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Flying Squirrel
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Monthly Archives: April 2006
Never make out with shady guys who deliver furniture at a party no matter how hot they are
So- I would like to preface my first “blog” by saying that I am living in the Philippines. On an island that is pulsating with sexual energy i swear, so please don’t judge. Also- for those that are at all stomach-weak at mention of homosexual activity please do not read on. Actually- that is probably a good disclaimer for ANY entry I write here- altough this particular entry contains very very mild content of that sort.
So- I arrive to my place at 7:30 AM on Saturday having been out all night. I have random blotches of henna smeared over my legs, elbows, and arms. My feet are caked in dirt. My white shirt is browned from a mixture of henna, dirt, grass stains, and god knows what else. My ass and back are bruised and sore from jumping on who I can’t even remember and falling smack down on the concrete. I am missing my digital camera- and I have a phone that smells like shit because it was clogged in a toilet and also missing the battery. Definition of a mess. Not cute.
The Business Section
I am not as ‘web savvy’ as most West Coasters. I don’t get my news from Salon, but I read the New York Times every day. My progression has been such that I started out three years ago reading the Front Page and then skipping straight the the Arts section, perchance making a stop in Dining Out or checking the Hockey stats, (no… really). As of late, I am actually devouring the entire page, (with the exception of the *boring* sections, Travel and/or Fine Arts), finding myself especially drawn to the Business section. This is because I have become a corporate whore.
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Hello Deli
I support my drinking habit by working in a deli. A posh, chi chi deli for rich students and tourists. In addition to being a deli, my store also serves posh sandwiches for 2.50-3.50 (and that’s in pounds, so we’re talking $4.50-$6.50ish) that are grilled on a very hot, oil-splattering grill named “Michael” which has given me numerous scars over both my hands, the cheeky bastard.
I work for two of the most heinous bitches the world has created, both of whom are also American (of-fucking-course).
So today, we had a fairly large lunch rush. I was back in the sandwich bar doing my thang with 4 sandwiches on the grill and 10 people in line. Then….disaster! I’ve run out of parma ham just as someone is ordering the 3.50 “Sophia Loren” sandwich (parma ham, parmeasan, pesto, sweet peppers and rocket lettuce).
2.5 litres of water
Some say that the office/cubicle life is shallow and unfulfilling. There’s a phrase associated with people that make such seemingly negative observations: “no shit sherlock!” If you’re like me, the office is all you got. It encompasses your life 9-10 hours a day without respite. Sometimes it even holds you hostage keeps you company on the weekend. Often times late at night when you should be doing this thing called “socializing,” whatever the fuck that is.
At some point over my two years here, each day sitting at my desk each day with that famous blank look on my face, I started to notice things. Strange wonderful things like the perfect way to slouch so no one can see that your eyes are shut and you don’t have to support you neck while you sleep. You learn things about people like who not to shake hands with because you sit close enough to the bathroom to know who doesn’t wash before going back to work.
It was another bathroom observation I made recently. I tend to make bathroom observations…