Romy and I have been living with Winter and Nic in the “Ghost Olympics,” a rental on Jay st.
Nic spends a good deal of time in the “Loungery room,” where he has set up a desk, two chairs, several book shelves of poetry, records, and his J-Pop collection. It is also the laundry room. The kitchen is “Dishtopia” and it is home to our kombucha mother, “Jack Jr.” In the dining room there is a big pile of crap, which is a constant reminder that to ever be at peace in a dwelling I should live alone.
I’ve pretty much got Romy trained on minimalism. She and I share bedroom where we have 2 beds and 4 plants. The living room has come under my jurisdiction and most of what it contains is space. I hung paintings, added plants and brought a vintage-modern 60’s couch. My favorite piece of furniture is an up-turned troth that I picked up from a Whole Foods dumpster. The “Trothy Table” goes well with a painting from my mom’s rust series. Deguer, the bird, is caged in the living room. I’ve seen him out once or twice and I’ve seen Winter or Nic talking to him once or twice, but he mostly functions as captive decoration.
Most of the hanging out occurs on the ever-degrading front porch, which looks onto our ever-improving yard. My dad gave us a tomato plant, a jalapeño plant, bell peppers and morning glories along with a hose attachment. The landlady, “RaeRae” gave us drought resistant plants.
During our first night at the Ghost Olympics we made friends with the neighbors. Fabian is a 20 something hairstylist who lives with his dad, Gerald, and occasionally comes over to sit on our front porch and drink Budweiser Clamados. Gerald brought a ladder on 4th of July and we watched fireworks from the roof. He listens to Hard Rock on Big 98.5 loudly and consistently as we are falling asleep and calls us “the kiddos.”
“H” or “Bones” and his friend: “Beef” live down the road and know about where to find the most pure cocaine. Another man mysteriously showed up in our house the first night and was intent on complimenting the beauty of every female in the vicinity.
In our parking lot alone there are many houses, including a family with a ferocious guard Chihuahua (“Bruno”), another gay/trans couple, and the guy who drives a Mini Cooper and never waves. At least this was the lore, one day I waved at the guy and he smiled and waved back.
The Ghost Olympics is a nice house and its mailbox contains a list of our psuedonyms but soon it won’t contain us. When Romy’s visa expires I intend on living in a palace of my own neurosis.
I didn’t get hired at any of the 19 art galleries I applied to when I got out of school and after two months of searching I broke down and applied for a restaurant job. I was hired as the head pastry chef at a raw vegan restaurant. At the same time I was picked up by the contemporary art museum Site Santa Fe. Though both jobs were nice enough for minimum wage, I was working seven days of double shifts and it totally sucked.
My boss at the vegan restaurant is a French conspiracy theorist who greets me every day with: “How the fuck are you?” We make fun of the customers. My boss plays simpering “meditative” flute music when they’re around – just what you’d expect from a gluten, soy, sugar and yeast free, vegan, raw and living food restaurant. When the customers leave my boss comments on how much he hates that music and I say: “Excuse me, does that flute have single-source origin? Is it organic? I prefer to listen to fair-trade bamboo.”
The wall color choice is an appetizing orange that took my boss a month to chose. There are many plants and after I complimented them he suggested that I take ayahuaska. He asks about nightlife in Santa Fe and tells me that for my next shift he’ll bring some mushrooms or a joint to share out by the dumpsters.
Drinking the fresh coconut water inhabiting buckets in the fridge gives me a persistent buzz and taking a shot of e3 live (some sort of green sludge) is what I expect cocaine is like except that it’s good for you/doesn’t enslave children or kill anybody. On top of that, the food is delicious and I’m learning to make all of it.
After a few weeks of covering shifts left and right because my boss fired everyone but me, I finally said I had to cut my hours in half to be sane. A few weeks later (after payroll) my boss realized he couldn’t afford any employees and laid me off. Now I have more time for adventures with my poor imported house-wife.