So all five of you readers have been probably asking yourself, “Where the fuck is Fishman?” The last time he wrote an article was in September! Well, a lot has happened to me in between then and now. I’ll tell you all about it.

I decided that it was finally time to grow up. Yeah, I was comfortable living at home, working my crap Database Manager job, going into the city every weekend to drink…but, one day I looked in the mirror and saw that I looked a little older than I did when I graduated college. A huge wave of sadness hit me like a double karate chop from King Corn Karn on the shoulders, and I became seriously worried that my life was going nowhere. I had to put off ZubazPants.com until my life was back on track…

Long story short, through incredible luck, I landed a great, respectable job with a higher salary. It has healthcare, dental, and room for growth. I work in a big building in Manhattan with a large lobby. Those who know me are aware of what company I work for, but I don’t feel comfortable talking about it over the Internet. Let’s just say that I work for a TV network that uses an ocular body part for its logo. Upon being hired, so began my first step into becoming an adult…

Man, being an adult sucks. Everyday I have to wear a shirt and tie to work. A TIE! Those things are just nooses if you ask me. What’s the point of a tie? How did that even become a fashion necessity when it came to looking professional? I never understood it, I hate it and I put one on every single morning…sort of. I may be an adult now, but I can’t for the life of me tie a fucking knot on a tie. I just can’t do it. So you know what I did? I had my father tie all seven or eight ties that I own for me and I just never untied them. I loosen them after the day is out and hang them on some hanger in my closet. I’ve had the same knot ties for about four months. How pathetic is that? Even an ape could tie a knot on a tie!

Don’t mock me, you bastards

I honestly was not made for the 9-5 world (I actually work 8-5, but whatever). I know nothing about inter-office politics or gossip. I had to take a test from Human Resources about office manners and sexual harassment and all that crap, but it scared me so much about doing something improper and being fired as a result, that I keep quiet as much as possible. I say “hi” to people on rare occasions. I think this is why office conversations are so lame – people are too scared to talk about anything else in fear that it may be considered improper by some nut. People say Office Space-like shite such as, “Got a case of the Mondays, huh?” because they know it’s not offensive and it’s a thing that all workers can agree on.

I was guilty of such a thing the other day. I saw a co-worker by the elevator, we greeted each other as I passed by, and when he inquired how I was, I replied with a fulfilled sigh, “It’s Friday, man.” I felt sick. I partook in typical office banter by using a token office line – the “TGIF” line. Is this how it’s going to be from now on? What’s next – me hanging up a poster of Garfield in my cubicle?

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

I also have to make sure that I keep my work shirts in order. Those fuckers are expensive, plus I have to keep them clean and pressed all the time. I only have six shirts to begin with, so I have this shirt rotation that I’m hoping none of my co-workers catch on to. It’s white, gray, green, blue, yellow and purple. Tomorrow (Monday) is a white shirt day. That means I won’t be wearing my purple shirt this week. Let’s not forget that I have to wear an undershirt. I run out of white undershirts so often that I fish them out of my laundry bag and re-wear them, bad smell be damned. I’m not going to the Laundromat once a week - I’m not made of quarters. Sure, I can buy more shirts, but that’ll make my laundry load that much bigger, forcing me to move to the bigger washing machines that cost more! I can’t win!

But guess what? My new job was just one part of becoming an adult. I also had to move out of my parents’ house. I know it’s sad to be living at home at age 24, but it’s not like I live outside of Youngsville, Ohio, where renting an apartment is cheaper and competition for an apartment is not as tense. I live outside of New York City, so everything is expensive. Renting an apartment is impossible here unless you save some money first, so I had to stay at home while the savings accumulated.

So where would I move? Manhattan? I didn’t really feel that I should pay $2500 a month for a roach-infested studio apartment above a bar, so that was out. Brooklyn? I didn’t want to live among the mix of douchebag hipsters and hardcore criminals that the affordable neighborhoods of the borough provided, so that was out also. Staten Island? Sure, living in the shadow of a gigantic landfill may seem attractive, but I can assure you that it’s really not that glamorous. The Bronx? I make it my duty not to live in a place where I am almost certain to get shot.

That left me with one option: Queens.

Beautiful

Gorgeous

Amazing

Ah Queens, the most ethnically diverse county in the United States. Surely a white Jewish man from an upper-middle class family would be welcomed here. Plus it was affordable, it was a short commute to Manhattan, and some neighborhoods were popular with young professionals. It was perfect for me…oh, and my roommate, Todd Grimes, but no one cares what he thinks. We decided to look for a place in Astoria, a mostly Greek neighborhood in Queens.

Time was against us after Todd revealed that he had to move out of his crime-ridden New Jersey neighborhood by the end of the month. We tried a realtor, but the first guy we used was a total dick. He kept telling us we were too poor to enjoy some of the better apartments that Astoria had to offer. Bullshit! Todd and I did the research – our price range was reasonable, but the guy had it with us. He told us to check out some apartment a million years from the closest subway, but he wouldn’t come with us. We were actually banished from his office!

We went to another place that was more on the level. The guy showed us two places – one slightly cheaper than the other. He said we would soon understand why one was cheaper. When we entered the stairwell of the cheaper place, we immediately gazed upon an old woman smoking a cigarette on the steps. As we went up the stairs, my ears were filled with small dogs yapping and televisions blaring through doors. The apartment we saw was very small and hot as hell. I don’t know if the realtor turned up the heat to sweat a sale out of us, but the place was steaming. It was not what we wanted, as the realtor predicted.

The next place we saw was barely an apartment. It was being completely remodeled by a raspy-voiced Greek, who was also the landlord. The refrigerator was in the living room and every piece of floor was covered in dust and debris. To make another long story short, we took a chance and went with this one. It’s rare to find an apartment being remodeled and freshly painted. We took care of the first month’s rent, a security deposit, and the ENORMOUS realtor’s fee (free advice: realtors help, but only use them if time is of the essence when looking for your first apartment).

So I did it! I have my own apartment! I’ve been there over a month now. The remodeling turned out great and everyone who has visited seems to like it. I’ve had no Internet until recently, which is another reason why I haven’t been around Zubaz (I’m too scared to post at work…especially since an IT guy once took control of my computer to install an update and he saw me reading the script of “The Godfather part II.”).

But have things been easier? No. I learned that pretty much everything costs money. I had it good at my parents’ house – I didn’t have to worry about bills. Now I do. Gas costs money. Food costs money. Laundry costs money. Cable and Internet costs money. Hell, even turning on my huge fan to block out my noisy upstairs neighbors costs money because that’s electricity! I feel like I’m paying a toll to get a good night’s sleep! I obviously knew that these things weren’t free, but it still comes as a shock when you see the bills and realize that for the first time, all of this shit is coming out of your pocket…and it’s a lot of shit.

I guess that’s about it. This article was really just an overview of where I have been. You can probably expect more Zubaz articles from me now that I’ve taken care of all of this important stuff…well, almost all of it. I’m still two women short of a threesome, which is something I must do before I die.

Questions? Comments? Got a case of the Mondays? E-mail Fishman347@yahoo.com

Oh yeah, you should also check out my archives right here