So things got off to a good start.
I saw this cool car while dropping something off at the real estate management company.

However, for reasons I won’t get into here (also commonly known by the term bullshit), things got delayed and stalled and there was road construction and a traffic jam and it started to look dubious that we would get to be gazed upon by Braco. The timeline was smooshed because of an appointment I have back in Paia this afternoon.

So we were bumming about our luck until we realized WE LIVE IN MAUI. And it’s 82 and sunny.
And Braco is still here tomorrow.

So we went to the beach instead and called it good. I am still 5’6″, but presuming we get our gaze on in the morning, all that might change.

Enjoy these snapshots while they last, because odds are good Jason is going to make me take them down. There have already been a series of “do not put that picture up” threats, which if you know anything about me, you know only makes me more inclined to do what you don’t want me to do.
That’s how I roll: obnoxious.

And by “it,” I mean attend a ridiculous healing event thing tomorrow in the hopes of getting some good content for this here content-less blog.

His name is Braco, and his hairdo is rarely seen outside men named Fabio.

And if that doesn’t sell you, check this out:

I am personally hoping to get my $8 worth. There had better be shape-shifting, ascensions to higher planes, spontaneous bawling, spontaneous healing, multiple orgasms, and – of course – I damn well better be at least 5’8″ in my bare feet after my gazing session is over.

Thankfully, I am not pregnant – apparently Braco’s intense gaze causes water to break and fetuses to abort – but I will still proceed with caution. I am bringing my friend Jason in the hopes that one of us is coherent enough to drive home, presuming we’re both still residents of the third dimension.

Again, I have high hopes. Sure, Braco has bad hair and a weak chin, but his silent gaze transforms lives. I don’t know about you, but I say that’s eight bucks well spent. Bring it on!

If they ever decide to make a Beavis and Butthead movie and use human beings, I’ve got their Beavis.

I somehow had blocked this reality from my mind – probably because I was dreading it so much – but my first tenant to book was actually a dude traveling alone. In the end it was every bit as bad as I feared it would be, but at least now it’s over. I already have a raging case of PTSD from this room rental situation, so let’s just throw another shrimp on the barbie of my mental health and consider it fodder for a future book: BAD ROOMMATE.

The boy loves his tortilla chips...or mine.

As for my latest temporary roommate (who wanted to stay on and offered an exchange of cooking and cleaning services to do so. Okay, so I’m not so clean, but I try! It really is making me self-conscious, however, everybody picking on my housekeeping skills…or lack thereof. I make up for it with many other talents, and I should probably use those talents better to make some money and get a maid.), well, he was moving here and he wrote wanting the room the first day I put it up on the site. I was so surprised by the quick response that I didn’t really think it through. Plus it was all the way in February, which back in November seemed like forever and a day away. Until it was February.

I started dreading his arrival a week early…and started wishing for non-fatal happenstances to cause him to cancel. Happily, my prayers were slightly answered when Beavis partied way too much the night before his flight and missed it. I was getting really hopeful that he’d never show at all, but alas, the next night he was here…with a DOG in tow. Um. Big detail you might have wanted to share with me: DOG IN TOW.

Thankfully, the dog was super docile (although Beavis later claimed it once killed a cat and he “didn’t want to tell me” because of Fu.) and Dozer only acted like an a-hole to it twice, and over food, and which I had warned about extensively. (Dozer turns into Cujo at the sight of a full food bowl and any nearby competition.) Fu was his usual super freaking amazing self and didn’t so much as hiss: just gave me a look that seemed to say, “Another one? Thanks for nothing.” But we gotta do what we gotta do to keep a roof over our heads and put kibble in the bowls while we’re sorting the rest of it out. Thus, enter Beavis and his hound.

Now first off, he may have been the most checked out human being I’ve ever met in my life, and his blissful ignorance (like when he asked if I thought it a a good thing that he had basically no job experience while filling out an application for the local grocery store) had me thinking he was maybe 20. Alas, he was 28 and apparently had been living under a rock before showing up here with his tapestries and beater car and the rest of it. It costs about $1200 to ship a car here from the coastal mainland cities, and for reasons I cannot fathom, he shipped a black spray painted hunk of junk not even worth that much all the way from Texas. Maybe he didn’t think he could recreate the silver peace sign painted on the hood as perfectly on an island-purchased model? Or perhaps he’d been misinformed and didn’t know we have spray paint here in Maui?

Regardless, he didn’t ask, so I wasn’t able to share my theory that unless you owe more than your car is worth, leave it behind or sell it.  There are vehicles aplenty here and the $1200+ you saved can go toward one of them. Oh well, it may be a nice home for him for a while, which he will likely need. I checked every night, and he hadn’t even called on finding a single room to rent. Yesterday when it was time to hit the road, he needed to borrow my cell phone to call back on ads on Craigslist. I worry the boy will be eaten alive, but what can you do? In his case, just light up another joint or whatever he kept getting all over the bathroom (hash? It looked like specks of black pepper until I went to wipe it up and it would smear and sink into the counter top something fierce. I had to put Comet on it to get it off, and he was leaving this stuff around three times a day. Argh! And people criticize my housekeeping!) and let all the thoughts evaporate from your already semi-uninhabited mind. If he sounds like your kind of roommate, I can get you the hookup. In addition to herb, dude enjoys tie-dye, dogs, NASCAR, and the munchies. Hide your tortilla chips, because the kid has no problem opening a new bag and helping himself.

The first night he was here – mostly due to the room redecoration and loud playing of Whoomp! There it Is and Disney soundtracks – I thought he was gay. I hoped he was gay. I love my gays, and it seemed really probable. Other people concurred: he sounds gay. What straight man hangs tapestries everywhere within an hour of entering a rented room? I felt a whoosh of relief and let my guard down…until my good friend informed that he had caught Beavis staring at my ass. Dammit!! My fabulous ass turns another one!!! (Just kidding, although I suppose it does serve its purpose in determining whether or not someone is straight. I did once have a gay friend comment, “Nice stems” about my legs, but that’s different. Simply calling them stems makes it different.)

But I digress…

Beavis has now moved on to meet his fate, although he did manage to leave  his tapestries here (a George Costanza move?) and will be back this afternoon to retrieve them. However, minus some unfortunate imagery of him in his boxer shorts (why do men keep doing this??? R was a big fatty and Beavis was so skinny I could’ve broken off a limb and cleaned my teeth with it.), I am no worse for the wear. Well, that’s a lie, but it’s nothing some pharmaceuticals and a good psychiatrist can’t help me forget.

I didn’t murder you in your sleep, and you send me some bitchy feedback…???

REALLY?

Where is it you live again? Eau Clair, Wisconsin?

Well, lock your doors R and B (you know who you are), ’cause there’s a new serial killer in town, and she’s about to unload a can of whoop ass on your household.

Peace out,
V-

HERE IS WHAT HE HAD TO SAY:

First, I am a dog person. I have had three dogs. They were trained to understand and obey simple commands (sit; stay; no; etc.). Dozer does not meet my standards for dog obedience and training. He does not understand “No” as a command. I question whether he is young enough to be taught (old dogs, new tricks?). I am particularly intolerant of a dog that wants to be close by or under the table when someone is eating. The good news is that when taken by the collar, Dozer becomes properly obedient and goes where he is led. I only did this only once but it worked very well. I suggest that you offer this option and demonstrate the technique to your guests. I found it difficult to deal with the excess of dog hair, hopefully it will decrease as he adjusts to the warmer climate.

OMFG. I literally state in my ad that the place is teeming with fur tumbleweeds. Literally. I state this. But I will update the ad to notate that:
A) Dozer understands the word no, but doesn’t give a rat’s ass that you just said it. He is a shameless jerk descended from a long line of shameless jerks (probably.) (sources indicate.) who does what he fucking wants because he fucking wants to. As far as Alaskan Malamutes go, however: he is a literal prince among men. Bow at his feet: his preferred name is King.

B) Dozer is a shameless food whore. He would steal the last saving morsel from his mother’s mouth and come back for more. His is an Alaskan Malamute, goddammit, and that’s how they roll.

Don’t like it? Ease on down the road with your other ghetto budget lodging options. This fur tumbleweed shameless jerk dog household don’t give a damn.

Peace out #2,
V-

p.s.
weirdest person on earth (thanks, AirBNB) is in my guest room listening what seems to be a Walt Disney score circa 1952 on their iPod. Think “You Can Fly” from Peter Pan and welcome to my hell.

p.p.s.
He’s listening to that mele kalikimaka song. Swear on my life.

P.p.p.s.
He decorated his room. Swear on my life #2.

p.p.p.p.s.

p.p.p.p.p.s.
I am going to hell for this.

Is clearly not this $75 dog cot bed the pet psychic claimed he demanded.

ARGH!!!

Feast your eyes on what it takes for me to get The King into his fancy-ass bed:

Yep. I have to be on it too.

This makes me laugh.

I just wasted $75.