Archive for hippies

Well, I’ve got rolling down

Posted in inapropriately long posts with tags , , , , on April 10, 2009 by thedith

On Saturday night/technically the wee hours of Sunday Morning, Upstairs-Clapton told me he’d teach me how to skateboard on Monday.  Then, Monday came.  I was too busy doing important stuff — i.e. sitting in a cafe in the Mission, under the auspices of writing cover letters, but really just carrying on like, 5 gchat conversations at once — so I wasn’t home for most of the day.  By the time I got back to my apartment, it was somewhere in the vicinity of 6pm.  Luckily for me, centuries earlier, Benjamin Franklin came up with this concept called Day Light Savings time, so it was still light enough outside to go skateboarding.  But, after suuuuch an exhausting day, did I even want to go skateboarding?  I was thinking no.  Was Upstairs-Clapton even home? I had no idea.  But I did have the idea that a post-nonwork nap was sounding pre-tty enticing.  But then again, if I didn’t go now, would I ever want to go? With these dueling thoughts racing through my mind like a couple of Mario Kart characters, I made a pact with myself.  If I received a sign that Upstairs-Clapton was indeed upstairs, I would go ask him to skateboard.  If not, hellooo, comfy bed — oh, how I have missed you!

Immediately following this pact, I heard a crash above my head, and a hacking cough that sounded like the early stages of tuberculosis. Fine.  I would go confront Upstairs-Clapton for skateboarding lessons.

Throwing on a hoody and some converse — a girl’s gotta look the part, I cautiously crept out of my apartment.  Looking both ways, I stalked up the stairs with the stealth of a ninja.  No, really, I did.  In fact, it wouldn’t be a lie to say that I was pretending I was a ninja.  Why? Okay, let me ask you: what do you have against ninjas that you WOULDN’T pretend to be a ninja while going up a flight of stairs?

I knocked on the door, and waited.  And waited.  And waited some more. Ooohkay, guess he’s not coming, can’t say I didn’t try! Hellloooo comfy bed! Then, the door opened.  A crack.  A furry head, and a furry bare chest wedged itself in between the door and the wall.

“Oh, hey, girl.” Oh wow, of all the annoying things I had remembered about Claption from Saturday,  the tendency to call me “girl” had totally slipped my mind.  I think they call this repression?

“Uh, hey.”  I answered. A long pause followed.  “Sooo, are you ready to go skateboarding?” I think I pumped my fist for extra awkward emphasis.

“Ohh, riiiight.  About that…sorry girl, but my engineer came by today, and we had to lay down some tracks, and now I’m about to go to Berkeley to visit a friend.”

“Youu jerk,” I said in a playful way, but was only about 65% joking.

“I know girl, but work comes first.  Hey, I know…what are you doing tomorrow, girl?”

“I’m actually hanging out with a friend tomorrow. What about Wednesday? I’m not joking, I’m really serious about learning how to skateboard.” I am!

“Oh, Wednesday’s no good, girl, I’m going to Portland for the weekend, and I won’t be back until Sunday.”

Okay, well now I was growing indignant.  I had just marched stalked all the way up an entire flight of stairs (okay, 8 steps) to learn how to skateboard, subjected myself to a conversation with a half-naked hippy neighbor, and now, after all that I wasn’t even going to learn how to skateboard?!

“How about next Monday? We’ll raincheck for next Monday, okay, girl?”

“Eh,” I shrugged.  I was already over this exchange.  Clapton vanished into his apartment for a second, then reappeared with his skateboard.

“Here, you can practice on this while I’m gone.  Learn how to balance and stuff.  Be careful though, don’t break any bones, girl.” He laughed.  Uh, great, thanks for the skateboard? I thought about pushing it back at him, but seeing as how I’m actually really serious about learning how to skateboard, I took it.  But not without a warning.

“Okay, Monday then.  Thanks,” I took the outstretched skateboard, “I’m taking this as collateral.”

The skateboard has been sitting in my room ever since.  Because, like, what? What am I supposed to do with it? We live on top of a hill so steep there are steps built into the sidewalk.  I cant just roll around on our street.  No, I’d have to go to a park.  Where I’ll be laughed at by 10 year-olds as they popped ollys around me just to make me jealous.  No, I’d have to wait for an instructor.

But then today came, and I decided to teach myself on our back patio.  I hit my head on a pipe.  Yeah, you probably shouldn’t try to skateboard underneath pipes.

Also, here’s a random blog: Fuck Yeah! Ryan Gosling. The premise? Ryan Gosling’s your boyfriend and he says “hey girl” a lot.  Like, a lot.

Buckle Your Seatbelts, It’s a Doozy

Posted in Weekend Wars with tags , , on April 6, 2009 by thedith

Sooo Here’s how it happened

This weekend was a good weekend: my money stealing roomate was out of town.  If you’re new to the whole Roomie Madoff saga, I’ll enlighten you in another post, but for now, just know that she’s ripping me off — and I’m not happy about it.  Feeling in a festive mood because we’d have the apartment to ourselves, The Good Roomate really wanted to have a tropical cocktails party. Unfortunately, someone had stolen her phone 2 weekends ago, so she only has like 5 phone numbers in her phone: some High School friends and an Indian Hipsterboy who she’s on the fence about,  and some  30-something- year-old Brazillian businessman who she’s desperately avoiding.

“Should I invite our neighbors upstairs?” Good Roomate mused aloud.  Feeling social, I replied yes.  I had never met one of our upstairs neighbors, an elusive dude whom I had never seen, but often heard.  You see, he’s a “professional musician” i.e. he’s unemployed and spends his time playing the guitar and singing all the Beatles songs found on the “I Am Sam” soundtrack.  Earlier in the week, Good Roomate, née Caitlin, expressed the desire for one of us to hook up with our wannabe Clapton, because “it’d be really funny.” A statement  I  had to agree with.

Our neighbors weren’t home, so Caitlin left a post-it note on their door to come hang out with us. Despite calling Slumdog Hipster, our only guests were Caitlin’s friend Ferrah*, and her  boyfriend, Gavin*. At one point, Ferrah started to feel tired.
“Want some of my ADHD medicine?” Caitlin asked, pouring more champagne into her grapefruit juice cocktail.
“Uh, sure, why not.” Ferrah shrugged her shoulders. Caitlin came back with a little pink pill.
“What is this?” Ferrah asked.
“Dexatrine. It’s an amphetamine.”
“Ohhh no! The last time you gave me one of these I was up for like 2 days!” Ferrah pushed the pill back across the table.
“That’s because that was a slow release one. This is a fast-release one. it releases all the amphetamine at once so it only lasts for like, 4-6 hours.   Don’t take the whole thing — here, split it with Meredith.” Caitlin broke the pill in half, and that’s how I ended up accidentally on an “amphetamine” last night — but half of one, so it doesn’t even count.
“Here, Gavin, take one too. I hate ADHD meds, I’m trying to get rid of them.” Caitlin gave The Boyfriend a pill too.
“Can you snort it?” He asked.
“Uh, I guess…” Caitlin laughed. We all laughed. We thought he was joking. He was not. He snorted the ADHD medicine off of a kitchen cutting board. This didn’t go over too well with his girlfriend. Then Good Roomate and I felt kind of guilty.   But, what’s snorted is snorted, and we poured ourselves some more champagne, and all was right in the world once again.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. it was upstairs neighbor. He introduced himself as having some name other than Eric Clapton, but I quickly forgot it. He was not cute. And yet — and yet, I still thought one of us should hook up with him. Why not me? Yes I can! I thought. Maybe Good Roomate did too, maybe she didn’t.  But in my head, we were in silent competition for like, a good 3/3-and-a-half minutes.   But then, as we were walking down the street, Caitlin randomly saw her ex boyfriend walking down the street with a swarm of Fratboys — faded somewhat from their college glory years, but damnit if they didn’t think they were dressed like kings (poped polo shirt collars, topsiders, tucked in shirts…)! Oh man, it was awful.*
[*I told this story to Mel  over gchat today, and at this spot in the story, she replied, Melanie: girls got needs]

Sooo Caitlin beelines towards the Brooks Brothers, jumps in a cab with Prepdog Millionaire and his friends, and is like “meet us at Toooooniiiicccc” as the cab pulls away.
Me, Ferrah and her boyfriend, and Clapton did NOT want to go to Tonic, so we just kind of watched the cab pull away, shrugged our shoulders, and walked down the street to another bar.   At this point, I’m kind of grumbly because now I’m STUCK with the neighbor, and realize he’s sooooooo boooooring. Like, SO BORING. HELLA boring. At one point, he told me that he’s part Indonesian, part Chinese — and that was the most interesting thing about him. (“How about you? what are you?” he asked. “Uh..” I responded. “You’ve got some Native American in you, I can tell. That’s cool, I can dig that.”)And I start to realize, there are like a million and 1 other DTD reject guys who i could totally make out with, if only I had better thought through my schemes! But alas, I was trapped. So then I just looked forlornly into the Blue Moon Clapton bought for me.  Then, Ferrah starts falling asleep in the bar, despite the “amphetamine”  we took earlier.  Meanwhile, her  boyfriend is like, SO psyched on life after snorting the same amphetamine . And me? I’m just bored.

So we all leave, and I decide “fuck it, I’ve come this far, might as well hook up with the neighbor,” and I’m pulling all the best seduction moves:  leg touches, eye contact, compliments, charm, wit*, laughter — you name it, I tried it.
[*Melanie: hahaha wit]

But Clapton’s stuck in his hippy reverie (he’s like, high-Matthew-MccCaughnehey-playing-the-bongos-naked hippy, okay?) and we even go up to the rooftop, and he literally just wants to talk about how he does yoga and looks at the stars. and I have to hear about surfing, and skateboarding, and guitar playing, and everything being “hella chill”. and then I realize, not only is he really boring, he just sucks! In fact I kind of hate him. He’s all kinds of Norcal awful. He’d say stuff and I’d literally roll my eyes. I wanted to be like, ‘shut up, just DO me!’ except he’s wasn’t even attractive, and hello? I meant metaphorically.  Sheesh, who do you think I am? Once the novelty of hooking up with the neighbor wore off, I realized ‘hella’ is not even a real word, and he does yoga on the rooftop while “absorbing good vibes” from the neighborhood children at school? At this point, I said I hate children (sooort of joking of course) and he got offended and that’s when I realized: I really DO hate him. he’s not funny. He’s boring. He’s not cute, He’s not even a good guitar player. But I AM going to make him teach me how to skateboard this week. Seriously, though. I hate him. He’s boring.

*Sometimes I change names until I get the o.k. otherwise