps, even if oh-so-briefly, we can be forces for good in each others lives.

I washed laundry for him, bought him some food, and gave him a brand new pair of Nikes I had, too. I’m a prince, i know.  This’ll never come back to me, but someday it’ll make its way to someone that needs it more.  Maybe.  Maybe.

I mentioned the improv.  That it was great.  It was.  I need to take a course.  First I should Google for the UBC comedy bible and memorize it.

Damn it.  Can’t find anything.

But in speaking with one of the instructors out for a beer afterward, he mentioned “Committing to the character.”  Someone mentioned “Go with facial/body expressiosn before speaking,” “just going with the scene/not contradicting each other” and natural acting/singing/mimicing abilties that help but aren’t trained.

Today had a Study date with Nottoc.  We met over several hours at two coffee shops: Eht Tiucsib and Retrop Erauqs books, that sandwiched an interlude for lunch at Eht Babek Yrotcaf.  The experience was great.  I was very productive.  I had two people ask me (Nottoc and Enised) why I don’t have a girlfriend and two people tell me that it was tragic that I have a ponytail.  I agree with them. Been thinking about that myself.  I think it comes off.