As I wrote before, apartment hunting in NYC is a terrible, terrible, most terrible experience.  I learned that again first hand this week.

I’m not sure what renting is like in the rest of the world, but things move quickly in the NYC apartment game (I feel like a total tool for writing something as lame as “the NYC apartment game”, but fuck it – I’m really tired).  For example, on Tuesday morning, you see an ad for an apartment.  You see the apartment after work that day and like it.  The next day, you and your roommate see it.  Thursday, you get together the paper work and money.  Friday you sign the lease.  Over and done in four days, tops.

And so it (almost) was this week.  It all started with an ad in craigslist for a two bedroom apartment in an East Village elevator building with no broker fee (jackpot).  Big rooms, amenities, nice pictures, the whole nine yards – all for $2200.  My roommate Brian and I were hoping to cap our rent at $2000, as he works in the rewarding-but-not-financially-so television industry and my spending so exceeds my income that I will be forced to declare bankruptcy this summer, possibly sooner.  But this apartment looked great and all utilities were included, so we figured we could spend the $2200.

And so I called the broker, Mike.  A word about brokers: most brokers are complete scumbags.  I’m not saying all of them are, but they are usually not the best people to deal with.  They are salesman after all, and only make money when you lease a place.  Usually, a broker will get the equivalent of one month’s rent when you sign on with one of their apartments (some charge as high as 15% of the yearly rent).  So they are looking to get you signed quickly, so that they can move on.

It’s hard for me to deal with brokers (and salespeople in general) because their profession is based on deception, manipulation, and self-interest.  I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with these three things – christ, I could make business cards that say “Jason Mulgrew: Deception, Manipulation, Self-Interest” – but I’m saying that there is a lot wrong with these things when they’re being used against me. 

And so now about to embark on my fifth year and fourth apartment in New York City, I’m wary of the whole renting process and brokers.  I’ve found that the best way to deal with them (brokers) is to let them think that they’ve got you hooked.  Play dumb.  Smile.  Always act interested.  Whenever I work with a broker I try to be so impressionable and easy going so that when they go home to their spouses, girlfriends, or friends at night, they say, “I met with this fat guy with this bad beard today, and I totally got him.  He’ll sign anything I put in front of him.  And he has this weird old man/poo smell to him.  It’s gross.”  The more they think they have you in the palm of their hand, the less they’ll be prepared when you turn the tables on them and become aggressive to get yourself a better deal. 

I spoke to Mike and asked my two most important questions: 1) Is the apartment available June 1; and 2) does the apartment have a decent-sized living room.  He gave an emphatic yes to both questions, and so on Tuesday I went over lunch to meet with Mike to see the apartment.  As I suspected, it’s in Stuyvesant Town, a collection of 100+ buildings with something like 11,000 apartments on the east side of Manhattan.  I had mixed feelings about Sty Town; it looks kinda like a glorified housing project, but it has class (it was built by the government after World War II to house returning soldiers).  And there are a lot of old people and families in Sty Town, people who generally wouldn’t like fuck ups like myself and Brian.  However, for the money it’s hard to find nicer apartments, and after seeing the model apartment, I was interested.

For some reason, when you rent at Sty Town they take you first to see a fake apartment – one that’s unoccupied but set up with furniture and stuff so that you get an idea of what your place will look like.  If you dig that, you come back the next day to see the actual apartments that you would possibly rent, and you must do so with your roommate(s).  Just more time-consuming crap to deal with.

And so Brian and I went back yesterday to the Sty Town leasing office to meet with our broker and an leasing office agent to see what apartments we might rent.  We arrived at 5:10 for a 5:15 appointment.  The office was a mad-house, filled with angry people who had been waiting for some time, and the receptionist was being extremely bitchy to everyone.  At 5:45, we were informed that the wait would be “about another hour” but that the office was closing at 6pm.  Using my insanely awesome powers of ratiocination, I deduced that they wait (60 minutes) was longer than their remaining hours of operation (15 minutes).  When both Mike and I confronted the receptionist about this, he said that it’s up to the leasing agents if they’d like to stay overtime and he could only tell them that we’d been waiting. 

Eventually, after 6, Brian, Mike and I were seated with a leasing agent.  After spending 2.5 hours yesterday afternoon seeing the model and filling out forms and waiting for almost an hour today, we were finally going to see some apartments that might become ours.  And so it went:

Agent: “Ok, so you’re interested in May 15 move-in?”

Me: “No, June 1.”

Agent: “I have nothing for June 1.”  

This was not good.  Apparently, Mike “thought” they had apartments available for June 1, when they only had apartments for May 15 or June 15 move-ins.  This meant that we’d have two options: 1) not get an apartment; or 2) get an apartment starting May 15, eating two week’s worth of rent to secure our place. 

Mike flipped out on the agent, saying that he’d been here every day and so-and-so told him that apartments were available on June 1, etc, etc, etc.  I sat in my chair building myself into a sweaty rage and Brian stooped in his chair; I don’t think he knew where he was.  After ten minutes of wrangling and learning that they only had May 15 and June 15, Mike turned to us in desperation.

This is what Mike said: “Guys, I would strongly suggest you sign right now for the May 15 lease.  I’m sure you can swing something with your current landlord where they’ll let you not pay your full month’s rent for May, as you’ll be spending half your time here and half your time at your old place.  Also, if you move in on May 15, you can take your time and move in over two weeks and that’ll be much easier.  Guys, this is honestly the hottest property in Manhattan and if you don’t sign tonight it will be gone tomorrow, and you’ll regret it for the rest of your life, because you can’t get these kinds of amenities in this location for this price anywhere else.  Let’s go see the place and then come back and sign.”

This is what Mike meant: “Look, I didn’t do very well in school.  After graduating, I stumbled from job to job trying to find my way, while maintaining my two passions: riding my bike and DJ’ing.  I started doing this only three months ago and haven’t done so well.  I live in a very small place in Brooklyn and I really, really need the commission on this rental.  I’ve spent a good amount of time with you, chatting you up and becoming your friends, in order to make sure that you sign and I get paid.  Now I need you to sign, and I know you’re going to do it, because you’re not that bright and I can sell anything to anyone.  We’ll go see the place, and on the walk there I’ll talk your ear off, and eventually you’ll get so sick of hearing me that you’ll sign only to shut me up.”   

Brian and I looked at each other and said that since we were here, we’d look at the apartment, even though both of us knew there was no way we were going to pay an extra two weeks worth of rent.  Mike almost started crying with happiness, because even though he had either lied or completely misinformed us about the availability of the apartment and had wasted a considerable amount of mine and Brian’s time, we were still going to let him hang on.

And so one of the agents walked Mike, Brian and I to the apartment.  The agent was a really cool guy named Todd, who, when informed that he’d be showing Mike and his clients an apartment, said, “Oh no – not him.”  While walking to the apartment, Mike whipped out his cell phone and trailed behind, trying to swing some deals.  At that point Todd said, “I didn’t mean anything against you guys when I said, ‘Oh no’ back in the office.  It’s just that every time this guy comes here, he’s always trying to dump his clients on us or weasel his way into something.  So no offense to you guys.”  Sweet – it had been confirmed by a third party: our broker was a scumbag.

At that point, almost on queue, things got quiet and we could hear Mike on his cell phone.  I swear on my internet quasi-celebritiness that Brian and I heard:

Mike: [hyper, sleazily talking into cell phone] “Listen, I know your grandfather was important to you, but you’ve seen how amazing the apartment is.  And so I ask you, is it that important? [a beat] I’m sorry to hear that [hangs up cell phone].”

From what I gathered, Mike had been trying to convince a client that his/her apartment signing was more important than his/her grandfather’s funeral.  I mean, wow.

After that is was pretty much all over.  We saw the place, and when Mike jumped down our throats about heading back to the leasing office and signing, I told him that there was no way we were going to do that, especially since he had wasted so much of our time by leading us to believe that there was something available for June 1.  He protested, but I said, “This is non-negotiable.  Not only are we not going to pay an extra two week’s rent, but you also wasted a lot of my time this week by telling me something was available when it wasn’t.  So no way.”  Like a child, Mike then turned around and stormed off in the rain, leaving Brian and I there.  We laughed.  Then Brian had a cigarette.  And then I said something like, “My feet hurt.”  I don’t recall exactly.

And so I got fucked and I’m back to the drawing board.  I can’t wait to pour over craigslist some more, making tons of phone calls to brokers, and leaving for large chunks of the work day, because that’s all AWESOME.  It’s going to be a long month, and I don’t know if I’m up for it.  Are you sure you guys got nothing for me?  I mean, help me out here – I’m dying.  Please help.  I mean, day after day of fat jokes and  not one of you knows someone leaving their sweet East Village two bedroom at the end of May?  If you help, I promise I’ll be your best friend or never talk to you again, whichever you prefer (presumably the latter).  For my wishlist, click here.    

God I hate moving. 

Finally.

This “Email of the Week” comes from Sarah in DC:

Jason,

I’ve only recently begun reading your blog at the prompting of my friend, Tyler (of Washington, DC “pregnant strippers at the bachelor party” fame). I know that you’re done discussing sexual topics (for at least three days), but I wanted to ask your opinion on an age old question (and hope that I don’t regret asking in the first place).

I’m a 23 year old single woman in DC, as are most of my friends. While I’m perfectly happy hooking up casually at the moment, a lot of my friends are looking for relationships, but to no avail. We often go round and round about the ideal scenario for meeting and dating guys in DC, and there’s always lots of hemming and hawing about how “it’s so hard to meet nice guys, guys are only interested in sex” etc. It seems to me, when my friends do meet guys out, through mutual friends, etc. and actually get the call and go out on a date, it never works out. Oftentimes I’ll blame this on my friends choosing to have sex with the guy too soon, which leads to my question. When is the right time to have sex with a guy that you’re dating?

I’ve had discussions with my male friends about this and it seems that there’s no right answer. I mean, I personally show no restraint, but that’s because I generally never want to see the guy again. However, if you’re looking for things to progress with the dude you’re dating, how long do you hold out? I realize that guys do not want to date girls that they meet at a bar and fuck later that night. That’s not exactly the makings of great romance. On the other hand, I’ve had male friends tell me that they will go out on two of three real dates with a girl, sleep with her, and never call her again. So is there any way to tell if a dude is into you or just looking to get laid? I realize that all dudes are just looking to get laid, and I can respect that. But, you know, people fall in love and get married and shit, and that has to start from something.

I’m interested to hear your thoughts on this.

Sarah

P.S.- Tostitos are really fucking up there in my book as well. And the queso dip is even more awesome when you mix some salsa in with it.

Ah, what a loaded and difficult question: when should you ladies put us for us guys?  I’d like to go on record to say that I am in no way qualified to answer this question as I exude the same sexuality as a pile of used syringes and have the same sexual prowess as Benedict XVI, yet that won’t stop me from putting in my 2,000 words on the topic. 

[And by the way, the first person to send me $100 gets Sarah "I personally show no restraint" from DC's email address.]

Short answer: there is no correct answer.  I know this may sound like I’m skirting the issue, but I’m really not.  I’m simply saying that each circumstance is different.  People do meet in a bar, go home and fuck, and get married and live happily ever after.  Some people also meet at church, go out to movies, and never fuck until they get married and live happily ever after.  And some people have a normal sex life, especially considering their weight problem, and then inexplicably stop having sex altogether and in a moment of weakness and insecurity start a blog about it that becomes an international phenomenon (at least that’s what that person tells himself when he’s drunk and it’s 4 in the morning and he’s waiting for his leftover Chinese food to finish heating in the microwave as he wipes the tears from his eyes).  The point is that though you say your female friends go out on dates and “it never works out” or that your guy friends will date a girl, fuck her, and stop calling her, people do get together and fall in love.  I promise. 

Now that the sappiness is out of the way, I see three questions in your email:

1) When is the right time to have sex with a guy that you’re dating?

2) If you’re looking for things to progress with the dude you’re dating, how long do you hold out?

3) Is there any way to tell if a dude is into you or just looking to get laid?

Let’s start with #3, since #1 and #2 are related.  You are correct when you say all dudes are looking to get laid.  The trick is to differentiate guys who are looking to get laid and those who are just looking to get laid.  There is a big difference. 

Every guy, when he first meets a girl, is just looking to have sex with her.  Any guy who tells you differently is just trying to play the sensitive card, when deep down he’d stick a candle in your ass if you passed out on his couch.  No guy ever meets a woman and says, “I would like her to be my girlfriend” in a way that a woman can size up a man’s husband potential in three to five minutes.  While a woman who meets a guy for this first time thinks, “I wonder if he has any history of disease or retardation in his family, because he could be the one!”, a guy thinks, “I wonder how good she is at giving blowjobs?” or “I bet her bush is very well-trimmed”.   

But the good news is that obviously men are capable of developing feelings for women.  And this gets to the crux of the issue: when do genuine feelings wrest the controls away from lust?  Hmmm…

Men are not very emotionally intelligent.  We know this, and, to be honest, we’re kind of proud of it.  We know that we like to have an attractive girl to have sex with, but we also know that we like a cool girl to enjoy the company of.  Everything else we’re either not sure of or don’t care to find out about.    

And so it follows that when we do come to the conclusion that we have feelings for a girl, we can have a very difficult time expressing these feelings.  I needn’t get into the culture of manliness and about how feelings are for “pussies”, but the result is that men are often not up front with their feelings. 

For example, most of my guy friends, if they like a girl, will try to “play it cool”.  They could be giddy with joy that such a lovely lady is interested in them, but having been scarred by the movie “Swingers”, they will still act as though it doesn’t really matter and wait prescribed amounts of time before returning calls, initiating dates, etc.  After all, one of the best relationship rules taken from a movie that I would rather not name says “We pursue that which retreats from us.”  Play hard to get, act cool, and the chick will totally dig you more (I’m not saying just guys act this way; women are just as guilty).

[I, on the other hand, can't contain my excitement when a woman seems interested in me.  Since it's such a rare occurrence, it's like Christmas, St. Patrick's Day, my birthday, rolled into one, celebrated on a Caribbean island with lots of pina coladas and busty women of ill-repute everywhere.  I remember once I went out with a girl to grab some drinks, had a great time and ended the night with a small smooch.  That night, I made her a mix CD which I gave her the next day.  I was 24 at the time.  Needless to say, it didn't work out.  God I am so pathetic.]

So here’s a novel idea: if you want to find out how a guy feels about you, why don’t you ask?  Now I’m not saying you should ask a la “Blind Date” during the first date, nor am I saying that you should come out and inquire, “So, um, do you like me?”, but there is a time and place for this type of discussion.  You have to remember two things about guys: 1) we’re clueless; 2) we’re impressionable.  Take initiative and we will follow where you lead.  It’s ok to talk about the status of a relationship even if it’s in its incipient stages, as long as you do so without sounding crazy (i.e. “I love you” or “Do you think we could get married?” or “Our kids would have beautiful eyes”, etc).

But that doesn’t answer the question of figuring out if a guy likes you or if he likes having sex with you.  For that, I’ve got nothing.  No idea.  If I had the answer, I’d be a millionaire.  Instead, I have a blog.  So let’s move onto the sex… 

No matter what a guy will say to you, sex changes everything.  Everything is immediately different in a relationship (or in an evening) once you have sex with a guy.  “Different” doesn’t mean bad, though it could be.  And “different” does have to be drastic, though it could be.  “Different” just means not the same as it was before. 

And I’m not going to diss one night stands here.  One night stands can be a magical thing really; two people, in a moment, filled with cheap booze, going for it all.  There is something sexually empowering about the one night stand in the “we both know this isn’t going to go anywhere, but I’m attracted to you, you’re attracted to me, so let’s just fucking rock out.”  It happens, it’s fun, whatever.  I’m not gonna say that it makes guys cooler or women sluttier if they have a bunch of one-night stands, but I will say that my wife will not have had many one-night stands.  If I have to hire a private investigator to find this out, I will do so.  And I imagine this will cost me a fortune, as the PI will have to fly to Uzbekistan to trace my wife’s first 19 years on earth, but I’m really getting off track here…

The bottom line: if a guy likes you, he’ll wait.  And here’s another crazy idea: instead of me saying, “Well you should wait six weeks or six dates before sleeping with him, whichever comes first”, I think that if you actually like the guy you should wait until you feel comfortable before you sleep with him.  Why rush?  If he’s a good guy, he’ll be willing to wait a little bit.

[Please note: this does not apply to me.  I can't wait, frankly because I'm not in very good health.  So if you and I start dating, it's very important that you put out as soon as possible, because that might be the last time you see me alive.  Last night while watching TV my roommate Brian noticed that I was turning blue and, long story short, turns out I was dead for 28 minutes.  Had it not been for my incredible will to get up and get some more jello out of the fridge, I might still be dead now.]

I know that guys are probably pissed at me for saying that a girl should wait and I know that I’m a little conservative, but hey, it’s my fucking blog.  And so a short story: once upon a time, long, long, ago, I really liked this girl.  We had an long courtship, and finally we went out to dinner.  We had a great date.  We then got some drinks.  The girl didn’t go to BC (where I was at school) and so lived reasonably far away, so toward the end of the night I put on my best “I really, really would love to sleep with you but I’m gonna pretend like I don’t want to” voice and said, “It’s late – instead of traveling all the way home by yourself, why don’t you just crash at my place?”  Sure, it took some convincing (and a fifth of gin), but she agreed.  We got back to my place and started smooching, and she said almost immediately, “All right, I’ll stay, but no serious making out.” 

It was a strange thing to say, but good LORD it made my crush on her 10,000 times worse.  That one sentence (followed by her actions following through with her statement and not allowing any “serious” making out) made me completely hooked on her, because she wasn’t like the other skanks that my roommates and I would bring home, have our way with, and then completely disregard.  It was refreshing, not because she, unlike the previous girls I had been with, had morals and self-esteem, but because she was honest and straight-forward.  We both knew what was going on but neither of us had the balls to verbalize it until she spoke up.  I was very, very impressed.  And so I followed her around like an overweight puppy dog for the next month until she realized that I suck and cut things off with me.  Also I had a long-distance girlfriend at the time, but that’s neither here nor there.

And so that’s all I can say: if a guy likes you, he’ll wait until you’re ready to make the dance of love.  Is it unreasonable to make him wait six months before sleeping with him?  Oh good lord yes.  Hell, after six weeks I’d be asking you questions like, “Seriously, are you gay?” or “I know that you’re not attracted to me, but can we please just have sex anyway?  I’ll buy you stuff!”  But F him and only F him when you’re ready. 

And you’re welcome for a very long-winded and mostly unhelpful response. 

1:00pm

Me: “Hi, do you mind if instead of having lunch I go check out an apartment?  It shouldn’t take more than 45 minutes, as it’s nearby.”

Boss: “Sure, but don’t dilly-dally.  You know we’ve got a lot going on.”

Me: “Oh no worries – I’ll be back in less than 45 minutes probably.  You know how it is – meet the guy, see the apartment, leave.”

Boss: “Ok.”

2:00pm

Boss: [to Co-Worker 1] “Have you seen Jason around?”

Co-worker 1: “Nope.”

2:45pm

3:15pm

Me: [rushing into boss's office, exasperated] “Geez, I’m sorry but they had all this paperwork and stuff and I was sitting and waiting and then they said –

Boss: [dead-pan] “Just do [confidential business information] – now.”

So there. 

[If you live in, have lived in, or know anyone who lives in Sty Town, please email me immediately with the subject "Sty Town" sharing your or your friends experiences.  Thank you.]

I stink.

This week, I got a wonderfully thought-provoking email from Sarah in DC and I knew immediately it would be the perfect “Email of the Week.”

However, because the question is both extremely broad and extremely important, I am not able to give a satisfactory response at this time.  I’m up to about 1500 words and there’s no end in sight.  And I’m not slacking either; realizing how important it was, I actually (gasp!) wrote some last night.  But still I couldn’t finish it.  Fuck.

So therefore, I’ll be posting it next week.  I’m sorry, but I’ll make it worth your while, if you catch my drift (wink wink).

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I received a wonderful piece of (regular) mail this week: a $427 bill from St. Vincent’s Hospital in Chelsea for emergency room services rendered.

Without going into too much detail because my parents are probably reading this (Mom, at least you know by now that I’m not gay), a slight narcotics-induced incident brought me to the emergency room last February, a week or two before I started this blog.

[Actually, this incident caused me to start this here blog.  Because I thought I was dying, I said, "Damn, I'd better do something meaningful.  Hey, how ‘bout an internet diary?  That sounds cool and totally original."  And here we are.]

[Actually, I just made that up - that's a total lie.  My hospital visit didn't inspire to start this blog.  The visit to the hospital had a reverse effect: I had done a lot of bad things to my body, specifically my liver, heart, and nervous system, and I thought the doctors would say, "Damn, you gotta stop with that shit because you're in bad shape."  Instead, they said, "Damn, you're really fucking healthy, and there's absolutely no way that should be possible."  Jason Mulgrew: Indestructible.]

Anyway, so I just got this bill for $427.  I know that my insurance would cover this, as I accidentally picked the most expensive insurance last year to the tune of $3000 out of my checks, so I’m sure there’s some insurance mix-up.  But now an epic battle is being waged in my head, and no, I’m not talking about the “C’mon, let’s just give one handjob to see how we like it” one.  It’s laziness vs. cheapness.

Like I said, I’m sure my insurance would cover this bill.  However, I can’t express how daunting calling an insurance company is (though I have absolutely no evidence to back this up).  Instead of trying to get through all the red tape, speaking to ten different insurance reps over two weeks, and being on hold for a combined fifty-odd hours, I could easily write the check to the hospital and forget the whole thing.

However, I am broke.  Not broke like those people who talk about how broke they are but then eat out every night and buy all sorts of goodies, but broke like I went to the dry cleaner yesterday and my debit card was declined so I had to take my clothes back to my apartment and get them cleaned the next day after I borrowed some cash from my roommates.  And I don’t get paid for seven days.  That’s broke. 

So we’re at a crossroads.  On the one hand, there is unconscionable laziness.  On the other, there’s destitution.  More to come as this drama unfolds…

The moral: stay away from drugs.  Or do all the drugs you want, but don’t go to the hospital, because it’s as expensive as a mother fucker. 

Yeah, I like that second one better. 

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Six Songs:

“Saint Dominic’s Preview”  Van Morrison

Van Morrison is so much better than you realize.  His greatest hits, which are often poppy and/or saccharine, do not best represent his music.  If you want to listen to the real Van Morrison, buy three albums: 1) “The Story of Them Featuring Van Morrison”; 2) “Moondance”; and 3) “Saint Dominic’s Preview”.  Now here’s the tricky part – skip the songs you’ve already heard.  Van fucking rocks, especially on this smooth and funky number, which will have you pounding your fist in the air, singing along.  I am very serious about this.  Just trust me.

And while we’re at it…

“Madame George”  Van Morrison

Simply put: the best song about a drug-dispensing transvestite brothel owner ever (in English – there are some beautiful Russian ballads on this subject).  I love this song because it sounds like it was recorded in the same brothel that it talks about: lots of background noises, Van starts the song by yelling at someone, people yell throughout the song, etc.  Fucking cool. 

“Question”  Moody Blues

My roommate Brian and I have a term for music like this: Asshole Rock.  You know what I’m talking about: poetic lyrics that are terrible and awkward, big sweeping string accompaniments, some asshole with a thick British accent crooning, etc.  The Moody Blues are the quintessential Asshole Rock band (another that comes immediately to mind is Procul Harem).  I actually hate this song, but I think it’s so ridiculous I figured I’d mention it. 

“Why Can’t This Be Love”  Van Halen

I realized something recently that I never thought possible: I am a Sammy Hagar guy.  For years, I thought I preferred David Lee Roth, but maybe because I’m getting older, I’m leaning more toward the Sammy songs.  Also, the longer I go without sex or even heavy petting, the more sentimental I get.  Songs like “Why Can’t This Be Love”, “When It’s Love”, “Don’t Tell Me What Love Can Do”, and ”I Can’t Stop Loving You” appeal to me more than “Hot For Teacher”, “Panama”, “You Really Got Me” and “Jump”.  But since I can’t do anything about it, I have but one choice: revel in it.  So bring on the Hagar tunes. 

“Batdance”  Prince

Possibly the worst song ever written.  As a matter of fact, I don’t think it’s even close – this is the worst song ever written.  And yet when I was ten it was the greatest thing to have happened to me up to that point in my life.  And I still kinda like it, especially when Prince moans, “Oh yeah, oh yeah/I wanna bust that body” over the Vicky Vale part.  God he is a sexy bitch. 

“You’re Only King Once”  Beulah

• “This generation’s Aldous Huxley.”    – Jason Mulgrew, January 12, 2005, to bar patrons at Iggy’s Keltic Lounge
• “Like Charles Bukowski, but with bigger words and much smaller talent.”    – Jason Mulgrew, August 2, 2004, looking into mirror while on drugs
• “The greatest living American warrior-poet with full use of his legs.”    – Jason Mulgrew, now, specifically for this post

Jason Mulgrew, founder of everythingiswrongwithme.blogspot.com and www.jasonmulgrew.com, grew up in South Philadelphia.  After earning his degree in history and drinking a shit-load of chocolate milk at Boston College, he moved to New York City to pursue this life-long dream: playing Raoul in the Broadway production of ‘The Phantom of the Opera.’  When that failed, he started writing on the web and is now a certified ‘Internet Quasi-Celebrity.’ His award-winning website has been featured in the NY Daily News and other famous newspapers and magazines and stuff.

 

Jason enjoys painting and stabbing people when they sleep and one day hopes to open a ranch to breed racist dogs.  He has two children, Justice, 9, and Cody, 7.  They don’t care very much for their father, nor does he care for them. 

Riding a high from heroin, Xanax and crack cocaine, James Goode, nephew of former Mayor Wilson Goode, allegedly smacked around a naked woman strapped to a chair and hit her in the head with a hammer.

Television footage showed the elephant at one time standing in the small garden of a house

“She fell, and I ran away because I was scared,” said Roh’s landlord, Lee Hye-ja.

You know when you wake up and then go back to sleep and have one of those freaky, weird ass early morning dreams? Anywho, this morning I had a total freak show dream with you in it.

In it, I had this enormous house and it was the morning after an colossal drunken party (is there any other kind?). I am walking down my driveway when I see this huge, red furry pile. It is a Mastodon-sized red Snuffleupagus outfit. Curled up asleep (and very naked) in the trunk portion is Drew Barrymore. I wake her up and all she can remember is that she got wasted and then totally ground out by the guy in the Snuffleupagus outfit. I look over and there you are (my subconscious idea of you), looking like a gargantuan Cupid sans the bow and other weaponry.

I thought you would appreciate that you nailed Drew Barrymore although I wonder why your day job was with Sesame Street…

I have the formula [to determine the number of men a woman has slept with]:

 

(X / (H/W)) x S/5 x D/4 = # partners

Where:
H = height (in inches)
W = weight (in pounds)
S = sociability (1-10, with ten being most social)
D = drunkenness (1-10, with 10 being Christian Slater)
X = sexual multiplier (1-4, see scale below)

1 – Goes to church on Saturday if she has an obligation on Sunday, both parents are together, only child, active in the community, doesn’t use profanity, has once exclaimed “There were people smoking marijuana cigarettes at that party!”

2 – Regularly attends church, knows how to flirt to get drinks, had her “crazy years” in college but still knows how to have fun, can talk about sex in a mixed group, has had boyfriends but mostly dates.

3 – After several drinks will either show you or let you feel her tits, tells funny sexual anecdotes, has slept with you or one of your friends and would do it again, Catholic but never attends mass.

4 – Abused as a child, may have had the name “beer-whore” in college, has had several sexual encounters in church, you know someone who has contracted HPV from her, if she were a sovereign state, head would be the currency.

The height/weight ratio doesn’t vary too much when you play with the numbers. The extremes I came up with ranged from 0.4 to 0.6. Ratios of 5′0″ 100 lbs and 6′0″ 120 lbs came out to 0.6 on the thin extreme.  Ratios of 5′0″ 150 lbs and 6′0″ 180 lbs came out to 0.4. Any range beyond these extremes and the formula becomes irrelevant (hey, God knows I’ve done my share of hogging, but 4′10″ 170 is just not going to happen).

After seeing that a 0.2 differential in ratios doesn’t skew the results, I realized that there had to be something more to add. The multiplier compounds the ratio and gives us a starting point. After that, the sociability and drunkenness variables are simply adjusters.

So, before I go into examples know this; your girls lied. Nine seems to be a very convenient (and popular) number when you ask around. What about the guys? I think we average more than nine. So how are we getting laid by more women? The 4’s give up quite a few, but as you’ll see below, the 2’s and 3’s are underestimating themselves a bit.

Average girl – X=2, H=64 (5′4″), W=140 (not what it says on your license), S=6, D=5
So, we get 2 / (64/140) x 6/5 x 5/4 = ~6.5 – not bad, but this is a good girl with medium social and drinking numbers.

Fun girl – X=3, H=64, W=140, S=8, D=6

3 / (64/140) x 7/5 x 7/4 = ~13.6 – ahh, now we have a number that is high, but very feasible.

How about Ms. Churchy O’Prissy (tall, skinny, stays in and has a glass of wine on special occasions) – X=1, H=68, W=120, S=3, D=2

1 / (68/120) x 3/5 x 2/4 = ~0.5 – raise one social/drinking number and you’re at 1 partner.

Everyone’s favorite girl, Thirsty McSlutty (I don’t need to…) – X=4, H=62, W=150, S=8, D=9
4 / (62/150) x 8/5 x 9/4 = ~35 – don’t start doubting the formula, remember that she’s a drunk whore.

I guess you could adjust the social/drinking ratios as needed, but I think they work. This assumes the average girl is a 5 socially and 4 for drinking. Anything above that will raise your tendency to get laid, and vice versa. Any girl that is a 5 or a 6 for drinking, you know she drank like an 8 or 9 for at least one night and did the deed.

I also thought of incorporating her friends into the multiplier. How good are they at getting her home when she’s drunk and dead set on hooking up? But, the damn thing was complicated enough.

Sorry for the length, but my friends and I found this too good to resist looking into. I think it’s a good start. Throw some examples in there. I’ve tried on two of my friends and both were pretty accurate (although we had to use 2.5 as a multiplier on one).

 

Enjoy.

Nate from Boston writes:

You seem to hit a lot of my own sentiments on the nose through your poignant tales of life’s little ups and downs.  Take for example:

- I graduated 2001

- College was the last time of any action for myself as well

- I love drugs and alcohol (particularly booze)

- I have developed the following conditions from rampant alcoholism:  hiatal hernia, acid reflux disease, esophogeal scarring, incessant hemorrhoids, cystic acne, and generally a poor liver that is incapable of keeping me healthy

- I cannot bring myself to work out for the exact reasons you have given

- I am a certified pro at cramming and procrastinating, a true sign of a genius, realizing that life is just far too short to waste on working on anything

- Tostitos is are really fucking up there in my book, especially with that delicious con queso dip

- Chicks don’t get me

Keep up your fantastic work.  I think you should have a post about how young business savvy women in their 20s who are hot and know it are all a bunch of worthless cunts.  The best part about this is that they don’t realize that everybody knows that after 19 or 20, it is straight downhill for women, and we all know that if you are a 25 year old woman, there is no way you haven’t been up and down the river with the whole bar anyway.  You are used up.  And if a girl tells you she’s slept with 3 guys, there is a mathematical formula (that you and I should devise) based on age and weight that compounds the actual amount of men she has been with.  Seriously, this is a good theory.  

First, I have to clear something up.  College was not the last time I got any “action”.  I graduated college in May of 2001, and since then I have known some ladies.  Just not for a long time right now.  So there.

Secondly, though it is most likely that I will indeed never have sex again, I have not yet resigned myself to this fact.  I still try, and I still fail, but the odds have to break in my favor at some point.  They just have to.  Therefore, I do not think it best if I were to write something about young business savvy women in their 20’s being “cunts”, as these are precisely the women I’m trying to sleep with.  Thanks to Google, I am entirely unemployable and mostly undateable.  I’d like to keep my undateableness at “mostly”, rather than “completely”. 

Third, what interests me most in this email is the last part: the mathematical formula that could potentially be devised to determine, based on age and weight, how many guys a woman has slept with. 

I can not express how much thought I put into crafting this mathematical formula.  I sat in my room with a notebook, a bunch of pens, and a fat bowl, and couldn’t come up with anything (I did make an awesome pizza with deli-sliced ham though).  I polled my friends about it, and they tried and failed as well.  I even considered contacting the only math major I knew in college, even though I haven’t spoken to her in years because she is convinced that I gave her herpes (which I did not, thank you very much, and I have proof).

The only things my friends and I could agree on are follows:

- As a woman’s weight increases, so does the number of men she has slept with, as we all know fat chicks are easier to bang than fit chicks (cue fat chicks reading this right now shrugging and saying, “Well, he does have a point there”).  Therefore, generally speaking, the fatter the chick, the more men she’s slept with.  For the most part.

- However, this is imperfect, because weight is relative to height.  For example, a girl who is 140 pounds and 5′10″ is built much differently than a chick who’s a 140 pounds and 5′1″.  Therefore, instead of weight, a weight/height ratio should be used in this formula.  Site Guy Brendan wrote, “You should use Body Mass Index as the mathematical way to determine if the chick is fat or not…it’s obviously not the best way to gauge fat chick versus non-fat chick, but like the SAT it’s the best we’ve got”.  I think this puts us on the right track, but according to the BMI calculator, I am, not surprisingly, obese.  So fuck the BMI calculator.

- Another factor that must be taken into consideration is how attractive the woman is in relation to how social she is/how much she drinks.  Uglier chicks are easier to bang than hot chicks.  Men know this and so successfully seduce them more often.  Therefore, on average, ugly chicks have slept with more guys than hot chicks. 

HOWEVER, this is only the case if the ugly chick is social/drinks.  For every beat girl you see out on a Saturday night, cosmo in hand, slurring her words, carrying on like she’ll put a stick of dynamite in her mouth if you put it in front of her because she wants some D so badly, there are ten ugly girls sitting at home watching “Wheel of Fortune” with their great aunt.   

- Bonus points should be added for any woman that is a certified drunk.  Obviously, these women are much looser than women who drink socially or do not drink at all (cue drunk chicks reading this right now shrugging and saying, “Yeah, that’s true – I’m drunk 90% of the time I get the D“).

- Bonus points for any girl I’ve dated, since I’ve dated TREEEE-MENDOUS whores.  I mean, really, really loose women (aside from those who I have slept with in the past and am still trying to sleep with now – you girls are nice).

- Mathematically speaking, the average 25 year-old non-slut woman should have slept with around eleven men.  This presupposes that a woman became sexually active at 18, and thus has experienced seven years of sexual activity.  It is assumed that at least two of these years were spent in a monogamous relationship, so that leaves five years to sleep with around ten men, or two per year. 

Though mathematically this sounds correct, all ten of my male friends said that eleven men is WAY too many men for a 25 year-old woman to have slept with, and seven of the ten said they would not date a woman who’s slept with eleven guys.  One guy said, “Well, it’s totally ok if I’ve slept with that many people, but it’s not ok for her.  And if that’s a double standard, then so be it.  I’d shake her hand, wish her luck, and tell her that in the future she should probably lie about that number.”

Additionally, I did an informal poll of my female friends about how many men the average 25 year-old woman has slept with, and the highest answer I got was nine, while most were around six.  One girl who said nine mentioned that women are concerned about reaching ten because they don’t want to get into double digits.  One girl said that any sexual activity undertaken while drunk should be counted as half (if that were the case, I’d be in serious trouble). 

And now after all this research I have a headache.  Great.

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And this is where we run into a road block.  My friends and I all agree on the above tenets, but we can’t combine them in any sort of productive and effective way to make a formula.  We know that the four main factors are weight/height, age, sociability, and drunkenness, but we can’t figure out what to do with them, dammit.

However, this email question was fruitful in another way in that it led to a great debate among my friends and I about women, sex, and the past.  Most women should already know this, but most guys are VERY sensitive about their women’s former lovers.  Some guys are more concerned about WHO their woman has slept with, whereas other guys are concerned about HOW MANY men their lady has slept with.  Those men who are not sensitive about the sexual history of their woman are either rich, powerful, dumb, or just happy to be getting laid (oh, and very secure). 

I, personally, am much more sensitive to the latter, though they are exceptions.  For example, if my lady has slept with an NBA player, a rock star, someone I hate, or one of my ten or so closest friends, then it just ain’t gonna work, mostly because I’m totally insecure sexually.  But if I ever feel a pang of jealousy, I always think to myself, “Dude, no matter what she’s done in the past, you’ve done a lot worse.  Remember Spring Break, 2000?  Does Madrid, champagne room, three ’strippers’ and 70,000 pesatas ring a bell?” 

But as far as numbers are concerned, well, they can be an issue.  To be honest, I really don’t ever want to know how many men my woman has slept with.  Chris Rock has a great bit about this, saying that no matter what answer she gives, it’s going to be the wrong one: “She could say ‘two’ and you’d be like, ‘Two?!?  Two?!?  No, no, no – two?!?  I guess that’s how you was raised.’”

Therefore, I’m all about “don’t ask, don’t tell”, which invariably breaks down around the fourth time you’ve slept with a girl, when it’s 4am and you’ve just gotten back from the bar and after getting it on, she says, “So…” and you know what’s coming next.  

No matter what, I always say that I’ve slept with six women.  Always (www.jasonmulgrew.com trivia fact – this is the reason why I do “six songs” instead of five or seven).  I have been saying six since about mid-2002.  Six is the perfect number (the girl asking being the sixth) because:

1) It’s not too few.  Unlike guys, no girl wants to hear that she’s the second or third woman that her new man has slept with.  They like their man with a little experience, and it’s kinda creepy if she thinks she’s forever being compared to the two other women you made love to in your twenty-something years on earth.  It’s ok to get around a little bit.        

2) It’s not too many.  Six is also great because it shows that you do have some experience, although not so much that would frighten her so much so that during lovemaking she’s terrified you’re going to ask to have sex with her feet.  Six is enough for her not to think she’s just another notch on the bed post, even though in most cases she probably is. 

3) It’s average.  Odds are that she’s slept with between three and nine people.  Why not shoot for right in the middle? 

4) She’s the first on the second hand.  Believe it or not, there is some degree of sentimentality here.  If she can’t be the first, how ’bout the first on the second hand?  Am I right?  Huh?  Who’s with me? 

Further, this is how the six should be broken down: two/three serious girlfriends; two/three girls you were casually hooking up with; one one-night stand.  You can adjust the first two numbers however you want, but you must ALWAYS include a one-night stand.  This is extremely important, because every woman secretly believes that deep down every guy wants a one-night stand.  And they are absolutely right.  But if you say you’ve already had one and it left you “unfulfilled” then you can put your lady-friend at ease on this issue. 

As for the ladies, unlike my male compadres, I believe I could date a girl who’s slept with eleven people.  It’s close, but I can handle it – as long as I never have over five beers, which would invariably lead to me accusing the woman of having sex with guys at rest stops and in all-night diner bathrooms.

When we get into the fifteen-person range, you’d better be super fucking awesome.  Like so super fucking awesome that when it’s my birthday, you and that hot girl from your pottery class surprise me with a pizza and an intense make-out session.

When we’re in the twenty person range, you’d better be: Elisha Cuthbert, Josie Maran, Adriana Lima, Kate Beckinsale, Scarlett Johanssen.

When we’re in the twenty-plus range, it just ain’t going to work out.  I’m not judging, because you know what I always say – “when you’re judgin’, you’re not lovin’” – but I’m not gonna be able to do it.  And yes, I know I’m terribly insecure, but if you saw what I had to work with on a day-to-day basis, you would be too. 

Steve Almond, writer extraordinaire and SI’s “Sportsman of the Year” in 1997, will be reading tonight at the Happy Ending Bar in the Lower East Side at Broome & Forsyth (302 Broome – take the B,D to Grand Street or F, J, M, Z to Delancey).  The doors open at 7:30 and the reading starts at 8pm. 

You should really try to make it, because we both know that you never do anything cultural or cool, so this would be a good place to start.  Also, if I recall correctly (and I properly don’t because of that whole “drinking too much thing”), the bar is a pretty cool place as well.

For more information, see my post about this from last Friday.

[Also, Steve was NOT Sports Illustrated's "Sportsman of the Year" in 1997.  I don't know who was, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't Steve.  I just said that to impress you so you would go to the reading.  I'm sorry.  If it makes you feel any better, my parents are divorced.  Thank you.]

Today is April Fool’s Day, also known as “the day that I should get into but I really don’t because it requires too much work”.  I mean, does anyone really get fooled on April Fool’s Day?  Am I missing something here?  It’s a whole day dedicated to pulling pranks on people, and yet people still don’t know they’re being fooled when out of nowhere on April 1st they get a call from “the bank” telling them that because of an error they’re about to receive $150,000?  How dumb can you be? (Don’t answer that)

I don’t get into April Fool’s Day because it’s too much work to try to think of something clever that will most likely not fool anyone anyway.  So instead, like every April Fool’s Day, I will half-ass it.  Instead of devising a well-thought out prank, I’ll just think of something stupid and stick with it with the stubbornness of a retard.  For example, I’ve already emailed my roommates today and told them that I’ve talked to my doctor and surprise surprise – I have AIDS.  The subject of the email was even “AIDS”.  Of course they don’t believe me, but all day I will carry on about how I have AIDS, about how we shouldn’t share the same shower anymore, about what lifestyle changes I’ll make now that I have AIDS, etc.  I’ll say things like, “I’m not mad at God.  He didn’t do this to me.  I did it to myself.”  I’ll act all depressed and tell them how much they mean to me.  Meanwhile, they will completely ignore me and tell me I’m an idiot.  Then, at about 9pm, I’ll scream, “APRIL FOOL’S!” and talk about how I “totally got” them.  The whole situation will be stupid and uncomfortable.

So happy fucking April Fool’s Day. 

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I’m not gonna make a joke about the whole Terri Schiavo thing, because it’s very sad.  I mean, this poor woman was at one time very, very hot, so I don’t think people should be making fun of her unfortunate demise.

But I will say this, on the record: if I ever fall into a “persistent vegetative state”, pull the plug on me.  And don’t just pull it – do it with panache.  Pretend it’s New Year’s Eve, have a big ass party, get everyone drunk, count down to 0, and yank it the fuck out.  Then have everyone keep on drinking around me until they pass out.  Also put my bird in my hand, draw a bunch of shit on me (i.e. a swastika, “I suck dick for coke”, etc.), and then take pictures to hang on the fridge.  That’s how I want to go out, mother fucker.

You know what?  I don’t even need to be a “persistent vegetative state” to have my plug pulled.  You can pull it if I ever have a bad ankle sprain or if I need to get a filling or if I ever get the runs really bad.  Fuck it.  Because really, I don’t have much else going on, and I guess it could be kinda cool.

[Editor's Note: The above was intended solely as a joke, and in should no way be viewed as a cry for help.  We here at www.jasonmulgrew.com take depression very seriously, especially if we can somehow parlay it into a pity fuck.  Neither Jason Mulgrew, Site Guy Brendan, or any other member of the www.jasonmulgrew.com family is depressed, except for Jason Mulgrew.  That fucker is a mess.  All he does is cry and listen to Shania Twain's "Still The One".  Crazy bastard.  Anyway, thank you.]  

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Following up on something mentioned last week: I finished reading Steve Almond’s collection of short stories, “The Evil BB Chow and Other Stories.” Verdict?  Deeeee-lightful.  And I’m not saying this because I have to.  Sure, Steve Almond was my writing teacher at BC, but I would like to point out that though I still hold in the highest esteem as a person and writer, I don’t need to do any favors for him, as he (rightly so) refused to write me a recommendation when I was still pursuing grad school.  We have been in a bitter blood feud since.

But the book is a good read.  I like the short story format as a whole; as someone who suffers from a short attention span, short stories are great because they grab you, they shake you, then they let you go.  This is especially the case with Almond’s stuff.  The whole book is grab-shake-release, one after the other.  I’m not the fastest reader in the world, but it was so enjoyable that I read the whole thing in a day.  My mommy would be so proud! 

And what’s more, Almond’s reading here – in NYC!  Be sure to catch him next Wednesday, April 6, as part of the Happy Ending Reading Series , held at the Happy Ending Bar at Broome & Forsyth in the Lower East Side.  Doors open at 7:30 and the reading starts at 8pm. 

(To see if Almond’s reading near your ‘hood, see here)

(Man, I’m a great pitch man)

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I have a great ”Email of the Week” to discuss, but I’m going to have to address it either later today or early next week.  It’s so good that I don’t want to put it up here unless I’m 100% satisfied with my response to it.  And right now, though I’ve been working on it all day, I’m not.  My original plan was to do this post yesterday and the EOTW post today, but yesterday’s busyness ruined everything.  But it’s a good one.

(Sorry to leave you in suspense, but at heart I know you really don’t give a fuck, so whatever.)

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