Category Archives: rant

My Roommate Fucking Sucks

My roommate Alison fucking sucks. And here’s why:

1. The Snark of a Genius

Firstly, I should mention that Alison is a guy. Perhaps if he was a female I wouldn’t be so outwardly ferocious towards him in my rantings. Well, perhaps not. Anyway, I interviewed with Alison before I moved in to be the new roommate. It went like this:
Alison: So you don’t have to make a year commitment. You can do 6 months.
Me: Yeah, 6 months would be better.. To see if I can acclimate to the environment, you know?
A: Acclimate hm, that’s a good word (takes a swig of milk from the fridge) Haven’t used that one in like (pause, looks me straight in the eyes) two weeks.
He possesses all the quirks, and snark of a genius without the privelage of actually being one. This was definitely a red flag, and I should have known that our personalities would inevitably clash. But everyone deserves a second chance, right? Well.

2. Tangent Lectures

Alison goes on these tangent lectures where he breaks off from what appears to be casual, docile conversation, and begins these hyper political, eccentric rants.
Me: Man, I’m fucking beat from class. Seriously exhausted.
Alison: The government is in a downswing right now. People are investing money into a business structure that’s not going to exist in 50 years.
Me: Yes, Goodnight.
These lectures started just a few days in to my occupancy. I’d invited my girlfriend over for the night and we were in the middle of a quiet dinner. “Why astroids and humans have the same DNA” wasn’t exactly the dinner conversation I had in mind.

3. Alison Is A Mooch

My roommate Robert and I cooked lunch together the other day. I made some hot mustard chicken with garlic and scallions, and Rob made a pot of rice with kale and Cabbage. Enter Alison.
A: Hey guys, got some stir fry goin’ on here?
me: Yeah man. Do you want some?
A: Yeah. (casually looking away and yawning.) I think I’m gunna have a little bit.
What a pleasant way of saying thank you. he proceeded to finish off the rest of the food.

4. Alison Is In Love With My Room

After a day of class, or being gone for the weekend I will come home to find that my room has been altered, shuffled some how. A sock that was on the floor is now on my bed. My laundry bag which sat by the closet is now hanging on a hook by my door. I’ll even come home to find new things in my room. A book on my bureau that is not mine, 2 tennis balls sitting atop my bedside table. I’m been trying to decipher the intention behind these actions and objects. Is he pointing out my personal slobbery, while rewarding future cleanliness? Positive tennis ball reinforcements? Maybe he’s just fucking around in my room while I’m gone. Dear god, I hope he’s not jacking off in my bed.

5.This Morning

I woke up to the sound of two men screaming at each other. One of them was Alison. I recognized his particular whine. The other voice I didn’t recognize.
A: You know what man, just get your stuff and leave. I’m sick of you.
There was a loud banging on my door
?: Hey man, I need to get into your room.
It was Alison’s friend, and Ex Roommate. He had left a lot of his stuff in my closet and was picking it up. He began packing his clothes, and various belongings into plastic bags.
Ex Roomie: you’re doing the right thing moving out.
I was sitting on the edge of my bed, my head in my hands.
me: I become more and more aware of that, every passing day, thank you.
Ex Roomie: You’re doing the right thing.
me: Yes (pause) I know.
He left my room and I closed the door behind him, and got back in bed. A few minutes later I am awoken once again by heavy knocking.
Ex Roomie: You should come out here man, you need to be made aware of something!
I oblige. I don’t know why. It may be my terrible sense of humor, which allows me to put myself in such volatile situations. As if a practical joke is being played on me, and I’m participating for my own gratification. I sit on the edge of the living room couch.
me: Okay, what?
A: He’s just spouting off at the mouth man, it’s nothing.
Ex Roomie: No, Listen. Alison has someone moving in in October.
A: Don’t listen to him man.
me: Wait, that’s fine. I’m moving out. I thought we talked about this.
Ex Roomie: You should be aware.
A: Don’t listen to him man!
me: I don’t know what’s going on, to be perfectly honest. Guys, I’m sick, and it’s early, so leave me the fuck alone please.
A: Listen, he’s just spouting off at-
me: STOP!

I wasn’t planning on publishing this particular blog until after I moved out, but  the more I thought about it the more I realized I should post it now. It is more sincere, and it’s that much more funny to think that as you’re reading this I’m living in TOTAL SUCK! By the way, I’m fully aware that it is in bad taste to post someone’s real name and picture, but if you’re going to eat my food, and invade my privacy there’s really no holding back. Don’t eat my food. The end.


Kanye West Is An

Couldn’t have said it better myself google. Tonight at MTV’s VMA’s (who gives a shit, I know) Kanye so graciously grabbed the mic from Best Female Video Award winner, 19 year old Taylor Swift, in support of Beyonce’s video Single Ladies.

He then proceeded to shoot off at the mouth like a child demanding his say. When did it become okay for a grown ass man to have a tantrum?  Not up on this celebrity gossip shit, but I’ll leave you with this. Am I the only one who thinks beaver whenever Kanye’s on tv? He has brace face. You know, the puckering, protruding lips of someone who is trying to hide their dental gear by forcing their lips down over it.

Hypochondriac, But Only By Association

I had a physical done earlier this month. My doctor gave me the usual: took some blood, had my boys looked at, knocked them around a little (that’s part of the usual, right?). You know the deal. About two weeks passed and I received a voicemail:

Hey um, This is Dr.X-X-X-X. And I have your (pause), I have your blood results here. And, well (pause) give me a call, or I’ll call you back soon.

fuck. What’s with all the pauses? So I’ve developed this terrible habit of putting off  bad news, regardless of its inevitability. Didn’t do well spring semester? Wait ’til fall semester to check my grades. Think I might’ve overdrawn a few bucks in my bank account? Wait til I start receiving letters to find out.

And I also happen to be a Hypochondriac, but only by association. I was raised by my mother, my mother’s mother, and my sister. Three legit, hardcore Hypochondriacs. For the first decade+change of my life my mother used to sneak vitamin powder into my sandwiches (taking three bites of a ham and cheese, and then on the fourth tasting eat wax is so much fun) almost sure that I would contract some forgotten disease; the plague or yellow fever at school (which is ridiculous because asian girls have never tickled my fancy.) My sister, when she would visit from college would try to convince me that I could get AID’s from staring at some skanky looking bitch the wrong way. And whenever I would visit as a child, my grandmother would force me to chug fish oil, and chew on flax seeds. She was the alternative medicine Hypochondriac in the family. So, more or less I’m the direct product of my sickeningly paranoia inducing environment.

So because of my Once-Removed-Hypochondria I refrained from calling my doctor back, and all the possible ailments I may have had began to fester in my mind. I became more, and more distrought with fear, sickened by the idea that I was a walking, talking germ vessel. At one point I was sure I was dying. If I coughed too hard I thought my dick would fall off.  if I was feeling particularly jumpy I was sure I had MS. If I hadn’t pissed all day I’d start fingering my prostate (kidding?)

It eventually got so bad that I could no longer screen my doctors phone calls and decided one day that I had to pick up. Maybe it was time sensitive, perhaps there was an antidote! Turns out I have a “slight leaky heart.” which is “borderline standard, and completely normal.” Now I just feel like a bitch. I mean a leaky heart aint very manly.

Then again I’m just glad my dick didn’t fall off.

The Three People You Will Encounter In Community College

This year I was lucky enough to be invited back to the Borough of Manhattan Community College. Now that the first week of class has passed I want to take a moment to tell you about the three types of people that you will encounter in Community College, if you are lucky enough to get the opportunity.

First, there are the Under Achievers. This group consists mainly of 20 somethings, fresh from their post year high school sabbatical.  The Under Achievers don’t really know what they’re doing with their life and luckily don’t really care to find out. They’d rather be at home playing xbox and jerking off (not a far cry from what I do in my spare time.) They never really considered the whole “four year thing” after high school but ended up in Community College because otherwise “yo my moms said she was gunna turn off my phone if I don’t go to school, and I was like naww.” The Under Achievers don’t give a shit about class, and chances are they’ll forget to register for class next semester, BUT IT’S OKAY! Anyday now their silkscreening company/rap career is totally going to blow up and they’ll be rollin’ in that new money.

Then there are the Over Achievers. Oddly enough, they are a similar breed to that of the Under Achievers. Neither did very well in high school, nor cared to take their SAT’s. What sets an Over Achiever apart however, is his/her bloated sense of self importance. By filling out the application, and paying the 35 dollar registration they are now of a higher echelon. A realm in which only the most elite minds are privy to exist, they are a well oiled gear in the think tank that is Community College. They will fight to sit in the front row, and raise their hand before they have a question to ask. Congratulations mutha fuckers.

Finally, the last group you encounter in Community College are the Foreigners. They are former Doctors and Lawyers from around the world with degrees that don’t mean a thing in the States, and now they are taking business administration, or hotel management courses. So you went to med school graduating at the top of your class, then opened a small practice in Poland which you’ve operated for the last 12 years? Sorry Volodyslav, but you’re in America now baby, and soon you’ll be sitting in some stuffy office creating excel files listing popular cat and dog dry foods for a cat and dog food conglomerate. LAND OF THE FREE!

At this point, I should apologize for all my hating. In fact I possess some of the qualities of both the under achiever, and the over achiever. I’m even a bit of a foreigner, albeit in my own right. Truth be told I’m just a bitter old/young man who is judging a student body that I’m too snobby to get to know, and not interesting enough to interact with. I should mention that I have however met a few curious individuals, like the Greek Pop Star, and the Romanian Ping Pong Champion. Anyway, let’s make Fall 09 an interesting semester.

oh, I may have over-looked a group. There happen to be a ton of old people hanging around. Like, fucking everywhere. Too old to start a new career not old enough to retire.

Hey Grandpa! CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!


An Obnoxious Whiny Slob Complains About Not Being Able to Find an Apartment-by me

X doesnt exactly mark the spot. In this case it's the fire-truck red, cat's asshole, that is Brownsville

it took me about 20 minutes to settle on a name for this particular blog. I finally feel like I’m doing this article justice.

My days have been full of work, and my nighta, consumed by apartment cunting, I mean hunting, excuse me. It’s just that my inbox is full of people offering me “It’s a really beautiful apartment in Brownsville, just 900 a month, unfurnished.” It’s not that I don’t appreciate you taking the time to reach out to me, and respond to my ad, but I think if I say “student/intern/m/21 $600″ there are multiple indicators there telling you I’m a broke mother-fucker. And you know what else? I don’t want to live in Brownsville. Nobody wants to live in Brownsville. Chances are, if you’ve posted an Ad on Craigs List for a room/apartment in Brownsville, you’re subletting your own place so you can GTFO.

Quick story: A friend of mine told me this. A few years ago, this bodega owner kept complaining to his landlord that he was hearing these obscenely loud, racketing noises,  coming from above his store. The landlord, assuming the Bodega owner was just being naggy, and he himself being kind of a prick, didn’t really do anything about it. A few days later, the store gets broken into. Turns out the Crips had moved in upstairs and they sawed a hole in the fucking floor of the apartment, to get into the store.

I don’t know if that’s a true story or not, but I kind of hope it is. I mean, Brownsville/Bvile, regardless of the authenticity of that story, isn’t a great place, and wishing that story away wouldn’t make it any nicer, and how cool would it be if it actually happened? The 9 year old inside of me -wait, let me rephrase that.. My inner 9 year old is thrilled with the idea of being able to cut through a wall to steal plantain chips, guava paste, and adobo (the 3 big sellers at every bodega.) it’s so very Wile E. Coyote. And maybe it was just me, but I always thought that the Road Runner was the prickiest protagonist in a cartoon. that is, besides this asshole:
via facefunk

But maybe I just hate the Road Runner because I see a bit of myself in him.. always running…. always running … ANYWAY

I guess you could say I’ve been busier than usual. The usual = watching tv = nothing = moments of clarity. Considering I watch a lot of tv, I have to say I’ve been awfully confused lately, with all this work. One day this NYC intern is gunna get paid….ANYWAY+1

well, I’m giving up on everything for now. I need a moment of clarity. But before I go, tonight,  I want to raise my glass to Brownsville. If it wasn’t for your high crime rates, and ironic namesake (just kidding Brenna), I honestly wouldn’t have had dippity dog shit to talk about today (besides meeting with an authentic, actually, knows his shit blogger, at work, but that’s a seperate blog). So, here’s to you Brownsville. Cheers!

Scientist Discovers Gene Mutation Linked to Needing Less Sleep. fuckin awesome

I’m a caffeine addict, I’ll admit it. I never get enough sleep, and a big part of that has to do with my caffeine intake. It’s a vicious cycle, really. Kind of like an Elephant Walk, but ethically consensual and less faggy. So when I heard that a scientist at the University of Cali, SanFran, discovered a gene mutation in two women that basically enables them to get more rest out of less sleep, I was pissed. Luckyluckyluckyluckylucky. I mean, what more could you ask for? That’s more hours in your day. That’s more time to slack off. That’s more TV.. And you know what? I need more TV in my life. Ever since I started handling my shit (back in school, got a job, moved out of the alleyway) I haven’t had any time to sit around and do nothing. And honestly, I don’t feel like my day has been a success unless I’ve spent a portion of it doing nothing. My only TRUE purpose in life, is living a purposeless life, so if I don’t have a few hours of dead time every day I feel like I’m not really living up to my full potential. Dead time isn’t exclusive to television however. It also includes laying in bed, reading shitty, low-brow Sci-Fi novels, looking at pictures of lolcats on the internet, and practicing that one song I’ve been learning on guitar for the past seven years I’ve mastered on guitar. Dr.Ying Hui-fu, discoverer of before mentioned miracle gene mutation, says that she hopes to one day be able to develop a safe treatment for people who need to be awake for longer, requiring less sleep. SIGN ME UP because right now, the other alternatives aren’t looking very good.

I guess the coffee isn’t so bad, but that PARTICULAR mother fucker looks mean.

The Chair Kicking Tranny

I went to see District 9 with my girlfriend Friday. We went to the theater on 68th and Broadway and decided to see a late show, so we could walk around Lincoln Center for a few hours. There happened to be a live performance going on outside of Damrosch park. I think it was World Music. but to be honestly, I’m not really sure what World Music is.

I think it has something to do with being latino and having long hair, while simultaneously wearing a robe and a pair of moccasins. There are usually pan-flutes, or tambourines involved. However, that could just be my clouded American intellect speaking for me. Who invented the term World Music anyway? Another characteristic of World Music, though not a qualifying factor is, it is usually accompanied by some sort of dancing, long haired, tye-dyed person. And this particular show wasn’t lacking. We sat on the benches by the bar, and took in our fair share of World Music, and eratic hippie dancing. At around 9ish we made our way over to the theater to watch the movie. We bought our soda pop and skittles, hid them in our bags (who the hell can afford food from the movie thearter these days? Not this intern), and took our seats, ready to enjoy the movie. I have to say, I wasn’t exactly excited to see the show. I thought the premise of District 9, as presented in the trailer, seemed pretty typical,  and the viral campaign looked really cartoony to me. I was happily surprised.

D-9 Poster/Ghetto Thing lookalike

Before the movie began, as the ‘Unscriptables’ and ‘Who Said It?’ questions were still being projected onto the screen, we heard some commotion coming from the row behind us.

“Is that seat taken? Hello!? No? Aright”-Ghetto Thing said, in her Bonquiqui accent.

One that I had become quite accustomed to by the neighborhoods where I buy my weed. A tall figure, with broad shoulders, tits, and an adams apple,  began shuffling towards a middle seat. When no one stood up to assist her by, Ghetto Thing retored with a loud teeth sucking, punctuated with a comical “RUDE.” She sat by herself. I was surprised, as she seemed like quite the prize.

The lights dimmed and the trailers began. We decided which movies looked good, and which looked fucking stupid. We decided which ones we would watch shitty copies of on the internet, and which ones we would wait for to come out on DVD. Then the movie began. We took our skittles and soda out of our bags and reclined further into our chairs for maximum movie enjoyment. A few minutes into the movie I start feeling a light kicking against the back of my seat. This is, honestly, one of my biggest pet peeves. One of those things that I knew. if I wasn’t careful, I’d end up blowing up over. So I tried to relax, teling myself it was totally un-intentional, and went back to the movie. Ten minutes later ::THUMP:: A hard kick. WHAT THE FUCK.. well , maybe the guys foot slipped. Calm down… it’s no big deal. ::THUMP THUMP:: At this point I’m not even paying attention to the movie. I’m just getting more and more upset. I turn to my girlfriend.

“Who the fuck is sitting behind me?”I whispered.

“It’s that ghetto chick from earlier.” she said, matter of factly, as if to say who else?

“Oh shit, you mean the tranny?”

“mhm, that’s the one.”

I turn back to the movie, suddenly realizing I was in a delicate situation. As a rule, I don’t pick fights with women. Some might call that sexist, but it was just the way I was brought up. It doesn’t make sense to me to pick on someone physically smaller than I am. Then again Ghetto Thing was at least a foot above my head, and had the shoulders of a linebacker. And was she really a woman? Should I take into consideration whether she was post-op or pre op? Maybe I should’ve asked.

Excuse me. yes, excuse me Miss. Did you have your dick cut off yet? I’m not certain as to whether I should scream at you or not.

All things considered, I told myself to not worry about it. Just to sit back and enjoy the rest of the movie... But then that  little voice in the back of my head had to get a word in. Yo. this dude thinks you’re a chump. I mean lookat’m.. Sitting there all smug by herself. Knows you’re just trying to have a good time with your girlfriend. Just tryna fuck your shit up. For some reason, that voice in the back of my head is from the Bronx, even though I was born in queens.

That little voice always gets the best of me. I felt a hard thud conncet with the back of my seat and I couldn’t hold back any longer. I shot around.

“HEY, could you please NOT kick my chair?” I said, leaning over the back of my chair with an angry frown.

“UMM. It’s not intentional” Ghetto Thing replied, cocking her head to the side, and sucking her teeth loud enough for the whole theater to hear.

“It’s not intentional??” I shout-whispered back, still mindful of the other people in the theater “You’ve been doing it the whole fucking movie. You’re ruining it for me and it’s starting to piss me off.”

I shot back around, a smug look on my face. I turned to my girlfriend who seemed mildly pleased, and reclined back into my seat. As the movie began to climax I started to feel a sense of impending guilt. Did I really need to do that? Said the more wholesome voice in my head. I couldn’t help but worry if I’d gone too far, screaming at Ghetto Thing. I mean, she was by herself at a movie, on a Friday night. On top of that, she was going through an extremely transitional position in her life, and didn’t need some asshole screaming at her because she happens to have long legs. As the credits began to roll I started to turn around to apologize when ::THUD:: her big fat Tranny Foot connected with the back of my chair. She quickly rose from her seat and exited the theater. Ghetto Thing: if I ever see you again I will beat you like a man.

-NYC, If You Are