(no subject)

So much lol this morning.

R went out last night to a gig and brought some friends back with him. I briefly heard them come in around 4am -- I heard R, another male voice, and a female voice, and amusingly my only thought was "Threesome! Good for R!" before I rolled over and went back to sleep. I blame Harry Potter fanfiction for this.

This morning I came out to make some breakfast while the maintenance man fixed the ceiling and I discovered one of said males sleeping on the couch (no dice on the threesome, I guess). There was also an empty bottle of Canada Club whiskey on the kitchen counter, perfectly surrounded by empty beer bottles. Otherwise the place is pretty tidy, so I can't complain too much. Couchman is still asleep despite the installation of new drywall 20 feet away and me surfing the web from the chair next to him. I surf in silence, like a ninja.

I'm calling in sick today because fuck them and instead I'm going to rest, make some crockpot bbq chicken, and prepare for the week.

(no subject)

Conversations with the Roommate, #126:

Me: Hey, where do you keep your measuring cups?
R: Ummmm.
Me: It's just that mine are packed.
R: I don't really have any.
Me: How do you measure stuff?
R: I kinda eyeball it.
Me: Well, I'll get one of mine out, I think I know where it is. Oh! Also, where are the mixing bowls?
R: Ummmmmm.
Me: How do you mix things?
R: I don't really cook.

In the meantime, I have exhumed a mixing bowl and a measuring cup and am in the process of making:

( Crockpot BBQ Chicken )

(no subject)

Oh my god. You guys have to try some of this chicken. Here. Eat it. Go on, it's good for what ails you.

I hereby declare the recipe a success. It is very sweet -- if you're not a fan of sweet sauces I'd suggest using unsweetened stewed tomatoes or tomato sauce in place of ketchup, cutting the maple syrup, and adding a whole lot more chili powder -- but I like a sweet sauce and the maple and the tomato and the tender tender chicken...

nom nom nom nom nom nom nom nom nom

In the end, too, there was almost precisely enough sauce for the chicken -- depending on how saucy you like your pulled chicken, of course. I did leave some in the pot, but not very much.

R went back to sleep after our mixing-bowl conversation. In the meantime, I unpacked my brita filter pitcher and put it in the fridge, because while he has one I don't know what's crawling around on it and anyway it was empty. Just now he woke up, walked into the kitchen, opened the fridge, reached for the pitcher, and then paused. It was beautiful. It was the hesitation of a man whose world has just turned slightly cockeyed and he's not sure he can take it.

And finally, the best job-search-discovered term of the day:

Promo-sapien.

(Person who lives to write publicity copy.)

(no subject)

For a day in which I'm doing nothing, I'm doing an awful lot. I got the wireless working; never underestimate the power of half an hour of thought, a downloaded router manual, and the desire not to share one ethernet cord between two computers.

I've met Couchman now that he's conscious; turns out he's R's ex-roommate, the one whose stuff is all over the flat. Another friend came over for a while, and then they took off to go watch the playoff game at a bar. The playoff game that's happening four blocks from my home. The awesome can be measured in metric tons.

Conversations with the Roommate #390:

Ex-Roommate: *using R's laptop* Hey, Roy Orbison commented on your myspace site.
R: Yeah, Roy Orbison loves me, man.
Ex-Roommate: So what does Roy Orbison want? I mean, his 25-year-old PR person who runs his myspace or whatever.
R: Well, Roy Orbison's dead, so it's probably not really him.
Me: But his ghost haunts your myspace still.