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My housemate and friend, Tubby, also happens to be my landlord. How convenient. This means that occasionally I get asked to do some pseudo-landlord stuff. For example, this morning the girls downstairs called him at work to complain about the plumbing. Well, Tubby knows that I'm a lazy ass and that I'm usually still home at 10 -- especially when I didn't get to bed until 5 a.m. Thus, it fell upon me to go into the girls' apartment and leave their back door open for the plumber to go in. (Bitty and all you other sick-minded individuals, shut up!)

It's not unusual for me to do something like this. I've also given considerable creative input on the pending kitchen remodelling. I wonder if this qualifies me for the title of Vice-Landlord. I could see how such a status might be of use the next time I go apartment hunting.

But then again, that position entails a lot of responsibility. I'm not sure I'm up to the task. For example, the girls are moving out at the end of the summer, and we will need to find new tenants. What if Tubby asks me to get involved in the screening process? I would feel conflicted if the applicants were friends. And, I'll be honest, I could not resist the urge to choose the gorgeous female flight attendants over the well paid, fiscally responsible male programmers.

Thus, I hereby refuse the title of Vice-Landlord. I just can't handle the pressures of the position!

Speaking of positions, who says you can't be caller 11?!? 11 did strike me as an odd number (don't be so literal, Am0) for a phone-in contest, but still... FNX is a popular Boston station, and I doubt I would beat the thousands of callers. The odds are stacked against me.

They were giving away a DVD for some Julia Stiles movie that I'd never heard of -- might have been A Guy Thing, I'm not sure -- and tickets to Legally Blonde 2. I'd like to see Legally Blonde 2, but I'm not sure I want to pay $10 to see it.

After thinking about it for a few seconds, I whipped out my phone and dialed the 877 number. Busy. Oh well, I figured. I didn't call right away and now the circuits are busy; I'll never get through. But on a whim I hit redial. The phone started ringing. That in itself was a moral victory. I was able to get a real line...and it wasn't 40 minutes later! The phone kept ringing. And ringing. I was about to hang up, but stubborness -- or lack of anything better to do while I parked my car -- caused me to stay on the line.

"Hello, FNX radio."

"Hi. Am I caller number 11?"

<pause /> "Yes, you are. What's your name?"

Shit. I actually got through. I was caller 11. I beat the odds. I won. I WON!!! I'm going to Disneyland...er...um...to a movie, I mean, a movie.

In retrospect, I wish I had said something akin to that when she told me I won. Instead, I was boring as hell. They'll either play back that segment on the air and I'll sound like a total loser, or they'll choose not to play it because I sounded so blah. I didn't stick around to hear the on-air announcement. I'll get something in the mail in a couple of weeks, and then I'll go see a movie. If any of you heard my name on FNX around 11:30 this morning, let me know.

(This blog was a lot wittier the first time I wrote it. There is something about losing a lengthy blog to cyberspace that just sucks the creative juices right out of me. Hmmm... I wonder if cyberspace is single....)

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