Dirty Old Prom Queen

In '98 I was the prom queen and in '06 I hang out with queens. I'm a private tutor during the day and a comedian at night in ol' NYC. I just can't seem to get out of high school...can someone call the custodian? Vesuvio, I'm locked in!

Friday, February 24, 2006

Making a Grown-Up House

In New York City, it is completely possible for one to live like a college student indefinitely. No one can afford to live alone, so if you are not in some kind of committed relationship,* you must continue to live in the ludicrous land of roommates. And for many people, those roommates are strangers. Strangers who fill your DVD collection with porn or leave a ring of bronzer on your toilet seat or drink your liquor and add water to the bottles to hide the fact that some is missing (hence, making me believe that I have an insanely huge tolerance, and thusly, almost killing me when, at local pubs, I order a quart of Jim Beam and a flexy straw).



It's hard when you go visit your friends elsewhere, who have back yards, pets, and (gasp!) mortgages. I WILL NEVER BE ABLE TO OWN ANYTHING HERE!!!

Calm down, Lang.

In NYC, to live in an adult home requires an adult salary, so us struggling artists, teachers, administrative assistants, bankers, and doctors will continue to be stunted in childhood. We will continue to fill our tiny refrigerators with only beer, and unable to cook a normal dinner because our kitchens are too small, we will live off of mac n' cheese. We will use disgusting tapestries as room dividers and serve our futon-seated guests on TV trays. And we will try to feel sexy when we make it to our g-fries and b-fries on lofted bunkbeds.

Ugh. I moved to Brooklyn to be more adult. I was living in a veritable condom wrapper in the West Village. There was no light, I had to lift my bed to close my door, and at 5'4" I felt like a giant, always being able to touch two opposite walls at once. There wasn't even a dead bolt on my door, which is when I realized that I had moved into the renovated broom closet. So, in an attempt to be more adult, save some money, have a little more sunlight, etc., I moved to Brooklyn. Now, I have the opposite problem. My apartment is large, but falling apart more and more each day. I've only met my downstairs neighbors so that I won't feel awkward when the floor gives way beneath me and I land in their baby's crib.

It's just too hard to fix things up...it's so spensy!!! I watch Trading Spaces to figure out how they make such nice things with such a small budget, but there is no way that I am going to sit outside and affix shellacked cabbages to a lampshade. At least not all on my own.



I guess that there are little things that I can do, though. Like move the girl-who-used-to-live-in-my-apartment's hookah out of the middle of the living room...or store my roommate's Play Station underneath the DVD player...or maybe move my "dress up" box away from my bed and into the closet. P.S. this is not a sexy dress up box, it is for my sketch comedy costumes. You guys have such filthy minds! I could also empty the recycle bin so that guests coming over don't think that I've been on a Meryl Streep-style bender. Maybe I could take the sperm-shaped soap-on-a-rope out of the shower. Or perhaps, I could throw away the full-sized merry-go-round in the kitchen and the water slide attached from my window to the garbage shaft in my building.

Baby steps. Ooh, but we did install a doorbell. Heeeeeeey! Ding dong! Here's to being a grown up!!

*I am currently seeking out a serious relationship with anyone -- anyone who can pay rent, that is -- so that I can turn a second bedroom into an office, a dining room, personal gym, black box theater, prison cell. If you want to set me up with someone, I have a few very specific rules: No murderers, but am okay with furries. Clowns are fine, as long as I NEVER see you in your makeup. And I have real weakness for professional athletes who win a lot. Some call it a "type," but I think that I just know what I like.

5 Comments:

  • At 10:44 PM, Blogger john said…

    i totally feel you.

    my husband and i live in boston. which is what, like, 1,000 times cheaper than NYC?!?

    and yet, even a two-bedroom condo here makes us feel like we're succumbing to the inevitable fact that we're poor bastards...

     
  • At 10:58 PM, Blogger Motor City Monk said…

    Consider yourself lucky...I've got a home built in 1956 with a chunky mortgage and our damn doorbell stopped working last year. I have no fuckin' idea how you fix that kind of thing...my guess is some mouse chewed the wire somewhere deep inside my home and it's virtually unfixable. Maybe the ringer just ran out of juice.

    Note to self: next time I hire a handy man to fix stuff, make sure he looks into the doorbell issue.

     
  • At 11:18 PM, Blogger Motor City Monk said…

    BTW, this weekend I've really gotten into "blogs". I've checked out a lot of random blogs, linked blogs, etc...even set up my own blog...but I gotta tell ya, you are seriously FUNNY. I literally LOL more than 3 times while reading some of your old posts.

    I'm not stalking you or anything, but I'm heading over to my brand spanking new blog to link you!!!

     
  • At 8:32 AM, Blogger Motor City Monk said…

    Alright, maybe I'm stalking you now - well, actually just stalking your blog...but I had to re-post this IM exchange from your office gas leak cuz it had me giggling like a little school girl (and that is not a pretty sight).

    Lang: OMG. There is a gas leak in my office. The fumes are overwhelming.

    Friend: Oh God! Leave! Are you okay?

    Lang: I Think I'm

    Lang: Gonna

    Lang: Pass

    Lang: ...

    Lang: Out

    Lang: pheohwertw;riyhe/tiyh/3o4th34pt;.p34ju

    That was to simulate my face hitting the keyboard

    Friend: LANG??

    Lang: (silence)

    Friend: LANG???

    Lang: What? Who's there?

     
  • At 8:47 AM, Blogger east side girl said…

    Hilarious post!

    My apartment isn't falling apart, but it's absolutely tiny! We don't even have an oven--not even one of those small ovens. It's a microwave/convection oven, and it makes a really creepy sound when we turn it on.

     

Post a Comment

<< Home