Welcome to Midtown West

I was in front of MSG this morning when I saw a woman vomit on herself, leap to her feet and, in what may have been a language but I suspect was simply gibberish, angrily chastise the vomit on her sweater.

I can't think of anything to add. Though I'm pretty sure the Dow just did roughly the same thing.

Houston Street

I was walking East on Houston St. yesterday when I was unwittingly involved in the conversation happening between a middle-aged couple next to me:

Woman (to Man): "No, seriously, you're not listening to me..."
Man (cutting her off, indicating me): "Now there's a guy with great complexion. Look at him. Lucky bastard."

No gas

Our gas has gone awol for the time being.

Sage Advice

Subway chef (on phone): Fuck you too, you fucking bitch.
[Hangs up the phone]
Subway chef (to us): Never get married.

Al, we need to talk.

I like that the best way to get in touch with Al is to spray paint a message to him on the side of a construction site. That would make meeting girls awkward:

"So, Al, I'd love to see you again, what's your number?"

"Actually my phone isn't working right now. Tell you what, take this can of spray paint and, if you need anything, just hit up the corner of 98 and Lex."

The Language Barrier

It has taken a week for me to discover the language barrier. You can make it in SpaHa with only English because most people speak both Spanish and English, though it is another story when your super speaks neither.

We ran into a small problem the other day where our locks weren’t working so well. I was lucky enough to catch the super in the hallway and confront him with my issue. I tried using hand gestures and keywords that I thought may work though all attempts failed.

After countless failed communication, our super muttered something Slovak sounding then fled from my room. Puzzled, I figured I would wait till my roommate returned to duplicate his key.

No more than three minutes go by and there is a knock at my door. I peer out our peephole to find our super standing there with thick-framed safety goggles and an enormous power saw.

Hmmm….

So after opening the door, an exchange of the universal "man" nod, he let that saw rip into our lock. Calmly, I made my way to the living room to avoid the mini fireworks show of sparks in our hallway.

A few more minutes of sawing go by, followed by another set of nods, and our super was gone. Our lock works great now.

Thanks Zulja.