I  moved out of my house.

It all happenned so fast and so casually that I haven’t really had time to digest the whole situation. Books, clothes, toys and lots of other crap remain in boxes in someone else’s house, waiting to settle down and start a new life with the only person that has been able to stand me (and viceversa) for over two years.

The house is still far from being completely revamped, but at least it looks much more inviting now that it has furniture and a new paint job inside. Outside it still looks shabby and peeled. But hey, it’s not that bad. It is a thousand times better than that castrating cube I called my room back in my parent’s house. Heh, I’m still not used to calling my old house "my parent’s house." I’m willing to bet they’re not used to me leaving either.

My mother, also known as Her Majesty The Drama Empress Estephania Angelina Franchesca Fofanna Fanna Fofesca Fifi Trixibelle, is clearly hiding any signs of distress, seeing as her youngest kid is moving out of her house with an unknown "roommate" to a neighborhood she has never heard of. She keeps asking me the same questions over and over again, asking specific details about how I was going to arrange all my crap and when I was finally going to buy furniture. She is genuinely worried, but that’s something none of us needs right now. My intention was to move to save me and my family some grief when it comes to my personal and social life, not to make it actually worse.

As for my father, he is as clueless as ever. I was kind of scared to tell him that I’d be moving in such short notice, but the perfect chance just presented itself and he took it rather well. They’re planning to travel to the ol’ Dominican Republic in november, and that would have greatly disrupted my plans, since I wanted to move around that time. Obviously they expected me to be home every night and feed the damn zoo and water the plants, which would be a problem if I’m not going to be there. I decided to call my dad (yeah, phone call. Call me a fucking coward, but it actually worked) and tell him my plans and that I didn’t want to disrupt their traveling schedule (hah! suck-up) so I’d be willing to go to the house every night and feed the beasts and water that fucking jungle they’re growing in the backyard. He told me that if it’s ok if I think that’s the right thing to do, that I deserve more privacy and that he has no place deciding anything on the matter, since it’s my business. Sweet.

I still will have to go to their house daily for a full 2 weeks. A small price to pay for permanent freedom and privacy. Besides, I wasn’t gonna be such an asshole and tell him to look for someone else after he had no problem whatsoever with me moving out.

As for life with DS, I feel like when I begin a good ol’ RPG. A young, bright eyed and bushy tailed newbie adventuring himself on an epic adventure to save the fucking galaxy. Spend some time, learn new stuff, gain some levels, face perilous… peril, learn new spells– Errrrr… I think I might be taking this RPG stuff too seriously. Anyway..

We still have to figure out how we’re going to divide the bills, the chores, who buys what groceries, and, the most important one, GAMEPLAYING TIME. There’s only one TV in the whole house. Which means that if one of us gets the urge to play PS2, X360, DC or hell, even my old Sega Genesis, we’re gonna have to take numbers. At least we still have computers (with a brand new chapter of Guild Wars, to top it all off), and don’t forget about the other DS. Fuck, if you’re a game geek you CANNOT get bored in that house, I guarantee you that.

I also have to adjust my income for a new monthly rent. Which is not much, but I gotta be careful with the compulsive game buying if I intend to save some dough. See? that’s another skill to learn right there. (Gah! damn RPGs.)

Oh don’t mind me, I’m just here for the Shirley Temples.

Unfortunately we’re still not ready for any "housewarming parties" yet, so don’t bug us with requests. The house still has a long way to go before it looks presentable, and I still haven’t settled down properly to start inviting people over for "wine and cheese"– Oh who the fuck am I kidding, whoever’s invited is probably going to show up for "Doritos and Medalla". Yeah, you know who you are. Don’t give me that "oh, but I enjoy the occasional Cavernet with a slice of aged Gouda!". If you’re reading Supercilious, you’re bonafide cafre.

So no. No Dorito eating/beer guzzling on our brand new furniture yet. We’ll tell you when. Don’t call us, we’ll call you.

Posted in Dark Soul, Family |

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