Josh and Sean Don't Live Together

Dear Josh,

Over the weekend the Obama campaign sent me (and only me) a barrage of e-mails, including one where I thought Obama was a bit too lazy and blunt:

“Subject: Hey

Sean — I need you with me on this one. Tonight’s deadline is our biggest yet, and I need everyone pitching in. Give $15 or whatever you can.

Let’s go, Barack”

The deadline was his financial reporting to the FEC.  Now, personally, I think he shouldn’t be procrastinating and waiting right until the deadline to submit his report.  I’m not going to help him do something that he’s had mooooonths to do.  It also makes him sound like a needy mafioso.  Anywho, I got to thinking about how other Presidents would have handled the situation differently and sifted through my old e-mails.  You’ll never guess what I found!

____________________________

Sean — Wheeze. Money. Wheeze/Cough.

Let’s go eat pudding,

Willie Taft

____________________________

Sean — Remembrance of honor past shall not dissuade us from the duty at hand nor grant us respite from those who would see our Endeavor perish. Please give me four score twenty dollar bills.

Let us go and stand fast so that we may stand true,

Abraham Lincoln

____________________________

Sean — Ask not what bumper sticker you shall receive, but ask what shall receive you bumper sticker.  Ich Bien Ein Presidentenplatz.

Let’s go to the moon,

John F. Kennedy

____________________________

Sean — Yes, I have been your President for the past four years, why do you ask?

Let’s go Red Sox,

Franklin Pierce

____________________________

Sean — Gild my age.

Let’s go beat some mugwumps,

Ulysses Grant

Sincerely,

Sean

Dear Sean,

Oh my—hello. It’s just that, well, you’ve caught me at an awkward time. As you know, apart from that one time we lived together briefly in Harlem, we haven’t lived together for a while…And, you see, some things have changed about me that you should know about.

For example:

• I passed a monumental life landmark last week and was shocked to discover that it is considered “creepy” and “a pathological display of regression” for 30-year-olds to celebrate their half-birthdays at Chuck-E-Cheese.
• While you might remember me as a long-haired party animal, I now end most days at 6pm passed out on my couch, covered in peanut butter crackers and books tracing the history of phallic fruits.
• It becomes increasingly difficult to make friends when you are just as likely to change the conversation to the fact that there are over 600 entirely different varieties of bananas in India (!!!!!!!!!) as you are to spontaneously fall asleep into a crumpled snore pile at the dinner table.

The moral of the story, Sean, is that I’m afraid I might be getting old. And at this juncture, I find myself in need of some advice. 

Would you be so kind as to pass these questions on to Sensei Hiro? (I have pre-translated them for his—and your—convenience).

• Fwhat schould I doo wiff(le) mai rlife?
• Schould we rLet It Be, rlike the Beatrles said, ore rLet It Brleed, rlike The Roylling Stoynes sed(th)?
• Didt uu k-now tat bahnahnahs reprodoosse asexxually, and theirfour rliterallie EVlERlY bahnahnah you eet is geneticarlrly eyedenticarl to evlelry uhthur???? (!!!!!)  

Thanks in advance for clearing that up, Hiro. 

This nap’s for you,

-Josh

Dear Josh,

It’s been a while since either of us have written.  I’m looking around my apartment in Freetown, Sierra Leone…don’t see you….guess we still don’t live together.  

Remember when we were cohabiting in Harlem in October and you laughed at my suitcase full of socks?  I dare you to ask me now how many pairs have survived here in Sierra Leone.  Two.  Who’s laughing now? Me.  Who is over conscious about their exposed toes now? Also, me.

Ready for a segue?  Socks are great.  Hey! Doesn’t the word ‘sock’ sound a little like ‘saki’?  I have a colleague here named Hiro, from Japan.  Segue complete.  

I now present to you, Things Hiro Has Said To Me:

On Love:
Sean, have you ever rloved woman?  Rearlly rloved?!  You know?!

Sean, run from woman.  Probrlem.  This my money!  Why she take?!!

Even the woman you rlove will a change you.  This kinds things happen arll the time.

On Cultural Stereotypes:
Hiro: Sean, you want Coke?
Me: Sure, why not?
Hiro: American! Arlways Coke.  I rlike!

Later that day….
Hiro: Sean, you want Coke?
Me: No thanks.
Hiro (tauntingly): No, you want Coke.  You rlike! Is right here.  
Me: Ok, if you insist…
Hiro: See. Coke. I read your mind!  So funny.

On Election Logistics:
Me: So, when the generators arrive, how will they determine the distribution plan?
Hiro: 50 generators come.

On Restaurant Logistics:
Me: Are you getting tired of eating in this restaurant every day?
Hiro: The documents. They coming.  That most important thing.  

I nod a lot when Hiro talks, not entirely sure what he’s usually saying.  Which brings me to English as a First Language days.  I have a friend here who takes what she calls EFL Days, days where she kicks back and does little work, because she is a native English speaker.  Her reasoning is because she is EFL she is wildly more productive than her other United Nation’s colleagues who can’t spit out coherent paragraphs sprinkled with an array of multi-syllable words.  For example, a document that takes her a day to write, might take a colleague with a Hiro-esque command of English a week to write.  She is not compensated for her wild productivity and is in fact given more work because she is so productive.  It hardly seems fair.  So, everyone once in a while (ahem, few days a week) she takes EFL days, where she doesn’t do shit, as a reward for being so productive normally and to lower her colleagues perception of her overall productivity.  It’s the United Nation’s equivalent of wearing track pants to work.  

Sincerely,
Sean

Dear Internet,

Please sit down.

IT IS WITH STAGGERING DISBELIEF THAT WE ANNOUNCE THAT from October 16-19, Josh and Sean established abode—together—in Harlem.  Their residency was witnessed by close friend Liana Heitin and officiated by Airbnb.com.  The reception was held in various bars throughout Manhattan and was consummated over a delicate corned beef gnocchi. 

Said one overwhelmed guest, “Wait, but don’t you guys have a blog about NOT living together? Won’t people feel betrayed?”  We don’t want to lie anymore, SO WE HAD TO COME CLEAN TO YOU, Internet

After so much time not living together, it wasn’t domestic bliss from the get-go.  OK, fine, that’s another lie—IT WAS AMAZING.  However, our distance allowed us to make keen observations about the other’s habitation habits, as if for the first time. For example:

-          Josh prefers to sleep draped in a damp towel in the fetal position. L.A. IS WEIRD.

-          Sean does not understand even the basics of how “THE TECHNOLOGY” works.  Africa is weird. (CLICK FOR VIDEO)

-          JOSH MOANS as much while taking a shower as he does while eating a fiery lamb sausage. It’s unclear which is more unsettling.

-          Sean is able to say things like, “We’re going to do a lot of walking today. DO YOU WANT TO BORROW MY VASELINE FOR YOUR THIGHS?” with a straight face.

-         Josh resembles a chemo patient when he wears a hat. Also, HE MAY BE LACTATING.

-          Much of Sean’s existence resembles that of a COLOMBIAN DRUG DEALER WITH A MONETARY FETISH. For example, SEAN: “I’m going to need all my change in crisp $100 bills printed after 2006. Yes, seriously.”

Dreams do come true.  Ask us, baby, we’re living proof.     

Sincerely,

Josh and Sean (recently re-separated)

Dear Josh,

Sometimes I get tired of Africa.  Such as my recent trip to the Kenya Airways office here in Juba.  Ahem.  Begin scene.

Kenya Airways Lady (KAL): Hello, how can I help you?

Sean: Hello!  I am hoping that you can help me with some information.  I want to buy a ticket to Nairobi on your website.  They list three different types of fares: Economy, Economy Flex, and Economy Super (Duper) Flex.  But it doesn’t say anywhere on the website what the differences are between the fares.  Do you know what they are?

KAL: It is hard to say.

Sean: Yes, but I was just wondering what the different policies are.  I imagine that Super Flex lets you cancel or change your ticket without restrictions???? Right??

KAL: Well, it all depends on which type of fare you buy.

Sean: …..Yes….  Exactly.  Now, what are the differences between Economy, Economy Flex, and Economy Super Flex?

KAL: I would have to know your departure date.

Sean: Why would that matter?  I don’t have a departure date yet.  I’d just like to know the policies.

KAL: Well, the policies all depend on which type of ticket you have.

Sean: Precisely!  I agree with you. Now. Let’s suppose that I came in here with an Economy Flex ticket for September 5th. What would you say to me?  What can I do with that ticket?

KAL: Well, it would depend; I would need your confirmation number.

Sean: I don’t have a ticket yet. 

KAL:  If you buy a ticket, I can tell you.

Sean: I’m not going to buy a ticket so that I can find out if I can cancel the ticket….  Look.  The Economy ticket is $500, the Economy Flex is $550, the Economy Super Flex is $690….  What accounts for the added price? 

KAL: …..

Sean: What if I showed you the Kenya Airways website, maybe that will help.

KAL: (Looks at three computers on her desk) That will be difficult.

Sean: You have three computers, can we go on the internet on any of them?

KAL: No. 

Sean:…..

KAL:…..

Sean: (Looks around the room, confused) This is Kenya Airways and you work for Kenya Airways, right?

KAL: Yes.

Sean: Thank you for your time.

Exeunt.

Sincerely, and not traveling on Kenya Airwaysly,

Sean 

Dear Josh,

I know how you like haikus, so here, in a nutshell, is all I know about L.A. and the U.S. at the moment in three haikum:

1. Oh, Carmageddon!

Is it time to walk or bike?

No no no no no.

2. Is that how you feel?

Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes!

Be emphatic much?

3. Wait. I am not dead.

Carmageddon was painless.

Debt ceiling fake too?

Sincerely,

Sean

Dear Sean,

One time my mom mailed me cookies for my birthday, and I gave Gary one. His moaning was office floor work-stopping. He was groaning—shout-groaning, really.

“Mmmmmmm! MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!!!”

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!! OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHMMMM!”

 
I’m telling you. Every. Day.
 

Well. This weekend I went home, and I came back with a box of cookies. Since Gary only eats cookies after 12pm, my entire morning is taken up with conversation about how it’s “Almost cookie TIME!” And every time he stops by in the afternoon—five, six times—I have to eat a cookie with him. And MOAN. I can’t let the man moan alone, you know? 

 

Sean, I need help. I feel like we’re in a competition, because, I mean, they’re MINE, and I don’t want someone else to get more than me… But wouldn’t I be a monster if I took them home and deprived him of the treat that occupies every waking hour of his life!? 

So here I sit in a cubicle, covered in cookie crumbs and scream-moaning in unison with Gary the Security Guard. This is my life, Sean. This is the stuff they write rock songs about. 

Sincerely, 
-Josh