I'm a lumberjack baby. I'm gonna cut you down to size. I'm a lumberjack baby. And you're the one that gets my prize
I got a phone call a couple nights ago from the one and only Sean-DO! Hollywood Sean was a little bummed (he gets blue whenever the Lakers lose and whenever the 49ers lose).
He was talking about moving back to San Diego, and how he was worried about being stuck in Reno. He also started talking about how poorly he was being treated by our mother. The same woman who was allowing her 26 year-old son to stay with her. The same woman who was charging him only 200 dollars a month (and was not too strict about collecting it), and feeding him for free on an almost daily basis.
He also got on her case about not earning enough money and basically accused her of being stingy. So I got a lil defensive of my mother (I mean it was her birthday that day for fucksake). In the process of that conversation I told Sean that most guys his age paid their own rent (rent that is often time 2 to three times more expensive than his), bought their own food, and paid their own bills and that Sean did none of these things.
At that point my little brother started crying and sobbed, "Basically you think I'm just a big fuck up".
So that led to another long conversation about how he was perfectly capable of supporting himself, he just had to do it. This led to *gasp* a lecture by me on financial responsibility. I know I know - wolves and sheep, pots and kettles, foxes and hen houses.
But I promise you it was sound advice and I'm not _quite_ as bad as I once was.
That said: The following day I received a phone call from a thrift store claiming I had written them a bad check for 18 some-odd dollars a year ago and they had been trying to track me down for some time.
The more things change...
At least it didn't end up costing me a grand. The lady who runs the store doesn't like posting bad checks, so I only had to give her a couple extra bucks to cover a nominal bank fee.
In my defense I don't recall her ever calling me about this, despite her claims to the contrary. I also don't remember running around my high school with a pistol though. Who knows what other crazy skeletons are waiting to come out of my closet.
I want a doctor to take your picture so I can look at you from the inside as well.
Someone asked me for this.
It's a crude lil animation of a character I made, based on my roommate.
Labels: all about me