Monday, April 25, 2005

living with a prostitute is fun!

out of all the responses we got to our craigslist posting, we chose a guy named jason. now, normally i believe in preserving the privacy of the people who i encounter in my life, but this particular individual abdicated his right to that when he dicked us out of $3000 in rent.

jason, whose surname is the same as what you call person from the from the sticks in multiple, is from west virginia. or ohio. the story changed every time he told it. i mean, he was actually born in ohio, which we only found out with certainty when the cops handed us his birth certificate. but i'm getting ahead of myself.

we had gobs of people come through, of all stripes. there was a blonde actress from the midwest who was turned down precisely because she was a blonde actress and we already have one of those. there was the young israeli guy fresh from the IDF, working in the defense office of the consulate. um, there was way too much knowledge about taking over and monopolizing small spaces at the expense of others right there. wall, fence, we didn't want it running down the middle of our apartment. there was the frat boy from staten island just fresh from his MBA. 'but like, it'd be cool if my buddies came over and we watched the game and stuff, right?' it'd be fine if your friends came over and watched the game. buddies? not on our couch. there was the guy who said yes the moment we opened the front door. 'just wait till my friends find out i'm living with three girls! you're really a model?' sorry man, just gave it away.

then there were the people i wish we'd given the room to. max, the dutch dilettante who just wanted to drink wine and snuggle. who cares if it was with his boyfriend? he was pretty. there was dan, the wag from HBO who still very sportingly sends us invites to his comedy show, after we turned him down because we thought he was too... nice. the guy from canada who couldn't get his visa sorted in time to come see the place before he needed to move in, but turned out to be great fun over drinks. (i should probably call him back.) the girl who was nursing a hangover from a yeah yeah yeahs show at the bowery the night before and complimented us on our record wall. sigh.

instead, after some mild disagreements about type and some bargaining among the girls, we went with our man jason. he is short, with skin that looks eerily plastic, a la joan rivers but sans all that shine-deflecting base. his forehead is high and tight and unnaturally pink. his lips are perfectly plumped. he has that affection for gel styling that leaves his hair looking thin between the clumps. his eyes are deep set. one could call him handsome, although i wouldn't knowing what i know now. he saunters in... is this the A-P-T question mark? we giggle. what a funny guy! how very clever! wow! he nods, looks us up and down, and says fabulous, i'll take it.

we fall for him instantly. he's gay, we say. thank goodness, we can walk around in our underwear and not worry, just like we wanted! it was still warmish then, and we had very little inkling of how poorly the radiators worked. he said fabulous. every will and grace cliche is running through our collective head. we're going to love him. we just know it. we'll all drink wine and watch beaches together. it will be wonderful. we're such suckers.

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