I was all stoked to move to ABQ and be settled and live with others and nestle down for the next eight months, immediately, in a home, in order to work comfortably on personal projects in my off time, while working hard at my new job. Maybe the Banana isn’t quite ready to live with others.

I’d only been living with the new roommates for less than one week when it became patently clear that I had to go. I won’t get into the details of it too much, but let’s just say that we had some diametrically opposing views on lifestyle choices. OK, look if someone you’ve found through Craigslist is calling you to be your new roommate and she is a self-proclaimed hippie chick who lives in Venice Beach, California and is into Burning Man, what the fuck kind of roommate situation do you think you’re getting yourself into?

So I quietly left on Sunday. To be more correct, I indeed slipped out the back (door), jack. During their house-warming party. Yes, that’s right. Truth told, I felt slightly bad about doing it that way, but the timing of finding my new place dictated the particulars on the move. It was actually pretty funny. My room had two entrances – one to the rest of the house and one to the backyard. So, as guests were coming in the front door, I continued to quietly carry boxes out the back. I did have to dodge three dogs, close the doors behind me so the cat would not escape and navigate two separate squeaking gates for each box lugged before getting to the car, but I was determined to do it all with grace, smiles and style.

The front gate of the yard has a tendency to stick, so as I was shoving boxes in the car, people were looking to me for help in opening the front gate. One guy said, “Getting out before the rush, then?”

More and more folks kept showing up, eventually filling the backyard. So, then I began to cart my shit out the front door. Then the party moved back inside and I snuck out the back some more. By that time, everyone knew that something was up. Every time someone would look at me, I would just smile and say a shining hello and be on my merry way. Plus I was dressed all rock n’ roll . . . boots, knee high stockings and a shirt proclaiming “Red Meat.” I overheard one of the guests say, “What . . . ? Was she a rabble-rouser?” Yeah, you could say that.

So the question I’m sure everyone is asking is . . . . where did I go? Please, read on. Frank and I are much happier now.