|WEEK IN CRAIG: OOPS, MY BAD! SHOULD I LEAVE A NOTE?|
So recently I packed up all of my earthly possessions into a 15-foot rental truck and headed out full of hope and cheer to my new home in Chinatown. The weather was splendid, we loaded the truck in a record-breaking three hours and nobody fell down the stairs with a 27" T.V. on top of them like last time (woopsies!). Everything was going swimmingly.
And then we left Brooklyn.
Now, I've known for a long time that God hates me. He's made no secret of that fact. But he certainly whipped out the big guns this weekend. To give you the short version of the story, let me start from the point right after which we got into the E-Z Pass Only lane (with no E-Z Pass) at the Battery Tunnel
First, a little background so, I've got this goldfish (if "goldfish" is the right term for a beast as magnificent as my little Juan Fujimoto). He is four years and seven months old. Speaks English fluently. Is an excellent dancer (loves Disco). And his skin is see-through (you can actually see his brain!). God, I love that fish. Anyway, you can imagine how after almost five years together, that fish and I are pretty close. And I'd go to great lengths to comfortably transport him to Manhattan. So, I hopped into the passenger seat of the truck with Juan resting contentedly on my lap in his SEALED fishbowl. Unfortunately, that seal proved no match for the bumps and potholes of New York City streets. By the time we arrived in Chinatown, I was covered in dirty fish water, Juan was a nervous wreck and the whole truck and I reeked of fishiness (which, thankfully, at least, fit in wonderfully with my new 'hood).
And of course, there's absolutely no parking on my new one-way street, and no way for cars to pass with the truck in the middle of the road.
So we decided that the best thing to do would be to park the car on top of a luxury automobile that was stationed at the end of the block. That's right: While attempting to "park" the truck at a fire hydrant at the end of the road, we may have, ahem, accidentally driven up on top of a very, very expensive automobile.
Thankfully, before the cops arrived, a convoy of no less than 800 members of the Italian mafia showed up on the scene, drunk, wearing tracksuits, animatedly alerting us to the fact that the car belonged to a member of the Chinese mafia, and that nobody saw us do it, and therefore we should just take off and never show our faces in my (ugh) new neighborhood ever again. You see the dilemma here.
The mafia guys then began arguing about how to get our 70-million ton truck off of the nice pretty little luxury car. But nothing worked. We tried going forward. Left. Right. Reverse. But no matter which way we turned the wheel, the truck just ripped more and more pieces off the car. And we still couldn't get it off. The two vehicles were literally locked into each other. And still no sign of the cops.
The mafia guys then decided that the best thing to do would be to lift the car out from under our truck. They bounced it. They rocked it. They heaved. But the fancy-schmancy little car was firmly embedded under our truck.
The little fucker just wouldn't budge.
Finally, a nice fellow named Vito stepped up and suggested that if we could get him a coat hanger and a screwdriver, he could break into the car in just a couple of seconds and we could pop the car into neutral and roll it out from under the truck. Or just hotwire it; he'd take it around the block and nobody would know the difference. A fine idea indeed. But unfortunately, nobody had a coat hanger and a screwdriver handy. Drats, Vito, foiled again!
In the end, the ever-speedy Chinatown police showed up, issued us a ticket and gave us the explicit instruction to "let 'er rip." So, gunning the gas, we drove off the top of the luxury automobile, taking half of it with us, flattening the tire and leaving the mangled, torn carcass of a very, very expensive car in our wake. "Yee-ha!," cried the mafia, with glee.
We then unpacked the truck in a new world record-breaking time of approximately 14 seconds (the panicked goal being to get the fuck out of there before the Chinatown mafia expensive-automobile-owner returned to kill us).
My life now is one big maze of cardboard boxes. I can't find any pants. I think I might owe a LOT of money for that luxury automobile. And Juan Fujimoto is STILL a nervous wreck.
The moral? Moving BLOWS. The only comfort? Not having to live with one of these freaks
I am a 24 yr female professional that is looking for a bit more excitement in my life. I don't mean chaos, I mean excitement. I am looking for three or four more likeminded individuals that would be willing to live together for the next year or so.
A bit about me: Vegan, non smoker, therapist, dancer, southern, short, bubbly, relatively neat, enjoys painting on the walls.
You: Artist, musician, professional, animal lover, nonsmoker, easygoing, enjoys music, good food, all that jazz...
I seriously do not want to pay much rent $450-500 tops. I am all about saving some money so that I can spend it on fun things that I enjoy doing.
Please email me if you are interested in getting a few people together for coffee or tea...and to talk about apartment hunting.
Honey, here's a hint. The rest of us already live in "the real world." It's not just a dream we're looking to fulfill. Not to mention the fact that traits that most people find terribly annoying (to intolerable) in a roommate are Southern, bubbly and vegan. And if I had a roommate who actually PAINTED on my walls, I might just shove a vegan nut loaf down their throat.
P.S. Good luck finding a place for $450 a month. Your sentiment about saving money to spend it on things you enjoy doing is just, like, sooooo sweet!
I'm an French student of 22 yrs old and i'm coming in New York for
a 5 month internship from april to august. I should arrive in NY at the
beginning of april!
if you want more information or some photos, do not hesitate to email me! or give me your number so i can call you back!
Oh mon dieu, you big hunky Frenchie! Oh, how I lust for your hot, shaved FRENCH (!) bodyyyy. Please be my roommate and my French lover. Il y a une fete dans mon slip et je t'y invite! Or something like that.
Male, Clean, Employed, Artistic, Friendly, and very active (Bikram
Yoga, biking, Roller Blading)Songwriter, responsible, and clean. Have
lots of friends, but won't be having them over all the time.
I like where I'm at now, and I love my roomies, buy my room is just too dang small.
Let me know what you got.
Now, here's the thing about craigslist ads. So often you read through a perfectly normal posting, and then you get to the end and BAM - there's a cartoon picture of a man that says "1 old Jack Tripper doll" with the caption "Come and knock on our door." What the fuck is wrong with you man? Seriously. What IS that?
If I had a coat hanger and a screwdriver and my name was Vito, I'd fuck
you up, man. I really would.