You don't have to go home, but you kant stay here

My life philosophy, to the extent that one exists, can be summed up thusly: "Follow the path of least exertion."* So, when I was deciding between California and NY, I was leaning towards the place with perfect weather and a better economy and a rent-free house all to myself, not because of any of those things, but because I wouldn't have to find a new place here. Screw the weather, going to look at apartments and moving all my stuff is so much work! (Yes, I knew I would have to ship all my stuff across the country and back, but for some reason I didn't count that as work.) Then I realized that when August came, I'd have to find an apartment in NY from California, and that would create an impossible list of duties for myself, and I would never get around to coming back, and I would never go back to college or see my friends again or stop blacking out drunk on the beach and I would end up dead from the world's most painful sunburn while waves gently lapped at my lobster-like ankles, and I would really rather die with a nice golden tan.

Rambling aside short, I'm moving about 10 minutes north and cutting my rent almost in half. Three cheers for last-minute moves in which I'll probably still be packing right up until I get thrown out of my apartment!

Scary thought: I'm moving into an apartment without DVR. There isn't even cable. I might actually have to go outside to entertain myself. This should be interesting...

*Also, "become a dirty ho in your early 20s," but let's pretend that's not true for a moment.

Just call me Dear Abby

For your benefit, I've assembled a short list of things that you should probably never say during an almost-threesome, unless of course you want it to be the most badass almost-threesome to ever happen ever.

1) [Guy puts on Led Zep a couple hours in]
Girl: Oh, I don't think so. I always put on Led Zeppelin when I'm masturbating. It might confuse me.
Guy: So if we ever hear you playing Led Zeppelin, we'll know you're playing with the little man in the boat?
You: What?! She hangs out with Ernest Hemingway?
[Silence]
You: Aw, come on, nobody? Old Man and the Sea?
[Girl and Guy sadly shake their heads]
Girl: No, we get it.
You: OK, maybe I'll stay away from the literature references for now...

2) Girl: Do you want to [do something sexual to me]?
You: The question really is, do you want me to [do something sexual to you*]?
Girl: Oooh, interesting. You just made me think.
You: Oh yeah, just call me Socrates, baby.

3) You: [laughing]
Girl: What are you thinking right now?
You: PRETZEL LEGS!

4) Guy: You did good.
You: Well.**

Now replace all of those You's with Me's, because naturally I said all those things.

Oh, right. By the way. That happened. Hey God, remember when I asked you to make my life go back to being boring? Uh, thanks for ignoring that?

*I'm not being coy here. I honestly don't remember what specifically she was asking.
**Here is where you can pinpoint the exact moment I realized that I take being an SAT tutor much too seriously.

The perils of having big fat pants on fire

Married (!) Roommate had her bachelorette party last night. I was talking to a cute guy at the bar when he mentioned something about his jacket getting stolen recently. My heavy winter coat was jacked a few weeks ago, so I commiserated with "Oh man, my coat was stolen at a bar last week!" It actually happened over a month ago, but my brain is so used to lying about small things like that that it just came out.

Cute Boy: Oh no, what did you do?
Dropout: Well I had to get home just in a shirt like this, which sucked, especially since it was in the middle of January. [Last week would've been the beginning of March. Not even close. I realized this and started to backtrack.] Wait... no, not January, or last week, but it was really fucking cold, and...

At that point I got dragged to the Latin jazz bar next door, since the group was following someone who they thought was will.i.am*, and I was too embarrassed about leaving on such a weird, pointless lie to give him my number. Some might say that's what I get for lying so indiscriminately to people, but to those some I say, "My mother was the last remaining princess of Moldovia, who the hell do you think you are?"

*It wasn't.

Bemused

My vote for the word that is most pointlessly confusing to me. Since nobody else gets a vote, congratulations 'BEMUSED' on your win! I never learned the real definition for years, so the only things I had to go on were context clues from books and what the word sounds like. What does it sound like? A mixture of befuddled and amused. This must mean that the definition is something like "amusedly befuddled" or "befuddled, but still amused enough to lift half of your lip in acknowledgment that something amusing is going on."

This was a decent working assumption, since it's half correct (it means befuddled, with no amusement necessary). Once I found out the real definition, though, it shattered my brain, because I thought everyone else shared the same misconception I did. So now whenever I run into the word, I can never tell if the person using it is trying to convey the correct, or "bland," definition, or has mentally imbued the word with more spicy definitional goodness. Because honestly, how can a word sound SO MUCH like "amused" yet not have a meaning at all close to it?

It isn't fun having to go through this debate with myself every time I see the word 'bemused,' but these are the things I think about.

So cheers, Bemused. I raise my glass bemusedly to you. Here's to hoping I never have to see your rat-bastard face again as long as I live.

Annie are you OK?

I'm friendly with a girl who has a super-cheap room to rent, so I got her number last night (score!) and decided to see the apartment tonight. I called her phone, and an obviously male voice picked up. I'm quick on the uptake, though, so I oh-so-smoothly asked, "Hi, is this Girl?" [Long, awkward pause.]

Guy, clearly not Girl, and clearly scornful: No, but she's here.
Me, quietly: "...'s phone?"

Yeah. Just call me a smooth criminal, baby.

Stuck between a crack rock and hard liquor

My lease runs out at the end of the month. Since Engaged Roommate is foolishly getting married (who would have ever expected that, with a name like Engaged Roommate?) and Blonde Roommate foolishly wants to live with someone who "occasionally cleans the kitchen," neither of them is resigning. I'm left with a few different options, but not many attractive ones, considering I have no job and can't afford to live anywhere nice like, for example, a place with all of its walls still standing. Main Option #1 is find somewhere really cheap and deal with the missing wall, perhaps by covering it with a large quilt. Option #2 is find someplace expensive and finance it by sleeping with the renter. Option #3 is move out to my parents' place in California until I go back to school, which is totally happening, I'm sure, because all the other times I've said I was going back to school turned out soooo well.

#3 looks the best right now, since the weather would be so beautiful I'd want to dry-hump the air every time I walked outside, I wouldn't have to pay rent, the economy is less shittastic than in NY, and my parents wouldn't be there for a few months. (KEGGER!) I've been thisclose to buying a ticket for a few days-sure, I'd have to leave my friends and various guys, but... money. And kegger! Today I started looking at everything I'd have to put in storage, though, and realized something that shook up my plans. If I left, I'd have to give away my most precious possessions: a buttload of alcohol and toilet paper. I just bought a 12-pack!

Screw California. Drunken old-man whoring, here I come!

[What's that? Where have I been? Fuck you, that's where I've been.]