It’s so great to be back in the Bronx. I’ve moved into my apartment with five other girls, and everything is just ducky. But as you might expect, with so many females in one space, there needs to be some type of basic structure to prevent the estrogen from causing an urban sonic boom. For the sake of my personal sanity, I’ve thrown together an easy little set of apartment rules. Boogie Down style.
1) I have this rule for insects in my house: it’s cool if you want to come in and hang out quietly, but if you pester me all day and then poop on my walls, I will murder you with my bare hands. This same rule applies to people.
2) There will be, at all times, absolutely NO VOMMITING EVER. I really must have inherited the Neanderthal group-vomit instinct, because I can’t even think about throw up without feeling nauseous. I don’t care if you’ve just gotten back from the bar, and you’re in the middle of a 5:00 am, full-mouthed sprint to the bathroom; you better decide very quickly in what ways you will prevent me from seeing, hearing, smelling, or ever knowing the existence of the projectile that is about to be launched from your gut. Good luck with that.
3) They say home is where the heart is. Wrong. Home is where you can walk around naked without judgment or refusal of convenience store service. Thus, I hereby reserve my right to frolic publicly in the nude three times weekly and twice a day on Fridays and Saturdays. And of course, I’ll take the Sabbath to rest. I hope none of this makes you uncomfortable…though the more awkward you feel about it, the more fun it is for me.
4) The day has not begun until I have consumed at least two caffeinated beverages, and sometimes a beer, depending on what day it is. Until the ingestion occurs, I awake to the excruciating feeling of my head squashed beneath the force of a fat lady perched atop a bolder. I’m not saying you have to make my coffee for me, but the sooner it gets done, the shorter the line of fire is for you.
5) Things will be much nicer if our opinions of sports cooperate, so I’ve taken it upon myself to jot down our collective views:
• Yes, we live in New York, but we don’t deal with this Jets/Giants bullshit. We aren’t overly enthusiastic about football, so we visibly root for the team whose supporters are most likely to like us for appreciating their team, but silently cheer for the Patriots.
• We enjoy a good Wizards game here and there, but when it comes down to it, we only really care about college basketball. Our 2007 March Madness bracket was bangin’, by the way.
• Okay, we miss the Paul O’neil days, and these past couple seasons just haven’t been our years, but we still feel passionately for the Yankees. This is the Bronx, after all. We will watch the Twins and the Mets, but only for a leisurely thrill; it doesn’t matter if they win or lose. And we will tolerate the Phillies, if only to appease our friends from Philadelphia. Those motherfuckers are feisty at times, plus Chase Utley is kind of the man, not going to lie. Perhaps if Bob Costas ever becomes commissioner, we will take a more serious interest in baseball.
• On the other hand, forget all that. We are girls. Let’s just watch America’s Next Top Model and call it a day.
6) As an enthused fan of nearly all tonal pleasures, I tolerate music of most varieties. Yet, there’s something about Nickleback that makes me want to impale my ear drums with ice picks and bleed out the pain. Second place on this list goes to Linkin Park, followed in third by K.C. and the Sunshine Band. Although ironically, while drinking, K.C. and the Sunshine Band temporarily becomes my favorite musical act of all time.
7) Secrets, secrets are no fun, secrets, secrets, TELL ME RIGHT NOW.
8) Finally, dirty underwear that ends up on or near my bed, yet don’t belong to me, will neither go unnoticed nor unpunished. I happen to know that laxatives in your Bay Breeze cause rather unpleasant side effects mere hours later when you’re out with your boyfriend. Thus, please clean up your laundry, or stick a cork up your butt hole and prepare to face the fire of my vengeance surge forth from your bowels.
It’s not straight out of Better Homes and Gardens, but I think this set of guidelines can keep our little deluxe Bronx apartment in the sky a quiet, civilized environment.