Appraisal

The reason that I'm sitting here at 8 am, by myself in a cafe, typing this shit (on a Wednesday morning that I have off from work no less) is due to the fact that some dip-shit is in my apartment doing an appraisal. Which leads me to the paranoid feeling that in the near future either my rent will be raised, or the place will be sold: the end result of both will cause me to move yet again. When I moved into my current apartment, my motto was "this will be the last time". So, lets briefly, vaguely, and indiscriminately run through my moving/living situation over the last 7 years since I initially moved to San Francisco. Yet another ME! post, so read it or fuck off and scroll to the bottom and just get the free track (its a real good one today).

1. After couch surfing for a few weeks, I found a rich young adult with a great place on Craigslist, that paid 2/3s of the rent on a shared unit in which I got more space than him(?). Although he was on par with some of the shittier drunks I've met, it was honestly rarely a problem since we didn't hang much, and he had money (drunks without money suck, duh). Everything was fine until some pill popping alcoholic piece of night trash from Long Beach moved up to go to SF State, asked to sleep at ours for a few weeks till she found a place, and ended up staying for five months. With every last dollar I could muster, I saved up to take a trip to Japan for two weeks, and upon my return I found that my roommate had gone on a bender, taken our "guest" to Vegas, married her, bought a house, and was moving out in two weeks.
2. Having just enough to cover next month's rent I hit up Craigslist like a fiend, and found a shithole with a roommate somewhat in my age range who did not need a deposit. Parts of my room went down at a 30 degree angle, but I took it out of desperation. Upon moving in I discovered that I'd be living with an unfixed pitbull that was afraid of everything and everyone (she probably needed glasses, but they don't make those for dogs. Actually, I stand corrected), and a roommate that did coke every other night and dated a stripper, that he lambasted for her career choice and alleged infidelity (although he brought home random bar skanks, and genuinely nice girls home on the regular behind her back). My friends hated coming over, and after 3 months I bounced,
3. To end up with some kid fresh into City College whose Dad had just jetted from his house to move in with some model. It was the kid's first time living alone, and anything seemed better to me than where I was before, until I got my bank statement a month later with 6 checks (totalling only $140) on it that I didn't write, made out to said kid, with my signature forged. He said he needed money to buy weed. So left that arrangement, and took a bunch of the nice furniture that he had at Daddy's place as a consolation prize.
4. Moved in to a crazy nice but sketchy place with a guy that grew weed (a lot of weed) inside, and a graphic designer. Best place ever: cheap rent, super huge, immaculate detailing, jacuzzi tub, free laundry, but everything I owned always smelled like weed, and everyone always thought I was high (and I kinda was as I was getting free pot).
5. Moved after a year and a half (longest place other than my childhood home that I've ever lived in) to get a place with my then girlfriend.
6. Moved everything into the unit upstairs after about half a year due to the downstairs neighbor being adverse to any music at anytime of day ever. I used to get blamed for my then upstairs neighbors' music all the time, in conjunction with my own, and she had the landlord's number on speed dial (I felt worse for him than anybody actually) and had a therapist girlfriend who used to like to confront me about how "I was restricting the freedom from flowing in their apartment". After the move up things from a neighborly perspective improved, but these were times of extreme mental anguish and paranoia.
7. After another 6 months moved again, across town, as the gf wanted a larger place with a yard.
8. After another 3 months gf and I parted ways. I spent two of the shittiest months of my life living with her while looking for a new place and then moving into the place which I'm in now, which I like.

I know that nobody cares. Still, I recounted all of it just to simply state that I don't want my rent raised, or my place sold. I am very broken in regards to the moving thing, and although it is a basically a constant ritual in my life, I'd like to break the cycle for a moment to save my back and my bank. I guess I could have have written about Phreek, and classic underground disco, like a proper disco blog, but seriously just google Phreek, P & P, and Patrick Adams and you'll find a wealth of more relevant info on other pages which'll be waaaaaaay better than some half ass plagiarism by me.

Phreek - I'm A Big Freak (R-U-1-2)