Flop House

I’m not running a Flop House. I’ve already graduated from college. The novelty of waking up and having strange people passed out all over my house has seriously worn off. Don’t get me wrong, when I was still 20 I could pass out like a champion, but a funny thing happened when I graduated and started living on my own…I grew up. Call me crazy, but when I think about giving a set of keys to a buddy of mine so he can crash at my place, I give those keys to one person with the expectation that on occation he’ll drop by if he needs a place to crash. I don’t hand over a set of keys so he can show up, without notice, with a bunch of random dudes in tow, drinking beer and watching TV into the wee hours of the morning.

9:45, a.m. – Coming downstairs bleary-eyed, when all I want to do is grab a Vitamin Water and turn on SportsCenter suddenly becomes a lot harder when there are two people you don’t recognize (sic. know) passed out in your living room, both un-watching HBO on Demand. Guess I’ll turn the TV off, get that Vitamin Water and head back upstairs.
9:50, a.m. – Hmm, what’s that sitting on the burner on the stove? Oh, a plastic bag and a can of Red Bull, not exactly my first choice for where I’d like to see either of those things; but hey, it’s cool, I’m awake early and wanted to do some laundry today anyway; maybe in two hours when I’m back after going in and out they’ll be gone…HA!
11:00, a.m. – Heading out with my laundry now. It’s kinda funny; I’ve been up and down and in and out a few times and neither of these monkey’s has stirred. I can’t imagine the wonderful blissful sleep of sleeping in the apartment of the friend of your friend’s friend. Especially when he’s not even there…
11:15, a.m. – Oh, well Random Dude #1 has decided that while he’s okay with passing out in a strangers’ apartment, that maybe it’s time for him to head home and ya’know, sleep in his own bed, watch his own television and leave beer cans on his own coffee table.
11:45, a.m. – Guess I’ll go throw my stuff in the dryer and hope for the best. Hey, where’s the trash can? Oh, in the foyer; that’s an interesting place for it.
12:20, p.m. – Nothing like walking back into your apartment rain soaked; because holding a bag of laundry, a cell phone and an umbrella doesn’t really work; to see Random Dude #1 gone, but Random Dude #2 still comfortably splayed across the couch in all his boxer shorted glory. I know I like to talk a big game, but I’m not really a total prick. I'm not going to come start yelling that you have to leave so I can watch TV or maybe invite some of my friends over to watch Argentina kick the shit out of Mexico. You want to stay passed out in my living room all god damned day and essentially render the entire first floor of my apartment useless? Cool.
12:59, p.m. – I can just make out the sounds of heavy feet stomping around and faucets being turned on above the din of my air conditioner and blaring music. Do I sound like that when I walk around? I’m not exactly a big guy (about 6’1” 180), but I always wonder about the guys who are smaller than me who sound like they’re 300 pounds when they walk around.
1:30, p.m. – I’ve switched from Rock music to Techno. I find the heavy bass and reoccurring beats pretty soothing, especially at this juncture; 90 minutes from Argentina v. Mexico in the Round of 16.
1:39, p.m. – I think the carnage has abated. Yep, all quiet on the Southern Front. All the lights are on though, does that mean a pending return? Christ, I hope not.
1:50, p.m. – Well, that was fun! I hope every Saturday for the rest of the Summer will be just like this…