Won't You Be My Bromate?
— By Kevin Montgomery (@kevinmonty) |
Eric, I know I can be a little liberal with my use of superlatives, but this apartment ad is quite possibly the best ad I've ever read:
Hello, and congratulations. You're lucky to be here. Why? Because you have the unique opportunity to live in one of the finest neighborhoods in San Francisco, and, quite possibly, the entire Western Hemisphere. With more culture than Compton, more swanky eateries than Watts, and infinitely less plaid than the Mission… this… is… the Marina.
About the place: Your room has four walls and a ceiling, unlike that shanty you live in now. Did I mention the closet? It's not a walk-in per se, but you can certainly take a few strides in there, rip off a few jumping jacks. It's big. Your room is the other half of the equation in this two-bedroom place, with wall-to-wall carpet, a view of the Golden Gate, electrical outlets strategically placed throughout, and friendly birds constantly chirping in the neighboring foliage. You have your very own bathroom, all to yourself, and are of course free to mill about in the living room, prepare delicious meals in a state-of-the-art kitchen (if this were 1952). Only six units in the building and, what do you know, the neighbors are friendly, so that means you should be too.
That's because I'm a friendly, a 28-year-old sales rep that believes the phrase “work hard, play hard” is a tired cliché. Instead, I prefer to “Marina,” an active verb, as in, “I hit every bar on Chestnut tonight but I'm successful because I don't smoke pot every morning or wear skinny jeans so clean up after yourself and stop eating so much hummus. Why? Because I 'Marina.'”
More about the place: Two bedrooms, two bath. One each for the both of us. Big living room. If you tilt your head just so, bridge views. Laundry in the building. Dishwasher, cable, wireless, the usual. We have all the furniture but by all means, we are willing to upgrade. On Beach and Fillmore, so street parking is a breeze, you're a block from the Green if you enjoy exercise and flag football and ultimate Frisbee.
Ha, just testing you. No one plays Ultimate in the Marina. If you just fist-pumped a paragraph ago when you saw Ultimate Frisbee on the Green, you should probably stay in Dolores Park. It's probably closer to the 24-hour check-cashing joint you patronize when the unemployment comes in. If you're still with me, that means you're pretty funny and it may behoove me to respond to your impending email.
And I don't care what Craigslist discrimination rules are. If you have poor grammar, you're out! Take your dangling modifiers to the Mission — I'm sure you'll get a room there in heartbeat. Instead, reach back to your second-grade Reading class and put together a charming and witty email that tells me about yourself. Not too witty. I'm clearly the funny guy in this relationship. But if I snort out a little cereal milk on my keyboard, you're on the right track. And if you try and sue me because I discriminated against your comma splices, best of luck. With your JuCo education you can barely find the post office, let alone file a brief
One last thing. Just because I am funny and adore the Marina doesn't make me a douche. I'm not. In fact, if you're some B&T kid with Affliction shirts and hair-shaping paste cream balm, or if you wear makeup like a Vegas showgirl and fill the hole in your soul with excessive penis, you should go somewhere else. Be smart, funny, successful, driven, clean, employed, and, just for shits and giggles, incredibly good looking.
Move-in date between July 1 - August 1. My awesome roommate is moving out for a new gig elsewhere so try to either be just like him or just like him but the female version.
There's so much to cover, I don't even know where to start. I mean, I never knew that one could 'rip off a few jumping jacks' in a semi walk-in closet until now. Or that “Marina” is a verb. Or that bros cared 'bout grammer. Or that bros use the word “behoove.” Now I'm left wondering if Dateway is more culturally important than N.W.A.
'sort of want to be your roommate. Escape the oppressive land of ultimate frisbee and unemployment and enjoy the charmed life of nightly Marinaing and crushing brews with my boys after a hard day filing legal briefs. 'looking down on people who want to continue their education but cannot afford Berkeley. Being the less funny dude in the brolationship. 'snorting milk and coke residue onto the keyboard. Cooking natty light marinated meat on the grill before a night of beer pong. Riding in a 'mother-fucking boat'. Serenading 'nasty bitchez' in the Bar None bathroom.
Bridge views.
Crappy kitchen.
Hella electrical outlets.
Won't you be my bromate?
See you later, Mission.
