Friday, December 26, 2008

Happy Festivus!

Every year, come December, my summer glow long faded, my pallid yellow complexion tends to blend with the winter/holiday blues and my skin starts to look greenish. Not Forest Green, not Envy Green, but more of a....a Grinchy Green. Could it be that year round The Grinch is just The Asian? It's something to consider.

This year was no different. With my year end lime grinchy coloration I packed my bags and headed on the NJ Transit back to my hometown for the holidays. While on the train, I reached down in my bag for my book and got stabbed in the eye with someone's roll of wrapping paper. They were on to me. Down with the Grinch! Give her eyeballs wrapping paper cuts! Nevertheless I made it home and immediately locked myself in my room, put up a miserable Facebook status, and took a nap, hoping I would wake up and find out I've slept through January 2nd. Instead I woke to my blackberry buzzing: J sent you a facebook message. Its subject header was "SOS" and its body read along the lines of, "Being home sucks. Scoured facebook to see who else was home and also seemingly as miserable as me. Found you. Come out and play." J., The one person I who wouldn't mind misery as his company and wouldn't attempt to get me back in the holiday spirits. We could jinx each other everytime we said Bah Humbug in unison!

Text reply: Ok hold on. Let me see if I can borrow my mom's minivan.
J: Tell her there will be parents there and I'll have you home by 11.

Proceeded to get quite drunk and things seemed to look brighter. Was my skin sunshiney yellow again?

Got home not too late. Tried to act sober in front of mom. Noticed HUGE Hickory Farms gift basket out of the corner of my eye. My mom told me it was a Christmas gift to her from my brother. Oh how nice I replied. I eyed the foot long stick of smoked beef, drunk and hungry. My mom said she doesn't eat beef and said it was all too much for her and that I could bring some home with me. Eyes starting to cross, saliva escaping the side of my mouth, I no longer could mask my drunkeness. I looked at the beef longingly. "C-c-can I? Have some now?" My mom being the generous mother that she is says of course, help yourself, and left me alone with the basket, I'm certain, no longer able to look at the sad sight of a daughter she had raised. Too lazy to go to kitchen and grab proper utensils and a plate. Searched mom's room for scissors for the plastic wrap over the meat. Found boxcutter. Momentarily thought to self: Should not be operating boxcutter in this state. Total fleeting moment. Sent brother text: Thanks for the Hickory Farms butthead! Great drunk food! Love you!!

Perhaps Grinches just need to be fed. A stick of beef and some cheese washed down by vodka does the trick!

Wednesday, December 24, 2008

Merry Christmas Eve!

I asked for a $1000 dollar gift card from Barnes and Nobles and all I got was a measly $100 from my brother. Bah Humbug!

My palm Christmas tree with The Grinch ornament. Very fitting.

(Just kidding, Rich! I love you!)

Tuesday, December 23, 2008

Congratulations Carr!

Congrats on your engagement, Caroline and Justin! So excited for you two! And of course, we're looking forward to another bachelorette party! Ibiza '09!

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

I have great friends

I was having a rough day over the weekend and my good friend, Tim, brought me flowers and chicken soup. How sweet is that?

Tuesday, December 9, 2008

Christmas Wish List 2008- Cont'd

Gahh!!! I want him!!

Who's a proud Auntie?

My nephew, Logan. The little cutie mcpantster.

December Resolution

I decided on December 1st that I wanted to lose 10 pounds by the end of the month. Ten pounds in 31 days. That's feasible. I figured, why wait till New Years? Here are the reasons why not:

1) My boyfriend is in much better shape than me and that is not OK. He gets up at 5 am to run and workout. Meanwhile I'm usually just getting back from the bars at that hour. I will not be the fatty drunk girlfriend.

2) None of my jeans from last year fit. Quite frankly, they were very expensive jeans and I want to get back into my Skinnys before they go out of style.

3) The sooner I heal from my knee injuries the better. I miss doing activities that involve my knees. Get your minds out of the gutter, I was talking about running, hiking, snowboarding, and kickboxing.

4) I'm considered overweight by my Asian relatives.

5) I will take any excuse to walk around the locker room naked.

So far, I lost 1 pound. And then I gained 4 when I weighed myself at a different gym location. Today I'm back to the 1 pound below starting weight. Does that mean I lost 5 pounds? Either way, I have 21 days left to get to my ideal weight. Before and after pictures to follow!

Monday, December 1, 2008

Christmas Wish List 2008

It's that time of year again! 25 days left to buy me a present! Remember, the following is just here as a guideline:

Christie Martin Necklace $105

Daisy by Marc Jacobs Eau de Toilette $57

Barnes and Noble Gift Card $1,000

Sephora Gift Card $25

A Blender (any brand really)

Pagemark Dictionary With Booklight $39.99

Hair Dryer (any brand)

YOU on a Diet Book $20

Snowboard bindings (small, preferably black) boots (size 7, preferably black) goggles (black or white)

Personal Training Package at New York Sports Club

This is all I have for now. Will add more if anything comes to mind!

On Being Nina

"You're like a non famous, less scary Edgar Allan Poe. You write drunk in a small dark room all by yourself." - Anonymous friend.

On Living Alone

Today, I drank milk straight out of the carton for the first time in years. In the span of five minutes I had consumed and imbibed a glass of wine, a cup of green tea, mixed nuts, 1 Hershey's kiss, and salsa. A completely balanced meal of a girl living on her own.

Not into games

Does anyone understand the concept of the Animal Crossing: City Folk game thingy by Wii speak? I don't get it. So what is it? You call your girlfriend while you're both playing this game and you talk about all the imaginary things you're doing like "shopping" and "watching fireworks"? And this is designed for women? So like when I call my girlfriend that I haven't talked to in weeks or months I would much prefer to skip all the real stuff and talk about my pretend video game life? So confused!

Sunday, November 30, 2008

Finding Joy in Other People's Joy: A New Concept

While sifting through the New York Times this morning, the Weddings/Celebrations section caught my eye because there was a pretty Asian bride in the picture. I wanted to see more pictures. Who is this girl? Why does her wedding get a write up? It's common knowledge the write ups are mainly of people whose backgrounds and education make you feel completely inadequate in comparison, furthered by their meet-cute rom-com with the happy ending, but I was in the mood for a little ego kick in the butt today. (Sometimes the ego just needs to be in check). While browsing Karin Fong's story, (OK, yeah, it was pretty cute), I noticed the header for Caroline Tiger and Jonathan Dunsay's wedding. It read:

The couple were wed on Nov. 8, in Philadelphia at the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts, proving that a long-distance relationship can work.

The part that said "proving that a long-distance relationship can work" was what caught my eye as I am in one myself, my first serious L.D.R. As I read their story it turns out she was inspired to write a book, The Long Distance Relationship Guide, after an L.D.R. that hadn't worked out. Her following quote had me laughing out loud:

"Making an L.D.R. work requires a good cellphone plan, wrinkle-free clothes, humor and an unshakable belief that there is only one person in the universe for you."

I have yet to find a resolution to my packing issues. 1) I'm still not convinced I can last 3 days without 8 pairs of shoes. 2) All 20 of my outfits for the 3 days need to be ironed. I do have unlimited calling with T-Mobile, although I never have reception.

Anyway, I found Caroline and Jonathan's story so cute, her anecdotes witty and funny, that I decided to go out and buy her little guide today. See? I'm not just a bitter little troll who's only moments of joy are derived from schadenfreude. I can be moved by a stranger's happiness. That's it. No sarcastic comment to follow.

The Standing Pants

My mom was constantly nagging me about my messy bedroom when I lived with her. She said I never put anything away and was always yelling at me to pick up my clothes off the floor. She would joke that you could tell where I removed my clothes because my pants would still be standing in its upright position, as if they were waiting for me to just slip my legs in the next day. This morning, after a very late night, I rolled over in my bed, looked at my floor and saw:

My pants standing upright with my boots still in them. It almost looks like midget pants.

Friday, November 28, 2008

Thanksgiving 2008

When I was younger, like 15 or so years ago, I was always labeled as the baby, the bratty one, the moody one, or whatever other label associated with the amalgam of being the youngest, being female, and being self- absorbed and self-fish. Over the years I'd like to think I've matured a bit, at the very least become more tolerable at the dinner table. At Thanksgiving, I've learned that I've accomplished neither.

This year, Thanksgiving was held at my brother's new home in North Carolina. It would be the first time he's hosted TG dinner for the family, as well as a first Christensen TG ever. Since we've moved to the States 18 years ago, it took our family a few years to get up to speed on the American holiday (what is up with all the ugly Turkey decals on the store windows?), and another decade to really give a shit about participating in its festivities. Each year we typically housed hopped separately, me, most likely with the family of the boyfriend at the moment, my mom, having a stir-fry and a cackle fest with her Asian Alliance friends, and Rich, was, I don't know, where was Rich? My friends and past boyfriends have always been so welcoming to me at their dinners, but after years of feeling like the random Asian orphan at the dinner table, I was just tired of making polite table conversation with someone else's Grandma. I didn't want to pretend I was enjoying playing I Spy with all the little cousins at the kiddie table. I didn't want to politely offer my help in the kitchen, where I have no business, and definitely did not want to offer to help clean up afterwards. I wanted to be somewhere where I could eat turkey, mashed potatoes, and stuffing, and immediately lay on the couch afterwards with my hand in my pants. I had hoped for all of this at my brother's.

Thanksgiving morning, with massive hangover, we watched the Macy's Parade, and then I quietly slipped away, back in bed, when I heard the pans being brought out. An hour later I woke up to the sounds of vacuuming, rolled over, shut my eyes as tightly as possible, and forced myself back to sleep. A couple hours after that, I woke up, absolutely disoriented. Is it Friday? Had I completely missed Thanksgiving? I better go downstairs and find out. I found my brother outside with the deep fryer for the turkey completely set up. The house was spotless. I turned the corner of the kitchen hoping everything was already cooked and ready to serve. I saw my brother's wife and asked in my best fake sincere voice, "Do you need any help? Did I miss it?" She looked at me incredulously. Obviously, I had missed all the cleaning and setting up they did. Unfortunately, I had woken up just in time to help cooking. Shitballs! "What do you need me to do?" I said in my most unconvincing how can I help voice, trying my best to hint at the strong undertones of, "I really, really, would prefer to do nothing." Again, no such luck. "Which would you prefer to make," she asked,"the pumpkin pie or the yams?" Well, neither really, I replied, but since yams are gross, I'll make the pie. She pointed me towards the pie ingredients. I asked her if she realized that pies only go for about $6.99 at the supermarket and that they're rather tasty. Especially in comparison to the time and effort it takes to make one from scratch, and the finished product that I would have been able to produce, despite my best efforts. She ignored my reasoning. In a span of 30 minutes I went from blissfully sleeping on my brother's futon to being in charge of making the pie, yams, and mashed potatoes all from scratch. She handed me a 5 pound bag of potatoes and said, "Peel." I was elbow deep in potato peels when I said, "Hey look, ha ha, I feel like I'm in the army now. Stuck with potato peeling duty." She looked over at me as if to ask me why I wasn't wearing my helmet, not amused, answered, "We don't do that in the army." Right. OK.

I've always been convinced that I'm rather intelligent, smarter than everyone, actually, but if my IQ test was based solely on my kitchen skills, I am, in fact, a certified retard. I had dropped an aluminum can top into the pie mixture, and didn't realize it, until my mom, being her usual meddlesome self, decided to take a stir. I would add milk to the mixture and then 2 seconds later forget whether or not I had added milk and added more just in case I didn't. I would bring the mixture bowl closer to the trash can so that when I finished cracking the egg I could quickly toss out the shell without dripping a trail of whites on the floor. Instead, I got momentarily distracted and cracked the egg in to the trash can. I would whine about how much faster and easier it would be to peel the potatoes had they bought genetically engineered potatoes as opposed to lumpy, pocky, misshaped, organic potatoes that come a fourth smaller.

Adding to the list of my incompetence in the kitchen, including the incident during my last visit when I wound up getting guacamole on their ceiling, is my incompetence in life in general. The proof being the destruction I continue to cause to their only 4 month old home and its contents. During dinner, two nights earlier, I managed to spill my red wine all over their table, rug, and of all places, their wall. Once again, I stood staring at my destruction, dumbfounded. The day before that, I was sitting on their couch, petting their adorable new kitten, when she decided to projectile vomit on me and all over the couch and carpet. "What did you do to her?" my brother's wife immediately asks, not at all disguising her accusatory tone. I was just petting her! I swear!

Aside from being forced into kitchen labor by my brother's wife, I have to say this was my best Thanksgiving dinner yet. I was with all the people that I love the most in the world. I didn't have to make stupid small talk. I didn't have to pretend that I didn't mind helping out. I didn't have to force down an extra helping of Aunt So and So's pie, just to spare her feelings. (My mom sat in front of my pumpkin pie for close to 30 minutes. Rich's friend finally took it away from her and said, "just because your daughter made it, doesn't mean you have to eat it"). After dinner, trying to carry some of the weight, I told them, it's OK, I'll clean. Everyone looked at me, surprised. I, too, was surprised that those words had voluntarily left my mouth. "Who am I kidding," I reneged, "Mom will clean." As I looked around the table, at the way everyone was looking at me, I realized I had been given a new label. I had become that guest. The one whose company you may have missed while she's away, but completely exhausts you while she's around, and you just can't wait until she leaves, so that you can put your valuables out again.

Meet The Christensens

The boys, the turkey, and the deep fryer. Instructions on deep fryer read: If not assembled properly, explosion may occur. Before lowering the turkey, my brother said, "You may want to step back."

Hello Kitty at the parade to promote more Asian viewership.

The Spread

My pumkin pie, a striking resemblance to Lexie's cat food.

The Carnage.

Time: Immediately after dinner.

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

I'm Stupid in 3 Languages

At Jamba Juice:
Me: Hi, I'll have a Tall Mango-a-gogo.
Jamba Juicer: I'm sorry? This isn't Starbucks.

Sunday, November 16, 2008

Effective Pep Talk to Self

Walking home from Penn Station with $3,000 cash, 400 dvds, and a bag stuffed full of ramen:
Ok, Nina, today is NOT the day to get mugged.

Sold the Jeep!

I watched the new owner drive away with her today and my eyes welled up.

I'm gonna miss her.

Saturday, November 15, 2008

Drano Chronicles

Drano failed me.
Pulled hair out of drain with wooden chopsticks.
Looked like a small animal was killed in there.
Almost threw up.
Am shaving head.

Friday, November 14, 2008

On Living Alone

Start noticing shower draining slowly.
One month later. Drain fully clogged.
Debate calling maintenance to snake. Decide against. No time to clean apartment. Too embarrassing.
Another month goes by. J visits. Suggests Drano.
Three days later. Buy generic Drano at CVS.
One week later. Drano still sitting in plastic bag in corner of room.
Decide enough is enough. Take Drano out of bag. Drano leaked all over bag and hands.
Rub eyes.
Read label. Keep away from eyes and skin. Eyes burning.

Woke up to the sound of maintenance guys radioing outside my door.
Static. Static. "Yeah I'm on the 7th floor. Yeah I smell that. Don't know where it's coming from," says Maintenance Guy, outside my door.
Cower in bed. Blankets pulled up to eyes. Hope no one wearing a gas mask breaks down my door.

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

On Being Nina

Me: He's coming over tomorrow and I haven't cleaned my toilet. (Meanwhile, I'm still at the bar at 3am downing Patron).
Brit: Oh, girl, whatever.
Me: You know what? He's gonna have to love me, dirty toilet and all. (Chug. Chug. Chug).

Friday, November 7, 2008

I <3 NYC

"I can't afford to live alone right now and there's no way I'll live in a borough."

Tuesday, November 4, 2008

Election Day!

So excited I could almost throw up! Or maybe it's the 2 king size bags of M&M's I've already gone through already. So nervous! I can't stop eating!

So on my way to vote this afternoon, if I was at all undecided, which I wasn't, I heard a voice from above. It said, "Hey pretty mama! You gotta vote Obama!!" Huh? Is God hitting on me? I looked around and saw it was the infamous Times Square street rapper, Dr. Geek, sitting on a plastic can, rapping in his mic to me. Thanks Dr. Geek! I was more sure than ever!

Monday, November 3, 2008

Weekend Soundbites:

Me: They must have been drinking. It smells like old man farts in here.
Michele: Is that different from black man farts?
Me: All I know is it smells like my dad's farts and that's very different from a young white guy fart.
Michele: I love you.
___________ _____________ ______________

Tim licks my finger for some reason.
Me: That's lovely and all but you do realize I just put in a tampon with that finger right?
___________ _____________ ______________

Me: I'm a writer.
Guy: A ride-ah? What's a ride-ah?
(Not sure when I started talking like Tony Soprano).
___________ _____________ _______________

Sailor: Where can we go at this hour?
Me: There's an awesome 24 hour McDonald's on 28th and Lex.
___________ _____________ _______________

Mary: Did you ever figure out what the rotting garbage smell was in your apartment?
Me: Yeah. It was rotting garbage.

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

Rain brings out the worst in me

Whether intentionally or un-, on this gloomy, wet, freezing day I further contributed to today's misery. Typically, I'm on the short end of the misery stick, the victim of Mother Nature's wrath, resulting in soaked through white dresses, forgotten or inside out umbrellas, and getting splashed by street water while trying to fight the soggy masses for a cab.

Today began slightly differently for me. I didn't have anywhere in particular to be, aside from the gym. I wasn't in a hurry. I wasn't wearing my favorite non-waterproof suede boots. I didn't mind being wet because I was just going for a swim at the gym. La la la. I may have even sung in the rain. As I got out of the subway, rain blowing sideways, black umbrellas in my face, people huddling under awnings in my way, I was a bit disoriented. I didn't recognized which subway exit I had emerged from, I didn't know which corner I was standing on. A girl approached me, "Excuse me? Excuse me? Is Broadway that way," she asked, pointing to my left. There's nothing I hate more than looking like a tourist in Times Square. I've been going to this gym everyday for 3 weeks now, of course I know where I am. I look up at the sky as if that's where the answer lies. "Um," I answered, "I thought this is Broadway," pointing to the street we're on, looking around for signs. "No," she said, the audacity of the Blind being annoyed at the Blind, "this is Seventh Ave." Ok, well, Ponce De Leon, if your goddamn inner compass is working all of a sudden, you don't need my help, I wanted to say. But I looked up at the billboard, looked at the M&M store to my right and I concurred, "Yes, yes, it's that way," pointing in the direction she was already walking in. I turned the corner, walked about ten more steps, and realized I was walking to my gym that's located on Broadway, in the opposite direction. Shit. What a dunce. I turned around and debated running after her to tell her, it sucks to be walking around lost in the pouring rain, but she was already gone. Ah well. Off to my swim.

After the gym, on the W train back to my apartment, when the doors opened at 34th St, there was a large seemingly homeless black lady bent over on the platform. First, I was like, "Wow, that's a large woman." Then I was like, "she really shouldn't be those brown leggings." And then I realized she was standing on the platform, all 180 lbs of her, with no pants on, and her underwear pulled down. This has no relevance to the story I was telling. I just thought that was really crazy.

Back in my apartment, I was going to begin my detox today, but I wanted to go for a swim again tomorrow, and I knew I was going to be drinking and eating a lot for Halloween so I decided to postpone the fast. On this cold and rainy day I thought this was the perfect day to order a soup from Hale & Hearty, only 5 blocks away! I looked on the site and what's the soup of the day? Broccoli Cheddar Mashed Potato! My all time favorite! So I happily clicked away, putting the mega sized soup in my shopping cart, and settled in to my couch to watch Californication while waiting. An hour later, the delivery man arrived, his full body poncho completely drenched, 6 heat-saver bags of deliveries weighing down his shoulders, and I grabbed my soup, tipped him a dollar, and wished him a great day.

While walking to the elevator, I realized that that was rather shitty of me. The guy's probably got a million deliveries on this nasty day and I pick today of all days to be cheap. Ah well. I always order from there. I'll get him next time.

I got in the elevator anxious to get back up to the seventh floor so I could dive into my soup when I heard footsteps running and someone yelling, "Hold the door!" I pressed "7" and jabbed my index finger as fast as a could on the "Door Close" button and was thoroughly satisfied that I had achieved my goal of slamming the door in this stranger's face. On my seven floor ride, I reflected on my day so far and thought, "My, I've been quite the little rain troll all day." It seems perhaps I've had to sacrifice other people's happiness for me, for once, to have a good day on a rainy day. That I'm willing to do. (Smug smile).

Monday, October 27, 2008

My Boys

About two years ago my boyfriend whom I was living with broke up with me (for the 20th time, mind you). I was tired of being homeless, couch surfing, sleeping in my best friend's parents' basement, and most of all, tired of waiting for him to come around and realize what he was missing out on. I was working full time in New York and I really couldn't be that girl anymore. You know, the girl who came to work with all her bags, wearing the same wrinkled shirt from the day before, with swolen eyes that were always on the verge of tears. Yeah. Freak. Your job really doesn't give you time off to get over your breakup and pull yourself together, unlike in college when I skipped town for a month, and drank a year of my life away, after being given the boyfriend pink slip.

So I began the apartment search which was pretty scary because I spent all my "emergency money" on Pier 1 furniture for his apartment along with a new pair of shoes per week. What was "affordable" in New York was an eighth of what I had in Jersey. As desperate as I was to find an apartment, the roommate seekers whose ads I answered were equally as desperate to find a roommate to fill a spot. I didn't want anyone thinking they were going to get "that girl", you know, the one that comes with all the drama of a recent breakup filled with lots of crying and screaming on the phone, but some of these people were just Drama Uncensored. "Please move in. God, rent's due tomorrow and I can't afford to pay mine and hers on top of my child support and my school loans and medical bills. That fucking bitch had to go and get arrested. God, I told her not be prostitutin' in front of the apartment." Yeah. I'm sure a little crying in my pillow was the least of her problems. I looked at a place at the last stop on the B train in Brooklyn, that felt like a longer commute than my bus ride from Jersey, where I would be living with 3 gay guys, 2 of whom were strippers. I was going to look at another apartment but the landlady warned me about coming out there by myself after dark. Ummm, no thanks! Another apartment looked quite lovely except I would be sharing the place with 2 roommates and the "rooms" were separated by makeshift dividers. Goodbye, Sex Life. When I walked out into the stairwell there were beer bottles everywhere and clothes strewn all over the stairs as if someone had just literally thrown their lover out. Psssh. Poor sucker. Don't know what that's like!

I was just about to give up the search and camp out outside my ex's until he realizes just how awesome I am and how he can't live without me when my girlfriend, whose apartment I was squating at in Hoboken, suggested I try looking at some places in Hoboken. No way, I said. Nuh uh. Hoboken's soooo not me, I declared stubbornly. She told me I needed to find something and that someday, call her crazy, she'd like to be able to use her couch again. She looked up some listings on craigslist and found one that was just a couple blocks away and it had only been posted the day before. Call him, she said. It sounds nice.

And so, I reluctantly got on the phone and called the person and while he didn't sound all that excited to hear from me, he said I could come look that night, in like 5 minutes. My friend, Caroline, came with me, just in case the guy was crazy and decided to capture me and hold me prisoner in his love lair, but mainly for moral support. That was when I met Andrew, a 30 something opera singer who I presumed was gay and therefore "safe", who didn't sound all that excited on the phone or in person because he had just put his cat to sleep earlier that day. Gay and sensitive! I took a quick look around the place, a second floor walk-up with 3 bedrooms and 1 bath, and it was by far the nicest place I had seen so far and it just felt cozy with the scent of vanilla lingering in the room. (Andrew told me later he lit the candle to hide the smell of his animals, a dog, a cat, and a snake). I felt completely at ease in the 5 minutes of talking with Andrew, I got the "he's a good guy" vibe from him, that I called him the next morning and asked if I could take the place without having met the other male roommate (which I found out later that they thought I must have been crazy and desperate).

Everyone else thought I was crazy too for answering an ad and moving in with two complete male strangers. I'll admit, desperation did lead to irrational decisions, but these two guys turned out to be the best roommates I've ever had (besides Kate and Shavaun but they're my best friends). I felt completely at ease with them, like I had known them for years, and I learned that living with guys is waaaaaaay better than living with girls. You don't have to deal with passive aggressive drama (i.e. "I guess I'll do these dishes since they aren't going to wash themselves") and they know to leave me alone when I don't feel like talking whereas girls would ask you what's wrong until you end up hating them.

Of course, it wasn't all rainbows and butterflies all the time. At times I felt like I was living in a frat house, but worse, and those things took getting used to, like the infamous time Andrew's drunk friend burst into my room at 4am and mistook my closet for a bathroom. (I got a lock after that). Coming home at 7pm after a long day at work was always an adventure. I never knew what I was going to walk in to, whether the guys would be completely annihilated and calling strippers to come over, or if they would just be on the couch watching My Super Sweet 16 on MTV. I once came home to find everybody passed out and the entire living room (floor, couch, etc) was covered in popcorn. Yeah. Picture that. Or the time I came home and there was a tattoo table set up in the living room and Andrew was layed out on in, face down, "getting some new work done." Or the time I was happily typing away in my bedroom and come out to find that they had converted the living room into a makeshift bar, stocked with ice, glasses, and every possible liquor, so that Sergio can practice being a bartender. Or the numerous times I would be woken up at 3am by the sounds of their impromptu house party fully stocked with ugly troll bitches and guys playing the bongos, guitar, and piano all at the same time.

As frustrating as some of those nights had been, the good times we had far outnumbered them. Andrew and Sergio were always there when I needed them, whether if it was a shoulder to cry on, an ear to talk off, a drink to be bought, or just someone to sit on the dirty smelly couch with and not talk to at all. They helped approve my date outfits, gave me boy advice, always told me I could do better, all while trying to convince me to become a stripper.

Moving out (after getting an amazing deal in Manhattan that I couldn't pass up- Midtown with a doorman and an elevator!) was one of the hardest decisions I've had to make, but as some of my friends advised, "You're not in college anymore," and it was time for me to move on to the next chapter in my life.

I texted Sergio last night to say hi and ask how the new roommate was and he replied, "She doesn't clean. She doesn't get with us. It's like you never left."

Sigh. I'll always love them.

(Pics from one of my last nights at the apt).