Monday, July 19, 2004

West Side Story

I finally made it out of my parents basement!! Praise be the Lord, God Bless, Halleluyah and all that other religious bullshit.
Now just a couple years until I crash and burn spending all my paychecks on top shelf booze, and one too many selections off the McDonald's dollar menu and end up back down in the basement leeching money off my folks and watching old re-runs of the "real world".  But hey, I honestly wouldn't mind having my mom do my laundry again, cause this pumping quarters into these semi functional apartment complex washer and dryers business is clearly is less than to be desired.
The Fall of the Perma-Tie
Before I left the house for the last time my Dad said, "hey!! wait a minute, before you leave I need to teach you how to tie a tie, because I just wouldn't be able to live with myself, If I knew I let my son go off into the sunset without even the most basic lesson in business fashion." And I said "but Dad I'm fine, what about "perma-tie?" And he said, "yeah I know, the tie that I tied for you 2 years ago that you've left tied and keep wearing over and over again. You've really gotta cut that nonsense out, because it looks absolutely ridiculous and may possibly be more offensive than wearing a clip on." So I sat in front of the mirror for the next 25 minutes while the old drill sargeant made me run through the Half Windsor Knot and the Four-in-Hand knot over and over again before he'd let me leave to move into my new place. And with that lesson I was from then on ready to take on the world, tucked in shirt, dress slacks and all.
So Much for the Bachelor Pad
This apartment was supposed to be a bachelor pad. Maybe it was difficult to impress girls in the past but things were supposed to change. I'd be able to tell girls that I have a job, have my own apartment, and even own a couple pairs of stain defender khakis. Then after hearing that they'd be all impressed and want to go out on dates to see movies and eat food and go to dive bars for "name your cheap deal here" night, and go to shows and see independant rock bands and comedians, and play cheesy party games like catch phrase, and have random conversations on ridiculous topics that trail off into the distance, yet somehow end up being somewhat entertaining.  But that is not going to happen because of two people.
My Landlord
My roomate and I liked this apartment alot. We were going to get things done. It had alot of potential. Until the first day we moved in.  My slightly goofy indian landlord, decided it would be a nice gesture if he had someone come in and paint the entire apartment for us so it would be all nice and new looking when we moved in.  So yeah that sounded really nice of him, until he brought me in for my first walk around the place.  He shows me the living room and the bedrooms, and I'm thinking wow this all looks great, until we get to the kitchen. I take one look in the kitchen and to my horror, I see that he has chosen the one color, that you never paint a guy's apartment. Bright Pink. What!!!?? Why??!!? How!?! So I start breaking out into laughter, and he says, "so what do you think?" and I think to myself, is this a fucking Molly Ringwald movie? is this really happening, is this a joke, ha ha??
But no it's not a joke, my kitchen is pink. And I say, ummm... of all the colors you could have painted this kitchen, why pink? And he gets all fakely apologetic and tells me that he'll give me a can of white paint if I want to re-paint the kitchen. And I think to myself, repainting the kitchen is going to be a lot of work, maybe I'll just start listening to Wham! and sing showtunes while making peculiar hand gestures. Because it's not just my landlord and the pink kitchen that's bringing me down it's also..
My Mom 
For a woman who for the most part has nothing but good intentions she sure is doing a great job of unintentionally making me the most un-hip, out of style and un-appealing twenty something bachelor out there, at least to girls that is. Because ever since she heard I was moving out she has been dilligently collecting all of the most homosexual furnishings she can possibly find. 
I mean where on earth did this woman who gave birth to me get the idea that I wanted a hardwood dining table with white ceramic tiles on the top that have little bright pink flowers painted on them??? I mean I can honestly say that this table ties the room together and it disturbs me greatly.
But you see, she's got me between a rock and a hard place, and yes thats a cheesy expression, but she really does because, I have an entry level job. I can't afford to buy hip contemporary furniture. I'm lucky if I can pay my rent, buy a case of cheap beer and a couple boxes of hamburger helper a month. And while that might be a tad bit of an exageration, it takes nothing away from the fact that I have a pink kitchen with a matching decorative flower dining table.
But it doesn't even end there, this woman has bought me so many things for this apartment that just defy all logic. I won't get into them though because deep down I am grateful, and maybe I should just go all out and have an artist come in and paint cute little bunnies on the walls too.
So here's to my new apartment in Forest Park with the homosexual kitchen.