MINOR BACKGROUND NOISE

A correspondent confesses himself quirked by the situation I outlined in a previous post, to whit: "you got distracted while blogging by your roommate talking on the phone with her boyfriend. Sounds mighty dysfunctional, given that years ago you and she had an affair. Why are you still living with her? And why is she 'yacking' on the phone with you around? Shouldn't she use her phone privately?"

He also informs me that he hates it when folks talk on the phone around other people, because it is selfish and inconsiderate, and that he wishes they'd wait until they were alone before they called.


Let me clarify a few things.

Savage Kitten and I have known each other for over two decades. We're still friends, and though it may seem unimportant, we still care about each other's well-being, despite no longer being lovers.
Plus we get along quite well.

In San Francisco, relocating and / or finding new apartment mates means paying inordinately more rent, a new neighborhood with unfamiliar and undesirable peculiarities of its own, and a desperate search for a place to live not already occupied by schizophrenics, druggies, self-absorbed superficial consumerite bastards, and party-hearty braindead yuppie scum.
Or putting up with strident food-phobics and true-believers.
And their assorted dickhead associates.


The last item that requireth illumination is that she has her own room. She's always had her own room. We share the kitchen, bathroom, and television room. The kitchen is cramped but reasonably clean. The bathroom is not littered with perfume, unguents, and make-up. And the television room contains book cases, a television, the land-line telephone, and two of the five computers in this household, both connected to the internet.

Her computer. My computer. And a land line.


Yep. No cell-phones.


Neither of us are instantly available twenty four seven. It's a deliberate old-school approach. We don't want to field random conversation while eating, shopping, on the bus, or in transit. We don't take selfies. We will not be on a dirt road in the Sierras with a flat tire, nor shall we ever witness something that we absolutely have to tell someone about right this very minute.
There are no emergencies that require a cellular device.

Sure, we do get the occasional idiot sales-call, and around the election times there are computerized political messages. But the first (sales) is dealt with by informing them that there is a big-ass yam in the house or a teddy bear armed with a cleaver (her gambit), or asking what they are wearing and whether they are blonde (my approach). If I am feeling particularly feisty, I may even falsely inform them that I am naked.
Like a Greek god.

Whatever the tactic used, the sales-shmoo soon gets off the line, as they cannot deal with the madness at our end; they weren't trained for that.
Computerized vote-fer-me calls get a hang-up.
The telephone seldom rings anymore.
There's no recording device.
Either live, or zip.

I also rather like the fact that her boyfriend feels threatened by me, but that is just minor icing on the cake. The point is, both of us have a familiar place to hide from the world, we don't have to put up with asshats just because they occupy the same location, we have our privacy, and we have a teddy bear armed with a cleaver in case anything goes wrong.

Her telephonic yackery with wheelie boy usually happens when I'm wandering around Nob Hill with a pipe filled with aged Virginia tobacco, which helps me daydream, for an hour in the evening.
When I return, I'm happy, and she's happy.


Sure, it will get a little more complex if I ever find a girl-friend. But firstly, though I am in the market, I am not pursuing the matter with any great purposefulness, and secondly, casual nooky and unsuitable affairs with flibberty gibbits are not part of the programme. There is no point whatsoever to hooking up with another person if they aren't calm, reasonable, and intelligent, with insight, self-confidence, and a life of their own.
No teenagers, no party blondes, no emotionally unstable artsy types, no adherents of strange food cults, or "spiritual" people.

It might happen. But I shan't overturn anything even when it does.
At that point, certain details will have to be worked out.
But reasonable people can do that.




People all over the city live with others, the vast majority of them manage to have parts of their lives which are entirely private. Some of them have to tolerate an awful lot.

On my days off, this place is quiet.
Coffee, pipe, and a library.
I am undisturbed.

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