Wednesday, October 31, 2012

This Wasn't Supposed to Be My Living Room

No but sir, there must have been a misunderstanding… This wasn't supposed to be my living room. My living room was going to be outfitted exclusively by Ralph Lauren and Lilly Pulitzer. There would at least be a luxurious sectional couch and two papasan chairs from Pier 1. (You know the big “bowl” chairs? I’d have them recovered in a sensible Lilly print.) Yes, that flat screen above the mantle was a gift from my generous boyfriend. He said if I want to pursue a job as a TV actress, I should watch plenty of TV, and it should be in HiDef! …Oh, well, no… That TV right there isn’t high def. We found it on the side of the road… But the price was right! No, you’re correct; there’s no way that TV could be high def cause it’s from 1994. The ratio of side to side is equal to that of front to back; yep, it is a BAMF TV. (That would be BIG-Ass-Mother-F#&$#r; not Bad-@$$-Mother... You get it.)
       1) I have concluded that it is best not to identify a certain standard that could be defined as one’s “lowest point,” because, as we know, the threshold of this point will most likely be broken through, probably with as much gusto as Michael Phelps broke through the world record of gold medals won by an individual at the 2012 Olympic Games.
       2) The above sentence was most-likely a run-on.
       3) I am writing on my laptop, which is propped on a bedside-table-turned-desk, sitting on a pile of dirty laundry as my makeshift chair.
       4) I absolutely adore my roommate, Carolyn. Together, she and I combine to form about three quarters of your stereotypical, WASPy frat boy. Which we all know is a LOT safer than a full-fledged frat boy – am I right? This is because:
         a. When it comes to hygiene, we’re pretty golden. And if we haven’t showered in a period of time that is socially decent, you certainly cannot tell (special thanks to Proctor & Gamble for products like Dove Deodorant and Baby Powder, to mask the time passed since last shower.) This is a strong force in making up the ¼ of us that is still pretty female.
                 i. I actually just looked that up for shiggles – P&G makes neither of those products: it just sounded nice.
        b. Carolyn doesn’t love to do laundry, but if you combine that with my obsessive laundry tendencies, we come out as an average suburban housewife, which also keeps us at a whopping ¼ female. c. But if you assess our kitchen… The Frat Star comes out. I mention this because I just made a bowl of pasta (the empty dish is sitting next to me on this glorified “desk”) and as I made it, I became strongly aware of just how much she and I can sometimes live like… well, a bunch of dudes.
                i. The “pasta” I made was Kraft Mac n Cheese without the cheese sauce. Oh I won’t even pretend it’s sauce – it’s crappy powder, and we don’t even have any milk to make any semblance of powder sauce.
                ii. I also refrained from the “sauce,” because the expiration date on the box was May, 2010. We acquired four boxes of this Mac N Cheese from our neighbors, Josh and Amanda, who took pity on us when we went through the dark days of living without a refrigerator: They’re newlyweds and Josh’s grandmother gave them a bunch of “newlywed food” as a gift, and they’ve since started eating healthy (real) food and luckily found a few street rats upon whom to bestow it.
               iii. After the pasta cooked, I threw it in the colander, which was nowhere to be found amongst the cabinets… And then I looked in the sink. Oh, what do you know: it hadn’t left its post since the LAST bowl of Mac n Cheese we made. How convenient. There are other dirty dishes in the sink, but here’s the beauty of it: neither Carolyn nor myself could care less. Is that because we’re both auditioning all the time, everywhere, and don’t have time for menial concerns like dirty dishes? No. No it is not. It’s because… We just don’t mind dirty dishes. If a Squalor Monster crawled out of the sink, yeah, we’d be concerned. But we’d probably call and complain to our crazy landlord, Steve, before actually taking responsibility for it.

So I started this piece off with a set of facts, because I have recently learned that a list of facts is a very effective way to communicate with people. This was most recently demonstrated to me on Carolyn’s birthday, when we went to Which Wich for lunch and seeing the wall of art on the backs of the baguette bags, I decided to add some to my bag. We all know that I’m much better with words than with images, so I started writing, and composed the following:
 1) Today is Carolyn’s birthday.
 2) We are broke as a joke.
 3) Carolyn was born 23 years ago today.
 4) Did I mention how poor we are?”

 It just so happened that the manager was behind the cash register that day (his name was Ankur; I made sure to snag that bit of info from the Sandwhich Condiments Chick) and long story short: he rang up our two sandwiches, two drinks and bag of chips at a total of five dollars. I stared at the screen for a moment and muttered, "Did you just do what I think you di-,”
 “Shhhh…” he cut me off, “I was paying attention to facts 2 and 4…”

Happy Birthday, Carolyn.

 On to fact number three, the one about this desk being A DESK FOR ANTS.
(no but really, my legs are perched on the bottom shelf of this nightstand, because the stack of laundry sits so low that my knees are up higher than my waist- OK I’M NOT GOING TO TRY AND EXPLAIN IT because regardless of how articulate I am, you’re all going to be trying to reenact what I’m saying in order to better understand (not because you’re that devoted to understanding my situation, but because it sounds like such a cumbersome position that you can’t help but try and see if my words actually make sense) Bottom line: I’m hunched over. This would be a lot easier if I had, oh… a couch? Nah – too luxurious. A chair, even. But no, the furniture in our living room consists of space, air and atoms. Is there hope for the future? Only time will tell. And by “time,” I obviously mean “street shopping and maybe dumpster-diving.”

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