i'd hate to erm, "tarnish," my good reputation here (SNERK) but it's true:
i AM that person who will sneak and poke around in your stuff if you aren't there, or are distracted.
i will look in your medicine cabinet (although i probably won't judge you on the contents. but i might steal a valium or 5).
i will root through your bathroom cabinets, too. who knows what kinds of interesting shit you have down there? even if it is all bath soap and pepto and foot medicine and HOLY WHOA WHAT KIND OF SEX TOY IS THAT?
pantries are definitely not off limits either. when i was freshhh out of high school, i worked as a house cleaner. and one of the great joys of the job was sneaking yummy shit out of people's pantries. and that is why you should probably pay your house cleaners more.
i probably won't read your private journal. depends on how curious i am, or how much i like you. (if i want to fuck you, i'll probably read it.) but if it's a grocery lists, some poetry, random scraps of a song you're trying to write, etcetera, you bet your ass i'm going to read it.
i will read the titles on your bookshelf, and look at the movies in your DVD collection. i will pretty much go out of my way to snoop into as much shit as possible, without looking like a complete asshole and an idiot.
it's not that i'm trying to intentionally invade anyone's space - but i'm curious. the things people have often say a lot about them, and i like that.
i probably won't root around in your shit if you're a complete stranger, but if you are a friend of mine, all bets are off. i won't mess around with your stuff. chances are you wouldn't even notice that i touched it, if i didn't tell you. i am SO good at making it look like your shit was never touched.
i think it's just curiosity. or maybe voyeurism, who knows.
point being, i went through my brother's chest of drawers today.
my brother has owned this chest of drawers since before he could speak. i mean it. it's one of the few pieces of furniture that has survived my antiques dealer dad's constant selling, buying, and reselling.
over the years, my brother has accumulated quite a bit of crap in that dresser.
for example, i found out that he keeps his books in his dresser, y'all.
if i did that, i wouldn't have room for my clothes.
granted, the man has an apartment near his college, so there are probably lots of books there, too. but STILL.
books. in. his. dresser.
i also found quite a bit of other amusing things:
SERIOUSLY?? you still have this thing?? this used to be my old walkman. like, in elementary school.
the obligatory nerdy Magic The Gathering cards... (i found Vampire the Masquerade character sheets (& the book) too, but i figured they fell into this nerdy category as well.)
part of a clarinet mouthpiece... (this is maybe where i lost my grip on sober, too)
I KEEEL YOU!!!
not really. but i'm "gangsta," so I WILL IF I HAVE TO.
bendytwisty sculpture man? wire + boredom? you tell me. i have no idea.
this is my old phone. not my exact old phone, because we both had the same kind. but memories, yo. they're coming back. i learned to text on this phone.
you know, i thought these things were extinct. but evidently not yet.
and just in case you feel bad for my brother and his violated dresser, chew on this: i also got a glimpse of his bank statement. and now i am having the major sads. because my brother will probably die rich, and i will be on the streets surrounded by mangy cats, considering how things are standing now.
this post is fueled by my mother's thoughtfully-provided wine,
my "OMG i can eat strawberries because i can't kill The Matt with them right now" rampage,
AANNND, my awesomesauce pajamas. which kinda matched my formerly technicolor blog. AND YES i did that on purpose.*
hi, minions. want to invite me over to your house yet?? i promise not to steal all the shit out of your medicine cabinet.
*no the fuck i didn't.