kirsty, meet your matches
Saturday, Apr. 10, 2004 @ 3:03 a.m.

Another night of screaming television and morning of idiot idol. If I'd been able to sleep, I'd have had nightmares less mentally destructive.

But I didn't sleep last night. Not while Kevin watched the Texas Chainsaw Massacre at an absurd volume at three and not when Rosie came home at eight and tried to sing along (at the top of her lungs) to Avril Lavigne in the room next door. She sings because a few of her friends told her she had a nice voice, but it went to her head so completely that when Ryan joked that no singing was allowed in the house, she told him to fuck off and was bitchy to all of us all night. For the record, she's only capable of four notes (me fa so la) and a half-assed trill.

Which I call half-assed because I'm generous.

To Kevin who is obviously deaf but hopefully not illiterate: when you pee on the toilet seat, sanitize; when you stink up the bathroom because all you eat is fast food, spray the flower spray; when you use all the toilet paper, replace the roll and for god's sake if you either shut Nigel into the bathroom all night or kick him again, I'm going to do the same to you while your head is in the flushing toilet.

I'm ready for our new apartment. With a Ryan who is courteous even without comparison to our other housemates. With a cat who doesn't need to cry to be let out of the stinky room he's been locked in all night.

BECAUSE IT'S COMMON-FUCKING-COURTESY.

At least waking up to loud sex banging the wall in the next room was entertaining.