post 651 (or thereabouts--fuck, i can't keep track), in which mkf relates some existential angst

[fine--you want personal, i'll give you personal (god, why didn't i stop drinking an hour ago)]


i had really been dreading this bathroom remodel planned, perpetrated and suddenly sprung upon me by my mostly-absent landlord/roommate and his girlfriend (see? he's not my lover), fearing the disruption of my sacred routine, but turns out it's not been so bad.

in the first place, it means i'll finally be getting a showerhead that's positioned to hit me at somewhat higher than mid-stomach level, so there's that.

and showering at the office has turned out to be an unexpected treat--thick, turkish towels, endless hot water, and who knew attorneys kept such nice triple-blade razors and designer shaving balms in their (unlocked) lockers?  (j/k, sorta)

but the best part has been getting to know gary, the (hot 58-year-old) contractor, because what a pleasant surprise and font of useful knowledge he's turned out to be.

first, you gotta understand:  i hate contractors, and i came by that hatred honest.  after years of watching 'em fuck up my carefully-rendered details on job after job, to the point where i was 86'd from a jobsite for throwing a hammer, not at, but near (which point i stressed over and over as they dragged me away) a contractor early in my architectural career, ol' gary has been a welcome breath of fresh air.

rescued from mcdonald's drudgery at the age of 17 by a builder/uncle who first saw his potential, gary has become a master of many trades who takes tremendous pride in his work, and has delivered far more on this little job than he'll ever be paid for.

i first laid eyes on him when i stumbled bleary-eyed outta my bedroom at the crack o' nine a.m. last monday, to the sound of pounding demo hammers, noted his studly form as i pushed past him on my way to the kitchen (because i'd already gone out back and peed behind a tree).  he wandered in behind me, watched me mix my morning shot-o'-cayenne-in-warm-water eye-opener, asked me why the fuck i was drinking that stuff, to which i merely looked up at him with a bland expression, raised my left fist with index finger curled, and then shot it boing! straight up in the air.

he said, "no shit?", and even after i warned him he'd have to work up to my dose, demanded i mix him one just like mine, downed it, and then doubled over, gasping, while i laughed.

and with that, we were tight.

i've had many conversations with gary since that day, and have grown to like him more and more.  he's my age, had his wild time, grew up, got married, got land and horses, had kids, and now has grandkids.  and his family's his whole goddam life.

as i type this, i'm wrecked because the 23-year-old i fucked yesterday stood me up tonight.