WTF? Fridays, Volume VI

Firstly, because Meghan refuses to post comments on websites, even after big, huge tributes in her own honor, I present to you her entry into the Luscious Challenge:

mgrandolfo: lord help me
MusicLvrDee: why?
mgrandolfo: i have to go get a check from the
evil candy man
mgrandolfo: with his chewy
mgrandolfo: luscious
MusicLvrDee: UH OH!
mgrandolfo: candy

Nice job, Meghan! I wasn't even expecting it! But you need to do a liiiiiittle better. I won't tell you who's in the lead, but the Muppet does have you beat at this point. You have a little over ten hours! Try again!

Secondly, IF YOU - as in all you's - DON'T BUY "Get Behind Me Satan" by The White Stripes, then...well, I was going to say "You're dead to me," but I love you too much to cut you off like that...actually, fuck it. YOU WILL BE DEAD TO ME if you don't buy it or at least listen to it. This is so fucking good, if you buy it and don't like it, I will personally send you an iTunes gc to make up for it. But I'll also completely lose respect for you.

I'll make it easy for you, my lovely, luscious iTunes hunnies: Love It Or Lose Me Forever
And for my lame, yet still dearly loved iTunesless compatriots: Don't You Even Fucking Dare Buying This Used.

All I have to say is "marimba," which is an instrument I have had the pleasure of rocking in my lifetime - with my own handmade mallets, the elements of which were chosen to fit my specific preferences and were fucking expensive as hell! I would get SICK on the rare occasions I rocked them hard enough to break them. We had NO money during that time period, and those mallet were an extravagance for sure! That's all I'll say about High School Band...at least, until I feel you're ready for The Story About "Guess That Breast," from The Band Camp Files.

Now for your eagerly anticipated WTF? Moments of the week:

The other day, in conversation with Meghan, who is at the tale end of her first sugar-free week (you're doing so well, girl!), she mentioned that the last time she went to Swingers, which was a personal fave of mine when I lived in L.A. for its AWESOME tuna, she detected that they might have CHANGED THE RECIPE. She said something was "off." WTF?!

Swingers is at the TOP of a very long list of Places I Would Like To Eat When In L.A. I have no idea how I'll even bear the thought of not being able to go there and order the tuna. What's the point of even going? WHY MESS WITH PERFECTION??? I'm so bummed.

Last night, at the end of the night, I found George in A/V when I walked in to see how he was feeling. He walked me up to my area so he could score some salty snacks out of the Nut Stash I control up here. Of course, the Nut Stash resides in the cubicle where The Temp sits.

George vetoed any of the Trailmixes because "I don't like raisins." WTF? Anyway, The Temp was present during our entire selection process and I was doing a very good job of ignoring his very existence, until I made a fatal error and presented George with one of the brand's latest offerings: Hot & Spicy Peanuts. I'm sure you know where this is going.

At first George protested, but I told him I'd heard they were very good, so he took them from me. This is where The Temp said, "Pop a hot nut in your mouth and you can't go wrong." WTF??? WAS I TALKING TO YOU? DID I EVEN LOOK AT YOU??? And he said it not once, but twice, as he says EVERYTHING, because he speaks so fucking LOW, he always has to repeat himself! First the Cashews and the Zinc. And now Popping Hot Nuts in One's Mouth! WTF!? Temp, how can I make this any more clear? You. Don't. Know. Me. Like. That. Shut up!

Last night there was a rumble on my street, and by "on my street," I mean, "Right under my wide open bedroom window." I was blogging and heard raised voices and other commotion. I walked to my window and was greeted by a sight seemingly right out of the ghetto version of West Side Story. About 30-40 teenagers, dressed in white or black exclusively, converging in the street and yelling at each other. A RUMBLE! ON MY STREET!

It was mostly girls yelling at boys to "Be a fucking man, huh? Why don't you be a fucking man, huh?" The rumble soon dispersed and my roommate and I went outside to sit with our downstairs neighbors on the stoop. I learned that "that side of the street, right down there, that's coke. And then that side of the street, near the phone center? That's coke, heroin, ecstacy, and things I've never even heard of. It's really bad."

WHAT. THE. FUCK. ?.
ARE YOU KIDDING ME???

I know my neighborhood is loud and full of heathens. I also know that the Superintendent, who lives one door down and, incidentally, was busted for SOMETHING last night as well (and has no teeth and apparently no phone, since I always see him on the payphone across the street), sells "cigarettes." I'm not naive. I know there are drugs to be found almost anywhere. Shit, you can get them delivered right to your front door. This IS New York, after all. However, I had no idea either ends of my street were known as WHERE ONE GOES TO GET ONE'S DRUGS OF CHOICE. WTF!

I really, really like my roommates. I do. You can tell by the conversations I posted last night that I enjoy them. However, I do not enjoy living in the ghetto, no matter how I try to rationalize it (convenience, cost, etc...). I won't be re-signing the lease in November.

Shit. AND WTF??