iPod Earbuds Confirm: My Ears are Freakish

I have lived in New York for an entire year without an iPod.

All natives understand how absolutely awful this could be. The sounds of the city are really nothing you should walk around concentrating on day in and day out.
I made it through this hard year thanks to writing comedy, buddy Tom, and alcohol.
(Can you tell it’s awards season?...I’d also like to thank all the annoying songs that got stuck in my head.)

After moving and clearing out my bank account with the cost of moving,
I was living off of oatmeal and vending machines in my budget.
But then, a magical thing occurred – I got my security deposit back.
Now, I could’ve paid off credit card debt, or tax debt that I owe Mama Funke
(…Thanks New York City!)

Instead, I bought a new iPod Nano
Like a good frivolous indebted-American.

I set a spending limit, but then went $50 over that maximum for 4 more GB
And for AIDS research thanks to “Project Red”.
I then realized as I walked out with a super cute red iPod
-that I probably could’ve given a lot more to Project Red if I went with the plain model that was 4GB less and just donated the difference.



Oh well.
I’ll spend some more money on some new songs, iTunes here I come!


I used to have a good taste in music people. I really did.
It was all classic rock, and diverse and really based in intricate sound analysis.
The first songs I buy at the iTunes store?


“Gimme More” by Britney Spears
“Feedback” by Janet Jackson

I guess this is growing up? I’m in that “I love dance music!” phase of single feminine adulthood.
I wonder if next year I’ll download a lot of Barry White and smooth jazz?


I also purchased Kanye West’s new album, which is very good –
A nice finish to his last two CD’s, I enjoy his themes, and it shows growth.


Now, I can listen to these songs everywhere I go!
Walking around town, down the streets where I live, up the subway stairs.
Until…
Oh! Wait! The f’in ear buds fell out again.

I see people all over town wearing them.
They have no where near the frustrations I have.
They don’t walk around constantly replacing them.
I’m the only one that seems to have to continuously shove them in my ears.

It’s annoying, painful, and all I can keep thinking is –
I’m a freak.
My ears are somehow differently shaped than the entire world.
I'm an elf, or some part nymph with these weird tiny, bumpy, ears.

Then, I simmer down, and become reasonable.

Whatever, there are other people who probably don’t fit the round annoying iPod mold.
These people probably just have to go to the store and buy new headphones.
Oh! For crying out loud!.
Now I have to go buy some flippin’ head phones.


~Sue Funke is an Associate Editor, Stand Up Comedian, and life long lover of music. She currently resides in an apartment that is lacking window shades, and is absolutely in enamored with her iPod Nano…no matter what it’s costing her.


For comedy schedule information visit http://suefunkecomedy.blogspot.com

We're Home!

We handed over our keys, got our deposit back, and hugged our landlord goodbye.

Our new place is filled with stuff everywhere that I need to unpack, but I'm trying not to do too much cause the dust was overwhelming today. My allergies are so bad I had to stop a couple of times cause I was afraid I'd have an asthma attack
- I don't have asthma, I did a while ago though triggered by allergies, and it's likely to happen in situations as bad as it was today.
I actually inhaled a dust bunny the size of Giambi.

I'm once again exhausted but I finally feel somewhat accomplished.

I could not have done it without help from my friends.
My fellow Ultimate Expert, Raquel (writer of The Ugly Volvo) came all the way from Do-or-Die BedSty to help sort through my bedroom. She said it was worth it to see all the random belongings I own. "Notebook that says 'buy new notebook', scented tea lights, and a rubber alligator - of course."

My pal Longo also made quite the trek over from "The Slope"
He flew in at around 1pm and immediately started moving everything and anything he could. He was also handy for his documentary skills, taking pictures of several stages of the move so that we will always recall the madness of seeing the apartment empty.

Roommate Tom is now officially buddy Tom again. He had Anthony and Scott help move him out, and special guests his parents. Tom senior is probably one of my most favorite people to see. Even though I only spent about 10 minutes speaking with him he was absolutely hilarious.

"Hey Mr. M!"
"Oh hey, you remembered me?"
"Of course I would. You're my roommate's Dad!"
"I dunno. I'm kind of forgettable."
"I beg to differ, you're very memorable."
"Who? Me?"

Then, later as I was coughing my head off he went into a detailed explanation of how I needed to take my Flonase.

"Oh ya gotta get on that Flonase. It's great stuff. I was at the doctor and we were just having a visit and I told him I was having some congestion. Then he put me on that Flonase and I felt much better.

Well...actually, I told him about the sinus trouble and next thing I knew he had a tube with a camera on it up my nose fishing around -"
This is when Tom and his mother came in the room with the same mortified look that read, "Oh dear God what is he telling these poor people."

I'd tell you more, but I gotta unpack, paint my room, and get the living room ready for the Super Bowl.

Yeah, we're having people over in a place we just moved into for a Super Bowl party.
That's just how we roll.

Day 1 of Moving

I woke up at 7 am this morning, mostly cause Pink's alarm clock sounds like an apocalyptic siren.
I was hung over.
I did not intend to imbibe a lot of alcohol last night.

In fact, I wanted to get to bed early so I could start my day nice and early. Only problem with that is friends who buy you shots. I got home early, but I woke up with an urgent need to drink my weight in water and lay on the couch for two hours.

I'm now ready for my egg sandwich and I've got an action plan on how to tackle my day. I'm gonna do my best to get all my shit together in a nice, orderly, manner.

"My advice, just throw everything out," said roommate Tom to me last night.

"I have a lot of paper work though, I should sort that out."

"Fine, don't take my advice. But I'm telling you, throw it out."

"I'll probably just chuck it all in a bag."

"Ten bucks says it ends up getting thrown out."

I took off two days from work to pack, paint, and wait for the cable guy at my new place.

As I sit here all comfy on my couch with the kittens running around me and my eyes still a little sleepy, I'm wondering if it's possible to maybe put off the packing just a little longer...

I'd almost rather do my taxes right now.
Almost.

It's Official: I Hate Everything About Moving

Things I hate about moving:

1. We saw the place we're moving into once. I am still not sure if my bed will fit in my room.
2. I have to clean my current apartment. I hate cleaning.
3. I have more clothes than I even knew about. Tackling my closet was hard, but I fear what's under my bed. Not monsters, more like it'll be the land of forgotten sweaters and legal documents.
4. I wish I had a Dad to help me out with the move. I know it seems silly, but for some reason I feel like this is one of those moments a woman would need her father.
   
5. Why do I have so many books? I'm going to have to start lifting heavier weights in order to make this move.
6. There are so many things I need to worry about doing before, after and during the move that I can't even articulate them.
7. It's like I'm divorcing roommate tom, we're going through mutual belongings; "Who gets the couch?" "I get Disco Mary!" "I want that TV stand." "Who's computer is it anyway?" It's a civil split, but still, weird to divide belongings.
8. Everyday is now "My last -day at this apartment." I will have a whole new routine to follow now.
   
9. I have to decide what I really want to keep. This is how I realize I'm a pack rat. I'm sitting there looking at a flyer from one of the first comedy shows I ever performed at going, "Is this sentimental or garbage?" for an hour.
10. I keep telling people, "It's only three blocks away that we're moving!" and now I'm like, "Wow, I'm lugging all this shit for three blocks and up one flight of stairs. UGHHH!

I could go on, but basically, I just don't wanna clean and pack. I know that I could hire movers and they do it all. But um, I just pretty much cleared out my bank accounts to get the apartment, the only movers I could afford would probably do a worse job than I could do. Which, um, isn't saying much.

Now, back to packing/cleaning/bitching/crying/curling up in the fetal position and watching TV instead.

Don't Say That Word to Me

Ok, TV, I love you. I am totally, and completely in love with you.
But, I have one request. Stop running those H&R commercials.
You're killing me.

I was recently asked what my biggest fear is. This was spurned from an excellent post from Raquel D'Apice's blog, The Ugly Volvo entitled Let's All Be Afraid of This Together.

My reply:
Tax Season

I absolutely abhor taxes. I'm pretty sure I've over paid the past three years I've done my own.
How I've been able to do my own taxes is simple:

-I wait until April
-I hyperventilate at least three times while reading the "Easy Online" programs.
-I call a family member crying that I just don't get it
-I ponder over word and sentences meanings for hours
-I curl up in the fetal position and rock back and forth for a while
-I ask my roommate Tom questions, he gives me answers that I'm pretty sure are illegal
-I drink and cry a little looking at my computer and all the papers, wondering where all the money went.
-I look at my bank account and try to figure out how I'm going to pay the government
-I consider running to another country, one that doesn't charge me for a war I don't believe in and has a health care program that isn't based on capitalism.
-I put it in the mail, check the mail box ten times and walk away unable to exhale.
-I have nightmares that I did it all wrong, I get audited and the government finds out I've spent all my money on food, beer, and cable TV and I'm thrown in jail.

Sure, this could all be due to my ignorance of the tax system. "Take a class!" people say.
Um, I can't even stand thinking about this right now - do you really think I'm gonna go voluntarily into a classroom to listen to this stuff?
It's too scary.
I'd really rather watch Poltergeist, Nightmare on Elm Street, and all of the Halloween movies back to back by myself in an abandoned light house-
And I HATE scary movies.

So, if you wanna file your taxes and chat about it - please lower your voice.
And TV, stop playing those commercials. They make me so nervous!!!

Cat Names

We've had these unnamed kittens scurrying about the apartment for about two weeks now. During this time they've had no names.

Originally, Pink wanted to name them Ford and Timberland. Ford because she wants a Ford Truck, and Timberland because she loves Timberland boots. Even though they are her kittens and I'm just like step mother to them by default, I can't help but weigh in on these names.

"So, we're making the kittens white trash?" was my response.

Pink's siblings wanted to call the one that allows you to pick him up Grandpa, because he kinda goes limp when you hold him. I once again objected.

"Sure, when you pick up the kitten he goes limp, but he's the more active kitten, and although it could be ironic, it just seems weird."

Tom just wanted to refer to them as pussies.

And even though I objected to the suggested names, I had no stellar ones of my own. I thought Tom Cat and Tony Tiger - these were quickly rejected.

We went around referring to them by their collar colors, and weight.
"Blue chubby is in the curtain."
"Red scrawny is hanging off the TV stand."

This couldn't go on.

And finally, resolution.

On a hungover weekend morning as the kitten danced upon her tummy Pink declared, "Tux and Timber."

"Ok, fair enough. I enjoy the alliteration. Which is which?"

"Well, the chubby blue one is Tux because he looks older and more dignified. And that makes scrawny red collar Timber."

That's how the cat's got their names.

Tom continues to call them pussies.

2008 is Great!

Well, let's hope I don't peak too soon here.

There's a lot of change going on right now, and it's seasonally fitting so I'm rolling with it.

My roommates and I are leaving our apartment next month. The building we live in has been sold, and our apartment is illegally zoned - ain't that great? So the apartment hunt is on, and this time we're only looking for a two bed room.

Roommate Tom will be going back to just buddy Tom here, because he's moving in with his life long pal Anthony. I have to admit I was shocked to hear the news. I couldn't believe Anthony was finally leaving his mom's house, but 30 does seem like the right time to spread your wings.

This leaves Pink and I...and our two boys:

Meet the Dapper Duo, Pink's Christmas presents.

We have yet to name the boys so now they just go by their collar colors - Red and Blue. They are only 3 months old; so the collars barely fit. We have to keep them on though, because the bells upon them are the only way we can find them sometimes.

My favorite thing they do so far is when they play fight. They have these flying jump kick moves that make them look like Matrix kittens. It's awesome.

In other news, my sketch group premiers "Off Broadway" tomorrow night. The Ultimate Experts will be at the Producer's Club 358 West 44th Street (between 8 & 9 Avenue).

This is probably one of the coolest things I'm about to do in my life.

I've had my comedic sketch writing performed before
but to have an entire show with my sketches
and sketches I've collaborated on that are written by amazing comedic writers
and I get to act in them
it's a dream coming true!
Obviously, I'm excited.
(Here's our MySpace page)

I've bought some Sleepy Time Tea with Valerian Root to help me sleep tonight. Hopefully, the mischievous kitties will not get into it - apparently Valerian Root helps humans sleep, but it is like crack for cats.

Tacky Christmas Sweater Party

Pink wanted a Christmas party, and roommate Tom and I are always down for parties so we all agreed we'd have one, but it couldn't be too serious.
So, we opted for the Tacky Christmas Sweater party theme.

Pink and I dressed in matching ridiculous outfits: holiday boxers, sweaters with bedazzled trees and pom-pom zippers, and pig tails with bells on them.
We were the most tacky of the evening.

A close second were the brunettes who rolled in looking like extra's from an 80's Christmas party. They took tacky sweaters they found and made them slutty using simple sewing techniques.

For those that weren't tacky enough, our friend Kate brought decorations that stuck to the sweaters. This included letters - that lead to some very funny impromptu logo tees.

The party consisted mostly of pals from the liar and some of my close work friends. These proved to not only be the strong (there was a disgusting winter storm that night) but also the die-hard partiers - We had less people at this party than all of our parties, but the same amount of empties to clean up...
I guess that's how the dance party broke out upstairs. It was either that or Gina playing Poison. All I know is, I ended up dancing to Madonna's Vogue. I did a routine I made up to the song and have been practicing in my room since I was about 14.
People really seemed to enjoy it, or at least they said they did between laughing and dropped jaws.


Thanks for reading my recap of my Tacky Sweater party.

Now, here's Roommate Tom with some Holiday Cheer:

Work Out Plan

New roommate Emily's nick name around here is Pink. And as I write this I'm looking at our stockings hanging on the wall. All our names in black, except for Pink's which is written in Pink. She loves the color.
It just makes her over-the-moon happy.

Don't let the nick name fool you, she's one tough cookie.
She's also my partner in crime lately.

Today we went out to buy food and jump ropes. We're both going to be bridesmaids in '08, and we don't wanna be gross in a ton of photos.
We also don't want to give up Mexican food and cookies.

So, we figured jumping rope is fun, and cheap. Why not?

Well, in the Sports Authority we saw all sorts of fun equipment, like the perfect push up tool. It was 30 bucks though, and that's a lot around holiday time so we moved on.
Then we saw a trampoline that was 30 bucks.
We agreed that was totally worth the 15 split.

We walked out of the store:
Me with our reusable green shopping bags.
Pink with a cumbersome box that reads in giant letters TRAMPOLINE.

She walked down Steinway Street in Queens staring every passer by dead in the eye as if to say,
"Heck yeah I got a trampoline and you're jealous."
I know this because she told me that was what she was doing.

I am so excited about the trampoline. It reminds me of my sister.
When Jen lived in Queens she had a trampoline just like ours.
We would jump on it and listen to Abba Gold.

Did I mention I can wait to see my sister for Christmas?
I'm gonna go get the excited energy out by jumping on the springy trampoline.

Many thanks to roommate tom for putting together the trampoline. Shockingly, he was not as excited as we were about it. His response was a monotone "yay." and later on, "it better not scratch the floor."

Thursday

I had a busy week by Thursday, as you might have noticed from my previous posts, this week it's been a deadline/triple-job-everyday week - except for Thursday.

On Thursday I had only my day job to do, and then I was going home to relax.

When I got home though, new roommate Emily wanted to go to the mall, and having not been to a mall in quite sometime I figured what-the-hey! Why not get some window-shopping-pre-christmas-inspiration done?

Well, after trekking the Queens Mall end-to-end, we decided we needed "just one beer" at our local pub.

As we sat and chatted we realized that we were two of four females in the place, and it was wall-to-wall men. Quite a lovely ratio for two single gals such as ourselves. There was an uproar directed at the screens and it finally dawned on us, we were in the midst of Thursday Night Football - Cowboys v. The Packers.

We dodged and weaved in our chairs through our conversations as we watched the game and eventually got hooked. "That play was bull! Did ya see his foot!...So, yeah, anyway, maybe just one more drink, it is only the third quarter."

I think my favorite part about watching the game was the men's reactions to our reactions.
"Oh, you know about football?"
"You understand what's going on up there?" one says to me as he points to the television screen.

I wondered what they expected my response to be exactly.
"Oh no, I thought something went horrible awry with the Hills and they had to do some sort of challenge and this was it. "

When the game ended we went up to settle the tab and it turned out some of the guys had paid for our drinks and purchased another round. We sat and talked with them for a little while until one of the other bartenders came in with a guitar. The regulars were able to coax the guitar out of it's case and we all ended up singing Johnny Cash, and Irish folk, songs. I, of course, requested A Boy Named Sue. None of us seemed to know the entire song, but we did a rather funny, good-hearted attempt at it.

The hours seemed to fly by that night, and roommate Tom failed to join us due to his eternal love for pepperoni pizza. This of course meant retaliation of some sort for missing the fun.
As Emily unlocked our front door she turned to me and said, "Jump on Tom's bed in three."

"Oh, Em, I dunno if this is a good idea."
"One..." she said with a devious grin.
"He's most likely passed out, and there's a chance we could get injured by a Domino's box."
"Two..."she said as she turned the knob of the door.
"You're gonna do it no matter what I say aren't you?"
She nodded as she finished the count and flung the door open -
"THREE!" we both shouted as we bounded straight down the hall and burst into his room hitting the light and diving onto his bed.

I've never seen someone more frightened.

He didn't kill us. He ended up catching our infectious laughter as he threatened us though. We then left him to sleep and resumed our jovial romping and singing around the apartment. Downstairs we went through my closet to look at whatever fun thing laid on top and I found the most fun thing of all.

My advanced birthday gift from my sister:
A hooded towel that looks like a butterfly from TinyBubbles.etsy.com
(I highly recommend clicking on that link to see the image of this awesome towel...and perhaps buying one for yourself and everyone you love.)
We then took turns wearing the towel and acting like buffoons.

During our last flutter around the kitchen, and verse of Ring of Fire, we realized the clock on the stove was telling us that it was no longer Thursday, it was Friday. The impressions that we had built of it being a weekend shattered, and we hung the towel up and headed to bed to rest a few hours before heading out to what would no doubt be, a long day of work.

Pretty Sure Wonder Woman Doesn't Get Colds

On November 1st my apartment sounded like a Dimetapp commercial.
Coughing, sneezing, groaning in misery.

Roommate Tom and I both had a cold.

"How do you both get colds at the same freakin' time?!" My co-worker asked.

"I guess we shouldn't lick faces good night anymore."

-look of horror and disgust on my co-workers face -

I'm kidding!
We live in the same apartment. These kind of things happen. Kind of like last year when we moved in and we all got pneumonia together because there was no heat. That was a fun week!

Luckily, this cold isn't too bad and Yogi Tea's Cold Season has made me feel loads better.
I highly recommend it for when the season change cold hits your house.

This blog has now become just one giant ad now, hasn't it?

Eat Snacky S'mores.

You Always Wanna See Your Ex-Lover in the Morning

Some days Roommate Tom and I take the subway in together.
Even though it's early in the morning, we usually have amusing banter.
On Monday, we were having our normal grunts and then we pulled into Steinway Street station, and my freakin' ex saunters on to MY train.

Now, I never let Tom meet my ex, because I knew Tom would have a field day making fun of him. And Tom's not good at being subtle when he dislikes a person. But it was like a Monday morning gift from God to have this dill-weed roll in for us to feast on.

"Tom, dude, that is the comic."

"That dude?"

"Yeah."

"...I just threw up in my mouth a little."

"I know. Do you now see why I never let you meet him?"

"He's a meat head. Also, he's wearing sunglasses on the subway. I fuckin' hate that."

"He goes hunting at street fairs for those specific ones."

"You're shitting me."

"No."

"Did he see you?"

"No, but if he does he'll probably think I'm dating you."

"...Want me to fist you?"

"Yeah Tom, that will really show him that we're a young couple in love."

We then continued on with our mocking banter till I had to change stations. Tom stayed on the R and told me later that after I left the comic started, "Rockin' out to his headphones in a major way, almost as if he was retarded."

"Almost?" I replied.

Tom said, "Well, think of it this way, the only way to go from here is up."

Scott's Finest Moment

One night at the Four Faced Liar while I was still a smoker,
I went out for cigarettes between waters. While I was gone my pals Ben and J watched Jennie Smash's and my spots at the bar. We had two stools in front of the TV, a coveted corner that we came early to grab.

On cigarette break three or four two skanks walked into the bar. Now, I'm not really being mean here, you call a plum a plum just like you have to call a skank a skank. And when girls look this trashy and act this dumb, the appropriate term is skank. These skanks took our seats.

"Excuse me, I was saving those for our friends. You'll have to get up when they get back." Ben said to the skanks.

"Sure thing!" said the skanks.

But when we came back the skanks were chatting it up with their pals. I tapped one on the shoulder and asked her to keep her word she had given to Ben.

"No, we're not moving. Your loss."

I didn't want to start a fight just then. So, I did what any normal person would do in this situation and mocked the skanks.

"Oh Jen, we can't sit down. The skanks need the stools."

"Oh, it's ok it's because they have AIDS, actually I think they have double AIDS, " Jen replies.

Roommate Tom walks over and asks us what the problem is, we tell him about the double AIDS skanks.

"WHORES." Tom says loudly with his typical emotion, deadpan. We then realize that these girls are with two men and fear that now that Tom is involved there will be fighting. The guys stare at us, but do nothing. As if to say, "Yeah, we know they are skanky girls, but this is why we are with them." We took this as open season to mock the girls every chance we could till we bored of it.

And since our humor is similar to our attention span, like an 11 year old ADHD kid, we tired quickly of mocking the seat stealing skanks.

We watched the Met game.
Now, this is when the Mets really started tanking. I mean they were going down faster than a Thai hooker. It was horrible to watch, and in the 8th inning when things were getting close and we blew it again, I got myself a Guiness.

I get drunk quickly. I mean 1/4 of the way into the beer and I'm slurring and kinda non-responsive to my friends droning and moaning about the game.

This is when one of the skanks hops off the stool to hug a dude who came in.
I see my opportunity.
I wait until she's about to sit back down, and when she's like one step away from planting a butt cheek - I kick the stool and hop on it.
Now, yes, this was an obnoxious thing to do.
But the skanks response, was so far out of line that it made me look totally in the right.

They start screaming like banshies, "SHE WAS ABOUT TO SIT DOWN! WHAT THE F*&^K ARE YOU DOING YOU #&%&@$(@%*!! GIVE IT BACK! GET UP YOU @#$#$~! STAND UP, JUST STAND UP YOU ARE SUCH A #$@%$@! WHAT ARE YOU DOING??!!!"

I calmly turn to them and say, "I'm taking back the stool that you stole from me."

"YOU WENT FOR A CIGARETTE, YOU LOST IT, GET UP @#$*!!! JUST GET THE @#$^t@$ UP RIGHT NOW YOU #@%$@!!!" the skank says as she screams right in my face.

"Ladies, you're obviously menstrual and that's fine. I understand. But here's the thing, I'm old, much older than you. And you don't understand this yet, but when you get older you get tired of standing and need to take a sit. So, I'm gonna take my sit, drink my beer, hope my team doesn't tank, and when I'm ready - shouldn't take too long, I'll get up from my sit and you can put your young little tuckus down on it. OK?"

"NO THAT IS NOT OK. NO!!!! NOOOOO! GET UP! I'M NOT MENSTRUAL, YOU GET THE @#*$* UP! STAND UP !#@r$$@!"

Now, at this point they are screaming so loud that the entire bar is just watching and it's ridiculous because they're practically climbing on the bar to get in my face and I turn to stare at the cocktail waitress who is looking from the girls to me in disbelief. We're speechless, these girls are obviously drunk and somewhat unstable.

All I can say is, "Wow. Wow."

The cocktail waitress laughs and nods, but is unable to speak still because the skanks immediately retaliate, "YOU DON'T SAY WOW TO HER!"

"DON'T SAY WOW TO ME! DON'T SAY WOW!"

And as they screetch about the word wow, Scott moves in for the win.

He pulls up a bar stool and sets it down next to me and says, "Here Sue, you can sit here so you can watch the game in peace."

I thank him and move myself to the new stool, I had made my point.
But then, Scott goes back and gets another stool and puts next to the girls who are still all riled up and says, "Here and I got a stool for your attitude." He places the stool between the girls and steps back.

"Thank you, we need it." says the now blatantly obvious stupid skank.

Kate, Scott's girl friend, put it best when she said, "Ya know Scott can be pretty corny, but that was freakin' awesome!"

And we all agreed that it really was Scott's finest moment.

Fire Starter

I was inspired from my sister's ordeal with setting an oven on fire to discuss my recent run in with flames.

One night I was tired but having some tummy trouble (shocking I'm sure)
and I went down to make myself a tea. I filled my silver tea pot and placed it on the back burner
behind the George Foreman Grill that sat on our flat, electric stove.
I then remembered that I had forgotten my medicines upstairs (I live in a duplex apartment).
I bounded up the stairs and searched through some bags, pulled out the items I needed and descended back into the kitchen...
to see the Foreman Grill now engulfed in flames.
I scream to roommate Tom, but he's got the AC on and the TV cranked and can't hear the profanity as I turn the oven off and run to the sink that is next to the stove, but full of dirty dishes, and grab the only thing I can fill with water that is closest to me,
a very tiny tea cup.

I keep filling the wee cup with water and throwing it on the ghastly plastic burning flames.
I finally get the fire out, and then the smoke alarm goes off.
But the smoke alarm that we have doesn't just have those high pitch screetches,
it also provides a calm woman's voice that says,
"Fire. Fire. There is a Fire."
Now that the fire is out and the place is pretty smokey, because there are no windows in our basement, I am trying to cover up the fire.
I run over to the smoke detector with an oven mitt and jump up and down in front of it.
"Shhhhhh! Stop going off! It's out!! Stooooopppp!"
And of course, I'm crying because I'm tired, my tummy hurts, and I just set roommate Tom's newly acquired and strongly beloved Foreman grill on fire.

Tom finally heard the commotion and comes down stairs to find my hopping, tear eyed, self in a very nasty smelling unventilated room and does what any of you would've done (that are really my friend at least)
He laughed at me, then told me to upstairs before I passed out from inhaling fumes.

I ended up sleeping upstairs for a couple of nights after that because it took a while for the smell to dissipate.
We now have a new Foreman Grill and a very strict rule,
"Cook on the Foreman Grill, do not cook the Foreman Grill."

All's Well on the Astoria Front

Last night Roommate Tom and I met at the bar across the street.

I walked in and looked up at him and said, "This is stupid the us not talking thing, let's just let it go".
Tom replied, "It was a giant miscommunication."

I nodded, ordered a Blue Moon and then asked him, "You wouldn't ever really leave me out in a stairwell on purpose, would you?"

"No. Never."

"Good. I wouldn't do that to you either."

And then we drank beer and tried not to watch the Mets lose.

"Guilt Trip"

This post could also be titled
"A very horrible night"
"Sleeping in a Stairwell"
or
"Miserably Frightening Evening"


On Friday I went out, even though my stomach wasn't really happy with me.
I wanted to catch up with some old friends. So, I went to the bar to meet them and sipped water for a while and listened to stories while my stomach started to burn.
I lasted until about 9pm and then I knew I had to get home.
So, I hopped into a cab and curled up in the fetal position.
I needed a medicine at home that basically prevents me from puking and makes me fall asleep.

I rarely throw up,
but when I do, it's horrible.

I don't just spew.
My intestines writhe and spasm.
I heave about every 3 minutes.
I hurl about every 10.
I usually cry from the pain.

I desperately wanted to avoid this.
I just wanted to take my medicine and quietly pass out.

When I get to the apartment I see the worst thing you could see at this point:
My keys were on the table.

I texted my roommates.
New-roommate-Emily was on a date.
She was in the middle of dinner and couldn't get out of there until 12ish.
roommate Tom was drinking with the same people he was with last night, and the night before, at beerfest.

I of course figured roommate Tom would come through and help me out.

Why?

Well, besides being a friend, I have done a series of favors for roommate Tom the past few months that I had been saving up his "I owe you ones" and now had a great need to cash them in.

What kind of favors you ask? below is the list:
-picked up and paid for his laundry
-woke up at 6 AM to pay rent and explained to the land lord that roommate Tom didn't have his yet
-did his dishes, at least 10 times
-cleaned his room and set it up all nice for a girl
-gone to the store for him in the rain

There are more things I'm sure, but whatever, we're friends. Friends help each other out.

So, I text roommate Tom and ask him to come home with the keys.
No response.
I tell him I need to get in to take medicine.
No response.
I start to feel even sicker, like the puking might come soon.
I call him up - get his voicemail - beg him to come home.
He texts me finally - Gonna be a while.
I ask him to please head home instead of staying out, and explain that Emily isn't able to leave.
He tells me he's going to The Liar.
I beg him to come home instead.
He tells me to get a cab into the city and get keys from him.
I tell him I can't get a cab,
I'm about to get sick.
No response.
I try to get a cab, by now I'm feeling really weak, I'm wobbling like I'm drunk, but I haven't drank all night.
I luck out! A cab pulls to the curb, but before I can open the door it's too late -
I throw up.

The cab pulls away and I'm now crying to roommate Tom's voicemail to come home to help me.
He texts me that he doesn't appreciate my guilt trip.

I crawl into the stairwell by our apartment and spend the next two and a half hours
crying
shivering
and going through the normal throw up routine.

My phone dies.
I use my computer to IM text roommate Tom.
He finally started on his way home, but he's gone the wrong way on the subway - it'll be a while.

Finally, at around 11:45 my neighbor is walking their dog and I pop out from the stairwell and scream her name. She runs over to me and helps me up to her apartment where her and her boyfriend were kind enough to give me a sweatshirt and some tea.
roommate Tom texts me about 20 minutes later
"Opened the door, going to the bar"
I didn't see him, I just walked in to the open door, got a bucket and crawled into bed.

New-roommate-Emily came home about 20 minutes later and came down to check on me.
My old buddy Tom did not.

I haven't talked to him since.

I wasn't trying to make him feel guilty on Friday.
I was desperately trying to get help.

A mutual friend of ours reasoned, "Well, you should've just told him that you had a keg you needed help with, then he'd come help you".

I wonder if beer was locked out if he would've come to help it out.

NEW - UPDATE ON THIS POST!

Who do you have to know to see some boobies?

A couple of weeks ago, roommate Tom and I were in a cab at 3AM.
We were drunk. (obviously)
And we decided that it was finally the appropriate time for us to do something we've long joked about doing. We were finally going to go to SCANDALS, a strip club that we pass on our cab rides home.

"I'm serious, we're gonna do this," said Tom as he held onto his BMT sandwich from Subway.

"So am I!" I said as I swung my tuna sub for emphasis.

"Are you sure you're not a lesbian?"

"Positive. I just want to see how bad it is. If my careers totally bottom out, I'll know what I have to look forward to."

"I'm serious about doing this."

"So am I!"

He then asked the cabby if he wanted to see titties.
The cabby did not. No matter how persuasive Tom tried to be,
"It's on me. You need to see titties. It helps you drive better. I'll buy you a beer."

"Tom, he's gotta drive he can't drink."

"Don't be a wuss. You can't be a wuss about this. He's obviously not a wuss. He's a man that wants to see titties with us."

He did not.

We got out of the cab, Tom put on his glasses, and we stumbled over to the SCANDALS entrance. We were greeted by a very large bouncer who looked at us long and hard with our subway sandwiches and me covered in my laptop bag and giant purse.

We were obviously not regulars to this club circuit. He told us to get our ID's out.

Then, three men walk in. One of them explains that he and his friends don't need to pay, they're friends of Crystal. The bouncer goes and gets another bouncer. The head bouncer comes over and looks cautiously at Tom swaying and then address the group of three men.

At this time I heard the most amazing statement ever.
"Yeah, I'm Crystal's brother. "

This dude brought his friends to see his sister strip, because of this he got to cut us.

Tom, kinda out of it trying to get his ID, missed this exchange and starts to make a fuss about the fact that we've been cut. This is when Head Bouncer says, "They're not allowed in".

Denied!

Maybe if Tom was related to someone we would've been in.


The night wasn't a total loss. We went to our local bar and told them our tale of woe.
We received free Irish Car Bombs for our sad tale.