Monthly Archives: June 2008

Inadvertently Insulting

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Today our CEO declared it “girl’s day” before handing out free samples of skin care product to all of us out in the open area. We accepted each gift with a meager thanks, as these charitable gifts come occasionally and randomly. I thought nothing of it, having tried the product before, unable to notice a difference in skin quality. However, one of my coworkers lamented “I like how he gave me the age-defying one” which made me laugh until I looked down at mine: firming.

“Hey, which one did you get?” I called out.

“Rejuvenating. What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I got age-defying too.”

We ran over to another desk to find our absent coworker had received “clarifying.”

It was one of those moments where we of course doubted ourselves and wondered if the hand outs had not been so random, if we had individually been targeted for our skin flaws.

Of course we squawked like a bunch of hens with image issues, knowing in some way or another we were given products with pretty names but in reality we were pinned as dry, loose, wrinkled, and oily.

The only consolation was that the product wasn’t douche. Or vagina cream.

The Thunder Rolls.

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I think I have PTSD.

Seriously, every time some asshole construction worker decides to heave a crossbeam from the scaffolding he’s taking apart to the dumpster 25 feet below, instead of handing it to the guy who’s right below him, I have a fucking heart attack. My palms start sweating, I taste the adrenaline in my mouth, all of my senses become heightened, and I begin planning my nearest exit to safety. Whatever commentary this may beget about my awaking to a plane hitting Tower 2 back in ’01, or tied to my childhood balloon story (goddamn, mother-loving balloons!), this response happens every time I’m exposed to a loud noise. I can’t even drop a stapler at home without wanting to dive into the nearest foxhole. And don’t get me started on those evil little Chinese firecrackers.

But none of these sounds even compares to thunderclaps. The sheer terror that mighty Thor puts into my heart as the thunder rolls across the sky to hit the (only slightly) taller building right next to ours, is absolutely unparalleled. And here’s the worst part: I’m apparently supposed to think that t-storms are SEXY. Good God, that is the last thing that comes to mind, unless you count diving under the covers and cowering my version of a ‘come to bed’ look. Continue reading →

Degrassi Downfall

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It’s Friday night and I’m at home alone watching a marathon of Degrassi: The Next Generation. For the past month I’ve missed it, and here it is in full force, and I feel like I can’t walk away. I could be out (if I had friends) doing something productive (drinking) but no, I’m perfectly content sitting on my lazyboy, melting in the heat wave, watching my beloved Canadian dorks get their drama on. I blame Daniel for his Degrassi obsession and generally introducing me to bad TV, Kristin for forcing me to continue watching “two more episodes” to watch JT get shanked (which is probably when I was officially hooked), and The N for playing it non-stop.

Attacked by vipers

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…who were viping and vashing our office vindows. And I wasn’t really attacked, more like I was driving by and had just rolled down my windows in anticipation of swiping my parking access card, when I read a sign: Caution, men working above. And right at that moment, splat, water hit my windshield and my bare arm. Dirty window water from filthy squeegees.

It just led me to think, wouldn’t it be funny if I gained access to the window washing gear, and navigated it to the 10th floor where several key execs work in my company, and lingered outside their windows until they noticed me? Or, the alternative would be to do the same, and make a fast motion so as to startle the bejesus out of them. Either way, I’d have prime positioning outside their offices and their full attention. At that point, I would hold up a sign that reads “I Quit!” and based off their expression, all Bob Dylan like, I’d hold up another one that reads “Life!” and jump backwards out of the little window washing cart. Joke’s on you, buddy!

And, I would be on the next unfortunate person pulling into the lot. Dirty chinese body falling from above.

Hot as Murder. MURDER!

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O. M. G. You guys. It’s hot as MURDER in New York.

Listen, I know what Californians consider hot, and let me tell you, being able to fry an egg on the sidewalk is nothing compared to being able to fry an egg on the sidewalk, and seasoning it with your own sweat. Or better yet, poaching an egg in a bowl of your sweat as collected by mischievous wood nymphs who only delight in your suffering. This is how hot it is.

Now, I’ve embraced my inner (and outer) sweaty beast. I realize that, even in the dead of February, I will work up a sweat climbing the 3 flights to my apartment. I wholeheartedly accept the fact that I will begin sweating bullets when put in front of a slew of corporate employees, or when eating Tabasco, or when forced to interact with senior citizens. However, when I begin sweating the moment I set foot outside, the moment I leave the climate controlled safety of my bedroom, I have no psychological defense. I become a puddle of the man I used to be, dissolved into component parts: sebaceous fluid, amino acids, an ironic t-shirt, and rage. It is no wonder that people like me devolve into this. I feel for the guy, I really do. If I’d walked 4 blocks in a 3 piece suit from the subway to the office, and arrived soaking wet by my own doing, only to have some office toady tell me that I wasn’t sorting my trash properly, there might be a chance that I went completely postal. I understand the idea of ‘Hot as Murder’.

I’ve also turned aside from the notion that when I sweat, I look something like this:

And realized that it’s really much more like this:

On a side note, when I was googling ‘sweaty’ and ‘sweat-soaked’ you can imagine the amount of gay porn that came up. On the site where I found that first image, I also found this:

Oh, Zacky. Really… only a matter of time, isn’t it?