I don’t really remember my dreams, but the other night I had a funny one. I was living in a sweetass apartment in Tribeca, right next door to Steve Nash. He does actually live in Tribeca, right near Chambers St. He lives near my old gym, which was a nasty, nasty place (read: cheap) that smelled like jockstrap. I’ve never actually smelled a jockstrap but I don’t really have to because I’ve smelled my gym. There were guys literally hopped on roids. Big as a trucks these guys. I believe their testicles had pulled up inside their bodies by that point, because that is what the roids do. Anyway totally off topic. So I’m trying to get into my building, but I am carrying like the biggest bags of groceries ever. So then Steve Nash runs up to me and says, let me help you with that. No, he is not wearing his uniform. He’s wearing jeans. And I remember thinking, dude Steve Nash, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with actual pants on, only big polyester shorts, you look kind of funny. (You know like when you see someone who always wears a hat without their hat.) But I don’t actually say that because I am not an ass. Anyway he is a gentleman and helps me carry my stuff, and then I say I’m Annie and you are totally Steve Nash! And he is like yes, I am totally Steve Nash! (I remember thinking that Steve Nash seemed shorter in real life). We talk pleasantries, and then I ask Steve Nash and his wife to dinner, and he agrees, and I am all surprised and I say well it’s a dinner party, you can meet my friends. It will be good times. And you don’t have to bring anything special, just bring yourself. I find this last statement kind of weird. Because he’s Steve Nash and he’s bringing Steve Nash to the dinner party, which is pretty special if you think about it.

And so I have this dinner party, and the only people there are ARCHITECTS. OH GOD. ARCHITECTS. Who ultimately BORE THE SHIT OUT OF POOR STEVE FUCKING NASH. And they are arguing over something totally inane and not applicable to real life or real people and they have no idea that this is STEVE FUCKING NASH! And then Steve Nash and his wife leave early, and I feel guilty because I have not thoroughly entertained the guy. Steve Nash. I don’t even like basketball. But Steve Nash seemed pretty cool. I would totally have dinner with him (again).

The moral of the story is that Steve Nash looks funny in jeans.

The End.

This entry was posted on Monday, November 24th, 2008 at 9:11 pm and is filed under NYC, architecture, shame. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.