Miso Hungry

Pre Blog Notes: Thank you to everyone who has wished my grandfather well during his heart attack recovery. I am so grateful for the care he received by my family, the Waltham rescue workers and the Cardiac Care team at Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center...so if you are or know any of those people, you have my extreme gratitude for saving someone so special to me. Cheers to Francis J - I'll be home soon to check up on you, until then...keep being the weird one in the house.

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Let's just quickly talk about race for a second. I...am not a racist. I...make off colored jokes that people perceive as racist. I would NEVER directly insult someone in a derogatory manner. I will absolutely indirectly insult you. But I think it's good you should understand this before continuing to read because while I will joke about what happened last week, I don't want anyone to feel like I wouldn't make the same jokes about them regardless of their race, ethnicity, skin color or creed. I am an equal opportunity offender.

I try not to come home during the day from work. After several..."surprise" interruptions I quickly realized that Roommate does most of his "studying" during the daylight hours of the workday because he assumes no one will be around to bother him.  To clarify: Studying, is code for my Roommate hooking up with random dudes he met online/abducted from the library or McDonalds. In fact, pretty much everything my roommate says he is going to be doing is code for hooking up. And yes, I have come home during lunch to find Roommate hosting a study group....figure that one out yourself.

Thursday, however, I could not avoid coming home during the day because the day before Tucson had experienced a blizzard of apocalyptic proportion. 3 1/2 inches of SNOW blanketed the city and schools and businesses were forced to shut down. It was so treacherous that I was unable to order delivery because the "safety of the drivers was compromised" this from a city with a daily murder rate of 5 people.

So any who, couldn't get food delivered and couldn't get to my office Wednesday so I had to leave for work Thursday and do some quick food shopping at lunch and drop the groceries off at my apartment. I go to the store and come home...it was later that noon but earlier than two.

I arrive home to no noises, no handcuffs, no electric appliances in the bedroom...just silences.

PHEW! Finally, an afternoon to myself so I can make some sort of decent meal......ummmm Hi?

Sitting on my couch is a scared looking Asian girl. I will guess she was in her twenties but then again, she could have been 6...I can never really tell.

Me:

Hi! Sorry. I didn't see you there. Hope you enjoyed my rapping.

Asian Girl:

Me:

Ooook. Is Roommate here?

Asian Girl:

Me:

Fantastic. You don't speak English.



Asian Girl:

Ok, well I'll just text Roommate and see if perhaps you're lost.

Me:
Hi, are you coming home?

Roommate:
In a bit. I had to run to the library (see: hookup). Why what's up?

Me:
Ummmm, not a whole lot except for the small Asian girl on our couch who doesn't speak English?

Roommate:
Oh, that's Hae Na. She's a correspondent for one of the courses I'm teaching. She's fine.

Me:
So you want me to just leave her on the couch?

Roommate:
Yea, I told her I would be back in an hour.

Me:
Because you obviously know Korean...

I feel bad so I offer her some food...since I don't speak Korean...I simply yell slowly with lots of hand movements.

Me:
AAAAAARRRRRREEEEEEEE YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUU? HUUUUUUUUNNNNNNNNNNNNGRY?







Hae Na:

Just kidding, actually she nodded her head yes so I start preparing some food, admiring myself for learning Korean so easily.

Now, I'm not particularly good with hosting foreign students at my house. In high school, I hosted a Japanese exchange student named Masa who came to live with me for 3 weeks during October of my junior year. We did not see eye to eye (absolutely no racial joke meant there) on anything! I went to the fancy Whole Foods and bought all this food to make him feel at home and all he did was sit in our guest room and play with his futuristic cell phone that turned into a mirror and had little charms hanging from the antenna.

Now, this "exchange" program we had in our school cost these poor kids like $20,000 USD to come to the states for a week and spend their days in a Boston area Catholic school. Come to find out, the school didn't see any of that money; I certainly didn't get a dime for hosting the kid in my house and the teacher who organized it embezzled all the money to open a chain of Darque Tans in Florida. I think Masa decided we really didn't get along when I took him to a Halloween party and made him dress up as Redman while I went as Dirrty X-tina...could have been that.

Cut to 2006 - My dad is away with the Military and I arrive home from a British Music conference to my sister picking me up from the airport with two girls in the car.

Kerri:
This is Julie and Ophelia...they are going to be living with us.

Me:
Why?

Kerri:
Because I rescued them.

Me:
From where?!

My sister was working at a camp and met these two lovely ladies while I was away. Apparently, they were sent to live with a "family" through the program they signed up for and instead ended up staying with a childless 40 year man who removed the doors from his bathroom and used to watch them sleep.
My sister, while Angelina Jolie-esque in her intentions, never told the program that the girls had moved in with us...and we didn't know was that Ophelia...had a tendency to sleepwalk. So 3 weeks into their trip to America and 48 hours into the custody of me and my sister...Ophelia got up in the middle of the night, walked over to the 3rd floor window of our guest room...opened it...and jumped out.  After landing on our concrete driveway she awoke Francis J with a sound that he describes as "cats dying while giving birth". Kerri comes rushing into my room.

Kerri:
SEAN! WAKE UP! OPHELIA IS DEAD!

Me:
What?!

Kerri:
SHE JUMPED OUT THE WINDOW. THE POLICE AND FIRE DEPARTMENTS ARE HERE NOW.

For some reason, and to this day I still don't know how, I fell back to sleep.

Ophelia did NOT die...she broke both of her legs and had to get sent home with lots of questioning from the program because obviously they did not know she was even in our house let alone sleepwalking her way across the U.S.A.

Now, I could say at this point that Hae Na and I formed a bond that would last us years to come because regardless of language barriers, friendship can be forged through the simplest of notions....but it cant.

What I can tell you is that she ate the sandwich I made her and then stared at me writing the beginning of this very blog as Roommate came home.

Roommate:
What the fuck are you doing?

Me:
Giving my 14,390 readers a good laugh on a Wednesday 
Working. What's the matter?

Roommate:
You fed her?

Me:
Umm, yes. She was hungry and I had no idea how long she had been on the couch so I offered her a sandwich.

Roommate:
You weren't supposed to feed her!

Me:
What is she a fucking Gremlin?! Why can't she eat?

Roommate:
Because I was going to take her to Chinatown for a traditional Korean dinner! Ugh, you ruin everything.

Me:
Ok, first off..Tucson doesn't even have an Americantown so I'm not sure where the hell Chinatown is. Second, judging by the fact that she doesn't speak any engrish, I'm thinking she probably had a traditional Korean breakfast THIS MORNING WHEN SHE LEFT KOREA. Third, you left her here for god knows how long!

Roommate:
I had office hours

Me:
Is that what you want to call it!

Hae Na starts to look upset and tells Roommate something and to my surprise...he speaks Korean.

So, to paint this picture...I now have my 6'5 white (maybe) roommate fighting with this 4'9 girl in my apartment...in Korean. To the best of my knowledge the fight went as follows:

Ha Nae storms out of my kitchen without even saying Thank You for the sandwich (in any currency, manners cost nothing) and goes running into the parking lot with Roommate chasing after her and I go to the balcony to watch. Had I had time to pour myself a bottle of wine and make some popcorn I would have because this was some class entertainment.

Roommate comes back in and looks to be upset and tells me that Hae Na will not be staying with us this weekend which was FINE BY ME because he didnt even tell me she was staying with us. I apologize for causing a fight and he replies with....

Roommate:
Well you know what they say 여성은 그들과 살 수 있으며 그없이 살 수

Actually, no I do not know what they say in Korean you freakshow but luckily Siri does so I can translate...according to Siri

Hae Na is a grotsky little byotch.

My Roommate's Sausagefest

I think it’s fair to say I have given Roommate MORE than enough chances to be normal. I mean, I’ve watched his pet, dealt with his MANY MANY MANY bed companions and played host to a slew of homo-dramatic events that many in my position would have cast judgement on. Me? I don’t judge. I blog and let you judge. I can’t judge! I’ve been a part of my share of illicit affairs, permiscous rendezvous and non-intentional arson.  I will say this for the record, Roommate is not a BAD person…he is just fucking weird.  Again, this is coming from the boy called GLITTER and who, on more than one occasion, has gone out in New York City, London, Miami, Moscow, Sydney, Dubai and LA wearing nothing more than shimmer powder and underwear so I am not saying that I am all that normal but this past week…well I think I can say this has never happened in the weirdness of my life.

It all started with a series of text messages between me and roommate.

Me:

Hey, just a heads up, my dad is coming into town next week. He’s staying at a hotel but just so you know.

Roommate:

Oh, well my parents are coming into town this week. They are staying with us.

Me:

No of course it isn’t an inconvenience. I don’t mind at all. They are your family! You didn’t even need to run it by me.

When are they coming?

Roommate:

Thursday (it’s Tuesday) and just so you know I’ll be using the kitchen prepping food for them.

Me:

My god, what did they do to deserve that?!

Sounds great, let me know if you need any help.

So I go about my normal Tuesday and arrive home from the animal shelter where I volunteer around 8pm and OH MY GOD…THERE IS BLOOD EVERYWHERE!! What the fuck happened? Did my roommate try to fuck the blender?! Why is there so much blood and what is that awful smell!?!?! Maybe my friends (shout out to Corey and Dawn!) were right? Maybe Roommate was American Psycho…maybe these were all the guys that rejected him this past weekend!?

Me:

Hello!??! Roommate!? Where are you!?

Roommate:

In the bathroom!

Me:

Umm theres a lot of blood

Roommate:

Yea, I wasn’t expecting that. 

Me:

What exactly are you doing?

Roommate:

Well, my family is from [East Bum Fuck] and this is one of our traditions…my grandparents always cure meat and make sausages from scratch so I thought in honor of their visit I would brine several different meats and make homemade sausage…apparently the meat was still very fresh

Me:

I think the meat was still alive! Don’t you need like certain conditions to dry meat?!  Like a butchers shop?!

Roommate:

No, I read all about it [of course you did because you don’t watch TV] and I just need a place to hang the meat pieces and dry heat which luckily we have plenty of in Arizona…oh, is it OK if we don’t put the AC on for two nights?

Me:

Ummm sure!! My grandparents love martinis but I’m not about to fly to Russia and pick potatoes and make liquor from scratch…but whatever.

Side note: I am an Air Condition addict!! If the outside air is warmer than 50 degrees than I will have the airconditioner on.  So much so that I made a deal with roommate that I would pay the entire electric bill if he let me run the A/C as much as I want. So for me to agree to no A/C in 80 degree weather is a HUGE sacrifice for me…you’re welcome Jesus.

Wednesday 5:53AM

I awake to the stench of what seemed like something they’d find on SVU…the smell was gastly and I couldn’t even Fabreeze it enough for me to fall back asleep. Roommate was NOT doing this right. I bang on his door and of course some random dude answers.

Ranbdom Trick:

Yea, do you mind like flushing or opening a window?

Me:

I’m sorry whore what?!

Random Trick:

Roommate says you’re the one making the smell

Me:

Did he?! Well why don’t you take a little walk with me into roommates bathroom because clearly you haven’t been here long enough to take a look around…does THIS look like it’s me making that smell!?!

Random Trick:

OMG I THINK I’M GOING TO BE SICK

Me:

In more ways than one you stupid slut

Roommate:

What are you doing?! I told you to keep that door closed?!

Me:
Really?! You’re going to keep your bathroom shut for two days while rotting meat festers our apartment? Imma pull a Destinys Child right now and say no no  no no no. This is NOT OK….

Let's examine all the reasons why your jerky making factory failed shall we?

1)You bought a heating fan designed to "dry" these animals when instead you failed to realize that keeping them near any amount of water (i.e. - sink, toilet) and heating them would just STEAM them rather than dry them out....have you ever smelled steamed chicken? Smells like balls right? Have you ever smelled steamed horse? You cannot imagine. 

2) You purchased meat from a random Mexican supermerchado rather than consulting with an actual butcher who would tell you that it takes weeks to properly dehydrate and cure meat sanitarily and efficiently

3) YOU'RE TRYING TO DRY MEAT OUT IN MY FUCKING HOUSE!!!

Wednesday night I arrive home from work and again, what I see does not even make sense. Apparently, whatever animals were hung from their hooves in his shower were the lucky ones...Roommate is hard at work CASING SAUSAGES on my kitchen counter. Just incase you've never had the pleasure of witnessing what making sausage from scratch looks like...




The cases themselves? Condoms. My kitchen is full of ground up animal parts...and condoms. I've never wanted to be a vegetarian more in my life. The noise of the grinder keeps me up all night so I just start watching a marathon of Hostel and Saw movies hoping secretly my Roommate might accidentally fall into his meat grinder...I happily drift to sleep.

Thursday arrives and it occurs to me I didn't ask Roommate how many family members were staying with us. Now, I would NEVER have my friends or family stay with me if I had a roommate...that's just me. So of course I bring it up to Roommate.

Me:
So, forgot to ask...who is coming to stay with us again? Your dad and brother?

Roommate:
My dad, my brother, my step mom and step sister. But don't worry because I will just share a bed.

Sounds fair. I've shared a bed with my sister before...it's fine..again...not judging yet

Roommate:
Yea, so it will just be my brother and step sister sleeping in the living room.

Me:
?????????????????????? You're sharing a bed with your dad and step mom? Ok, now I'm judging. 
You're sharing a bed with your dad and step mom?

Roommate:
Well, I mean yea unless you're offering....

Honestly I didn't know what would be worse, having roommate stay with me or having me stay in a bed with his dad and stepmom...neither offers were on the table.

Me:
Oh, I would but I've been feeling really sick lately and I don't want to get anyone sick. I'll probably just lock myself in my room for the weekend.



Roommate:
Oh no you have to at least meet them. They're so excited to meet you!!

Why? I mean, I know why my friends would want to meet you but just to prove that you're real. The family arrives and I have NEVER seen such a group of unattractiveness in one room. This man and woman had separate spouses and still were able to produce 2 of the most hideous children I've ever seen. It was like The Hills Have Eyes meets The Brady Bunch.

Father:
Oh son, it's awful nice to meet you!

Me:
Ok, please dont ever refer to me as son again. 
Very nice to meet you too!

Step Mom:
Roommate tells us you're one of them there radio disk jockeys...like...what's his name Paw?

Father:
Not sure who ya mean Maw

Step Mom:
The one with that there show on the TV

Me:
Ryan Seacrest?

Step Mom:
Jerry Lewis!




Father:
Oh yea, Jerry Lewis...can't get enough of him. Is that what you do?

Me:
For all intensive purposes because I don't feel like explaining what muscular dystrophy is altho based on the appearance of the step kids I feel like they might know...or maybe that's just fetal alcohol poisoning and bad genes...
I do!! That's me!!

Roommate:
Tammy Lynne I told you not to make a big deal about it. Now let's go, I've prepared a wonderful meal for you all.

Father:
You're staying for supper right Steve?

Me:
Um, It's Sean and sadly noooo I can't. I have a thing to go to and I'll be back really late. I probably won't see you again for the trip but IT WAS SO NICE TO MEET YOU.

Tammy Lynne:
Crystal [no doubt named after Tammy's drug of choice] go get the Kodak out of my purse and let's take a picture with this here radio dj. You're bout the most famous we've ever met!

I really should feel happy about that...but I don't...just sad.

So in walks Crystal with a...no lie...disposable camera. 3/$1 at iParty....winds up after the flash.

Me:
Are you sure you just don't want me to take of you all?

Father:
Nonsense, you get in here. Roommate take a picture so we can get on in and start dinner!

So I left Roommate and family to dine on possibly one of the animals I rescued earlier in the week and I took my ass to the Ritz Carlton until I was sure they had gone. I'm sure my blog would have been more exciting had I bunked it with Tammy Lynne and Paw but sometime tells me I'm better off leaving that episode of Jerry Springer untouched.

As for me, I'll always have the photo.

Snips & Tits


If you were to ask my sister, the first word she'd use to describe me is snob. Well, maybe now that my life is a lot more glitter and shirtless selfies she might say homo...but then certainly snob. I don't actually think I'm a snob, just more of a discerning palette than most. If there was ever someone that embodied the $30,000 millionaire it would this kid. My money is my money and while I spend it quickly, I spend it on what I want. The funny thing is, the more money I make...the less money I spend. Back in the day I would literally spend my entire Friday paycheck buying drinks for everyone in the bar...1/2 of whom I didn't know and 1/2 I didn't like. These days, I don't "ball out of control" quite as much but there are several things I enjoying spending money on.

1) Hotels - to me, spending money on a hotel is not only about quality (I don't do anything less than a 4 star at this point) it's about quantity...I stay at hotels in Tucson every weekend even though I live here. Hotels to me are teeny tiny little vacations that come with teeny tiny little shampoos and not so teeny tiny drinks by the pool.

2) Food - a good meal is worth every penny. My grandfather is one of those people you'd see with his plate full of food. Meat next to salad next to dessert. "It's all going to the same place" is his mantra when it comes to food and while that it true, I enjoy meals with style, flair and presentation. My family would say that they could cover up the names of the food on the menu and I would make my order based on price...because I always seem to order the most expensive thing on the menu...it is not my fault my favorite steak is a fillet and my favorite drink is Cristal.

3) My face - while you don't see me everyday at work (yet, Mario Lopez best watch his back) skin regiments are something I can't spare expense on because nobody spares your feelings on judging your face. I grew up with a mother who would NEVER leave the house without makeup on. Even if she just thew some mascara on and then doubled her lipstick as blush (cuz she did that all the time) she was always put together when she went out. When I was 10 I quickly learned that vanity is a learned trait when I arrived home to discover my grandmother with this Jason Vorhees hockey mask looking thing giving herself shock wrinkle therapy.

Grandma-ma is that you?

 So it should be of NO surprise that I will never just "roll out of bed" and go anywhere. Perception is reality so if that means an extra 20 minutes of the front end bronzing and highlighting and an extra 20 minutes on the back end cleansing and toning then by all means...I can be late for work.


This blog though is dedicated to something I bet you think I don't care about...my hair. Now, my  hairline...much like my love life...is deteriorating at a vastly rapid pace as each passing day of my sad single life wages on...oh...yea...I'm talking about my hair...gotta keep on track
Growing up in a military family, short haircuts were not only essential, they were expected. If I went more than 2 weeks without a haircut my grandfather would ask my parents if I was a "hippie". Now the barber I grew up with sadly died so the search for a new barber was harsh. I started going to salons which one would think I would enjoy (including the one where the gay hairdresser used to give 16 year old me white wine to drink while getting my herr did) but alas, it was not enjoyable. Why am I paying  $45 every two weeks for some homo to run a razor up the side of my head while listening to women BITCH BITCH BITCH BITCH BITCH about EVERYTHING in their lives. Um no, I think I'll take a rain cheque thanks!

So then I resorted to the exact opposite of the spectrum...FREE HAIRCUTS. Between my best friend and my mother both attending beauty school, the need for practice came with as many free haircuts as I'd like. The problem? Well, let's just say you don't learn how to cut hair overnight.

It took a while, but I finally found the best haircut in Boston...IN DA HOOD. Now, when I say the hood I don't mean some sort of less "Barbershop" and more "BlueHillAveShop". But what you don't understand is...these guys give THE BEST HAIRCUTS. From crazy ass lines in the side of my head to a straight razor shave that would last me 3 weeks, I was thrilled with the quality of my haircut for a pittance.

So I quickly made the deduction that GHETTO NEIGHBORHOOD = GOOD HAIRCUT ... a lesson that would prove to be a dangerous one which is why I don't do math.

The good thing about living in Tucson is that every neighborhood is a bad one so I figured I would have no problem getting a good haircut. But you know what I quickly learned...you can easily get a bad haircut in a bad neighborhood!! So for months I went to several different barrios (read: spanish ghettos) in town and could not find one that gave me a good haircut. Finally, after being on the air on the hip-hop station as Seanye West for enough time, I gained enough confidence to ask people where they recommend. One of my friends gives me a card...no address...no last name...just Bobby B and a phone number. He told me that he only accepts texts but told me he's totally worth it.

Me:

Hi Bobby, this is Sean a friend of Joses

Bobby:

Jose who?

Me:

Jose Hernandez

Bobby:

Which Jose Hernandez?

I guess that's a legit question since that name is the John Smith of Tucson

Me:

Jose Hernandez the DJ

Bobby:

You cool?

???? am I cool? Depends who you ask I guess. Now what bothers me about this statement is one that you only get asked that by one of two people. 1) Drug dealers 2) in the closet homosexuals... both are people that require EXTREME amounts of discretion and are a pain to deal with.

Me:

I'm cool

Bobby:

Ok, I'll cut your hair Friday at 6pm. Here's the address

That's EXACTLY how the convo went...it was like the fun house mirror of an appointment. I drive by the address on my way home from work on Wed and it is a boarded up old barber shop...I'm nervous.

I ask my friend at work if this guy is legit and he reassured me that it was the right address and I'd understand on Friday. He told me that if Bobby was going to cut my hair, I must have been cool. WHAT THE FUCK IS IT WITH THIS TOWN AND BEING COOL?! I want a haircut not an exclusive interview with Britney Spears.

Friday rolls around and I am sort of nervous...what if I'm not cool enough? what if he starts cutting my hair and thinks I'm a DEA narc? What if I get in there and it's a set-up and Jose is in on it because they want to eliminate competition for dj's....what if it looks like this?

I text Bobby again because...well...there is no door. It's just an iron curtain.

Me:
Hi Bobby, it's Sean. Just wondering how to get into the barber shop

Bobby:
Go around the back. Be cool.

So around the back of this derelict I go and it's EXACTLY how I imagined it. This place is a Latin Kings territory and the back of the barber shop isn't even a barber shop!! There are Mexicans with neck tattoos lifting weights, Mexicans showing off stabbing scars playing cards, Mexicans with their guns on the table playing pool...and ME. You remember me? 26 year old white boy with a tendency to wear my underwear in public? Oh yea.

So I say hello to Bobby and he's REALLY NICE! He's starts asking me about my job...the radio station...how Jose is and all of the barbers are having a good time. I listen carefully for the word maricon to be used in their quick Spanish talk...nothing. I do hear several people referring to me as wero.

Me:
Bobby, what does wero mean?

Bobby:
It means light skinned Mexican

Me:
I'm not Mexican

Bobby:
Yea, I told them you were so they'd know you were cool

Me:
I dont speak Spanish

Bobby:
Don't worry, just be cool

OH SURE NO PROBLEM...I'll just be the cool light skinned Mexican that doesn't speak Spanish...I'll blend right in.

All of sudden 6pm hits (I was few minutes early) and the place turns into a fucking fiesta! The guys start playing loud music...everyone starts dancing and I have NO IDEA what's going on. I get nervous that this is their sacrificial "death of the wero" ritual but then Bobby joins in on the fun. The guys in the back room come out with food, beer and weed...I'm STILL in the chair with half my hair shaven off and a smock around my neck....I sat there for 30 min waiting for Bobby to enjoy his Tecate and spliff.

What's scarier than a ex-con coming at your head with a straight razor? How about a drunk high ex-con coming at your head with a straight razor...pretty sure I peed through my smock.

Thinking the distractions were over, Bobby gets back to cutting my hair until one of the roughians yells los bailarines están aquí!!

What the hell does that mean? The music changes and I quickly realized my barbershop/gym/casino/bar...was now turning into a STRIP CLUB. From the back of the building come the two UGLIEST WOMEN I have ever seen. Now, this isn't my area of expertise and anyone can tell you that but I know what level things should be at and where there should and shouldn't be visible scars.  They are grinding up against the barbers, the customers, the other random guys hanging out...I felt like I was in a Daddy Yankee music video starring Mama June...HORRIFYING.

But, once he was done I had to admit...best damn haircut I've had in a while!! So I gave Bobby a $10 tip and he was so thankful he offered me a taco, a beer, a blunt and a lap dance from one of the "ladies"...not a bad return on investment but I politely declined. He told me just to text him next time I want a haircut and he'll hook it up for me because "I'm cool".

Ahhh Tucson...if you can survive here, you can survive anywhere