I'm Feeling Happy, So Highly Evolved

This morning I drove across town to pick up my deposit check from my previous landlord. His acquiescence was ensured after I faxed and emailed a lovely document I created, one in which I visually detailed the rat population and the monochromatic display of mildew on my bathroom ceiling. I also pointed out that in the 18 months I lived in that apartment, only one major repair was completed. The kitchen window sill had rotted through and was allowing all manner of water and creatures into the apartment. After two months of repeated phone calls, emails, faxes and personal visits, my leak was finally fixed. WITH DUCT TAPE. As such, my deposit was expected in full. By today.

Late yesterday afternoon I received a response to my email, indicating that he’d be in the office after 9:30 and he’d have the check ready. I refrained from replying back, as much as it killed me. I desperately wanted to ask his pasty red-haired slimy ass if he had any intention of returning my deposit until I threw a giant fit. He should have known better, though. I can throw fits like nobody’s business.

On the way back to the office I pulled out the CD in my dash, half-heartedly looking through my lackluster collection of available music for a replacement. Feeling very uninspired, I made a blind grab for a disc in the middle, praying it wasn’t the soundtrack to “Sliver” I’d bought 1994. Instead, I’d managed to select a burned copy of the Highly Evolved album by The Vines. I know that absolutely no one is interested in how I came by this CD, but if you’re really that bored, click on Yoj to your right and read about man titties.

When I lived in New York I worked at a post-production facility. We took the footage from commercial and short film shoots and edited them down to the 15, 20, 30 and 60 second spots that aired across the globe. Ever seen those Valtrex commercials? The ones for genital herpes? How would you like to eat three weeks of lunches sitting in a room full of ad execs discussing whether they liked the “I NEVER let genital herpes get in my way” take or the “I never let GENITAL herpes get in my way” take. My god, the agony.

In the DVD production office was a tall, broad shouldered guy with a personality that could strip the varnish off a 100-year-old violin. I’m assuming it’s hard to take that varnish off, I have no idea. Point being, he was sarcastic and acerbic and caustic MY OH MY, that’s just how I like ‘em.

Late one night we were lounging in the kitchen, eating Ritz crackers and cream cheese, waiting on an editor to finish cutting the last bit of a commercial so Steven could transfer it to the final DVD reel and I could get in the Towncar outside and head to Long Island, DVD in hand. Amidst our bitching that it was ten o’clock at night and couldn’t these people wait until the morning, we got to talking about music. I admitted to rarely buying CD’s, or even taking the time to burn them. I was lazy at heart and there was just no beating that out of me.

In our discussion, Steven asked to borrow my Silverchair CD, one of the few newer albums I’d swiped from my brother without his knowledge. Obviously I agreed, as what better way to win favor with cantankerous men who haven’t the slightest idea that you exist as a female? I was almost giddy with excitement, as this meant I had a guaranteed conversation starter for the following day. Score one for me.

The next day Steven returned with my disc, as well as a copy of Highly Evolved that he thought I might like. I had the hugest crush on him from that moment forward--until he invited me to a movie with some friends of his and we went to some anime’ premier that made me want to stab myself in the eye, repeatedly, with a lit blowtorch. Suddenly I realized his cutting remarks stemmed less from high intelligence and more from a total lack of relevant social interaction.