Bachelor Pad!
One night a week my gal pal has evening classes, meaning that for a few hours after I get home from work I am able to do whatever manly thing I want. Finally, some time alone to let the man inside me (eww) come out in full force. So what do I do on these nights? Do I buy a steak, take my shirt off, crank up the pornography and practice my farting? No. In fact, so far my nights have been anything but those things.
Since classes just started, this is my second Bachelor Pad night of the year. Here is a recap of my first two.
BACHELOR PAD NIGHT #1
Last week my bachelor pad night started strong. I picked up some dinner and when I got home I was planning on watching Moneyball. Ultimate dude stuff… just as long as the fact that my dinner was generic frosted flakes is overlooked.
I got home and start preparing my mandinner when, out of nowhere, the largest cockroach that’s ever lived on this planet darts across the counter and into my sink. I’m sure you’re thinking, ‘You’re in New York now. This must be common place.’ It’s not. This was my fist cockroach, and he was the size of my fourth-grade music teacher. So, as any mature adult in this situation would do, I starting screaming profanities, all the while trying to trap this gigantic bastard under a plastic cup as he scattered quickly around the sink. While I ended up breaking the cup, I did not end up breaking the cockroach. He swiftly climbed out of the sink (which in itself is repulsive) and jumped to the floor. There he took immediate shelter under the small ledge between our floor and counter.
He stood still at that point. So did I. It was your classic Brooklyn standoff. Now what? I knew I had to kill it, and to avoid the years of therapy that I would need if I got a napkin and felt this midget crunch in my hands, I decided to put a shoe on and stomp the hell out of it. Unfortunately his positioning under my ledge made it impossible to tell where he was when I approached him, and after stomping hard on the area where he originally was, I came to find out that he escaped. Where he went, I’m not sure. But he was gone.
I went to the living room to go over my options.
Option 1: I could just leave the apartment and come back the day that we moved out, which at the earliest would be the summer of 2013. But I could find stuff to do until then. It’s the city that never sleeps.
Option 2: I could call the police and they could take care of it. NYPD doesn’t have that much to do, especially at night.
Option 3: I could call the landlord to come over and kill it. He’s a tough bald Russian guy, so it wouldn’t be embarrassing at all.
Pretty soon it became clear that my best play was to get some roach spray and douche my apartment in it. So that’s what I did. I got some Raid, sprayed the kitchen, living room, bedroom, bathroom, my body, my throat, all of the girlfriends jewelry and perfumes, and every piece of fruit we had (I’m kidding… we don’t have fruit). I bugproofed the apartment, and all it took was a $10 bottle of raid and 17 years off of my life expectancy after breathing in an abundance of toxic roach spray.
After that was done, I sat in the livingroom scared to death of the kitchen, and refused to get up and walk around in fear that the huge bastard would be around the corner looking to wrestle. BACHELOR PAD!
BACHELOR PAD NIGHT #2
Fast forward to this week and here I am. It’s Tuesday night. Bachelor pad night. I’m a 30 year-old man trying to relax after a hard days work, and I can do whatever I want. That being said, what was I doing before I starting blogging about how depressing my Bachelor Pad evenings are? What was I doing the one night where I am allowed to do whatever I want to in my apartment? Laying on my couch, wearing my pajamas at 7 pm (6 pm cst), eating Valentine’s Day heart candy, which is my desert after a hearty dinner of Capt’n Crunch Berries, and watching the second season of Lifetime’s breakout reality show Dance Moms.
not a joke
BACHELOR PAD!
