However, every now and then I still get homesick for good ol' New Yawk.
There are just some things New York has that Miami doesn't
..besides catastrophic terrorist attacks.
It's the little things.
Like basements!!
I fucking love basements. I love fucking in basements.
You see Floridians and California Gurls, the basement is a subterranean sanctuary for us East Coasters.
During my formative years, the lowest floor of my home served as a private retreat from the rest of the family.
Allow me to elaborate.
1. It was a pseudo-bachelorpad, where friends could be entertained but ladies could be wooed. It was a testotorone-laden social club, yet a lair of seduction. My mates and I could cheer as the Jets covered the spread on my flatscreen, or I could attempt to charm a young female, far removed from the prying eyes and boner-killing small talk of my parents.
2. Likewise, it was a laboratory of experimentation. Many a first beer was drunk and a beginner's blunt was smoked not only in mine, but basements across America.
Come to think of it, I lost my virginity and had my first THC-induced panic attack about 20 feet away from each other.
Loyal readers, I became a man underground.
I recall one tenth grade soiree where both functions were served simultaneously...
My friend Adam was a novice to drinking. After his fourth victory in beer pong, Nature decided to force him to retire. A few seconds into celebrating, attempted to run to the bathroom where he proceeded to vomit violently. I, the ever-attentive host, rushed to his aide. As I consoled him (and snickered at his state), another party guest banged on the door. I ignored it, tending to my fallen friend. But the outsider pounded on, demanding entry. I guess she really had to go. Annoyed, I finally shoved the door open.
"WHAT?"
Imagine my surprise when I saw Brittany sprawled on the floor, attempting to cup the blood now pouring out of her nose.
There seemed to be a collective gasp as the thirty-so in attendance turned and me standing over a bloody, hysterical teenage girl.
Even Adam lifted his head from the toilet to cry, "THE FUCK BRO??"
There was now a delightful melody of blood, vomit and tears desecrating my man cave
However, the night wasn't a total loss.
After an icepack and some Smirnoff, Brittany Silverstein was off having sex with some Roslyn senior in the very basement bedroom where I first added the first girl to my Sexsheet (see below post)
I, however, was busy scrubbing puke and hemoglobin from the carpet.
Thank you, Basement!
Whether used for rehearsing with your shitty band, or housing your unemployed son, Krum Life Dot Com salutes the Basement, my Teenage Testing Ground.
