We Have A Roommate in Spite of our Rent-Controlled Apartment, Jerkwad

[I know I'm procrastinating the hell outta my appellate brief (you're not alone, Mulher!) when I can't stop writing letters to the editor to San Francisco's various bad newspapers. Not one printed yet, but one may hope. I haven't had a letter printed since I protested S.F. Weekly's myopic screed against rent control a year or two ago. (Not the most recent one.)]

[It also occurs to me that I've yet to document the arrival of John's and my new roommate. It's probably because...oh, let's call him Bart...Bart is the most drama-free individual I think I've met since moving to this city. Straight, white, 30, EMPLOYED, and ONLY a pothead. Hurrah! He IS a bit of a playa with the womyn, and that may or may not come back to bite him in the ass, but even it does, I doubt it'll affect us except for some vicarious entertainment.]

[Did you watch Buffy last night? Have you ever felt like you're really confined in an institution, and that the life you're living is just a paranoid delusion? I have...]

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[Note: I can't believe I'm doing this, but it occurs to me that the "hurrah!" above might be misconstrued to apply to any of the descriptors I used for Bart besides "employed" and "just a pothead." The others were JUST for description's sake.]