upstairs neighbors

the dude above me is definitely a 30 year old drug addict who lives with his mother. because his bedroom is directly above mine, and since i'm at home most of the day, i have the pleasure of enjoying the "3 o'clock Mariah Carey Hour". what is that you ask? No, it's not a japanese game show, this is what the dude decides to BLAST at 3pm everyday. Well, to be fair, it's generally a mix of Mariah Carey, Beyonce, and an occasional rap song.

needless to say, i sit in the kitchen from 3-4pm everyday to avoid vomiting blood.

he is currently taking a miniature bike off the porch and strapping a basketball to it.

little boys and urinals

this is a conversation that just occurred between myself and danielle:

"danielle: ok i am gonna ask you a really strange question
do you have any experience with little boys and urinals?
me: no. not at all. nor do i have any desire to."

then she signed off gchat. i have no fucking idea why she was asking me this, however i'm concerned for her.

the R train 1

i figure i'm going to have a million posts about both the subway an the R train since that's what i'm on. yesterday was a GREAT ride on the R.

rush hour, 8:30 am, the train is PACKED, and ofcourse, there is a homeless dude with about 40 fucking million plastic bags taking up a third of the car. i can't say that the homelessness or the smell were at all shocking, however, his smell far exceeded the offensiveness of any other homeless man i'd ever had the displeasure of smelling. he literally smelled, like a horses ass. like, seriously, it smelled like the motherfucker had slept in a pile of horse shit left by the carriages around central park.

and as if smelling like horse shit wasn't intrusive enough to those of us on the train, he started asking for food. but not just ANY food. he specifically requested a CHEESE sandwich.

"oh here smelly homeless man! i in fact always carry a bag fully stocked with cheese sandwiches! this one i made specially for you!"

not that i don't think he wouldn't have accepted anything anyone gave him to eat, it's just that he seemed to only posses the verbal skills or the mental capacity to request "a cheese sandwich".

needless to say, no one had a cheese sandwich for captain horse shit.

this could only happen to me 1

if something totally fucked up and bizarre is going to occur, it's going to happen to me. i seem to have a magnetic force field that draws weird shit to me. and, true to form, about 5 days after getting to Brooklyn, i had my first "occurrence".

thursday afternoon i get a frantic call from my mum, telling me that CVS had just called her to tell her that a NYC office building had called them and said they had one of MY prescription bottles. wtf???? my mum said they had left their number with cvs and that i should call them. so i call this mystery office building, which turns out to be Bayside Urology in brooklyn (don't worry, the prescription in question was unrelated to the urologist, my urinary tract is just fine thanks). though the office was in brooklyn, they were in fact, almost two miles away, in an area i had NEVER been to....again....wtf???

so i call and ask about the prescription, which turned out to be a full bottle of my prozac, filled just a few days before.

on monday, my mum had sent me a package, with my prescription i had forgotten at home, and my favorite yoga pants. the date on the prescription bottle at the urologist matched the same date of the bottle my mum had sent me.......

the package my mum had sent me, had apparently been stolen en route to my apartment. someone had torn up the package, STOLEN the YOGA PANTS and LEFT the PRESCRIPTION medication, because clearly yoga pants have a MUCH higher street value than prozac.

but like for realz, wtf, who else would that ever happen to but me? no one. definitely no one.

sadly, i had to purchase new yoga pants, which are a satisfactory replacement. but nothing will truly replace my love for my lost yoga pants. rip, grey yoga pants. you will be missed.

back to blogging

ok, i figure now that i've relocated to NYC, i should start blogging again, seeing as i'm running into ridiculous things on a daily basis that i feel compelled to share with you all. i'll use the next few posts to cover the last couple days. here goes:


so my parents helped me move-in, which of course was nothing short of hysterical. after a long day of moving in all my shit, we decided to hang out in my kitchen and eat dinner. mum and i played scrabble while dad watch football. i was texting davia, when my dad asked who i was talking to. when i told him davia, here was his response:

"oh. well tell her to get her ass out here. and tell her to bring some brie!"

now, allow me to clarify something. my dad is not a brie man. in fact, i can't say for certain that he's ever had brie. he's more of cheddar cheese with a sleeve of saltines kind of man.

needless to say, i texted that to davia, who responded with "my ass is too lazy to come out to brooklyn. i don't think i can get off the couch"

to which my dad demanded i respond:

"KEEP YOUR LAZY ASS ON THE COUCH. WE AIN'T GOIN' ANYWHERE EITHER. But can you send the brie in a taxi?"

davia's response of "Anything for you Papa Dubs" left him giggling to himself for the rest of the night.

"they keep those letters in the barn"

so we're going apple picking tomorrow. we're going to Keown Orchard, which I used to always bring my RISD residents to, but my parents have never been to it.

as usual, Mum is calling it "McCouns Orchard" instead of Keown Orchard. When I correct her, she laughs and Dad says "well it should be Macouns, why the hell isn't it?"

"I don't know dad, why don't you ask them tomorrow?"

dad says "I'm going to. I'm going to say 'where is you M.C.?' and they will say Barnstable,... Barnstable, MA. And that's where they keep the M and C. The M's are in the barn and the C's are in the stable."

ok.

currently he is yelling about "corn juice" on the stove.

new house

now that my parents are getting older, they've been fiendishly searching for a new, smaller house. The one they currently have set their sites on, an old ramshackled lean-to from the 1700's, is desperately in need of renovations. My dad, in one of his "silly" moods, after being stuck in MassPike traffic for 2 hours, described to me the renovations on our "new" house, should we move there.

-"there will be an opal door,...so that we can always find it"
-"the house will be painted chartreuse" (because he likes the word "chartreuse")
-"a powder blue trim"
-"and celery green shutters"


beautiful.