BedStuy Idiotic

Currently, I'm ready to kill Nicholas Cage. I'm incredibly irritated by him, so this might be the beginning of many posts about him.

Bear with this inane list of shit I do with me for a minute:
On the days I work, I wake up at 6 am. It's no fun. On average, I spend fifteen minutes trying to get out of my bedroom. After finally stepping outside of my room, I tend to find it too cold to continue, so I retreat to grab a blanket and go into the bathroom. Then, I brush my teeth, wash my face and turn on the shower. As the water heats up, since it takes a few minutes in the morning, I go and I check my e-mail, weather and the NYTimes headlines. Then I shower, turn on NY1, spend way too much time deciding what to wear, get dressed, put on make-up, do my hair, pack my bag and I go out the door. I don't make coffee because we lack a coffeemaker and I pick up something to eat on the way into work.

I've adopted a pretty set list of things to do every morning before work. The lack of coffee and the fact that I'm awake at 6 am already sets my mood points back an automatic 15 points. I'm not happy. I have a hard time even being nice to the Roommate this early in the morning, who I'm capable of spending days [ literally ] with on the couch, watching stupid sitcoms.

So you can fucking imagine the flurry of annoyance and anger I felt Thursday morning, when Nicholas Cage was passed out on the leather sofa, with my blanket, TV still on and my computer still open.

I mean, come on. You're unemployed. You do nothing, as far as I'm concerned. You do not pay rent. You lack the ability to comprehend most films and create such retarded titles as, "Bangkok Dangerous", which is a fragment, a fucking fragment a child would say. You are dumb and you piss me off. I hate your laugh and your idiotic perceptions of love. You went out the night before after spending days at home and really? Really? You couldn't make it to your fucking bed, that's like, what, five feet away?

Mornings, for me, are ritualistic. I complete specific tasks, which, if not completed, prevent me from leaving for work. I like my mornings alone, I like running back and forth from my room to the full-length mirror, trying on new outfits. I mean, think about your mornings and then imagine an overrated Hollywood wannabe passed out in the middle of your space. Yeah, he's asleep, but he's still the center of attention and in the way of everything you wanted to do. And he's silent, but that makes him so much more annoying.

Like the time we watched the Notebook with Cage...
(end credits)
Cage: "...wait. What happen'd? Hol' on. Was that them?!"
Brooklyntact: "Was that who?"
Cage: "Th' old folks! Was that them?!"
BT: "..."
Cage: "O mah god, that was them! Oh, tha's so sad! They kill one another?"
BT: [walks into the bathroom to giggle]

Or like the time,
Cage: "I wan' see that Dakota Fannin' movie. Looks sooo good."



Or like the time I ripped your fucking Face/Off.