Honestly, my life is so fucked up sometimes, I know it sounds like fiction when I bring it out to this site. But I can’t make up what must be the worst Valentine’s Day ever. What you’re about to read is entirely true and one of the most ridiculous things I’ve ever written. This is my life. If you’re going to read one thing I write this month, make it this post.

So you guys already know that yesterday, I lost a major source of revenue through our ad relationship with Yardbarker. That’ll sting the ol’ pockets a bit. Add onto that loss that I was already having an awful day at work and you can see how a boy gets a little emo (see: my Valentine’s Day post yesterday).

So then I go to the gym, come home, shower, go meet up with the girl whom I once lusted for and have since grown apathetic with. We hang out, it’s okay. I’m not that interested for a variety of reasons including my mind maybe being elsewhere (maybe fixated on someone else) and the fact that she just wasn’t doing it for me tonight. I kind of wanted to cut her little bangs off with the way they coyly covered her eye. Whatever, everything annoys me.

So at one point eye contact lingers a bit too long. I don’t want it. She does. What does a boy do in that situation? Normally, he sucks it up and takes what the girl’s giving. But I’m atypical. I opt to go “Hey, I should probably get going.”

Envy my slickness.

So I leave. I’m home again. I get incredibly high to clear my mind. Added onto the alcohol I had with the girl and I’m kind of a wreck. All of a sudden my phone is going off like crazy. It’s my Gay Roommate. He sends me a text saying he’s locked out and I need to let him in. Groggily I stumble out of bed and let him into the apartment. He’s totally drunk. Perhaps coked up since there was a crusty white powder on his right nostril. Maybe he got his nose fucked. Who can tell?

I close the door to my room. He then says he has something to tell me. He asks why we don’t get along. I abstain from saying I don’t want to smell the bleach on his breath. He then says the guy we’re subletting from, this shady Chinese guy, had his identity stolen. He thinks I stole his identity. As a result, he’s not going to renew the lease he’s currently fleecing us on (charging us about double what he pays since he’s held the lease for 10 years).

Let’s let that simmer.

I’m a lot of things. An asshole. An egomaniac. An attention whore. Handsome. Incapable of having a relationship. But an identity thief?

Apparently, someone bought tickets to California and some other stuff on Chinese guy’s bank accounts. His bank rep said it must have been someone who had access to his mail. Since he’s too consumed with building railroads and stir frying shit, apparently he wasn’t compelled to forward his mail to his new place.

Generally, I don’t like being accused of identity theft. I’d like to think I could be a stunning criminal mastermind. And I know everyone needs to start somewhere. But I’d prefer to rob a low-level bank before I randomly steal the bank identity of a gay Chinese guy (did I mention he’s gay and probably fucked my roommate at some point? This is what I deal with).

I get kind of annoyed. I’m stoned, kind of depressed, and tend to not respond well towards larcenous allegations. Call me crazy. So my roommate gets mad, asks why I’m walking away, says he doesn’t know me, then starts yelling and calling me a bitch.

Now I’ve felt low in my life. But there are few feelings lower than being called a bitch by the gayest gay man to ever mince his way out of a tutu shop.

Oh did I mention at some point he told me he has cancer too? Yeah, because that happened. Apparently that’s the reason for the wig hair in the sink. The sodomy? No explanation.

So he’s drunk and possibly coked up (and cocked up) yelling. I’m sitting down in my room, annoyed and seeing talking stuffed animals because I’m stoned out of my gourd. Add to that he’s yelling and I’ll be damned if I end up in a police beat sheet for having “a quarrel with a gay lover.” I tell him to calm down but he’s belligerent. I’m still a bitch, apparently. Good times.

Eventually I sit down with him in his room. His room is smaller than mine. No chairs. Just his bed. We kind of talk it out and I try to calm him down. He doesn’t see how what he said was accusatory. Traditionally, when someone accuses me of identity theft, I think that’s a serious accusation. I’m no lawyer, mind you, so perhaps I’m just a silly goose.

Anyway he calms down. I’m in a wifebeater and basketball shorts. He then starts to say he didn’t realize “how muscular” I am. This is the point I wish he were kidding. He then laments at how we aren’t friends. I try to nicely blow him off…uh, as in ignore. Ignore! But he keeps getting surly when I try to leave. So it continues. He keeps like groping me. At one point I go in my room and he tries to sit on my lap.

Okay. Now I’m not the best at picking up signs. But when someone’s groping you, talking about your musculature, and attempting to sit on your lap, I think they’re trying to do you.

But he also told me he’s not gay. He’s bi. So I guess this is all cool then!

I’m not sure at what point I decided I want to kill myself.

He then insists on smoking some of my weed. I say okay because I need to do something to defuse this all-around awful situation. He continues being touchy and saying he doesn’t want to leave and this all just becomes a beautiful clusterfuck of why I hate everything about my life and why I wonder why I couldn’t have just worked in finance and lived on my own. But alas.

Eventually I get rid of him and begin trolling for apartments on Craigslist. I have to be out of here March 1st, it looks like. My third move in a calendar year. Life is funny sometimes.

Point being…I’ve got nothing to give to you on Friday. As I wrap this up, it’s 12:41 AM. I have a wonderful post on Jamie Lynn Spears going up that I wrote before this entire debacle (STUNNER: I WRITE SOME POSTS SLIGHTLY IN ADVANCE) that will go up at like 9:45. But beyond that, don’t expect much else from me today. My bravado has been stripped from me by an ad network, blond bangs, a touchy twink, and a Chinaman’s identity being stolen.

But here’s some links!

–Oscar De La Hoya is JUSTICE IN FISHNETS. [On205th]

–There’s no better way to celebrate a DUI hearing than getting trashed. [Tasty Booze]

–Cougar speed dating certainly sounds like the best of both worlds. [Mac G's World]

–Dreams come true on Valentine’s Day for people who aren’t me. [BrightBlackInternet]

–Egotastic doesn’t like Lindsay Lohan’s dress but I like her boobs, so the universe is still in order. [Egotastic]

K, I’m gonna go cry myself to sleep now. Everyone have a happy and healthy President’s Day on Monday. Let’s just say I’ll see you Tuesday unless I end up taking a nice dip into a vat of cyanide pills.

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