My house has exit signs, even though they only lead to other rooms in the house.

My Tap Water Looks Like Goat’s Milk, and Other Strange “Features” of My Abode

A lot of you (none of you, actually) have been asking me about what my house is like, trying to get a better understanding of the genius whose work you regularly peruse.

You may be surprised that I don’t exactly live in a Malibu beach mansion (but that will change soon, I assure you).

In fact, I would even go as far as saying that my house isn’t even really the “liveable” type, but I make do.

And so, if you’d like a short textual tour of my “Writer’s Hovel”, read this blog post and cry for me.

The Kitchen Sinks To One Side As If It’s Drunk On Something Distilled In A Bathtub

Or maybe it was the architect who was drunk on magical good time juice.

Or maybe it’s the foundation itself that’s drunk on Grandma’s Lightning Syrup.

Either way, you know how you get mad at the room for not being still while you’re tipsy? Imagine that feeling every fucking morning accompanying your breakfast of Pop-Tarts and vodka.

That being said, my kitchen floor is a great place to host slinky races and downhill Radio Flyer marathons.