godtoldmetokilltheenglish

gaetan & julien are in troubles with mr. heck and miss herley.

So, yes, I’ve moved to San Francisco.

Can we talk about that some more? Sure. But first let’s talk about packing up our old place first.

Let me tell you how not to pack. If you work until eleven pm, do not not NOT start packing at that point. Don’t keep packing until 3am. Why? Seriously, how is this a bad idea? You’re getting things done, right?

No. Well, I mean, you are.

But what you’re also doing is fucking with your future self. Because tomorrow morning, you’re going to wake up with three days left in your current place. You’re going to stumble to the kitchen, get a bagel out, toast it, and realize you have NOTHING to eat it off of.

You could have eaten directly out of the toaster. Because, I mean, at least it’s something. It’s not the counter, right? You haven’t yet sunk that far. But no, that’s crazy talk. Remember the burning.

So you end up eating it off the floor.

Brewing the coffee takes place in the sink.

But there aren’t any FUCKING CUPS.

I want you to imagine my head submerged in a sink full of coffee while my hands fumble around for the cream cheese to put on the stupid fucking Floor Bagel.

At that point you’ll have a pretty good idea of what last week was like for me.

nathan j. laney

i've made a huge mistake.

So, the landlord at the new place is having some of the windows replaced. The window guys show up, and they are most certainly not the guy I was speaking to on the phone. One barely speaks English and the other guy only speaks (or chooses to speak) Chinese of some kind.

I open the door, they look at me, look at my bare feet, and immediately begin taking off their boots, all the while glaring at each other. It is a good 3 minutes before anyone actually responds to my “Uh, hi” greeting.

After 10 minutes of slow translation (the non English speaker is the only one with any actual INFORMATION) it seems like they have five pieces of glass, but no idea where to install them. The estimate is for more, so we’re trying to figure out what other work needs to happen. The landlord isn’t answering is his phone.

So, after that, they leave to go get the glass (probably). After ten minutes, the buzzer rings. I ring them in, but after a few minutes nobody has actually ENTERED THE APARTMENT, so I go searching for them. They aren’t in any of the rooms, so I run downstairs. Their truck isn’t outside.

I go back upstairs, do another loop, and find five pieces of glass. They were NOT there when I left the apartment.

Fuck my life.

n.j.l.

you're a real details man, aren't you?

what was mistaken for closeness was just a case of mitosis.

When I asked some friends, “WHAT IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS HOLY SHOULD I MAKE FOR DINNER?” during a particularly heavy case of indecision, here is how they responded:

Ed: “Butter.”

Alida: “YOUR FACE.”

Alissa: “Jesus will satisfy you.”

Y’all creep the shit out of me, you know that?

n. j. l.

fourth fifths of the wesabe engineering team in car accident, much yelping.

HERE’S A STORY ABOUT THURSDAY.

We were driving back from lunch in Brad’s car when this fuck made an unprotected left turn in front of us. All of sudden the car is filled with smoke and air bags and bad smelling stuff. Sam lost his shoe for a little bit.

We get out and we’re in the middle of a fucking intersection. I swear to God, the first thing I remember was this woman driving by slowly, saying, “You guys were in an accident!”

THANK YOU, MISS HELPER PERSON.

The driver of the van was this fat guy wearing the tshirt of a really bad 80s Marvel comic (I instantly hated him even more for this) and when I asked him if he was okay, he covered his face with his hands and his first words were, “I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS IS HAPPENING.” He was that guy.

How do these people find me?

He then told us this could not happen at a worse time and that he was moving to South Dakota next Tuesday. “Not anymore, you aren’t”, was my response.

Before we parted ways, I looked down at his stupid Marvel Comics tshirt, looked back up at him, and said “Secret Wars sucked, by the way.”

May not mean much to you, but for me, it was for the win.

So we move the car to the side of the road and we’re standing there while Brad talks to his insurance company. Then, this guy in a clip on suit and tie (yes, a clip on suit) walks up and says “You guys were in the accident?” and I look at the fucked up car and say, “Well, we were in that fucked up car.”

He hands me a card that says “Enterprise Rent A Car, Branch Manager” and says,”If you guys need a rental, I’ll hook you up.”

You don’t get to be Branch Manager for nothing, I guess.

The boss now won’t let us drive anywhere.

Hope you’re all well.

n.j.l.

everything he ever wrote was just a love letter in disguise.

Issue 5 of Slash Magazine is on newstands 03.01.2007.

It’s appropriately titled “The Comeback Issue”.

It includes more drivel from this writer. A piece I wrote in 2005 that I really barely remember. But still!

BUY IT.

I’ll be more frequent with output. I promise.

I still love you. Really, I do.

n j l.

The company bathroom.

Sitting on that toilet makes me uncomfortable.

i have known terror dizzy spells.

The Family Christmas photos, 2006.

These were taken earlier this month. I’m still incredibly amused by how impressively broken my dog looks in these photos. For serious, I can’t stop giggling whenever I look at them.

Did I mention that I quit O’Reilly a few months ago? I get to have conversations like this now:

I’ll attempt to entertain again soon, I promise.

n j l.