Too hard out there for a pimp

By the way, this is the intercom at an apartment I saw a few weeks ago. I didn't know Farfisa made video intercom. Pretty cool, but I don't think it will impress customers. A little too indie pop for the average Manhattanite.

I got up early and went to work this morning. I wasn't totally happy with my outfit but I still looked sufficiently businessy in my "business grey." But I really don't feel so businessy today. Today I feel freelance. And I took the afternoon off, came back to Greenpoint and passed out for an hour and a half. Of course I got some more calls, one from another agent who may be willing to give me some of her clients (for a referral fee) because she doesn't have any listings in Chelsea. Ridiculous. I don't know what it is like to work at these other agencies that have no listings, but it must suck and I don't know how these people make any money. Idiots.

Anyway, I got a few calls, once I had come home and passed out. The street corner dude called and left another message. I am glad I missed the call, because I would have answered the phone thinking it was a client. Gross. Delete. I would rather hear from the Hamburger, but I think I'll give him another call when I have to go back out to the shop to get a note from the mechanic saying my car doesn't have a car alarm so I don't have to pay the ticket. Or if I make a deal, I'll take him out to a slice of pizza. I am such a weirdo. It is way too hard out there for a pimp.

At home today I have watched Oprah 1.5 times, a few home fixit shows on TLC and later I may enjoy some Medium. Amy and I have come up with some awesome alternate lyrics: "You know it's hard out there for a wimp, trying to steal the money for the rent, ordering buckets full of shrimp, you got a whole lotta bitches eatin' shrimp!" We also have songs about the laundry man, who loves me but is indifferent toward her. We want to fix him up with the landlady.