Mazal Tov, y’all

Apparently, I have been grumpy all week; and grumpiness is forbidden.

Sigh. This sort of thing really annoys me. Sure, I’ve been a bit sullen and moody – but it’s not like I’ve been growing to immense size, acquiring a greenish complexion and smashing things indiscriminately. I just get a bit quiet and short of patience.

I guess it started on Monday, when we went to the pub for farewell drinks with Charlie (who is now a former pseudo-housemate, having moved into new digs with other scummy students). By “we”, I mean Charlie, The Boy and myself. Sam was apparently too fat and lazy to walk up the road to join us, and Dozer elected to stay behind at the house so that he could continue to fail utterly to get any action whatsoever with Joss (some chick that is part friend of The Boy, part walking soap opera and part sponging slacker).

The three of us still managed to have a nice time, but I was really disappointed that Sam and Dozer didn’t seem willing to acknowledge the fact that while she was staying with us, Charlie actually pulled her weight. She cooked meals, bought food, and (unlike the two fat men) understood that the dishwasher was not a special kind of cupboard for dirty dishes; nor was it home to dark and terrible beasts, whose thirst for human blood can only be appeased through offerings of soiled plates and cutlery left scattered over various work surfaces in the kitchen.

My mood was not improved the next day when a hefty water bill arrived, and a quick check of the house finances showed that a) Dozer hasn’t paid any rent since June, and b) there won’t be enough money to pay all the bills and the rent at the end of this month. Dozer claims that he is sorting himself out, and in fairness he has secured himself a second job, working behind the bar at the Cat and Wheel; but that doesn’t really alter the fact that because he quit his old job (by headbutting the sales manager) and then sat on the sofa for three months watching TV, we might all have to find new homes before Christmas.

And so I have been grumpy.

Except on Wednesday, when I was invited to my friend (and former employee) Paul’s house to celebrate Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish new year and day of judgement. Apparently the year 5768 commenced at sundown on the 12^th of September; but don’t take my word for it, click here to calculate it for yourself. I got to eat tasty Jewish nibbles, dared to try the Jewish Surprise (which turned out to be cake and ice cream), and even found time to spill beer all over Paul’s Jewish carpet.