These Are Troubled Times

Though I was planning on having an alcoholic Saturday night, due to a miserable headache, I ended up in bed around 12:30 am. I fell asleep watching Hancock, which I finished today, definitely worth a watch, but that's another story. Anyway, around 4am I awoke to the horrible screeching of the smoke detector going off in the house. Because of my headache coma, I didn't really comprehend the implications of this, and tried once or twice to just ignore it, then fell back asleep immediately after it stopped.

Well. I woke up this morning pre-work and walked out into the living room, looked off to the right, and saw the remnants of The Boyfriend's computer sitting on the breakfast table. At first I thought the light was playing tricks on me, but upon closer inspection I saw that the screen was indeed missing huge chunks of glass, and what remained was cracked in countless places. I feared there was only one real explanation for this. My aforementioned poker deviant roommate is notorious for being both boisterous and incredibly dangerous when he's adequatedly intoxicated. It's not that he means to break things; he's just huge. He's like 6'4" and of medium build, and he's very physically expressive. Anyway, it worried me, because he and The Boyfriend, although they've been friends for years, have a long-standing history of getting into nonsensical, roundabout fights that usually leave The Boyfriend stinging. I feared this would be the last straw in what seemed to be an increasingly strained relationship.

I should pause and explain a little further. The Boyfriend is my roommate and, obviously, boyfriend. He's a producer for a local hip-hop group which happens to include my card-shark roommate, who we'll call Hip Hop. (Everyone else does...) The Boyfriend is about 5'9" and small-framed, which wouldn't be so small if both of his male roommates weren't towering giants. Besides Hip Hop, there's another boy we'll call Snake, who's about the same size as Hip Hop. Needless to say, The Boyfriend winds up on the receiving end of a lot of crap from these two. Hip Hop is loud and obnoxious, the self-proclaimed asshole, who prides himself on the ability to make other people uncomfortable by saying things that don't need to be said. He's also smart and hilariously funny, with a quick wit and a keen observation that shows up in a lot of his rhymes. He loves to argue but hates to be wrong. He'll shout over people and make insane points just to end up with the last word in any discussion. Most people who know Hip Hop just avoid the confrontation with him, or at least drop it on their part, but The Boyfriend, for some reason, just can't let it go when Hip Hop starts in. As a result, The Boyfriend usually ends up insulted and down a peg or two, and where Hip Hop forgets the argument immediately and moves on, The Boyfriend has Anger Storage.

So the tension in our house this morning was understandably thick. I've never been so happy to go to work. I think I left at 11:05 for a shift that didn't start until 12. I came home to find both of them asleep on different couches with the Philadelphia game on. Maybe they won't wake up til I go to bed.

She's A Ringer

My recent interest taken in the game of poker is mostly due to my new place of residence. In my last house I lived basically alone, since my roommate preferred to stay at her boyfriend's place. They moved in together at the beginning of the year and I shacked up in his vacant room. It is admittedly more comfortable here, albeit much louder, thanks to my three acquired roommates, all male, all rowdy, all the time. Don't get me wrong - I'm crazy about these guys, hell, I even date one. (Different story.) I just mean to say that it's been an interesting transition.

If the boys aren't out drinking and watching sports or in the living room drinking and watching sports, they're drinking and playing online poker. They take their laptops and convene in a casual circle around the couches with ESPN in the background, one eye on the Carolina game, the other on the hand they're playing. And I'll admit, it's addictive. I joined them one night out at a local bar that holds a weekly freeroll poker tournament - that is, anyone is free to play at no cost. I got sloppy drunk, incredibly lucky, and finished in second place. Ever since, I've been somewhat hooked, parlaying my beginner's luck into a real affection for the game. Common drinking games for my age group include the likes of beer pong, cornhole, flip cup, and horseshoes (not the safest), all which require a hand-eye coordination gene I seem to be missing. But poker is a game of logic, odds, and psychology, a combination I'm a little better with. Though I have nowhere near the swagger of my oldest roommate. Twenty-five and apparently bred for the game, his loud mouth and passion for pushing buttons make him a veritable poker Thoroughbred. It's fascinating to watch what his confidence does to the fragile psyche of the Hold 'Em newbie.

I feel as though this is not a good mixture, a natural flair for a game notorious for turning on its most loyal followers, but hey, as long as I'm still betting with play money, I'm okay with it.

The Blog Wagon

I've jumped on it. At least, I'm trying, but I think it's left without me. Am I technically still jumping on the bandwagon if the craze seems to have diminished somewhat? Perhaps I've at least caught a seat in the back. I've abandoned several attempts to keep a private, handwritten journal because a) in my house, there is no such concept of 'private,' and b) I always feel, when I write, that I am writing for the benefit of some unseen audience. Maybe journals are meant to be read by outsiders to offer perspective. Or maybe I'm just incredibly vain and take measurable pleasure in the thought of people reading what I have to say. Either way, potential audience, I'm sure there is enjoyment to be found on somebody's part.

Today's an interesting day in what might only be the second interesting day I've had at work in a year. To catch hypothetical readers up to speed, I used to work as an assistant manager of a local restaurant. Basically a glorified waitress, I was given a set of keys to the store and the register as well as a nifty little card that got me into the inner workings of our Point of Sale computer system. I was stripped of that title a few months ago (note interesting day number one) when my admitted laziness became more than just an inconvenience for the other managers. After a few months of working with my metaphorical tail between my legs, I heard that my renewed attitude and dedication had been noticed, and there was talk of restoring my card-carrying priveliges. Ultimately, last night, the decision was made to promote a girl who once used to work under me.

So today I'm a little off, because in my heart of hearts I know that I am damn good at that job when my heart's in it. The problem is, my heart hasn't been in it for quite a long time. I'm personally invested in this restaurant in a number of different ways, but it's becoming increasingly clear to me that I'm no longer happy there. Unfortunately, as a creature of habit, trying to motivate yourself to leave a job you're so comfortable at is a daunting task. I feel like the restaurant is a boyfriend I've been dating for so long that I don't want to go and end it even though I know things aren't really working out and there's a good chance one of us is going to get screwed around on in the near future.