Day Eleven.

I took the checks Chaz gave me to the rent office to pay by hand. No way I’m getting fucked over again.

Update: The checks didn’t bounce! Looks like we’re in the clear again— and now we have learned a lesson about Chaz being a tricky dick. And I guess now is the best time to start looking into finding a new person to be my new roommate.

This is what I’ve put on craigslist:

$730 Master Bed/Bath w/ Already Furnished Rooms (Laguna Niguel)

This apartment is in a gated apartment community. Your neighbors will be english-speaking marines and spanish speaking day-workers. Nobody talks to each other and nobody dislikes these circumstances.

My roommate is not going to be able to make rent soon because he— get this— has a nice job where he makes enough money to pay rent. He just doesn’t pay rent because he’s a total cocksucker. I’m not saying he’s gay. What I’m trying to say is if he was gay then even the gay community would reject him for being such a gigantic dick-hog.

Rent total between the two of us is $1460— and that includes water. Utilities cost another $60 dollars which is something we can split down the middle.

The open room is a master bedroom with a balcony attached. It’s about 140 square feet. We’re on the second floor, too, so it’s not some sort of lame patio thing. Even though my cocksucking roommate is going, the couch and big screen tv and book shelves and fireplace get to stay. The fireplace was going to stay anyways but the point is that the place already looks like your dream apartment. And I get to keep the glass dining room table.

Remember the big screen tv I mentioned up there? Remember that? Remember it.

The place smells like cats but we don’t have cats. If you’re a cat person and you want to bring cats into the mix…don’t. Cats are all about licking themselves on nice furniture; they do not make good friends. But if you aren’t a cat person then you’re going to be in good company. I will not lick myself on any of our furniture.

I’m sure you want some specs. The entire place is about 1090 square feet. Parking requires a pass but we have a garage I don’t use because my roommate has been using it to park his bullshit Jetta in. The garage is yours: I don’t need it.

Some other cool things about Apartment J:

– Big Screen TV

-There’s a kitchen with everything kitchens usually have.

-Wireless internet. But I’d need somebody to help go in on paying that. I need help paying it now because of my roommate too, so there may be some bills we have to take care of before we can start a new internet plan.

-The furnished patio is attractive.

-What? Yeah, I said “fireplace” a while back.

-Windows.

-The college is nearby.

Once again, the college is nearby. If you can’t get to Saddleback within five minutes of leaving this place then you’re going the wrong way. Traffic or otherwise.

My roommate cannot find the USB cord to connect his camera to my computer, but in all honesty pictures won’t do the cat-smell justice.

___________________________________

Hopefully the room will sell. Soon.

Ask your students the following questions pertaining to the last chapter of “My Girlfriend Is Out of Town” that they read:

1) What can Charlie apply from what he has learned to the future?

2) Is Chaz-hands to be trusted? He seems like he’s up to something, right? (examples needed)

3) ASL

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Day Eight (2).

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” Chaz says, the nerve of him. He found out about rent today. I mean— he found out I know he hasn’t been paying rent. Our rent. Not even my half.

That’s right: he’s been taking my rent money for three fucking months and he hasn’t been paying any rent.

“I’ll have my dad write you a check,” he says. What a fucking disaster.

“Why,” I asked, “haven’t you been paying rent?”

“I messed up bad— I’m bad with money— I’m sorry,” he said.

“Why?”

He blamed his girlfriend who was, by the way, crying and smoking all of our weed in the living room.

Chaz put his hand on my knee, like how your rapist uncle would. “Smoke a bowl, son,” he said.

“Okay,” I said.

“It’s on me,” he said.

“No, I think I bought this sack,” I said.

“I remember giving the money to Aaron,” he said, invoking the name of our Holiest of Drug Dealers. I pushed his hand off my lap.

Who’s money?” I asked. Chaz was silent. Maybe he gets the point, I figured. The asshole. But he proved me wrong next by saying:

“With my money.” He started grabbing for my knee again; like your rapist uncle who is also blind. I pushed his hand away again and yelled.

“You owe me three thousand dollars!”

“Technically I owe the rent office six thousand dollars,” he said.

“You’re not even the least bit sorry,” I said.

“I told you I was.”

“But you’re not.” He wasn’t, I promise.

Chaz paused, his mouth agape. “You have to pay the rent,” I told him.

“That’s— I could pay up what I owe. My dad will write that check.”

“And then keep paying rent like you’re supposed to,” I said.

“I’m sorry,” he wasn’t, “I can’t keep paying rent” That was bullshit— he has a great job working for his dad’s company and for him to keep up paying rent he’d have to start paying rent in the first place.

“So what are you going to do?” I said.

“Move out,” he said, lighting a cigarette.

“You can’t do that,” I said.

“The lease doesn’t have to be renewed in August with me on it,” he said, taking a drag.

“No, the cigarette.” He took another drag.

“I can smoke,” he said.

“But not in my room. Get out,” I said. Chaz took another long hard drag and tossed his cigarette on the floor, stomping it out.

“You’re not being too cool about this, Charlie.”

“I smoke cigarettes too; I know what it takes to be cool.”

“No, you’re not being cool about the rent thing.”

“I’m being remarkably ‘cool’ about the rent thing right now.”

Chaz lit another cigarette.

“Stop that,” I said. He threw his cigarette down and stomped it out.

“I’m going to LA for the weekend, so we’ll talk about this later,” he said.

And just like that— like my father— he was gone again.