What up, my African-Americanz!!!???

So I am thisclose to having a new apartment all to myself. There is just this little matter of meeting the landlord this weekend (he wants to make sure I look clean, I guess), then I have an apartment in Hoboken, NJ.

Yes, Hoboken. Home of Frank Sinatra, baseball and Yo La Tengo. Three awesome things. It is now more known for drunk frat boys, but it's not all like that. There are other drunk people, not just frat boys.

So yeah, I started stressing out big time this week over this whole moving thing. Life decisions blow! I saw a lot of crappy apartments, but I saw this one that I decided I loved, only after I saw tons of garbage. This one was the first one I looked at, but I was like, "I'll hold out for something more awesome."

Then I realized that was the one. And I actually called this realtor and found out it was still available, and he was all, "OK, tomorrow when I get in the office, I'll write the lease." I even negotiated with him and got the rent down, so I was all proud of myself. Then he calls me the next day and tells me that he just found out it has been rented.

Fuck you, Liberty Realty!

They should change their slogan from "Location, Location, Liberty" to "Liberty Realty: A Bunch of Monkeys Fucking a Football."

So then I was all freaked out and pissed off and wondering what part of town I should be homeless in. I settled on the Upper West Side because it's close to the park and there are rich people and a few liberals up there that will give me cash when I panhandle.

But then I found a lady named Millie. Now, I haven't signed anything yet, so I don't want to jinx it, but things feel good right now. She showed me this apartment that is all brand new, has a deck, central air, and a dishwasher. A dishwasher!

For those of you that live in the city, a dishwasher is this machine that you put dishes in (or cups or silverware or pots... not just dishes), and then the machine washes all that stuff for you! The future is now!

A fucking dishwasher, and this place is the same price as the other apartment I loved. The other apartment had its charm and a better location, but none of this shit. I think I was about the same age as the refrigerator. Once I finally sign the lease and get this place, I think I might just walk around and say to random people, "I've got a dishwasher, motherfucker!"

But right after I first saw this place and was nuts about it, I got home and was doing some research on Hoboken, and found that it was kind of close to the Projects. You know, the Projects. So I was reading this shit where this guy was talking about all this crazy crap that happened to him because he lived in the area. So I was all freaked out because you know, I'm a gentle white boy. I probably wouldn't make it in the Projects.

So I came up with some ideas to co-exist. If I ever have to go through there for some reason, what I will do is either:

a) Run through at full speed yelling, "AAAAHHHHHGGGGHHHHH Please don't touch me!!! I've already dialed 911 all I have to do is hit send please don't murder me!!! I think 50 Cent is a bad influence on today's youth!"

or

b) I was going to get one of those suits that stuntmen wear when they have to be put on fire. So I'd just set myself on fire and run through. No one is going to take my iPod if I'm on fire, right? People would just watch me and be like, "Hey, there goes that fire guy again."

So then I started asking around, and I think whatever I read on the internet was a little blown out of proportion. People that lived in the area said it was fine. A few blocks away is sketchy, but I'd be fine, they said.

Just to be sure, I went and walked through the neighborhood after work tonight, around midnight. My thought process was, OK, if I don't get raped tonight, I'll be cool. I didn't get raped, which is nice, because then I would have had to let Millie down.

"Hi Millie? It's Mike Toole. I'm sorry to do this to you, but I'm actually going to have to pass on the apartment. ... Yeah, well, last night I walked through there just to get a sense of the neighborhood and what it would be like when I got out of work, and I got raped, so... Yeah, oh no, I know, it is a great apartment, you're right, but I'm just kind of a stickler for not getting raped. ... Well, no, that's the thing, I got raped. Yeah. I mean, not a lot, but it was still a good raping. Yeah, I'm sorry. I mean, other than being raped like that, the place was perfect. If I know anyone that needs a place and likes getting raped, I'll give them your number. Thanks Millie."

Someone at work mentioned to me today that I should go through the neighborhood and ask people what it's like there.

"Excuse me? Hi, um, let's say, hypothetically, it was 11:30, 12:00 at night and it was just me and you on this street. Would you stab me? You would? Oh, OK. I had a feeling. Thanks."

I walked through tonight and nothing happened. Everything is all good.

So keep your weiners crossed for me. I should get this place on Saturday. You can all come over and help me unpack. And if someone would like to buy me a couch and a television, that'd be fantastic.