Monday, June 22, 2009
Here is a bunch of shit that happened in the last few weeks:
• I moved out of my second one-month sublet in as many months in Brooklyn. That sublet was a much nicer set-up than my first, but it still had its quirks. My roommates stayed up every night until 10 a.m., to which I figured they must be using some kind of performance-enhancing drugs if they are going to play that game.
However they kept their habits well hidden until one Monday morning when I woke up to use the bathroom and I saw my roommate cutting up lines at 8:30 in the morning. I judged them for a second and then realized that I was in a shitty mood waking up for a shitty job and they were much happier and therefore winning the game of life... Until I came home that evening and they were still passed out on the couch sleeping in a room that was littered with beer cans and cigarette butts.
The other minor issue with the place was that I was renting a room from a stripper. I did not know this when I signed up, but there were a few subtle hints that gave me a this-broad-might-be-a-stripper premonition. For starters she had the thin-from-cocaine build that is the quintessential stripper body until the stretchmarks and heroine tracks come into play. Also there was a stripper pole in the hallway. Eventually in a roundabout way I received confirmation that she was a stripper, which did not bother me too much but changed my perception of the furnished room.
The cheap Ikea couch I sat on. Paid for by picking up singles off the floor. The fish tank and fish I fed every day. Paid for by a couple gross lap dances. The desk and computer chair I worked on. Bought with money pulled out of her g-string. The bed I slept on. A nice gift from her loving parents completely clean of any STDs or AIDS, or at least that's what I told myself.
• I then moved into fixer-upper apartment, which took a lot of fixing-upping. It was uninhabitable by humans when we first moved in on Monday, June 1st. Then on Wednesday June 3rd, a group of Mexican painters lead by a man named Mendez began to start painting the entire place. This is roughly how the following time went down:
6/4 - Hail Mendez as the second coming of LeBron James for his hard work ethic and dramatic improvements to our basement. I declare that Mendez gave me more hope than Obama.
6/5 - Still down with Mendez and his boys. We learn they are in a mariachi band and we plan on hiring them for our first party.
6/7 - Grow tired of coming home every day and seeing his crew smoking and drinking in our house. We also stop calling Mendez "Sam" because we learn his name is Aquiles not "Sam." We realize we were confusing him with the director of American Beauty.
6/8 - Still plan on hiring their band, but only if they give us the two stereos they stole from us back.
6/10 - We become sick of the non-stop Spanish music, their presence and they fucking stole from us. And I hadn't got a good night's sleep in a week now.
6/11 - They eventually finish and our house looks 100 times better than it did. We never got the stereos back, but we negotiated a lot of free work in exchange.
On the last day I stopped giving a fuck and starting drinking and talking them. I learned that one of the workers was recently in Phoenix, except in a different capacity than my time there. He lived in a drop-house bedroom with no food or lights for 5 days before getting a ride to LA, then a ride to Chicago and eventually ending up in Brooklyn where his cousin lived. It was one of those moments that shut me the fuck up, as I was his worries involved staying in the States, providing enough money for his wife back in Mexico and eventually getting her across the border without her getting raped 20 times.
• However within 48 hours I was bitching about my easy-ass job. I sit at a nice desk all day doing next to nothing. My coworkers are nice, albeit mad boring, and I can sit there all day checking my e-mail and sneaking Deadspin. I don't have to worry about being deported or providing for my wife, but it still drives me crazy and half the time I sit there thinking about how I can move and support myself in a Latin country.
• I went to Philadelphia. It was fun. My friend Dustin took this picture of me which I like because I am wearing a football jersey of a country that I have never been to and I am putting A-town down although I have never been to Atlanta.
Dustin and I also saw Jim Cramer while in line for Geno's. We said hello to him and then he got in the back seat of an RX330 and left. As he sat in the back seat, I blankly stared at him thinking, "Wow. I have watched your show countless times on mute as I used the elliptical machine at the gym." Then he waved at me and I awkwardly waved back. Boo-ya.
• This does not have shit to do with anything and I normally hate collegehumor, but this is too good: Every week on Entourage.
• Also does not have shit to do with anything, but it's very important: Willy Northpole honored by Phoenix.