I just got woken up by a phone call from my best friend in Toronto. Great news, he says, I just closed on my new house. Wonderful, I say, now can I please go back to bed?
But then he tells me how much his monthly mortgage payments are...and he keeps babbling on about some other nonsense--down payment this, amoritization that, eastern exposure, yard in the back, blah blah blah--I wasn't really listening anymore because, see, HIS FUCKING MORTGAGE PAYMENTS FOR A TWO BEDROOM HOUSE IN DOWNTOWN TORONTO ARE LESS IN CANADIAN DOLLARS THAN MY RENT FOR A STUDIO APARTMENT IN MANHATTAN IN US DOLLARS.
Now I feel sick. And I've got this really bad taste in my mouth. Reminds me of the time I got snowballed by this girl at the Feelies concert in Hoboken...couldn't eat anything creamy for a month after that.
So what should I do? Kill myself? Move? Infest his home with termites?
But then he tells me how much his monthly mortgage payments are...and he keeps babbling on about some other nonsense--down payment this, amoritization that, eastern exposure, yard in the back, blah blah blah--I wasn't really listening anymore because, see, HIS FUCKING MORTGAGE PAYMENTS FOR A TWO BEDROOM HOUSE IN DOWNTOWN TORONTO ARE LESS IN CANADIAN DOLLARS THAN MY RENT FOR A STUDIO APARTMENT IN MANHATTAN IN US DOLLARS.
Now I feel sick. And I've got this really bad taste in my mouth. Reminds me of the time I got snowballed by this girl at the Feelies concert in Hoboken...couldn't eat anything creamy for a month after that.
So what should I do? Kill myself? Move? Infest his home with termites?