Oh my god this is the funniest thing I have read in a while. As I was reading, I had a flash back of my mom yelling at a bank clerk that wouldn't let her deposit a check that was in my dad's name. I remember her getting more and more irate, until she told the clerk that she wanted to close her account, all 15,000 dollars of it, or whatever, and that she wanted it in fives. Only fives.
What would you happen if you bought 25 bottles of Nyquil? from Violent Acres
My favorite quote? "BECAUSE OF THE METH!!"'
Thanks to the Arjewtino for emailing me the link and making me squirt diet coke out of my nose.
29 May 2007
Learning languages is totally useful and stuff.
This week in Arabic class, we learned how to say "differential equations", as in "I am studying differential equations." Have I ever used that phrase? EVER? No. Will I ever use it? Well, since my repertoire in Arabic is limited, I used in on this dude Wahid who works in my building. He stared at me like I was a total idiot. Then, slowly, he replied, in the most basic of arabic:
Which I didn't understand, because while we have learned the names of the more difficult arithmetic studies, including calculus, differential equations and physics, we have not covered the more general "MATH".
Then he taught me to say "As much as it offends your religion, serve me a beer."
Which is much more hilarious, even if not useful.
NO. I DO NOT STUDY MATH.
Which I didn't understand, because while we have learned the names of the more difficult arithmetic studies, including calculus, differential equations and physics, we have not covered the more general "MATH".
Then he taught me to say "As much as it offends your religion, serve me a beer."
Which is much more hilarious, even if not useful.
28 May 2007
Weekend Update: Apartments Nine, Ten, Love's Labor Lost, And Eleven
And we continue. I rode my trusty stead, Calvin (I name all vehicles. Even other people's vehicles), over to Capital Hill to meet an estate agent who, I would later learn, was riding the short bus. But first things first. Apartment Nine: Big rooms, nice layout, new carpet. The catch? Besides the kitchen, that appeared to have been recently shipped in from 1971 when it caught on fire, the new carpet felt as if it had been laid over old floorboards, so it worked kind of like one of those moon bounce things at the fair. Which could be fun, but I can't imagine my couch and coffee table sitting nicely on the inflated, yet oddly sagging, surface of our new living room.
Apartment Ten was analogous to meeting someone you think you are interested in at a bar, but then realizing you have just had too much vodka, and you are not interested. Also, he is the size of a breadbox. This apartment had all the right indicators. He was in the right place (standing alone at the bar). He was unoccupied so we could move in right away (alone, with out visible partner or boyfriend to muck things up). He seemed to have nice accessories, belt (gas range), good shoes (hardwood floors), pants that fit his butt correctly (bars on the windows- I'm a realist here peoples). But then you realized that he was 3'8" and everyone would laugh if you took him to a gay cowboy bar to two step to bad Alan Jackson songs (I would never do this. But just saying.). I could never live in an apartment with J that was that small. We would, after an extended period of exaggerated sighs, icy stares, and not hanging up the bathroom towels, begin poisoning each other, or some other wretched fate. If hell is other people, then people too close up in your business, even people you love, is the seventh circle.
Then I took a break to go see Love's Labor Lost in the amphitheater at Rock Creek Park. I will say, it spoke to me. But since my every thought recently is taken up by an ironically huge amount of mental space that looking at tiny apartments occupies, I caught myself thinking:
Apartment 11 was a low ceilinged hole with an efficiency kitchen, that was maybe 250 sq feet. Really people, THAT DOESN'T QUALIFY AS A ONE BEDROOM APARTMENT. EVER. That is all.
Le Sigh.
Apartment Ten was analogous to meeting someone you think you are interested in at a bar, but then realizing you have just had too much vodka, and you are not interested. Also, he is the size of a breadbox. This apartment had all the right indicators. He was in the right place (standing alone at the bar). He was unoccupied so we could move in right away (alone, with out visible partner or boyfriend to muck things up). He seemed to have nice accessories, belt (gas range), good shoes (hardwood floors), pants that fit his butt correctly (bars on the windows- I'm a realist here peoples). But then you realized that he was 3'8" and everyone would laugh if you took him to a gay cowboy bar to two step to bad Alan Jackson songs (I would never do this. But just saying.). I could never live in an apartment with J that was that small. We would, after an extended period of exaggerated sighs, icy stares, and not hanging up the bathroom towels, begin poisoning each other, or some other wretched fate. If hell is other people, then people too close up in your business, even people you love, is the seventh circle.
Then I took a break to go see Love's Labor Lost in the amphitheater at Rock Creek Park. I will say, it spoke to me. But since my every thought recently is taken up by an ironically huge amount of mental space that looking at tiny apartments occupies, I caught myself thinking:
"I wonder how much it would be to rent the set from the King of Navarre's scenes? Couldn't be too much. I mean, really, it's made of paste board and I doubt it has more than three walls. Surely the back is open so the cast and crew can have quick access. That should knock a couple hundred dollars off the rent, minimum. Hmmmmm."
Apartment 11 was a low ceilinged hole with an efficiency kitchen, that was maybe 250 sq feet. Really people, THAT DOESN'T QUALIFY AS A ONE BEDROOM APARTMENT. EVER. That is all.
Le Sigh.
24 May 2007
Oh My God, Apartment Seven, 8 and Hello, Lover
Let's make this brief: Apartment seven was in the basement of this hippie woman who had obviously purchased way more house than she could afford. She was desperate to get some income out of that basement. I feel sorry for her. But not sorry enough to live next to the railroad switching yards.
Oh apartment eight. Why do you even try? You had me from hello. Had me retching, that is. On to apartment nine.
Hello Lover, Goodbye Skank Whore. The advertisement for this apartment was a complete lie. Much like a romantic internet interest that ends up being a 60 year old man from the Philippines, my 740 sq ft 1BR with hardwood floors, ample closet space and a small balcony turned out to be a 400 sq ft basement apartment with grotty carpet. And the estate agent, who's company manages not just the building I was looking at, The Lanier, a wanker name if I ever heard one, but also the Barclay, Ravenel & Regal, was like "what? what's the problem?". When I said that the problem was that she was showing me the wrong apartment, she just shrugged her shoulders.
I need a drink.
Oh apartment eight. Why do you even try? You had me from hello. Had me retching, that is. On to apartment nine.
Hello Lover, Goodbye Skank Whore. The advertisement for this apartment was a complete lie. Much like a romantic internet interest that ends up being a 60 year old man from the Philippines, my 740 sq ft 1BR with hardwood floors, ample closet space and a small balcony turned out to be a 400 sq ft basement apartment with grotty carpet. And the estate agent, who's company manages not just the building I was looking at, The Lanier, a wanker name if I ever heard one, but also the Barclay, Ravenel & Regal, was like "what? what's the problem?". When I said that the problem was that she was showing me the wrong apartment, she just shrugged her shoulders.
Dear Karmic Gods:
Remember the girl that showed me the abortion of the apartment today? Make sure that, at their company barbecue this summer, while they are all laughing it up in a beautiful park, drinking beer and salivating over hamburgers on the grill, and there is a new cute guy that my estate agent is sort of flirting with, and thinking maybe this could be the good thing she has been waiting for for ages, make sure they are hit by a speeding Metro bus while their propane grill tank explodes at the same time that they are being eaten alive by swarms of both angry bees and a flesh eating virus. Also, give them syphilis.
Love,
Badger
Remember the girl that showed me the abortion of the apartment today? Make sure that, at their company barbecue this summer, while they are all laughing it up in a beautiful park, drinking beer and salivating over hamburgers on the grill, and there is a new cute guy that my estate agent is sort of flirting with, and thinking maybe this could be the good thing she has been waiting for for ages, make sure they are hit by a speeding Metro bus while their propane grill tank explodes at the same time that they are being eaten alive by swarms of both angry bees and a flesh eating virus. Also, give them syphilis.
Love,
Badger
I need a drink.
Apartments 3, 4, el Cinco, and 6
I love going out on H Street. There are so few idiots at this point- it's like someone filtered all the interns and asshats out of Adams Morgan. Not a popped collar for miles. So I thought an apartment close to H Street would be the apartment of my dreams. Let me sum up apartment three by saying: crushed dreams. That is what this apartment was built of. A low slung paste-box of an apartment, the floor was coming up from water damage, the ceiling was about seven foot, the dimensions of the rooms were mean. Also, smelled funky. I wanted it to be so good- right off of H Street, near some funky bars, a few coffee shops, and a rib joint. Who doesn't need ribs in this city? Everyone needs ribs. But it was not to be. Also, two seconds after I arrived, the familiar drone of yet another idiot asking for change started up. "Hey man, can-ah you spare some coin? For me to ride the bus?" I told him that I was from the future where change was outlawed. He stared at me for a moment, and continued to weave down the street. Blah blah, people who are just now firing up their email to yell at me about how we should celebrate the urban-ness that getting asked for change indicates, shut it. It bothers me to no end and it always will.
Apartment four I never even went into. I have no idea what lurked behind its citadel-inspired walls, but I don't want to living in a building where the first thing you see when you walk up to the front door is a gigantic metal sign that states:
Apartment El Cinco, as I call it, had a great location: directly across from the Consulate of Honduras, on 10th Street. I mean, the neighborhood was kind of crap, but it was so close to other neighborhoods, who cares, plus if I ever need some Honduran visa work done, I was in the right place. The building manager, Jose, was totally awesome too, and he gave me the lowdown on how to get the lease approved even if I had bad credit as soon as he learned that we could conduct the tour in Spanish. Too bad the apartment was the size of my shoe.
Ahhh, sweet apartment six. I thought you would be the one for me. Great Capitol Hill address, close to fun bars and restaurants, close to a grocery store, in a well managed building with a ROOF TERRACE! Everything was coming up Milhouse! (This is my new phrase. I try to use it once a day at present.) Apartment was so small, with broken floor boards and a kitchen that was the size of an airplane galley. Also, we, as the renters, would be required to sign a year lease, but the owner wanted to sell the unit as soon as she could, which in DC can be done with only four months notice. So basically, we agree to pay her every month for a year, but she agrees that after four months, she might sell it to some other asshat. Maybe I would rather stick sharp pokers into my eye. On second though, into her eye.
That's all for apartment hunt round-up for today. If you want two totally cute gay boys to live in your house (while paying minimal rent and being generally odd), feel free to email me.
Apartment four I never even went into. I have no idea what lurked behind its citadel-inspired walls, but I don't want to living in a building where the first thing you see when you walk up to the front door is a gigantic metal sign that states:
NO SMOKING, DRINKING, TALKING, DISCUSSING, SITTING, LOITERING OR STAYING ON THE FRONT WALK OR STEPS.I like most of those things. Why can't I do them on the front step of my apartment building? No less repellent was the small sign taped to the inside of the glass
Please call 911 to remove any loitering persons from the stoop, even if they are residents of the building. The police are responsible for enforcing this code. Do not call the management.So what, I am going to pay to live in a police state? I think no.
Apartment El Cinco, as I call it, had a great location: directly across from the Consulate of Honduras, on 10th Street. I mean, the neighborhood was kind of crap, but it was so close to other neighborhoods, who cares, plus if I ever need some Honduran visa work done, I was in the right place. The building manager, Jose, was totally awesome too, and he gave me the lowdown on how to get the lease approved even if I had bad credit as soon as he learned that we could conduct the tour in Spanish. Too bad the apartment was the size of my shoe.
Ahhh, sweet apartment six. I thought you would be the one for me. Great Capitol Hill address, close to fun bars and restaurants, close to a grocery store, in a well managed building with a ROOF TERRACE! Everything was coming up Milhouse! (This is my new phrase. I try to use it once a day at present.) Apartment was so small, with broken floor boards and a kitchen that was the size of an airplane galley. Also, we, as the renters, would be required to sign a year lease, but the owner wanted to sell the unit as soon as she could, which in DC can be done with only four months notice. So basically, we agree to pay her every month for a year, but she agrees that after four months, she might sell it to some other asshat. Maybe I would rather stick sharp pokers into my eye. On second though, into her eye.
That's all for apartment hunt round-up for today. If you want two totally cute gay boys to live in your house (while paying minimal rent and being generally odd), feel free to email me.
Apartment 1 and 2
And, it begins. I was pleasantly surprised with Apartment 1. It wasn't on fire. No one stole my bicycle, Faustino. Shut up. I'll name my bike what ever I please. So, as you can see, my standards are pretty low. This apartment had more closets that our current one (so that I have space to store the massive amount of crap that I seem to collect), also lots of light, good mouldings, and a big kitchen with nice windows. Neighborhood? Well, compared to where we currently live it seemed pretty nice, but so would Beirut. It's next to something called Big Bear Cafe, which could be either a nice cafe, or a leather bar for gay men. Either is OK, really. Gay bars are good neighbors. They clean up and their clientele, while prone to have sex in the alley, never steal your car.
The second apartment appeared, from it's craigslist ad, to be great. When I arrived, the limits of 185 words on craigslist became painfully apparent. It was a long, low basement room with assorted sump pumps installed to keep the water out and a psychedelic paint job that I was, according to the owner who lives upstairs, "welcome to change, man, but I like it so you'll pay for the paint." No, friend, I won't. I will not pay to paint your dungeon. And what am I supposed to do with a working fireplace in the basement? Use it to dry my sodden possessions after the sump pump fails? Or to asphyxiate guests with as it sucks the oxygen out of my underground tomb? But it does have a washer dryer, so that is one point in it's favor; at least I will asphyxiate in front of a romantic fire while wearing clean socks.
The second apartment appeared, from it's craigslist ad, to be great. When I arrived, the limits of 185 words on craigslist became painfully apparent. It was a long, low basement room with assorted sump pumps installed to keep the water out and a psychedelic paint job that I was, according to the owner who lives upstairs, "welcome to change, man, but I like it so you'll pay for the paint." No, friend, I won't. I will not pay to paint your dungeon. And what am I supposed to do with a working fireplace in the basement? Use it to dry my sodden possessions after the sump pump fails? Or to asphyxiate guests with as it sucks the oxygen out of my underground tomb? But it does have a washer dryer, so that is one point in it's favor; at least I will asphyxiate in front of a romantic fire while wearing clean socks.
23 May 2007
The Prayer of the Apartment Hunter
Oh Craigslist, Washington Post, Citypaper: Offer up your apartments. Bestow upon us bright 1BRs with wood floors and a gas stove. Provide windows. Banish the dank. Together we pray
WOOT.
P.S. We need parking, too. K Thx Bai!
Teh Internets, that are floating in the vapors,In the name of Google, Wifi and fiber optics,
Indispensable you be.
Thy time of usefulness come, thy will be done,
In reality as it is on our myspace pages.
Give us today an apartment we can live with
and make sure it's not too much,
as we ensure that it is free of creepy-crawling plagues.
Lead us not into the basement apartment of a crack dealer
but deliver us from junior one bedrooms for $1800.
WOOT.
P.S. We need parking, too. K Thx Bai!
14 May 2007
So, I am trying to decide what to do in life. I turn thirty in June. Yes, I should have made this decision earlier. But really, don't we all think that? Isn't it the same for all of us? Who is doing what they always wanted to? Some of you are. There has to be someone.
Sometimes I feel like I should stay the course, not change, slog though. Sometimes I think that I should dart quickly from one thing to the next. Depending on your point of view, I guess I do both of those things in life.
I look around (mistake #1: comparison) and see that others already seem to have a trajectory in life. They have predefined paths that they seem to want to take. They have goals, their eyes on the prize, noses to the grindstone. They say things like "well, it's a good step for me." I have said those things, but I was lying.
I see them happy and determined in their chosen path (mistake #2: assumption) and they don't waver. They feel no ennui about their choices. They never wake up at night and think about towns in Malaysia they might never see. They never feel that not only are their current careers boring, but they hinder them finding fulfillment elsewhere. They never worry that that thing, that unnamed intangible, that slippery thread that leads to happiness will slip away into the night.
People are in charge of their lives. Good things happen to them because they work to make them happen (mistake #3: thinking we are in control). Others have gotten what they want. Why haven't I? Or do I have what I want? And if I do, why won't my brain just shut up already? What more can I want?
There are a lot of options. I mean, it's good that I don't have to be an iron monger because my dad was, but still- if I had to be an ironmonger, not having that choice would remove one thing I had to choose. I would have to choose happiness in another way. (mistake #4: too many choices. or is it not enough?)
A review, for those of you with very short attention spans:
Mistake #1: I compare myself with others.
Mistake #2: I assume things that might not be true.
Mistake #3: I think I can control the world.
Mistake #4: Everything is possible. Therefore, if I don't make the right thing happen, it's my fault.
Stupid adulthood.
Sometimes I feel like I should stay the course, not change, slog though. Sometimes I think that I should dart quickly from one thing to the next. Depending on your point of view, I guess I do both of those things in life.
I look around (mistake #1: comparison) and see that others already seem to have a trajectory in life. They have predefined paths that they seem to want to take. They have goals, their eyes on the prize, noses to the grindstone. They say things like "well, it's a good step for me." I have said those things, but I was lying.
I see them happy and determined in their chosen path (mistake #2: assumption) and they don't waver. They feel no ennui about their choices. They never wake up at night and think about towns in Malaysia they might never see. They never feel that not only are their current careers boring, but they hinder them finding fulfillment elsewhere. They never worry that that thing, that unnamed intangible, that slippery thread that leads to happiness will slip away into the night.
People are in charge of their lives. Good things happen to them because they work to make them happen (mistake #3: thinking we are in control). Others have gotten what they want. Why haven't I? Or do I have what I want? And if I do, why won't my brain just shut up already? What more can I want?
There are a lot of options. I mean, it's good that I don't have to be an iron monger because my dad was, but still- if I had to be an ironmonger, not having that choice would remove one thing I had to choose. I would have to choose happiness in another way. (mistake #4: too many choices. or is it not enough?)
A review, for those of you with very short attention spans:
Mistake #1: I compare myself with others.
Mistake #2: I assume things that might not be true.
Mistake #3: I think I can control the world.
Mistake #4: Everything is possible. Therefore, if I don't make the right thing happen, it's my fault.
Stupid adulthood.
What Spam Through Yonder Window Breaks. Cialis $1.67!
A morning poem, presented to me by the spam awaiting me in my inbox:
He has cheated the web out of millions.
Simple Concept and $6000 a week, A ecru, those crumpler!
But whichever, Milam Ligderwood. Be a leadwood!
His nightfall, whoever brunette, at name:
So this is Erwinville.
Limited Account Access Appeal Denied.
You is Bullville.
To cesnium, is Aunt medaryviller, herself an aprententice wanted.
With Lenora at Hagerstown, not Lavon and schedule, Introduce special discounts for all our customer.
The Secret Pays, and Pays and Pays!
International Legal RX.
You so combinatoric.
Don't have time to vist local drugstore?
Buy medications at the best possible prices! Rx!
Company Representive is Needed for Payment Collection.
For Your Eyes Only.
Wholesale Rolex Replica Watches Today!
Prices uncompromised.
He has cheated the web out of millions.
Simple Concept and $6000 a week, A ecru, those crumpler!
But whichever, Milam Ligderwood. Be a leadwood!
His nightfall, whoever brunette, at name:
So this is Erwinville.
Limited Account Access Appeal Denied.
You is Bullville.
To cesnium, is Aunt medaryviller, herself an aprententice wanted.
With Lenora at Hagerstown, not Lavon and schedule, Introduce special discounts for all our customer.
The Secret Pays, and Pays and Pays!
International Legal RX.
You so combinatoric.
Don't have time to vist local drugstore?
Buy medications at the best possible prices! Rx!
Company Representive is Needed for Payment Collection.
For Your Eyes Only.
Wholesale Rolex Replica Watches Today!
Prices uncompromised.
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