Mike is refusing to say anything to me after yesterday’s blog. He said I violated some kind of trust that exists only “between men”.
“It’s like that commercial about vacationing in Vegas, you know, ‘what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas'” he said. “We all go to Vegas in our own ways, but you bring Vegas back with your stupid fucking blog!” he yelled.
I guess someone forwarded the blog URL to one of his female friends. I won’t say her name, but her first name begins with a vowel and she ripped Mike apart for the wink thing.
Ever since the Vegas comment, he’s been totally silent, which is weird since he’s living on a blow up bed in my living room until Oct. 3 when he gets his new apartment near…you guessed it, Union Street.
But he’s taking it too far. I mean, a VOW OF SILENCE.
He’s walking around the apartment with a notepad, writing notes like, “what time are you going to work tomorrow? I need to move my car.”
So I decided that if writing about what he says makes him not talk, I’ll write about how he farts all the time, picks his nose and flicks the boogars on the floor, and jerks off really loudly at about 4AM when he thinks I’m asleep. Maybe he’ll abandon these annoying habits, too.
Much to his chigrin, I’ll report back on the success of this blog in a few days.