2am and I stand in the back of some guy’s apartment surrounded by drunk girls playing beer pong on a half rotting wooden table. I have a warm beer in one hand a half lit cigarette in the other. One girl in shorts smaller then underwear passes by me, spilling her Corona on my shoes, “chusse know someshum here?” she asks, leaning against me.
I nod my head. I did actually. The owner of the place. And when I round the corner to the bedroom, there he is, encircled in a cloud of smoke, and I could barely open the door when I noticed some guy behind blocking it. He looks through the opening at me.
“Password?” He says.
“Jeff don’t be an asshole”. I say, and push my way inside. But being inside was like pushing through another door because I couldn’t see beyond my fingertips. Cody Chesnut and the Roots 3.0 are blasting in the background and I search around to see Chris’ face. And then suddenly it was like he was on top of me.
“Kim!” Chris says. An odd element of surprise in his voice. “You enjoying the party?”
“Of course she is!” Jeff chimes in. “Look at her! But no Baby look at ME…did you see my t-shirt babe it has an Olson twin on it...” Chris eye’s Jeff as he starts to giggle like a little girl.
I just smile and move over closer to the bed. But the more I breath in the more confused I get as to where I am going.. or who I am here to see again ..and more convinced that I need a burrito than anything else.
“Kim did you bring this dog here?” Someone says from outside the room, carrying in the tiny Yorkie.
“Yeah, but I am just puppy sitting, it’s not actually mine.”
“Well I think the dog is high…just look at him, eating all the pretzels off the floor.”
“Ah, well I am pretty sure he would do that regardless….but fuck, I don’t know if a dog can get high but more importantly how am I supposed to get him home?”
“How did you get him here anyway…in the puppy express van?”
“No, I snuck him onto the bus.”
“Well then you can sneak him back on.”
The dog just looks back at me. His small hair matted in the front from beer spillage and his tiny paws covered in cigarette ash. He apparently didn’t know he was going to be partying this weekend.
I pick up the small dog and put him in my arms. Step outside the smoky room and into the hallway. I make my way up the backstairs to the roof. As I open the door, the shot of cold air, taking away my breath for a second. And I step out onto the patio, letting the wind break against my cheek. The dog hovers into the side of my sweater, until his face if fully covered by purple wool. The city lights are high in the sky and I carefully move each heel beneath the platform so as not to drop myself and pup off the ledge.
And we just sit there. On a broken patio chair. Me and the Yorkie. Looking out over the skyline. I take another drag from my cigarette.
Sometimes we are supposed to be grownups in our 20’s. And sometimes we can barely take care of someone else’s dog for 2 days. I keep staring at the Yorkie, making sure he is breathing. “Just keep him alive for 1 more day.” I think. I feel the tiny mouse of a dog shivering into the armpit of my sweater.
And I can’t wrap my mind around the idea of people my age having children.
And I can't think about being married, or having a mortgage, or even paying my credit cards off in full.
And I can’t even end relationships peacefully and maturely.
And one day I will learn to stop crank calling the pizza delivery guy and asking him to send ten Large Pepperonis to 69 Yourmama Street.
One day. But not tonight.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Growing Up or Something Like That
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
CHANGE
And it seems as though everyone else around me is changing as well. People I know are divorcing… getting into new relationships…being fired...quitting...being hired...running away to the circus. You name it, I know someone going through it right now.
So what is all this big change, and what is your big change? Maybe we should all change something. Even if it is something small, maybe that one butterfly effect will cause some sort of tsunami in China…or something like that.
CHaNGE
Change your hair color
Change your boyfriend
Change your status on facebook just to watch everyone freak out
Change the channel
-Kim
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
But you are beautiful...no?
Sometimes being a writer is not so galmourous…the late nights alone on a laptop... the spilling of Doritos crumbs on a keyboard…the prostitution...
But sometimes, being a writer can be fabulous…such as seeing people in magazine stores reading your column…getting invited to celebrity events…. prostitution...
Monday happened to be one of those fabulous days, a day wherein a picture was taken of me for my column. And the picture was taken by a real photographer... with a real camera ...and a set and a little person who got them water. It was all very futuristic.
But I realized, that beyond my 5ft 2 demeanor…there are actually other reasons why I could and would not ever be a model.
Now I know what you are thinking, “But Kim…models get free coke!”…and dear sweet children, I know I know. In fact when the photographer asked me about photoshopping after I asked if he could get rid of my track marks. He seemed to laugh…slightly..but maybe it was more of a nervous laugh. Although I figured he must be used to getting rid of track marks all the time.
Let me get into the grit; the problem with modeling. The problem with modeling is that people tell you you are beautiful, even when you are not.
It aint all Tyra Banks screaming in your face , "I said, smile with your eyes...with YOUR EYES!..."
I was standing there, water in hand, the makeup artist staring at me. “You like, yes?” she said.
I stared at my face in the mirror, close to naked. “Umm..maybe I need a bit more shadow? I don’t really have on a lot of makeup…”
Makeup Girl- “No no, you are beautiful, you look great, you don’t need anymore, you are beautiful.”
Me – “Um ok…Well, maybe my hair should be a bit more straightened in the back and not parted directly across my face.”
Hair Girl- “No no, you look great, you look beautiful. Leave your hair as is!”
Me- “Umm ok…well maybe I shouldn’t be posing next to this 15 foot reptile covered in peanut butter ...”
Photographer -“No no you are beautiful, just stand there in the lizard’s mouth and smile…”
Well ok, so maybe there wasn't EXACTLY a lizard in the shoot…but seriously, when did people ignoring my concerns become ok as long as I was complimented?
It doesn’t work like this in reality!
Me- “Well maybe my we should double check that lump in my breast because I think that…”
Doc –“No no, you are beautiful! Who needs tests? You look great!”
This must be the problem with all models and actors. They are being lied to on a consistent basis. I enjoy being lied to as much as the next woman, but this was a little much, sometimes when I need more damn eyeshadow all I am really asking for…is more damn eyeshadow.
Monday, September 8, 2008
Baby Mama Drama
But in 2008 it seems as though we have either become devout sinless Christians, or unable to afford shmashmorshions. And in both Jamie Lynn’s and Miss Palin’s case, one would have to question both. (I mean when you name your kid Jamie Lynn, what else do you expect?)
The first time I ever assumed I was pregnant I called my friend Jay immediately...so I could panic of course. I reasoned calling a guy would be better as I had enough estrogen coursing through me to steer a train right into Ovary-Ville, and the less estrogen-induced advice, the better.
I remember asking him what I would do, if I could have a child, if I could even afford a child. And of course, this is when Jay suggested the A-word. “Are girls still doing that?” I asked.
“Yeah.” He said. “It’s like cocaine. Everyone is doing it, but no one is talking about it.”
And it’s the truth. I couldn’t name a single friend of mine who had one. But maybe they have had one and I simply do not know about it? Maybe there is some secret society for these women and they are going to underground meetings where they discuss these kind of issues all the time and then watch The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants afterword, while chomping Midol. I could picture them all, sitting around in some basement, the walls covered in Anne Geddes posters and yaffa blocks.
When did pregnancy or the lack thereof become a non-discussable topic? Was Jay right? Was everyone having them, but no one was talking about it?
I did not end up pregnant that year. Nor have I ever ended up pregnant. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t scoured CVS before searching for the every kind of pregnancy test imaginable. The Red test. The Blue test. The ‘Are You Having the Next Jesus Christ’ test. Believe me, I have peed on them all. But I have never had to make that decision.
The hardest decision I normally have to make is whether or not to get whipped cream on my iced coffee in the mornings...because then all the Starbucks people look at you like your crazy for wanting whipped cream on an iced coffee , as well as the people behind you, clearly all now judging you and staring at your ass and thinking to themselves how your ass certainly could do without the whipped cream and then when they yell out your drink order they always forget it on top and you have to try and discreetly them AGAIN for whipped cream, as to which this time they turn to the other fucking Starbucks employees and have some kind of ‘SBucks’ fight wherein there is a whipped cream discussion all directed at me, all the while the other customers waiting for drinks are cursing out me and my stupid un-needed fat assed whip cream request…
But I digress.
Having never had to make that decision, I am not sure where the coin would fall for me. I am not sure any of us could say what we would do if put in a position like that because as they say, you don't know about the hen hole until you are directly in the hen hole...or whatever the fuck that saying is.
Unless of course you happen to be really really attractive... then I say - have the kid and give it to Janice Dickson so she can model the shit outta that baby and turn it into the first ever baby-supermodel complete with implants and tummy tuck.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
SLEEP…AND OTHER THINGS THAT ARE OVERRATED...
So as I laid awake last night, thinking about life, money, taxes, death, if those protesters for Barnum and Baileys really do give a damn about the elephants…I also wondered, “why am I laying here awake? Why can my body not realize it is finally time to rest? How come during those 3pm hours at work when I want to pass out with my highlighter and a post-it glued to my ass cannot I not recall that feeling right at this moment?”
A good friend of mine recently paid full price for a non-healthcare-covered sleep medication so she could finally spend some time with her pillow instead of with her eyes wide open. Another friend of mine had to finally get her boyfriend on sleep medication after he had missed the third happy hour party at McFaddens to get in a good five hour nap, since he was not sleeping at night.
I don’t know many things in life, but I do know one thing… if you are missing DRINKING, so you can sleep, then you need to go see some kind of medical person who carries thermometers immediately.
Why are none of us sleeping? Should our bodies not be programmed to sleep? Did not the Cavemen sleep? Were there restless cavemen in the days of Yore, or the time of Yesteryear? After lifting boulders all day, do you think Caveman #1 would lay awake at night thinking, “What if I can’t pay my dinosaur fees? What if I cannot afford to buy that new dinosaur? Will my Boulder credit go bad? “
Another friend of mine (yes, I know, I make up these “friend” people, really they are just random drunks I find on the street to answer my survey questions) actually takes time to get out of bed and take notes in a journal, which helps him fall back asleep afterwards.
Writing in a journal is the last thing I would do as mine would be more ill-consuming then the friggin Diary of Anne Frank…mainly consisting of scribbling about my Ex Boyfriend’s third nipple and how I am going to get out of my dental bill through magician trickery.
Is there anyone out there actually sleeping? Who is even getting a full eight hours? I hear when you have kids the first year you are lucky if you get four hours straight. Four hours?! Jesus Christ I got four hours under the bar stool last Saturday…what will I do then? I will have to Zoloft my baby up.
My baby’s first two words will be, “Xanax” and “Don’t wake Mommy when she is fucking sleeping”.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
It's Time for Some Sunshine
That is what I look when I step inside my makeup bag as well, I even wear glitter bathing suit...it's like, my thing now, it's how I roll
So I dont know if anyone else received Sephora updates in their mailbox (I know Papa Dukes does for sho), but I have to say this time I around I was so intrigued by the message. Namely because the headline in my email box was, "Hello Sunshine!". And that is normally how you get my attention, mostly because I assume you are going to be selling me a penis enlarger, which I so desperately need ...thank you DickyCHen69 for that one!
Upon opening the email I had a flashback to being a little kid and staring at the sex articles in Cosmo magazine, where I knew ONE DAY I was going to wake up and be that perfect woman who read sex articles and wore musk....funny, I am still waiting for that to happen...but I digress;
I would like to introduce YOU SUNSHINE...to the Sephora Catalogue photos!
Now I don’t know about you but this is something I do on any given day…hang out in my 1952 bathing suit looking surprised. What is she so surprised about? The fact that she is the exact same size as that bottle of mystic tan sitting next to her? I mean I know models keep getting smaller, but damn. Maybe she is on that new liquid diet? Or the tape worm-thing. I hear that is all the rage now. People ask me sometimes why I am on the tape worm diet and I tell ya, because I want to be the size of a damn tanning bottle, that's why Mary Magdalene, THAT'S
WHY!
What is she looking so secretive over? The fact that she has 24 colors all in one? Well let me tell you, my Aunt Sally has one of these things, except her cost about three dollars and she got it from the Pick n Save off of Route 93, stole it out of the hands of the woman who wheels her cat around in a metal basket. Cause some days I feel like having purple eyes. And some days I feel like having red ones. But mostly I just like that fact that I look like my Aunt Sally on her Valium days.
Now this one is my favorite..mostly because I TOO happen to lounge around in a yellow bathing suit and heels. I don’t know about you but when I feel like it’s lipgloss and nail polish time I yell out, “HEY GEORGE!" ( he is the homeless man who sleeps below my window on Tuesday’s) "George, bust out that yellow bikini I have been letting you use for a snot rag and bring it over this way because I feel like its lipgloss time!” And that is normally when George mumbles something about the war and then falls asleep on a chard of glass. Ahh, these are the days to remember, cause they will not last forever.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Shit'on, We Have A Problem
So I am going to see a boy this weekend. A real live boy. Not even an imaginary one I made up in my head. I will be staying with him in his house...yes, house...that he owns. I know I know, us city folk have no concept of 'homes' or 'owning' ...he told me has a lawn, and that actual animals live there, like squirrels and birds and what not. I am confused by this whole "lawn" thing, so I asked, "you mean the gated area where homeless people sleep?" And he said, "no", that there are actually no homeless people sleeping on his lawn. Odd. I found this to be an interesting concept.
Regardless I am getting distracted from the real point of this conversation. The point being that I am going to be living, eating , sleeping at his place for three whole days, there arising one very important question. A question pertaining to the meaning of life and Jesus and God and what-have-you...and that is....where am I going to shit?
Honestly. Where? I am going to have to go undercover and be the 007 of all shitting. He can't know that I shit! He just can't! What will he think of me?!
So I have started to route out maps and plans in my head. Plans of possible "shitting times" and "shitting areas". All so that it can do down in complete secrecy.
Let us start with restaurants. I figure anytime we eat out, go to Starbucks, ect...that is a perfect time for me to tell him I have to use the bathroom. Like maybe tell him I have to go 'powder my nose'. For real. Men still fall for that 'nose powder' line right? Or wait, is that only cocaine users? See, fuck, I am screwing up the Shitting Plan already!
The other option is right before I take a shower. I an have the water running and the scents from my shampoo are likely to fumigate away any trace of actual shitting to have occurred. But herein lies problem #1- What if he asks to join me in the shower? What the fuck do I do then?! Tell him I have a no shower buddy policy? Tell him he doesn't want to see my massive burn wounds? Hmm, I have to work on this one.
Problem #2 lies in the fact that I am a serial toilet clogger. For real, I can clog any well plumb'ed (is that a word?)toilet across any Continent. There is not a single toilet I have yet to overflow. So do I bring a plunger with me? Stick it in my carry on just to be on the safe side? What if airport security open my bags and want to know why I have an industrial strength plunger with me? What if I am arrested for trying to bring an industrial plunger on the plane and The Boy has to come pick me up from the airport in handcuffs and then they will tell him my entire shitting-life-story?!
Seriously, I am starting to lose sleep over this whole shitting thing. I am starting to think it's best if I just stop eating today and only resume eating after the trip to avoid shitting all together...
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Horoscopes
I don’t know if many of you 'basic humans’ out there know about my serious psychic ability. There have been times that my ESP has come out of nowhere…like yesterday when I had this odd craving for peanut butter and I opened the cabinet and sure enough my roommate had bought a jar of peanut butter. Or there was the even freakier time when I had a feeling my ex boyfriend was about to dump me and just moments later police were pulling me from outside of his bushes telling me how I should have “read” the restraining order a little more closely.
But today I am going to bless you all with my psychic abilities and do all of your horoscopes, because that is the kind of fucking generous person that I am …
HOROSCOPES FOR THE
WEEK OF APRIL 1, 2008
That is actually me..it's a photograph...my armpits are pretty hairy
Aries March 21 - April 19
You have serious promise this week to eat. And not to just eat, but to eat actual food. To put it in your mouth and taste it. And then swallow it. And then to take a huge shit.
Taurus April 20 - May 20
The moon and the stars align themselves and you will find yourself laughing and laughing…until you look at yourself in the mirror and say, “What the fuck are YOU laughing at?” and realize that maybe it’s time to stop snorting your percoets.
Gemini May 21 - June 21
Some say that you have complete control over your own destiny..This week you will have complete control over the Duane Reade Photobooth attendant...named Destiny.
Cancer June 22 - July 22
A lover will test your limits this week…and you will find that maybe dressing up as Dorothy Mantooth bent over a metal table chair isn’t as difficult as originally thought.
Leo July 23 - August 22
This week when people tell you to feel the warmth in your heart....let them feel the warmth in you right palm and punch them in the fucking face.
Virgo August 23 - September 22
You feel that big changes are in store for you..... I see sock changes, underwear changes and even pant changes.
Libra September 23 - October 23
Some people have a way with the opposite sex…you have a way with cage animals and low-grade lighting.
Scorpio October 24 - November 21
This week you will find yourself completely submerged…it will be hot water pouring all over you and some people might call it a “shower”.
Sagittarius November 22 - December 21
Always remember two thorns in a bush is like a stone in hand and a stone …wait…what? What the fuck does that mean?
Capricorn December 22 - January 19
You will find yourself in silent reflection…in the mirror taking new MySpace pictures of yourself because you’re such a douche.
Aquarius January 20 - February 18
Some people tell you this week they will help you get through tough times…ask them where they were last week during your four-day constipation.
Pisces February 19 - March 20
The moon aligns with the earth this week to provide you with two important things…"daytime”..and “nighttime”.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Tall Girls Get Outta Mah Way Bitches!...I Can't See The Bar
I have a problem. A problem that follows me everywhere I go. To subways and malls, bars and movie theaters. It’s called, ‘Tall Girl’. Now I am not sure how she does it exactly, like some sort of friggin David Copperfield in heels, but Tall Girl always knows my whereabouts. She insists on standing next to me everywhere, I look over my shoulder at the bars and of course there is Tall Girl... I turn to my left on the Subway and there she is again... Damnit Tall Girl, stay away from me! You’re friggin makin me look bad!
I would be able wear some flats and revel in shoes that don’t cause me to walk around looking like a drunk rabbit if it wasn’t for Tall Girl. For the love of SWEET JESUS Tall Girl, why do you make me feel so incomplete? Why do you insist on standing next to me making me look like a 12 year old who just figured out how to button her training bra? Or worse yet when you wear your heels why do I get to look like a midget about to be rejected from the Duck Tales Roller Coaster Ride at Six Flags?
Can’t you all migrate somewhere else? Can’t they just put you all on some Tall Girl island where the banana trees hang higher or something? Somewhere I wont have to try and fight you off of me when I am ordering a drink, or push past your limbs just so I can see if I am in the right line for the bathroom. I dream of a world where I don’t have to hem five feet of material off the bottom of my jeans, or can run up the subway stairs without getting pummeled in the face by a Tall Girl’s gym bag.
But we all have dreams.
To dream the impossible dream.
So here is the story of how I was almost hit by a bus. It’s a pretty exciting story if I must say so myself.
The story begins, I was leaving a bar one night. I walked into the middle of the street.
And a bus almost hit me.
No joke, it skimmed the side of my face. And almost hit me.
Now the best part about this entire story is how often my friends like to retell it.
Some Asshole Friend- “Hey, do you guys remember when Kim almost got hit by a bus?”
“She walked out in the street…and a bus almost hit her.”
“Oh . Wow. (long pause) So ..should we get lunch at the falafel place or the place with the smelly olives?”
mmmm, smelly balls
Because I have become convinced over time that Jon LaJoie and I should get married and I believe we should start a ‘NYCPonderings Chick + Jon LaJoie = Marriage' petition. …although I don’t think I enjoy his last name so much and I would not want to take it over if/when married. However, maybe we could also petition him to change it to something cooler like ‘Balboa’…or ‘Schwarzenegger’ or … maybe just '"ShmaShmortzenegger".
Jon LaJoie "Sunday Afternoon"
Friday, March 7, 2008
Sheknows.com Why Can't I Get A Date
SHEKNOWS.COM answer mysteries to life's most important questions:
Why can't I get a date?
By Shanie Matthews:
Shanie, I would like to personally answer this one.
Dear- Whomever is lonely enough to write in to SheKnows.com …
Why is it so hard to find a date? I know what is running through your head and yes, the obvious choice does seem to be, answer #1- (small child raises hand) "Because Miss Ponderings ...I am not whoring myself out enough?"
Now I am sure you assume that to be the most obvious choice sweet child, however we all know children, 'assuming' only makes an Ass out of You and Me (class of children burst out laughing at the hil-ar-ious joke I make and smile at their incredibly attractive and all-knowing teacher) Now children, Miss Ponderings will tell you it is MOST LIKELY the answer you haven't thought of...answer #C- (small girl raises hand again) "ummmm... because I am annoying as shit?"
DING DING DING!
In fact I am sure all the above qualities are quite true about yourself and even more, you probably do charity work and appeal to the goodness of God and all things holy and maybe even deer and small animals run up to you on the street to sing some sort of melody with you…but when the rest of us look at you, or worse HEAR you talking to your friend on the subway, at say 7am when all I am trying to do is listen to my morning Ace Base I Saw the Sign to get pumped up for work, but instead all I can hear is your voice I do not wonder for two moments why you are single....and as I notice my earlobes starting to bleed from your high pitched tone, I want to rip those Prada sunglasses right off your face and scream, “Damnit woman! You don’t need sunglasses indoors. YOU. JUST. DON’T.”
Friday, February 29, 2008
Quarter-Life...Quarter -Lies
For starters….the main girl lives with two roommates. WHAT?! That is blasphemy! We 20-somethings do not live with roommates…we live in our own luxury one bedrooms with marble counter tops and pristine hot-tub bathrooms. I personally like to come home after work to my huge penthouse, say hello to my doorman Benjamin, go inside my 20 million gold plated door, sit on my leather couch, stroking my white cat and singing along to Mariah Carey’s ‘Honey’ …but hey, that’s only when I don’t have a spa appointment.
Let us move on to the next “LIE” if you will. The main girl is a ….wait for it…wait for it...a blogger (WHAT?!)…who doesn’t like her real job (WHO?!)….is attracted to a guy who isn’t attracted to her (WHEN?!) ….and thinks her blond roommate sleeps around too much (WHERE?!) …Now I think I can pretty much speak for every 20-something out when I say…these are just outright silly lies. I mean, who wrote this stuff?!
All I know for sure is whoever did write this clearly knows nothing about being in you 20’s, because if he or she did, they would understand that being in your 20's is a pure, magical, joy, unlike any other, where there are no bad feelings, life is all about fun, no stress and the last time I cried was out of a fit of joy when my rent check came in. Someone realty needs to go speak with these producers and let them know what is going on and how to portray a more accurate account of 25 year old life next time. Now if you will excuse me Mr Whiska's needs to go get fed his kitty caviar now.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Becoming a Model
Anorexia: because you're only attractive when you're close to death
‘What is it about those women that makes men like them so much?” I asked, sitting outside with a friend, staring at the amazing beauties before me.
”Because Kim." My friend said, "…they are MODELS.”
Hmmm , now that was an idea. So men actually like…models?…and if I was a 'model', I would attract more men?
Now this was certainly an interesting thought. But what would it take for me to become a model? And how long before I could actually start telling people I was a 'model'? Do I have to sleep with Johnny Depp and have an acid trip with Janice Dickenson before I get my modeling card? As I sat thinking over my friend’s comment that evening, watching Bring It on:In It To Win It…I thought...maybe I could do this. Think of all the things I have accomplished in my life, maybe modeling could be one of them.
So I wrote out a list of everything it would take for me to become a ‘model’.
After many hours and the demolition of two lead pencils, I finally had my list.
Step1- lose 20 pounds
Step 2- become tall
Step 1 is easy, losing weight is a simple game that everyone knows how to play and knows exactly what it takes to accomplish…become a coke feign. Problem solved. Coke is clearly the answer and I will be running my fingers along the outlines of my kidney and intestines in no time.
Now on to step 2. Become tall. This was seemingly easy at first…break kneecaps, trick blind doctor into inserting longer metal rod into my ACL... Bada bing bada boom, I am a few inches taller.
Finding a blind doctor however, seemed to be the hardest part, mostly because, assuming the doctor used a seeing eye dog and being that dogs are not allowed in hospitals, how would I know which doctors were blind? Then, in my quest for blind doctor, I came to find out that APPARENTLY you are not allowed to do coke before you go in for surgery. Which totally destroyed my 'being a coke feign' plan. What kind of tomfoolery is that?!
Regardles, now I am onto a new plan.
Plan B- Fuck modeling, write children’s books.
Thursday, December 6, 2007
Male and Female Apartments and I Cant Believe It's Not Butter
Last night a member of the male species emerged from our bathroom and proclaimed, “Well if I ever get shot or fatally wounded and am bleeding profusely I know there will be enough pads and tampons to save me and an entire army…” My roommates and I just stared at him.
Yes, I admit it; living with all women in a sorority style apartment is like swimming in the waters of a fallopian tube. There is enough estrogen in our place to make anyone want to curl up on the pink sofa with a nice Anne Geddes posters and cry. But the thing I have discovered is men also run in similar patterns.
Just as a girls apartment always contains similar things- I Cant Believe It’s Not Butter Spray ( i love that shit!) and Sex and The City The Board Games ( i beat you Sarah! yes I did! I told you Charlotte dated a gay man in episode 45) ... . A guy's apartment is fashioned the same way, always containing the exact same things as well:
1- No real furniture except for one black leather couch
2- An enormous television that you all chipped in to lease from Rent-Depot
3- Video games with names like, “Things We Can Kill”
4- A Big Jugs magazine in the bathroom, or “horny red-heads” if you prefer..
5- Bottles of old Gatorade
6- A photo of someone puking that still makes you chuckle
7- Two black and white pictures hanging on the wall of the city YOU ACTUALLY LIVE IN (why? You live there! You see it everyday!)
8- The token blue comforter and flannel sheets (neither of which have been washed in two years)
10- A CD of ‘girl’ music, that you only play right before you hook up, maybe Maroon Five or Sarah McLaughlin…just throwin that out there..
11- A box of condoms…I mean really…a BOX? Really?
12- Some kind of pleasure lube…and the ‘pleasures’ part normally means “Ouch ouch… my privates are on fire!”
13- A Doritos bag…no actual Doritos in the bag…just the bag
I challenge any guy to tell me he does not have at least two of these things in his apartment. And I also challenge my best guy friend in NY to stop putting graffiti paint on his NEW CONDO WALLS…. No one is impressed John, and you are not Spencer Pratt from The Hills, so just stop.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Bad Dates and Good Advice
So I get emails from readers regarding things they have seen, heard or done that reminds them of me. Normally these emails I receive consist of bad-date stories, random musings and penis enlargements… As far as the last topic goes all I have to say is; HotAss69, how DO you know me so well?
One of the emails I received last week is from an avid reader of mine out of the great country of Los Angeles. She recently had a friend visit NY and sent her this email upon return. She then forwarded the email on to me, because, like I have always said before, when you think of horrible drunken nights and sexual embarrassment, I do hope you think of ME.
Email Below:
My sister was in New York a week or so ago and met this guy at some bar. They really seemed to hit it off, he works in some health-related field and graduated from Hopkins and my sister is attending Hopkins right now for her Masters in Public Health. They talk a lot and end up meeting the next night for dinner. He of course tries to get her to come back to his place. She says no, she really has to get back to her friend's house she's staying at in Hoboken. He asks if he can take the subway with her to Hoboken? She responds by saying this makes no sense. He then says, ‘what about a cab?’ Of course this makes even less sense, but he decides to take a cab with her to Hoboken to drop her off. During the cab ride, he whips it out and says, "Just a little kiss?" My sister responds, “You think I am giving you a blow job in a cab on my way to New Jersey? I don't think so!”
My response to the email above:
First off, let me start by saying I think it is rude, embarrassing, disgusting and gross…..that your sister did not give up the goods! I mean, did he not buy your sister dinner? Did he not sit and listen to her chat on and on about things like “her education” all night? Dinner is a lot. He must get something for that right? There are rules here and expectations to abide by. Questions I need to know the answer to might be- How much was the dinner? Was there any type of wine bought at dinner? Was it bought by bottle or by glass? For every ten dollars spent I believe one item of clothing does need to be removed. It is listed in some contract somewhere. You can start with socks. And once you get in the actual cab with a boy there is no turning back, you might as well throw all your clothes off now you whore and say goodbye to those dreams of ever working as head Sister Sally at the Mormon church in Utah because you are well on your way to a life of sin… and by a “life of sin” I do mean, “an apartment in Murray Hill”.
