I'm Gonna Have To Kick Some Ass Now

Yippee, I look like I live in the ghetto.

What happened? Basement Man came home apparently so ripped he really doesn't have any recollection how he somehow managed to knock out one of my back 1930's style, gorgeous window panes in the door into smithereens.

I come out this morning, write my Birk blog, sip coffee, wondering why it's so cold in the house, go to the pantry, and find all the glass busted out, a huge mess on the floor.

At first I think, "OMG, is there an intruder in the house? (because the smashed pane is right next to the door's lock)" I look around. No one. Then I crept downstairs, butcher knife in hand. No one.

So I knock on Basement Man's door, "Basement Man, you there? WTF, the back window's smashed. WTF???????????" He says, "Yeah, it was probably me. I was pretty hammered last night. I'll fix it later."

Come 1:30 p.m. today, Saturday, was it fixed? NO. He hasn't still woken up and it's 7:39 p.m. So I call Rob, we measure the hole, get plywood and temporarily fix it.

After that, I went downstairs and just opened his door. He was half asleep, a horrible shiner appearing on his face.

"Dude, we need to have a safety meeting soon. None of what's transpired has been either cool or safe."

He said, "It was a bad night last night. I was on a bender." To which I wondered if I was living with a Bukowski character.

So it's fixed for now. My cute house looks ghetto, sort of Pine Ridge Rez, and I'm not digging it. The cost? I called a glass place, $100-195, after Rob and I take the door off and have them measure, then order the glass, then bring the door back in, and have them put the glass in.

Basement Man is one of those new millenials that Baby Boomers and Gen. X have been bitching about.

Peter Pan'ism (not wanting to grow up), irresponsibility. I have no gripes with a person tying one on, but is it too much to freaking ask to do it safely and responsibly?