As of 11:24 pm on December 20th Neal Bledsoe has not accepted my facebook friend request.
SEE! Awaiting friend confirmation. I’m kind of getting pissed off. But anyway…
A texting conversation between Lucky and I yesterday afternoon that sums this post up in a nutshell:
Lucky: How the eff did you get fecal matter in your eye?
Me: God, I hope that saying isn’t true. But I have no idea. I did some sketchy things this weekend so I guess that’s what I get.
So, the million dollar question is how did I get pink eye? Thanks to Knocked Up we all know that you get pink eye from someone farting on your pillow. Which absolutely could have happened this weekend. Here’s the part in the movie when the camera zooms in on my glazed puffy eye and rewinds through the entire weekend and starts to play when I am getting out of my car at Anthony’s apartment in the big city Thursday night.
(Side Note: How I Met Your Mother is my new favorite show, LOVE IT! It’s on right now. I am happy.)
I had my 3rd and final interview at XX University Friday afternoon. Fingers crossed everybody, I may have gotten a job on my own! So I did all that crap and Anthony and I decided to have a platonic date night, cause we’re just bff’s ya’ll. We went to a nice steak dinner, drank 6 bottles of wine, gave a homeless guy $50/Anth’s gym membership card after having an entire conversation with him making him swear that he would take the $50 to a strip club and make it rain, made questionably positioned snow angels on Anth’s rooftop deck, threw snowballs at people off the rooftop deck, threw beer bottles off the rooftop deck, had a weird dance party, and awkwardly passed out on the floor: me in the kitchen doorway and Anth under the coffee table. That’s exactly how I remember Friday night, too. For it was a celebracion for my maybe new job.
Around 8 am Saturday morning we woke up (because when you pass out like a drunken fool at 11pm it’s easy to wake up early), looked for some apartments online, and actually found one. I called the guy up and we had a nice little chitty chat about his condo for rent. The pictures were nice, like real nice, and the rent was cheap, like real cheap (not really, but about as cheap as you can get in the city without having bars on your windows and trannys in your hallway.) Because he only needs someone to sublease it for 8 months while he is in India on business. HOKAY mon, I’m your girl! But, as always, there was a catch. I had to interview with the association board and the association board is a bunch of old corporate lawyers and snobby housewives. The owner liked my style and gave me a few hints, “Tell them you love to work and that you just got married, they love newlyweds.” UHM. Both untrue. But lucky for me I had a hungover Anth in tow to be my faux hubby.
Like any other Gizzy-Anth outting we had to drink before we went to the interview that evening. Like all day. The plan was to go have a few bloody mary’s to get rid of our hangovers/get our levels right so we could chat it up about our new marriage and make it believable. Which turned into a whole day of fun. On our way to the interview we came up with the brilliant plan to really play the part and stopped for this little gem:
Apparently drunk+association board interview=engagement ring. Ok, not really… it was $4.88 at Forever 21 but it tricked the board and my mom. I thought we really impressed everyone when we entered the building with our arms linked singing, “Hi Ho Hi Ho off to work we go ba dum dum dum dum dum dum hi ho hi ho hi hoooooooo!!!!” And we even did a little musical stance at the end of the song like we were on Broadway, which was really me standing arms in the air with the gayest smile ever plastered on my face and Anth trying his damnedest to get traction on the marble floor, because alas we were doing all of this in the snow. I am completely serious. It’s a shame Anth and I are sexually repulsed by each other, we make a great team and would be pretty much the coolest couple ever, but the thought of having sex with him makes me want to strap down my boobs and sew up my vagina.
I was pretty shocked at the questions the association board asked, I guess when it comes to people’s lively hood nothing is off limits. They asked us about children, pets, drug use, our careers, education, alcohol use, the stability of our relationship and the relationships with our family, hospital visits, and jail visits among other things. We were drunk so of course we answered the questions like jack-tards and told them he likes to beat me but only when he’s high on crack, then I curtseyed when we left and literally dove into the backseat of a cab and yelled, “Onward march!” Ok yeah, I’m a little embarrassed now. But, they totally loved us.
Or at least I thought they loved us and knew we were joking until I got this Christmas treat in my inbox this afternoon:
I received this from the association board this afternoon. Sorry, good luck on the rest of your search.
Dear Mr. T,
We the board acknowledge your efforts to lease your apartment for the duration of your extended stay overseas. However, we ask that you take careful consideration of the candidates you select to bring to the board as possible tenants, and how they will interact with the lifestyle and temperaments of the building’s current tenants.
Your most recent candidate selection of Mr. A and Ms. G has alerted our attention that you may not be taking the tenant selection process as seriously as once promised.
We uphold the highest standards of elegance and class here at A Lot of Nuns House and prefer to have tenants who can not only respect the association board and our policies, but also the other building tenants, their privacy, and right to a peaceful place to live. Because of these reasons and after careful evaluation, the board has elected to deny tenancy to Mr. A and Ms. G, as we feel they would be better suited elsewhere.
We wish you the best of luck in your selection process and look forward to meeting with future tenant candidates that you wish to proceed with for further evaluation.
A Lot of Nuns House Association Board
Hrmmph…Sorry for partying.