So I’ve been out of the apartment with the twink for over a week now. My quality of life has improved. I’m happier. I feel less likely to get attacked by semen. Better times all around.

So what happened in my last night with the apartment?

Well, I finished packing up last Friday night, raring to go. Then, my ladyfriend (nee special lady) ended up spending the night with me. After some quality time, we both had an early wake-up Saturday morning (me for the move, her to meet up with a friend) and opted to go to sleep at around 1:15AM. So who traipses in LOUDLY with another man? That acquired immune disease carrier. And what do you, as a considerate roommate, do when you’re coming home with a strange man to engage in sordid sodomy? You turn up the TV, loudly yell and laugh, and get fucked and spanked violently only for your strange man to leave immediately thereafter.

Neither me nor my girl slept. But at least she heard it. I had a witness to the horror. And that is why we’re as close as we are right now. Or so I assume. It certainly can’t be any redeeming qualities of my own.

I didn’t say a word to him. He’s a psychopath and, frankly, I’d rather not deal with it. But if you’re out there in the world and you’re a gay man (or any man), please feel free to spit in the face of this fine fellow pictured below. His name is “Oalan” though he goes by a series of other anal-sex-infused nicknames such as “Skylore” and “Luca”. He deserves all of your enmity. And while I can’t advocate this per se, let’s say if someone out there were to, oh, offer anal sex to him and then have some sort of chomping teeth in your anus, I wouldn’t be opposed.

These are all pictures taken from his entirely public Facebook, so I’m not violating anything here. What kind of creep do you have to be to post a picture like that last one on a public Facebook? Ugh. If I remember correctly, the caption on it was also “Does this make my bits look small?” Seriously? SERIOUSLY? UGH.This chapter in my life is now over. This category of the blog, a cathartic window into my life, is closed. I have no ill will towards you, homosexuals. Now that I no longer work out amongst you or live with your worst representative, I feel like this is a better situation for all of us. Because it won’t end in me in a pick-up truck asking you to jerk off for me, then beating you mercilessly.

Goodnight, sweet AIDS-ridden, wigged, cancer-filled Prince. May you continue to spread your “joy” to many others.

EDIT: An alternative perspective from said special lady…

Caitlin: god it was awful
Caitlin: it went forever
Caitlin: and then chris kept falling asleep and snoring on top of it
Caitlin: i had a pillow crammed over my head and could still hear it all
Caitlin: i think i started to cry around 3am bc i was just SO tired haha

Just for the record…I was congested. I don’t snore. Ever.

DOUBLE EDIT: I was also asked to run this lookalike photo of my roommate:

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The latest reasons I wish my roommate did intravenous drugs with Freddie Mercury…

Last Wednesday, I came home to find that my roommate had packed up all his stuff and it looked he left. Turns out, he didn’t. I saw him that night. I then told my roommate that I would be moving out March 15th. He told me he would be going back to Europe the following day because A) his grandmother was dying, B) his cancer, and C) he needed to address his visa issues.

We now sit here one week later and he’s prancing around, leaving more wig hair than ever in the sink. I don’t even address him any more. He’s the sketchiest human being I’ve ever met. Which is no small feat.

If I read the stuff that I’ve experienced with my gay roommate on another blog, I’d probably be calling bullshit. But, as your Paragon of Virtue, you know everything I present to you is pure fact. Pure sad sad fact. Exhibit A: The aforementioned wig hair.

Yes, what you’re seeing is sticky, disgusting, blond wig hair clotted up all over the sink. Who had to clean it up? Two guesses, first one doesn’t count. Why of course it was our hero editor! I’m fully intending on shitting in a hat of his before I move out of this place in a couple weeks.

Also, something to look forward to. When I get closer to my move date, I’m going to completely blow his spot. Why? Because fuck him, that’s why. You readers deserve to see the monster. And you gay guys deserve to see someone who’ll be really easy, but probably give you seven shades of sarcoma.

So it’s funny, actually. Of all the bullshit I say and write, the one thing that seems to get people emailing me and sending links around to friends is the stuff in my life. Never one to leave you all behind with a severe case of blue balls, here are the updates you’ve been waiting for.

Friday was a fine way to rebound. I did not have to see my homosexual roommate other than a brief moment when I came home and he gave me back my keys (he lost his for approximately the third time this year) and said “Oh man I was so drunk.” It also turns out that the Chinaman holding the lease will not be terminating it as he had said, but will instead let the bank do their job. You know, rather than accusing poor bloggers of stealing his identity. Friday night, at a bar on Chambers Street, your hero and mine…me…threw in a truly heroic effort. Not only did I heroically drink tons of alcohol without falter, I got the number of an attractive blond bartender. Please, hold your oohs and awes until the end of the post. Yes, with a bit if derision and booing her as she danced atop the bar (like Coyote Ugly, but with more stomping and infinitely less “dancing”), I somehow won her over. Was it the sweater vest? Hard to say.

Saturday was even more eventful. I was approved for my new apartment in the East Village (Stuy Town if you care and want to hunt me down in the park areas!). Sadly, this means the conclusion of My Gay Roommate, as of March 15th. As far as I know, my new roommate, whom I’ve known for about a decade and who has a girlfriend, will hopefully not rub my chest and tell me how muscular I look. Hopefully.

Saturday night was spent in a somewhat debaucherous fashion in New Haven (if by debauchery, I mean being somewhere cool but just hanging back due to a combination of exhaustion and sickness). There was no pick-up artistry plied on bartenders this night. Primarily because the main bartender was a oddly hillbilly-ish bearded gentleman. Which you’d think I’d like, but no!

So I come home Sunday afternoon. I’m exhausted, I want to go to the gym, I just don’t want to have any nuisances. So what do I find when I get home? Apparently my gay roommate has blown up the bathroom. There’s water EVERYWHERE, the little bamboo rug (I don’t even fucking know) is soaked, there’s a used condom ON THE FLOOR (no fecal matter though! Hi5!) and I immediately check the mirror to see if “Welcome to the Wonderful World of AIDS” is scrolled across the mirror in red lipstick. I’m seriously concerned as to what will happen when I tell him that I’m leaving the apartment on the 15th. Will he try to kill me? Rape me in my sleep? Shit on my bed? Oh the joys of living with an inconsiderate, cancer-ridden homosexual with severe psychological problems.

And everything else was basically status quo. So yeah!

Back the usual posting schedule today, so that should be fun! And of course, a hearty welcome to our new sponsor, Ticket Solutions. They’re paying me a lot of money so if you don’t click that ad on the top of the page and buy some tickets, I’m going to be really upset. So upset that I may stomp my feet on the floor then go “C’mon! Click iiiiiiiiit!” Ticket Solutions: The one with the tickets on it.

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.