On Wednesday I took lessons from Francis about how to wiggle my finger while moving my arm but not my wrist. She was helping me devise a plan about how to get my rent back from my crazy roommate. (The wiggle shows attitude, while the stillness of the wrist demarks a seriousness over the matter at hand.) "Giiirl, you don't need that bullshit. You just tell her you have NO problem taking her crazy ass to small claims court," ::wiggle wiggle::. Francis does not take shit. I sometimes do, but on....
Thursday I somehow managed to get all of my security deposit back from my roommate and then get the hell out of my old place. I am unsure whether I wiggled like Francis taught me, but I did get my way. After getting my way, I crashed onto the couch of AgroChris. AgroChris asked me if I remembered the house rules. I did, mostly. They include not opening the door for anyone I do not know, and refusing to let police into the house unless they have a warrant. There is a cheat sheet posted by the door in case I forget the rules. AgroChris is an anarchist.
On Friday I got locked out of the house. I spent the night on top of AgroChris's roof, which was cold, but I decided much better than sleeping inside of a house containing an Elizabeth.
On Saturday I secured a two month sublet at Lobot, an artists collective in Oakland. To seal the deal Nat and I high fived. I felt very happy and possibly incredibly relieved to have a place to live that was not on the couch of my ex-boyfriend's ex roommate. I might have become even happier upon contemplating that my new home had a silk screen workshop, a bike workshop in the making, a huge gallery space, and puppies.
Sunday was a day of rest. I made tomato sauce with AgroChris, played Scrabble, and drank some cheap beer.
Then I started over again.
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