Houseguest 2: Electric Boogaloo
I received a call from Houseguest yesterday afternoon. I actually have barely heard from him since he left our verdant shores and returned to the icy tundra of Stockholm, so I was happy that he was checking in.
And then not so much:
Houseguest: Did you receive the birthday present I sent you?
Dan: No Babe, I didn't.
Houseguest: Well I'll just have to give it to you in person then.
Dan: I'm sorry Houseguest, you're breaking up. Or I just hallucinated. What did you say?
Houseguest: I'm coming back on the 5th! For 7 days! I got a ticket but can't afford a hotel, so I figured I could stay with you!
Dan (Pausing on street to look for Ashton Kuther and the Punk'd Van, then realizing that he wasn't kidding, lost control of my bladder, and basked in the large warm spot steadily growing in my crotchal area): Huh?
Houseguest: Isn't that great?!
Dan: Yeah, spectacular. Wheeeeee! The thing is, um, I can't really have you at my place. Sister and I won't be living together at that point any more, and I have a new roommate and no furniture yet. Not to mention my friend Audrey from home is staying that weekend (she really is) and I can't have 2 people staying my first week with a new roommate.
Houseguest: Well my coming is a surprise! I haven't told anyone but you. I will stay with you at least one night and then figure it out. I'm sure that someone will let me stay once I'm there.
Dan (Now realizing that while we all love Houseguest, once he's settled into my couch, ain't no one going to volunteer to take him on for 6 days): Okaaaay, I have to go throw up a little. Email me your flight details and it will be figured out. Good talking to you.
And then I walked into traffic.
OK, not really, but the urge was stronger than ever. The only thing that stopped me was the fact that I was meeting someone for drinks in less than 2 hours, and it would have been rude to stand him up. Plus, I like drinking.
Let me walk you through it: It's my one week off all year. I'm dealing with some stuff that is incredibly emotionally draining and too personal to even blog about (Nonsense! you say. Nothing is too personal to throw out there into cyberspace for complete strangers to read! Well, some things are. Deal.). My apartment is being painted. One of my best friends will be visiting for the first time since I moved here. My new roommate and I will be in the honeymoon/adjustment phase. I will most likely not have my furniture yet. I'm out of valium.
Not the best time for Houseguest to visit.
And This, Bitches, is why when I purchased my new couch, and the sales man offered me a sleeper built in, I said "NO!" so forcefully that he shrunk back under his desk.
And then not so much:
Houseguest: Did you receive the birthday present I sent you?
Dan: No Babe, I didn't.
Houseguest: Well I'll just have to give it to you in person then.
Dan: I'm sorry Houseguest, you're breaking up. Or I just hallucinated. What did you say?
Houseguest: I'm coming back on the 5th! For 7 days! I got a ticket but can't afford a hotel, so I figured I could stay with you!
Dan (Pausing on street to look for Ashton Kuther and the Punk'd Van, then realizing that he wasn't kidding, lost control of my bladder, and basked in the large warm spot steadily growing in my crotchal area): Huh?
Houseguest: Isn't that great?!
Dan: Yeah, spectacular. Wheeeeee! The thing is, um, I can't really have you at my place. Sister and I won't be living together at that point any more, and I have a new roommate and no furniture yet. Not to mention my friend Audrey from home is staying that weekend (she really is) and I can't have 2 people staying my first week with a new roommate.
Houseguest: Well my coming is a surprise! I haven't told anyone but you. I will stay with you at least one night and then figure it out. I'm sure that someone will let me stay once I'm there.
Dan (Now realizing that while we all love Houseguest, once he's settled into my couch, ain't no one going to volunteer to take him on for 6 days): Okaaaay, I have to go throw up a little. Email me your flight details and it will be figured out. Good talking to you.
And then I walked into traffic.
OK, not really, but the urge was stronger than ever. The only thing that stopped me was the fact that I was meeting someone for drinks in less than 2 hours, and it would have been rude to stand him up. Plus, I like drinking.
Let me walk you through it: It's my one week off all year. I'm dealing with some stuff that is incredibly emotionally draining and too personal to even blog about (Nonsense! you say. Nothing is too personal to throw out there into cyberspace for complete strangers to read! Well, some things are. Deal.). My apartment is being painted. One of my best friends will be visiting for the first time since I moved here. My new roommate and I will be in the honeymoon/adjustment phase. I will most likely not have my furniture yet. I'm out of valium.
Not the best time for Houseguest to visit.
And This, Bitches, is why when I purchased my new couch, and the sales man offered me a sleeper built in, I said "NO!" so forcefully that he shrunk back under his desk.
posted by Dxx at 12:55 PM
Get. More. Valium.
You'll need it.
1. Call Houseguest.
2. Close eyes.
3. Visualize Jennifer Convertibles salesman.
4. Speak (or yell, whatever).
5. Wipe hands.
Buy a ratty old couch from a thriftstore (or even better, pick it up off the street) and swap that in for the night Houseguest wants to stay. Be sure to have some homeless people have sex on it before you move it in. Then when Houseguest gets there you can tell Houseguest it's all you have. He'll find a hotel in no time.
I'm sorry to say that none of these solutions will work (except Serra's of course). I have been in a situation so similar it's creepy. My houseguest was from Germany. I met him on his first visit to Miami, and we went on two (what I assumed to be)dates before I found out that he was, in fact, straight. At any rate, he called a year later and said that he was coming to Miami for vacation and asked if he could stay with me. Umm, well, I don't, well, ok. After he was all moved in, he let me know that vacation in German means one month. That's right. One month. He recently called me again after nearly 2 years. I am afraid. Maybe it's a European thing?