"Yo dude, play something, like, slammin, and then I'll wail on my bass, and it'll be BOSS"
"But dude, wait, I forgot to practice, uh, except yesterday from noon to one. And I took a lot of breaks because it was hard, drums are hard. So I smoked some herb."
"Oh that's ok man, we'll smoke some more ganja, and then we'll both be on, like, the same wavelength and, like, it'll be totally hot. I mean we'll like mind-meld and shit."
"fuckin' A!"
"Alright I'll count the beat off by screaming nonsense and then you try and keep up with my awesome bass guitar riffs. And remember, we gotta practice all my songs today, from our jammin-out sweaty balls rockin' to the soft-and-sweet melody for my lady friend"
"Ah man, well, ok, as long as we can jam out in the middle of that stupid song"
"Pshah, Yeah, of COURSE dude. The rockin-out part is where I'm like pumpin' away at her tender bits"
"AWESOME!!!"
"YEAH! GETTIN' LAID!!"
that's the imaginary conversation I have come up with for the people practicing their god-awful band upstairs.
The only thing good about the band is that they have decided to practice in the middle of the day on a Wednesday, instead of from 5 PM until midnight every night, when I'm trying to sleep, like the little bastard that lives next door and thinks it's HILARIOUS FUN to thump against the walls for oh, SEVEN HOURS.
Ah, city life!
Today I got internet, after living here for a month. Hooray! Thank you Time-Warner for actually showing up to the appointment I made with you a week ago, after you failed to show up for the first one. You know, I wouldn't even know about the band that practices mid-days on Wednesdays unless I didn't have a job, which I don't, and which I won't, it seems, for an indefinate period of time. I moved to this city because I was convinced of the incredible plethora, plentitude, plethitude, of jobs that paid DAMN WELL. And which, I have learned, are not accessible to me. They lie temptingly out of reach, apparently, until I have sat in a company for 2 years doing boring shit and getting paid in squirrel shit.
Oh, and, AND!!! Fucking temp agency apparently told the people I'm trying to get a job with that I am "Timid." TIMID? I'm sorry, apparently in NYC you come off as timid if you don't storm into the interview with five cigarettes and twelve cups of coffee swearing "FUCK FUCK FUCK GIMME A JOB BITCHAAAAAAAAAHH!H!!! I'M SO QUALIFIED I'M LIKE THE 4.0 OF SECRETARIES. GOD I'M A FUCKING SECRETARY! FOR 120,000 BUCKS I'M A SECRETARY! FUCK YOU REED COLLEGE!" So anyway they are reluctant to hire me now even though I'm fucking awesome and I can do anything.
... phew. I haven't vented in a while. I just barfed my rage on LJ. On a completely unrelated note, I'm trying to teach myself computer-y skills like programming. Kind of. Maybe. And I'm not doing much of anything else. Except hanging out in Spanish Harlem (ed- WASHINGTON FUCKING HEIGHTS ALREADY, Christ on a crutch), which is cool but I don't speak Spanish very well so it makes interacting with people who hate me for invading their neighborhood difficult. This is one of the last bastions of un-gentrified NYC. Seriously. I'm in the 160s. If you go to 170th, there are tea houses and shits, and if you go to 140th, there are yuppie grocery stores sneaking their way uptown. I think it starts with the grocery stores. I shop at "Associated Grocers," which I've lovingly deemed Ass Grocery. It's ok, except the cheese is pretty weird. There was one cheese that was orange like cheddar, but bubbly looking like havarti, and it was called "cheese" with no explanation. Needless to say, I did not purchase it.
I ate my first box of mallowmars this past week when Chris was gone and could not look at me with disgust. I did share them with Clayton and Matt, but really, let's be real here, I ate the majority. GOD THEY ARE GOOD. Also a box of cheez its. And a bag of smart food. Let's just say, the moon is full. Was full. Is waning. I can not wait until I have a gym membership.
Ok, I'm done. I'm excited I have internet access. Also, I watched "Candyman" last night (courtesy of my roommate, who is taking a film studies class at Columbia and assured me that no one gives a damn if anyone else sneaks in, really). What a hilarious movie. Made more hilarious by the fact that there was this poor guy in front of me who was just NOT a scary movies person. At one point, when he was cringing, trying to take notes on the action, Candyman stabs his hook through a mirror towards the person on the other side, and the dude fucking SCREAMS. Full-on screams. And it was a manly scream so it was funnier. And then he spent the rest of the movie sinking lower and lower in his chair with his ears plugged most of the time. I almost offered to let him hold my hand but I thought he might be humiliated so I just let him pee himself instead. I'm so nice.
"Oh that's ok man, we'll smoke some more ganja, and then we'll both be on, like, the same wavelength and, like, it'll be totally hot. I mean we'll like mind-meld and shit."
"fuckin' A!"
"Alright I'll count the beat off by screaming nonsense and then you try and keep up with my awesome bass guitar riffs. And remember, we gotta practice all my songs today, from our jammin-out sweaty balls rockin' to the soft-and-sweet melody for my lady friend"
"Ah man, well, ok, as long as we can jam out in the middle of that stupid song"
"Pshah, Yeah, of COURSE dude. The rockin-out part is where I'm like pumpin' away at her tender bits"
"AWESOME!!!"
"YEAH! GETTIN' LAID!!"
that's the imaginary conversation I have come up with for the people practicing their god-awful band upstairs.
The only thing good about the band is that they have decided to practice in the middle of the day on a Wednesday, instead of from 5 PM until midnight every night, when I'm trying to sleep, like the little bastard that lives next door and thinks it's HILARIOUS FUN to thump against the walls for oh, SEVEN HOURS.
Ah, city life!
Today I got internet, after living here for a month. Hooray! Thank you Time-Warner for actually showing up to the appointment I made with you a week ago, after you failed to show up for the first one. You know, I wouldn't even know about the band that practices mid-days on Wednesdays unless I didn't have a job, which I don't, and which I won't, it seems, for an indefinate period of time. I moved to this city because I was convinced of the incredible plethora, plentitude, plethitude, of jobs that paid DAMN WELL. And which, I have learned, are not accessible to me. They lie temptingly out of reach, apparently, until I have sat in a company for 2 years doing boring shit and getting paid in squirrel shit.
Oh, and, AND!!! Fucking temp agency apparently told the people I'm trying to get a job with that I am "Timid." TIMID? I'm sorry, apparently in NYC you come off as timid if you don't storm into the interview with five cigarettes and twelve cups of coffee swearing "FUCK FUCK FUCK GIMME A JOB BITCHAAAAAAAAAHH!H!!! I'M SO QUALIFIED I'M LIKE THE 4.0 OF SECRETARIES. GOD I'M A FUCKING SECRETARY! FOR 120,000 BUCKS I'M A SECRETARY! FUCK YOU REED COLLEGE!" So anyway they are reluctant to hire me now even though I'm fucking awesome and I can do anything.
... phew. I haven't vented in a while. I just barfed my rage on LJ. On a completely unrelated note, I'm trying to teach myself computer-y skills like programming. Kind of. Maybe. And I'm not doing much of anything else. Except hanging out in Spanish Harlem (ed- WASHINGTON FUCKING HEIGHTS ALREADY, Christ on a crutch), which is cool but I don't speak Spanish very well so it makes interacting with people who hate me for invading their neighborhood difficult. This is one of the last bastions of un-gentrified NYC. Seriously. I'm in the 160s. If you go to 170th, there are tea houses and shits, and if you go to 140th, there are yuppie grocery stores sneaking their way uptown. I think it starts with the grocery stores. I shop at "Associated Grocers," which I've lovingly deemed Ass Grocery. It's ok, except the cheese is pretty weird. There was one cheese that was orange like cheddar, but bubbly looking like havarti, and it was called "cheese" with no explanation. Needless to say, I did not purchase it.
I ate my first box of mallowmars this past week when Chris was gone and could not look at me with disgust. I did share them with Clayton and Matt, but really, let's be real here, I ate the majority. GOD THEY ARE GOOD. Also a box of cheez its. And a bag of smart food. Let's just say, the moon is full. Was full. Is waning. I can not wait until I have a gym membership.
Ok, I'm done. I'm excited I have internet access. Also, I watched "Candyman" last night (courtesy of my roommate, who is taking a film studies class at Columbia and assured me that no one gives a damn if anyone else sneaks in, really). What a hilarious movie. Made more hilarious by the fact that there was this poor guy in front of me who was just NOT a scary movies person. At one point, when he was cringing, trying to take notes on the action, Candyman stabs his hook through a mirror towards the person on the other side, and the dude fucking SCREAMS. Full-on screams. And it was a manly scream so it was funnier. And then he spent the rest of the movie sinking lower and lower in his chair with his ears plugged most of the time. I almost offered to let him hold my hand but I thought he might be humiliated so I just let him pee himself instead. I'm so nice.