Maybe I'll never find a place to live

Nnnnooooooo! By now I'm sure you've heard that the racehorse-turned-tripod-[soon to be]-turned-glue [formerly known as] Barbaro has been Kavorki'ized. It is a lot to swallow, I know, especially for champion show dogs who will be mouwing on oversized Kentucky Derby edition cans of Alpo. Perhaps I should be more sensitive, after all, my own dear mother lost her horse - except here's the difference (well, to her, not to me, because as you may or may not know I'm not what you would call an "animal enthusiast"): D's horse lived 10 times as long as B'bo, and was a closer part of her family than Bar-bar was to his spoiled rich owners. They're probably using all the get well soon letters sent by women in funny hats as a dating service for their poncy son, [probably] named Fitzgerald. "I say, Fitzy boy, what say you to a rousing game of croquet round the veranda - we'll have jolly good wickets with our old sport's horseshoes"
Here's my problem: the replay official from the AFC championship has stated that pass interference should not have been called on Ellis Hobbs, yet the end to Barbaro's "suffering" made front page headlines on CNN.com and espn.com. And another thing - where's the raw testosterone and equine-hormone driven relentless power we've come to expect from this four-hooved "athlete"? My boy Russ broke his leg, and guess what: he wouldn't sulk like a pussy and give up will to live; he sure as fuck wouldn't turn down $500,000 offers to impregnate blue-ribbon mares.
Speaking of CNN.com (yes, we were speaking of it), is there no real news anymore? Not that I read the news anyway, but if I did (which I don't, but if I did), I'd think the headlines were drawn up by the creators of 24. Just today, Aqua Teen Hunger Force shut down Boston. Most likely because the mooninites do whatever they want, to whomever they want... at all times. In other [CNN headline] news, "Computer genius missing at sea," "Man arrested selling radioactive (duh) uranium", and "Ray gun makes victims feel as if they're on fire." I hope M sends out her best double-O agent to rectify these situations. Whatever happened to war, black and female democratic candidates, rape, and murder as headlines? Oh that's right, for those last two you may want to point your browser to the baltimoresun.com (14 murders in the first 9 days of 2007, folks.... Baltimore - get in on it!). There are also pieces on a cat trapped in a washing machine on youtube, a video about whether Tyra "Billboard" Banks is getting fat, and, of course "Barbaro was 'a different horse' in final hours." Excuse the apathy (or don't, I don't give a fuck, hence, apathy), but I'm not motivated to read one of these articles, because they just won't inform me of one thing with which I could feel privy entering a conversation. Except the one about ray guns. Ray guns are sweet.
Now, I'm not one to complain about my surroundings, but I can't stand my house here anymore. There are now 11 people living in this motherfucker (did I mention 1 bathroom, if you exclude the outhouse type facility in the backyard), which means there's no room for anything in the kitchen. 11. Eleven. XI. 3 Pairs of people in rooms made for singles. It's ungodly crowded, I wonder if this is what the middle passage was like (come back, Dave Chappelle, seriously, no pressure- I'll write your show for you). My landlady is literally milking this thing for all the cash possible, doing little to nothing in the way of upkeep; and we all know nothing good ever came to milk-maids, other than not getting smallpox. In trying to move out, I've found a place, had it rescinded, found another place, cancelled due to disagreements amongst the three of us searching together, and, most recently, been turned down to come and look at one place by the beach (that I was supposed to come see anyway, tonight) because the girl said she had to go to bed. It was 8 pm when I spoke to her. And she's 24 and living in a beach front apartment. This would be an acceptable bedtime if she'd been up 120 hours straight hosting the worlds largest outdoor brothel, but from the tone of her voice I doubt this to be the case. We'll see though, she's advertising a pool table and minibar in the place, so I shouldn't let such an insignificant thing as "my housemate would be a total buzzkill" ruin the vibe. umm, right?
Before I continue with the house thing, let me interject myself (allow myself to interrupt...myself). My yogurt today was billed as "Berry Basket," yet in the ingredients, and on the front picture, a cherries are included. Cherries aren't berries (though surprisingly, tomatoes are, technically - must be a small, edible fruit w/ multiple seeds - the actual botanical classification of a berry involves a mandible-friendly pericarp and something about fleshy ovaries, let's leave that one on the wikipedia page, thank you very much). Keep the false advertising to yourself, no-name Australian yogurt. Check your mixed berry yogurt, people. Write to your state representative and senator if you have to. What if I were fatally allergic to cherries, and bought berry basket yogurt expecting nothing but harmless, succulent berries. Looks like I'd be in for a deadly surprise; downright pitiful. Oh, and in other backwards southern hemisphere news, some yogurt here comes with the fruit on the top (but not all). I found myself mixing it counterclockwise.
(if you find yourself shaking your head at the above 'cherry ==> pitiful' pun, yes, it was lame, but you're clever. If not, and you just think it was lame after I pointed it out to you, get down from your high horse; I'm damn funny. PSS, I usually don't point out slight jokes meant to be inferred, but for those of you unfamiliar with Tyra Banks, my previous "billboard" comment may have left you scratching your [fore]head. Enough said.)

[No good transition to this, but:] while I haven't seen any animals that you guys are probably looking for pictures of (though my converter was stolen so I can't charge my camera anyway), I think I've mentioned the giant fruit bats. Fantastic. I've never been so encouraged that a flying mammal may swoop in and snatch an infant from a mother's breast at any time, mistaking the big headed people-spawn for a nascent cantaloupe. These things are huge, and they rustle the trees at night, and you can hear their wings when they flap, like sheafs of canvas. There are also these beautiful parrots, like ones you could buy in a pet store (fuck you, Moe); they're green w/ red and yellow wings and blue heads. Very tropical looking, as if they dove through the Lost Boys' paint pit in Hook. Bangarang.

OK, two more quick things. Nevermind, one. OK, two, but i'm going to make the Weirdest. Day. Ever. really quick. So two of my housemates Shana and Andrew were trying to get rid of their rooms, posting them down by Reading's a book store (apparently pronounced Reedings). I was down by there looking for postings for other places, when I started talking to a girl, also looking for places. When she told me where she was visiting that afternoon, sure enough, it was my house. I told her Andrew's and Shana's rooms were already taken, but she could look at either mine or another housemate's. The reason she was looking for a place was becasue her (also stellar) landlady had told her she could choose her own housemates for her sharehouse, but after finding a french girl and her NY boyfriend, the landlady proactively sold the place to a group of Malaysians, so this girl had to move out (it was but a fleeting meeting apparently w/ the french girl, so that never came to fruition--- but wait). When we got back here, I introduced her to Shana and Andrew -- who do you think took Andrew's room... that's right, some French girl and her American boyfriend. All of this unknown to everyone else. Maybe because of the brevity of this blogosphere this doesn't seem as weird, but at the time it was the biggest coincidence ever. And later in the day, while playing monopoly (and, weirdly, rolling doubles literally at will, every time I yelled "hibachi" like Gilbert Arenas), I learned that my housemate shana has the same birthday, born w/in 20 min. of each other on the same day. Late night (after seeing the new Bond) - we ate at Notturna only to see 1) two women sitting in different places who looked like they could be identical twins yet did not acknowledge each other once, and 2) a dude with boobs. Not just man-boobs, actual breasts that looked like they required at least a b-cup. His boyfriend did not seem to mind, but we couldn't help but stare (I'll just say, that it was not me who pointed this out and started staring, I'm way too classy for that).
I'll wrap this up (yes, you're right, I didn't go to the gym, which is why I have all this free time to type my endeavors to ya'll) - remember (some of you) how Craig and I had bought a pizza, and how excited I was to eat it at lunch one day in CRBII, yet when I got to the refrigerator, the pizza box was empty. Yep, someone had actually eaten our pizza, and REPLACED THE EMPTY BOX IN THE FRIDGE. Not naming names, but it was probably the same people who also ate all of the lab-meeting chicken leftovers. The fact they can escape with impunity incenses me. So the other day I had a phenomenal penne w/ shrimp and calamari meal in a tupperware container, half of which I ate for lunch (the pasta mixture, not the tupperware), the rest I left for a mid afternoon snack (at work). I left my fork on top of the vessel in the refrigerator; upon returning 2.5 hours later, I found my fork inside the box. Thinking that odd, I began eating, only to realize someone ate all but ONE of my shrimp. AARRRgGGh. How many things must be stolen before I snap? I am now suspicious of everyone at work except the jews. The kosher ones anyway. I'm like the anti-borat. Who does that,though, seriously? Not only did someone go in the drawer in the fridge (that's how I roll), but then opened my lunch, used my fork, and put it back together like everythign was cool. Everything is not cool, asshole. In the same vein as my desire to wire a bike to 120 Volts in the back yard of our apt. on calvert st tempting a potential thief, I think I'll flavor my next shrimp concoction with pure habanero, or industrial grade laxative.