I don't think there's been enough said about our house. It has by far been the most ??? (there's no words in existence for it really) house I've ever seen. I'm never gonna forget the first day I got into that house. It's been boiling hot outside, in the midst of the summer. I opened the fridge and walked into the bathroom and said to myself "holy fuck, I don't think I can do this". But, as it's been proven many times before, human beings get used to everything. There wasn't a day without some rather interesting events taking place over there. It must be the spirit of the house. It used to be a punk venue and Billy Bob was the main man. They'd be into throwing knife at the door competitions and they all found it extremely amusing.
There was Ian, the longest surviving member of the house. I have no idea how he lasted in there, such a nice and calm guy. He moved out in oct. tho. He had a cool cat, Tenant, that really didn't like me, despite the fact that I was the only one feeding her after he was gone. Then, there was/ is Cameron. slushes. drumming. animal prints. tallboys. animal nest leather jacket. yeeehaaaaa. words can't do him justice.
There'd be band rehearsals pretty much most of the week with extended binge drinking and speed pills until early hours. I stayed there a bit too long, the damage is done.