Moving on Up

What a whirlwind of 31 years this has been?? I dare say since we last spoke, I am only mildly more successful, much more single and exceedingly more disgusted by my state of affairs.

The cause of my instant frustration is that I have recently been engaged in the challenge of finding an apartment on a salary that feeds multiple children in Africa, but feeds no child in Manhattan, or lack thereof, in my case. I have faith that no good gripe goes unknown and that most of my readership is well aware of the suicidal ideations that an apartment search in Manhattan can engender. I would have willed myself to stop breathing, but that was made impossible when one is faced with the need to breath, quite heavily, in fact, in order to discover their dream shithole that is the size of a kitty litter box on a ninth floor walk up.

Upon discovering my apartment, however, I was very upset to stumble upon some lurking issues with my current management company due to my refusal to pay rent, on time, ever. My position with respect to paying rent on time was as follows: “a management company deserves rent in accordance with the terms of their lease, when a tenant lives in accordance with the standards of the rest of the human race.” I, for one, have been living underground for four years with a bit of sunlight and thus believe my vampire position is the sympathetic one. I also know that I have not lived in accordance with the standards of the human race as anyone has ever made the mistake of visiting me in my apartment has made my apartment the brunt of their jokes, I presume, for their rest of their lives.

Nonetheless, I have taken it upon myself to purposefully obstruct my coffin in an effort to preclude the management company from re-letting this space to some other dumb 20 something year old who thinks that they cannot possibly live in any other location, besides this one, despite the inhabitability of their 203042402394234k a month cubicle. These efforts have involved not so subtle hints that dirty sex has taken place on the counter top, periods have been had in the refrigerator and cockroaches are really just like dogs.

M&M have been the greatest help however and have not only agreed to put up their lovely daughter for the month of July before the commencement of her new lease, but have also come up with some grand ideas to obstruct the management company’s ability to make a profit. One of those brilliant ideas came from M who suggested that I leave my fake AIDS medication on the counter top. When I explained to M that getting AIDS medication is not that easy without having AIDS, and I simply am not sure I have the wherewithal to make fake labels, M suggested that I do in fact make these labels because after all no one is going to want to live somewhere where the previous tenant had AIDS.

I thought about it and decided that M was absolutely four hundred percent right. However, just to be sure I did not seriously offend anyone’s sensibilities, I checked the etiquette on faking AIDS. It turns out no one has fully addressed this issue. Not even the Countess from Real Housewives of New York has addressed this issue, and I thought she was the stamp of approval on class. In any event, I did not go through with this plan.

What I did do, however, was not go through with any other plans either. My only plan now is to just sit it out, wait, and hope that the management company understands that any tenant who takes this apartment has something severely wrong with them. No, for real, it means that you have some serious personality disorders to sign up for such a deal. I never questioned the depth of my personality disorders, but I trust the management company does now on a daily basis:

Legal Eagle Pumpkin Eater

Before I explain my absence, I would like to explain M squared's absence. OH f*ck, that's the problem, he has not been absent at all. No, he is just as prevalent as ever speaking for M as though she is in a vegetative state unable to come to the phone. This has become ever so much more problematic since I have commenced this position. For one thing, they call me constantly making sure I am still alive knowing full well that being, well, anything, is not my cup of tea. For another, they need to know how many Jews I work with and if they are available. I digress, the problem is M squared. As you recall, I got in an argument with these people who allege to have made me, I doubt it, because they demanded I marry a sixty year old man as if so many are bloody single. This conversation has resurfaced its ugly little head as of last weekend. Right when I was about to get off the phone, M squared insisted "Fine, marry a 14 yr. old boy. We do not care. Just settle down. It is legal in Tennessee."

Now, I am no great lawyer as indicated by my past two weeks performance, but I know enough to tell everyone that marrying someone and/or doing anything with someone who is 14 when you are 232333343203708 yrs. old is illegal. I watched Notes on a Scandal and it did not end well. It is true, on occasion, and I AM NOT PROUD OF IT, I have checked out high school seniors. This is not cool, but I live right near a high school and sometimes it happens. However, barring the fact that I would be subject to arrest, I would lose my license to practice which M&M fought so hard for me to obtain.

Anyhow, the reason I have been absent readership is because my gig does not allow much access to the Internet. I am too nervous to blog about it because well that could jinx the position and I could end up right back where I started, oh wait, I have. Never mind. My real problem is that I can not read celebrity gossip forcing me to read actual news. Those of you who know me, know that I get my news from listening to other people talk about it. Regardless, one article struck me as particularly delicious on CNN.com this morning. It was the Special Olympics speaking out against everyone calling them "retards." Apparently, there is some political agenda where advocates compare being called "retarded" to being called the bad word for Jews, Black People and Asians. I, for one, am totally f&cked if now the word "retard" = "bad word for black people."

I looked at who was promulgating this agenda, and it is my law school class. Okay, I will be quiet from now on.

Boy, O, Boy

I am tired. No for real, I am tired. I am going to be working a lot and concentrated all day during orientation so I am capable of doing so. It is no surprise that after two horrific positions, and sorta four positions in total, that I am fully prepared to commit myself to this one. Anyhow, despite the fact that I might be beginning my career, even if I may never be successful, I will never forget what it is like to be rather unoccupied. Thankfully, I have a constant reminder of how pathetic I am on a daily basis.

Readership, I have had several discoveries in the past couple of days. The most insignificant is that, well, M lied about her age on my birth certificate. Let me rewind, my new trabajo required me to bring a copy of my transcript, birth certificate, license, etc. for their records. My largest concern was that upon examination of my transcript was that they realized I had some fairly weak moments even if some outstanding ones. But, thank god, they did not realize the most egregious error on these documents. Mainly, that M has claimed to be 32
when she gave birth to me and told others out of M squared's earshot that he was, in fact, 31. It is a well known "secret" that up until I was about nine, M squared believed that M was only 1-2 years older than him. This is false, no completely ridiculous. M is four years older than M squared and was about 35 when she gave birth to me making M squared 31.

To some, this might obfuscate the fact that at midnight on Friday night I was called on an emergency basis two times because M sqaured suspected that I had a hair cut. While I did in fact have a trim, I most certainly did not have a cut. Regardless, I am quite content with the result of this "cut/trim" what have you. Nothing too drastic. However, M squared who functions on a close to rain man basis behind a newspaper relayed to M that I had not only received a blunt cut, but that this blunt cut was stringy (a.k.a. blown out.) M's voicemail went something like this "C, did you cut your hair? YOU ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO DO THAT UNTIL YOU GET MARRIED!!! you are only semi okay looking because your hair is long and your skin is almost clear." After M showed M squared a series of celebrities from various magazines (pointing mainly to Gywneth Paltrow's new haircut) it became clear to M that I did not in fact look like Gywneth and M squared admitted that my hair was not that short.

HOWEVER, NO, these two previous incidents are not the most important things that have happened to me since Friday. No, those do not hold a torch to the recent conversation I had with them as in ten minutes ago. I relayed to M&M that for the first time in my career I am going to be legitimately busy. Silence ensued when I told them that I would in fact be at this establishment close to ten hours a day. The outcome: Reference to a recent friend of a friend whose daughter (O) of my similar age has recently married a man in their fifties. M pointed out that O did not have to work. When I argued that no she did not and while working is not my cup of tea or anyone's for that matter, I would rather work than wed a man who is close to M squared's age (not M's age as she is as I pointed out earlier like 3235235235 years older than him), I was yelled at. Quite frankly, I am not being open minded.

Addendum

Jason Mesnick, this season's bachelor, is a full blown Jew. This is why I never listen to M when she tells me to find a nice Jewish boy. They too, are horrific. Could ABC play anymore into our ? Mainly, that Jews lie, cheat and are swarmy??? No, I do not think so. F everyone.

O, the shame.

Make Pad Thai

I am well aware that I am behind most bloggers in capturing this historic event that took place on the Bachelor last night. To be honest, I was going to leave well enough alone, but I simply can not. What type of blogger is not going to reach out to Melissa today??? For those of you who do not watch this captivating show, let me recap. Last night, bachelor Jason, complete cheese dick, chose and proposed to final contestant Melissa at the close of the series. After the final rose ceremony, filmed six weeks later, Jason ended his engagement with Melissa and confessed his serious feelings for Molly, other final contestant. Molly took him back.

Rumors have it that this was completely scripted by ABC because throughout the entire series it was all too apparent that Jason was in love with Molly and therefore was manipulated into choosing Melissa. He was then, as bound by contract, forced to break up with Melissa on national television six weeks later and send her on her way. AWESOME. Side Note: Quite frankly, Melissa, I believe my entire life is scripted and I am even heavily medicated to control my paranoia. For instance, I believe this job offer was scripted and because I have not gotten my written offer in the mail I am pretty persuaded that on national tv human resources will deliver me the news. Mainly, after careful consideration of a runner up candidate they have in fact chosen that runner up. In fact, I am talking to E right now who has told me that this is absolutely insane and firms just do not rescind verbal offers, but the bloody Bachelor has shaken me to the core. Okay, I can not help it. Further side note, M has told me not to worry as she does not care if I ever work again given that my life is pathetic for so many other reasons. Furthermore, she was never able to work and I am losing perspective of my priorities by putting so much focus on this "job thing." I asked her yesterday if she would be willing to subsidize me sans job/career if I agreed to go on a match.com date twice a week, the answer was yes. Do not be shocked.

BUT I DIGRESS. While I feel terrible for Melissa, I believe this historical event speaks volumes to single women all across the nation. I am not alone in the sentiment that Jason for the most part (even before we learned he was an ass) is the most unappealing bachelor. While he is not a bad looking guy, he definitely harbours that "something queer (not in the homosexual sense)" thing about him. He is cheesy, cries all the bloody time, has a bloody child named Tye who appears to suffer from some mental impairment, and well, is just unsexy. I might not kick him out of bed, but that does not say much. Regardless of his flaws, one thing we could have said about Jason before we knew that he was a horrific person, is that he is the type of guy all women should be dating: non-threatening, earnest, compassionate and sweet. He is the type of guy that every woman is guilty of passing up for the hot retard who speaks broken English but makes you feel sexy because he treats you like gold at four am (Ms. Deeana prevoius bachelorette was certainly guilty of this). No, I do not speak from experience as M has trained me to pick out the Jasons if one is available. Rather, I have a few very unhot creatures who contact me at four AM who I respond to every fourth or fifth time. Regardless, from now on, I am not choosing the Jason if he is available. WHY>?!?!?!?! Because seemingly Jason is a fraud and ladies you might as well just choose the hot retard. If this cheese dick Jason is a nasty shit, then,
we should all give up.

As far as Melissa goes, I believe it is her right at the After The Rose Ceremony, Part Deux to start serving pad thai made out of tye. End of story.

Stop Mocking Me

Every so often I am charmed by certain invitations that find their way into my inbox. Generally speaking, I get a plethora of emails from God knows what on an internet dating sites. Usually, these emails are repeats as if the sender is some automated service. One such email arrived today, which also arrived last Monday and the Monday before that titled "People Watching:"

"I found myself in the supermarket yesterday looking at what people put in their carts. You can tell a lot by what are in those carts, who is impulsive with their shopping, who is methodical. I find Impulsive, attractive and necessary.

~J

...oh, i didn't see floss in anyone's cart =)"

Very cute robot J, thank you for getting back to me after me never responding. It is not you, really, it is me. While times are rough, I prefer not to date an auto mated service. Why not just date my cell phone??? Oh, I would never, it is super ghetto and unsexy and never brings any good news, or, news at all.

Anyhow, the more important email came from Garbage inviting me to some banquet function honoring some professor:

Garbage
cordially invites you to attend our

ANNUAL BANQUET
Honoring
Professor X

Friday, March 20, 2009
7:00 p.m. cocktail hour
8:00 p.m. dinner

Tavern on the Green
Central Park West at 67th Street
New York, NY

Members $70
Alumni/Guests $80
RSVP by March 6, 2009

I feel much the same way I felt after watching Real Housewives of Orange County finale this season. Mainly, dirty. Michael K (Dlisted celebrity blogger, my favorite) took it upon himself to point out the obvious: what business in this economy does Tamra have flaunting around a tennis bracelet worth a college tuition, Vicki flaunting a Rolex she bought for herself and Gretchen screaming about a Harley her dying sugar daddy purchased for her???? While we all realize that this episode was taped before the economy took a major downfall, EDIT IT. Why, even the publishing company I have "worked" at since I came out of the womb canceled their annual holiday party at Tavern On The Green. No, it was not just because they did not have the funding. It was because it was in poor taste.

I realize that guests have to pay for their tickets in order to attend Garbage's affair, but really what business does Garbage have asking its cockroaches to said event? I have spoken to many Garbagites since the economy has fallen apart. Since the big firms are doing lay offs, the document projects Garbigites populate in downtown Manhattan have folded leaving Garbigites to fend for themselves by singing in the subways and dressing up as Elmo outside of Rockefeller Center. Many legitimate attorneys who typically would not be competing for a Garbagish jobs have in fact not so much as competed, as just taken them displacing Garbigites all over Manhattan. Douchebags. Garbigites do not have eighty dollars to spare. Right this moment, I have a Garbigite living like Anne Frank in my closet. When I discovered him this weekend, he told me he thought I would not mind given that we sat next to each other in Torts first year. Fine, fine, this is an exaggeration, but fair.

I thought about it, thought about it, thought about it and realized that not even Garbage could be this tasteless. No, they have conducted some pretty unclassy episodes in my lifetime. One of which was on graduation day. Garbage did not hand out diplomas, they just handed out fake diplomas for show and mailed it to their graduates like seven months. I think I just got mine from 2006. All the cockroaches just sort of came up to the stage in random order and picked up a blank piece of paper. (As a side note, M&M afterward gave me a stuffed yorkie after I asked for a puppy for sitting through three years of misery for them. They explained if I had gotten a husband in law school like they asked me to, I would not need a puppy). This was surely tasteless, but really this invitation is a slap in the face. So, here is my conclusion. This email is from an automated garbage service that sends out an invitation every year for the same exact event. It is this administrator below who sent out the email which is in fact also "J Robot" I mentioned above:

WELL DEAR GOD THANK YOU SO MUCH

I am sorry. No really, I am f*ckin sorry. However, I have been waiting on a job and I felt as though it would be bad karma to blog about being pathetic when in fact I have been told that I should feel confident until I hear otherwise. Congrats to my bloody self, I got it with a little help from my friends. Perhaps this time it will stick.

Speaking of sticking, I am curious as to whether or not my readership is aware of the fact that this will be the fifth job I am taking in three years. Sure, it is the first real job that has been offered to me, but it is technically my fifth offer. E did the math for me so I know it is correct. However, she is so bloody supportive that she said she will treat this one as my first one and we are starting on a clean slate.

You know who is not so supportive, probably M. No, it's not that she was not happy for me because she is, but when I explained that my year is going to take a drastic change she got particularly concerned that I would not have time to meet a husband. I pointed out that for the past three years I have had all the time in the world to meet a husband and it has not in fact happened. In fact, I find the more time I have, the less likely I am to be marrying. DO YOU WANT TO KNOW WHY??? I do not wash my hair when I have time to be drinking in excess. Every day I wake up thinking I am going to wash my hair and then see that new thing that is like baby powder that you can spray and opt for that alternative. I mean, I think it does the trick, but really have no idea how greasy my hair is due to a very specifc neuoris of mine. You know how Tobias from Arrested Development is a never nude? I am a never profile/back and only ever view myself from the front. The back of my hair is quite greasy serving as a deterrent to husbands. Anyhow, when M asked me what I was going to do to celebrate, I invoked the metaphor as to how people are not nearly as excited for your accomplishment when, let's say, you get married for the third time. Sure, my people are happy, but I am not going to over burden them with a celebration as we have done it like forty million times just for such an occassion. M's reply, "well, you have not been married three times. you have not even been married once. Maybe your people are just sick of you not being married." So unrelated.