A Tip About Shopping In Williamsburg

If you are at one of those “organic” markets to get your hands on some sushi or free-range chicken salad, remember that it doesn’t mean you also have to pick up much needed toiletries there. You can wait to get stuff at the 99-cent stores, or you can wait till you get to a part of the city not secretly controlled by the green hipster mafia and get sundries there.

Don’t be like a certain alcohol-themed blogger who went into a place looking for sushi-to-go and walked out with ten dollar Kiss My Face Active Athletic Shower Gel. Ten dollars! What a rip! What kind of sucker picks shower gel without seeing how much it costs? Sure, it’s natural and was not tested on animals, but it costs 10 dollars! But it’s got muscle relaxant! That’s swell. The three-dollar Dial Body Wash had plenty of moisturizing to keep my skin from getting dry.

If you’re asking “Why don’t you be a man and get a bar of soap,” let me tell you this: If you want to lather up with something that feels like sandpaper and smells like monkey ass, knock yourself out. If you want a real bar of soap in Billyburg, hit the bodega or take the G down to Fulton Street and get thee to the Target.

So I guess the moral is, always see how much stuff costs before you buy it. But you should know that already. So remember kids: when in the ‘Burg, if you’re not down with overpaying for body wash, wait. Or else you’ll be out ten dollars for “aromatherapeutic” muscle-relaxing soap. If my skin starts to itch, somebody’s going to pay….

The more you know….

Does This Beer Make Me Look Fat?

If you have the pleasure of remembering my previous incarnation, from time to time, you’ll recall that I would share the depths of my narcissism with you, the readers. It’s a side I show publicly very rarely, and because I need an outlet for times like these when I fret about the state of my body, or my haircut, or the occasional stray nose hair.

Today I came to the conclusion that my abdominal region will just never be all it can be. Oh, it shows moments of progress, but it’ll never be as good as some people think it could. And I’m not crushed or utterly disappointed by it; that’s just the way things will be.

There are two solid reasons for this: First, I have always had a bit of an accordion-like stomach. It protrudes slightly even in the best of times and is highly expandable. It’s an asset if you’re a physical comic; my impersonation of Demi Moore’s classic Vanity Fair cover

is, after a deep breath, always good for lots and lots of laughs. But it keeps your abs from looking shredded. At that point the only way to prove that your core is rock solid is to take punches to the stomach. Not really feeling that, you know?

The other problem is that I like beer. And when I drink it, I tend to drink it in mass quantities. When you combine that with my midsection’s expansion capabilities, if the shirt comes off at an inopportune time, well, I’m going to look like I have a spare tire instead of the tightly coiled midsection I possessed before I first said the words, “Blue Point Toasted Lager, please.”

I’ve been trying to think of ways around that, but none of them are palatable. First, I’m not ordering wine at a bar. That is unacceptable. As Oklahoma State football coach Mike Gundy would say, “I’m a man!” A man who whines about the state of his gut, but still. “Sideways” did not make it okay for single men to ask “Hey barkeep, got any good chardonnay?”

I could go all liquor all the time, but liquor seems to often lead to frequent questionable hookup decisions. Not good.

(wait…)

So now, it’s strictly liquor for Well Whiskey Friday!* After all, they call it a beer gut, not a “gin-and-tonic” gut! Right? Yeah!

*exceptions will be made for: free beer events, when it is after three a.m. and I am trying to stretch out my budget, if that’s what’s left in the fridge, if I win one in a bet, bought for me by any cougars who care to make my acquaintance….

The Greatest Apartment Building EVER!!!!!

So three of my friends are about to move in to a totally awesome new building. Newly built, it’s got amenities like these. Okay, it’ll look even more god-damn AWESOME once the weather warms up, there’s water in the pool, and there’s meat on the grill. Well, if they’re not all pretending to be vegetarian to impress members of the opposite sex. (I kid!)

Understandably, they can’t stop talking about the new place, and you know what, bully for them! To get to a place in your life where you can afford a ridiculous apartment practically begging for coke-and-booze fueled orgies means you’ve made it! Makes me want to cry tears of joy for them if my atrophied tear ducts will allow it.  

Of course, it’s not all Champale and Worcestershire sauce in the world of double-dog dazzling luxury apartment buildings. They’ve had some unwanted tenants stop by, things may have gotten a little bit behind schedule, and there were some issues with the labor. No matter, it’s almost kinda close to ready to open, and my friends will be moving in soon. Good times and questionable decisions await.

But what I am really looking forward to is the gambling! I can smell the prop bets already! Over/under on what day is the cable guy actually going to show up? First person to spill a glass of wine? First nonresidents to have sex? First noise complaint! Over/under on just how much they are going to have to tip the doorman they will wear out by Christmastime!

Ah, the possibilities. Living in an apartment regularly featured on Curbed may only cost you $4,000/per month. Not living there but getting to watch the bawdy comedy gold that is guaranteed to ensue: priceless.