This Isn't a Comedy, It's a Horror Film

I often think of my life as a movie.  This is not simply because I have gorgeous hair, African American lips and a metabolism that would most bulimics would trade their asses for, but rather because I have a personality that is chameleon in nature, scheming, manipulative, and rivals Naomi Campbell's.  In other words, I'm a Gemini, and was born to strut in front of a green-screen.  This has been witnessed by my best friend and former college roommate, Tuna (named Tuna 'cause she's a lipstick-lesbian and loves "sushi."  Ya dig?), who would walk outside our apartment while I was pressed up against the wall and smoking a cigarette in a gayer-than-usual James Dean pose.  Even Tuna's rugby-playing friends would come to parties at our apartment and comment, "We think Brant belongs in a movie.  He looks exactly like Val Kilmer circa Top Gun." (On better days, I have been likened to a younger Brad Pitt, but that is neither here nor there, and has in no way bolstered my self-aggrandizing personality.)

Recently, however, I've nearly been downgraded to Shia LaBeouf status (By the way, Shia:  learn how to control your public intoxication, or at least how to properly break a beer bottle over someone's head during a bar-brawl.  Amateur.).  Between being a recent college graduate, seeking employment and coming to grips with a dwindling bank account, I've realized that life isn't a comedy; it's a fucking horror film.  One that no longer involves Dior Homme, Dolce & Gabbana, master bedrooms with 14-foot vaulted ceilings or $14 cocktails.

And, as I prepare for the nearest gainful-employment that doesn't involve hawking $250 jeans in a desperate attempt to make a $25 commission or servicing customers at culinary establishments, let's just be thankful it's not the 80's.  Because if it were, cougar-in-the-making Stefaknee (more on her in another post) and I would be Wall Street enthusiasts, having a field-day and getting our yuppy on to New Order's "Truth Faith."  American Psycho's, anyone?

[Editor's note:  It was 4 a.m. and several long islands in when this post was originally written.]

And additionally - in honor of Columbus Day - I'm considering enlisting Tuna's help, us marching back down to Florida and doing exactly what it says in this photo to the people who currently live in our old apartment: