I want to make something clear. Crystal clear. I am in no way obligated to write this post, and it's not being written under duress. And also Taryn totally didn't hold a knife against my throat today. Or any other day. That never happened. With that in mind, I present to you the top 5 reasons Taryn is better than your girlfriend.
Number 5 - She cleaned my kitchen! I thought that this was impossible. I'd made two solid attempts, and while I did chip away at the skyscrapers of pots and pans, more took their places later. In about an hour or so, she totally cleaned it and it now looks fantastic.
Number 4- She did a crapload of laundry (dammit! I forgot to hang up that last load - I TOLD YOU!). Now for those of you who know me in real life, you can stop wondering why I keep wearing the same shirt every other day. For those of you who know me REALLY well in real life, you can stop wondering why I'm wearing the same underwear every day.
Number 3- Two manicures in 8 days! The silver nails are back and I'm psyched about it. She does a really good job too. The first manicure even involved a hand massage, which was really pleasant.
Number 2- I have someone to watch the O.C. with! My friends are generally individuals with excellent taste. However, none of them like the O.C. except for my brother Devon. There's nothing sadder than me lying in the theater alone sobbing because Marissa and Ryan broke up again. Man... I get all misty just thinking about it.
Number 1- Not to be anticlimatic or anything, but I can't think of any more reasons. Taryn's a cool girl with some hardcore looking tattoos, but really she's just a teddy bear. She lied about getting in a knife fight and I totally believed her. Maybe that's reason number one.
Anyway, she's moving to New York and wants a live in boyfriend. I'll vouch for her being awesome at cleaning and stuff, and I'm sure she's a demon in the sack as well. How can you go wrong with that? If you're in New York and can make a mess for her to clean, comment and she'll get in touch with you maybe.
The only thing that puts me off about you is that manicure thing you do...I guess i'll just have to accept it...But it still puts me off.
I've really been disappointed by the OC recently, i would say like the last 2 weeks have been really bad and i have really low expectations for the next weeks (mainly because you cant make much but shit from shit.) I think my favorite season so far has been the 2nd season, it had the best combonation of not sucking at life and being fun.
hahahahah wow. i seriously just laughed out loud. what a great post..i think this is your finest work Ty. Dont forget that i actually went out and BOUGHT that stupid book with you in it. 32.95! thats some hard earned money right there. But it will forever more be our bible in this house. I cant wait for the OC again!
She is always welcome to stop by in Denmark and check out our kitchen :)
What is O.C.? I can guess it some kind of TV program, but what more? Is it about the life in tropical aquarium or about something else?
Normally I'd be very hesitant to write about a celebrity - especially one who trusted me with her personal life by moving in with my friends and I. But... this is Courtney Love, so anything's fair game. Just kidding.
Actually I don't have a moral objection writing about her because I have basically only good things to say, and also because similar stories were already published in The Game: Penetrating the Secret Society of Pickup Artists. In case you missed the How I Became a Famous Pickup Artist series, The Game is a book which chronicles our adventures, written by the literary mastermind Neil Strauss, who was also a roommate at the time.
Mystery and I were in New York preparing to be on Good Morning America. Ultimately we didn't get on because Mystery's flamboyant character and dress offended the conservative and frumpy program director, and they canned the segment at the last minute. Neil was asked to write a story about Courtney Love for The Rolling Stone. He had never met her before. As Mystery and I waited for our workshop to begin we got a call from Neil. He had forgotten his tape recorder and wanted to know if we'd bring it to him.
Where is Linda?
Everyone looks for Linda at some point. Linda might be a set of keys, that girl from the bookshop or a switch blade with the worn but reliable handle. Eventually, you have to find Linda, no matter what. Last week I was looking for a literal Linda.
There are many things about working for a huge multi national bank that give you a sense of deep foreboding but the most vomit inducing one would have to be the atmosphere. Everyone acts like they spend their weekends caring for their frail grandparents rather than scouring Redtube and investing in hedge funds. On the surface the atmosphere is one of unrelenting compliance; where people are veritable pious process drones. No one speaks unless absolutely necessary and even when they do, they keep it as concise as possible in their huge effort of efficiency. Most of the time I'm too numb to notice what is happening in other peoples matrix inspired fuel cells, but every now and then I can't hep but enact my own form of morale building corporate sabotage, as it were.
Last week, I needed a book because in the Viper eyes of a bank it's an imperative that everyone understands how prime brokerage works, even if you don't have anything to do with it. Linda has said book. She coverts them, in the Hannibal Lectur sense, trawling the corridors with shawl and chain, handing out text books and selling pink gin. Linda needs to give these books to people to fulfill a pivotal aspect of her important job. I need this book to appear more engaged in my job because there is every chance they will continue to pay me if I insist on showing up. Linda sits on level 2 where one of the militant arms of management sit. I sit on level 1. I need the book and she is up there. I need it from her, she doesn't need it from me. You understand the predicament. I go to level 2.
Because I'm a Gen Y'r I decide I don't need directions. I use IM to ask Linda where she sits and she tells me she has her back to meeting room 2C13. If you work at a bank, this number means something to you, the eccentricities of which you, dear reader, have no interest in. So, I go to level 2 and find said meeting room. There appears to be about twenty people "with their back" to 2C13. People embody the banks culture perfectly on level 2 and no one speaks as if they were channeling Japanese samurai who themselves were fiercely applying the laws of Bushido. The tension rises every minute no one needlessly speaks. This whole situation, rather than giving me an erection simply makes me start to sweat. I really don't want to speak right now but I also don't want to have to come back here with slightly better directions.