2.10.1994

Jerry is my granola eating, dope smoking, incensce sniffing, flower child of a room mate. He's still here at B Street. I wish he would wake up and die some morning in the near future. I had the misfortune of discovering that his band, Zag, will most likely be playing another hippie kid gig here at the house this Saturday. This means I can plan on getting no sleep that night. It also means the house will be loaded with those burned out IQ-of-a-pumpkin organic types again. Now that I think about it I should stock up on some more stinky cigars. That seems to keep them at least six feet away from me whenever I walk through one of our hippie infested livingrooms.

Lately Jerry has been a little easier to get along with, but it's only because he hasn't been around the house as much. His loser friends haven't been camped out downstairs as much lately either. I even went out of my way to talk to him once or twice. I think I pretended to be interested in his dumb band or some shit like that. The main thing he's been doing to piss me off in recent weeks is he puts all of his newspapers out in the hallway in front of his bedroom door and somehow all of his used newspapers end up in front of my door. I have to keep kicking them out of my way to get into my room. The damn hippie can't even clean up newspapers.

Anthony is my other room mate here and he's in charge of all the bills. He collects the cash from all of us for the utilities and stuff. This month things are way out of whack. The water bill came in and the city said we used 44,000 gallons of water last month. That brings the bill to five hundred dollars. I don't know what the fuck happened on that one, all I know is I'm not paying any of it. We only have one bathroom here for the four of us so there's no way we could have used that much water in one month. Unless, something devious is going on...