Monday, July 31, 2006

Schizophrenia, Much?

Rather than letting me use one of their cars, my family has decided it would be easier to drive me to and from work despite the fact that they all work, at most, 20 minutes from one another and I work more than an hour away from all of them. Yay having them tow me everywhere! Speaking of which, driving with my mother is an exercise in patience. She keeps at least a 6 car following distance between her and the car in front of her, and slams the breaks if that gap closes by so much as a foot. Oh how I miss my little Princess Gary (my car's a drag queen) and hope she has a speedy recovery (because it's not getting any cooler out... tomorrow it's supposed to be 100 some odd degrees but with the humidity it will feel like 109 degrees... I'm sweating just thinking about it).

An office update: everyone seems to have recovered from their death flus but now they're coming down with all sorts of strange afflictions. One has a rash (and wore a festive scarf to cover it up) and another is breaking out in little bumps (the one that "yelled" at me which I just suspect are her witch's warts coming in). Whatever the reason, I'm convinced that place is a petre dish. The only silver lining I can see to having sickly coworkers is that by time I'm done working there I'll be immune to most known diseases... or I'll be dead. We shall see!

Which reminds me I need to do some serious scrubbing because some crazy patron insisted on shaking hands with me. I obliged his request but then couldn't help but think "If I have to wait much longer to wash my hand I may have to amputate."

And then how will I masturbate.

(Okay Okay I'm being dramatic but I like to stand by my stereotype that true crazy people are just covered in their own feces).

This man told me his whole life story and now you will hear about it too so you can vicariously experience my misery. To set the mood imagine a man with an oddly hairy nose (not just nose hair like hair ON his nose) wearing a grease-stained shirt, frayed cut off jeans, who spits a lot when he talks. Nooooooooow GO!

He's having problems getting a job even though he has a law degree, a Masters in Library Sciences, and some other special certification. He's against the war in Iraq. He likes to visit the people on the 2nd floor of the Library of Congress and thinks I should work there too. He doesn't like the governor of Maryland because he somehow cut funding to the Library of Congress. He's had to take a lot of crappy odd jobs as a result of underfund and he told me about a lot of websites I should go visit even though he expressed disdain for everything going on the internet. He then asks:

Crazy: Yeah does Dina still work here?

Your Hero: Who?

Crazy: Deana... Diana? She leads this place...

Your Hero: Do you mean [Miriam]?

Crazy: That's it! Yeah...I'm really good friends with her.

From there he handed me his resume and talked about a book his father wrote, which for some reason required him to hand me another piece of paper he had been carrying around on a clip board. After asking me whether I had visited the Law Library up the road (there isn't one) and if I'd been to Ocean City this summer, he left in a cloud of crazy dust and vanished from my life.

I then took the time to look over his resume and the paper about his father's book which he had so graciously given me.

Here are the highlights:

"Todays'=Date Summer of 2000
TO: Miss Wand Felds, Gwen Crenshaw, Daisey thompson
'The Career Key.' Larry K. Jones

Mr. and Mrs.David (in Jsophine Ciccoine 1541, 1989) Solomon
Mr. and Mrs.David W. Ostrow=
Our Kensington Towers to Huntington Village
Please send ORIOLES/ RAVENS World Series and Super Bowl Tickets

????= 1976, 1989-1991, Janurary 2nd, 2001 at 5:29 AM
Army Times/ Stars and Stripes
Donald Rumsfeld, Tom Snow, United States
Contact Dr. Florence Pulwers, PHD
after January 2nd, 2001 at 5:29 AM"

With qualifications like those, how can he not get a job?

Normally I would have reflected on the sad state and poor treatment of the mentally ill in our society and the stigmas they must over come when trying get gainful employment... but I was too busy thinking about how I had to soak my hand in bleach.

So it goes.


Sunday, July 30, 2006

Watch Out Heidi Klum and Tim Gun The Next Generation Is Right Here

I was just watching Project Runway and it brought back fond memories of my own brief stint as a fashion designer which I thought I would share with all of you:


(Okay okay look at my crotch all you want, but get all your "Looks like you're smuggling grapes" jokes out of your system now before you journey towards my comments section.)

Ahem. I call my design Gay Pride Tin Man. Not featured is a construction paper flower that went on my lapel which my friend made for me soon after this picture was taken. The purpose of this outfit was a friend's No Clothes theme party in which you make your clothes out of objects around your house (why did I bother to explain that). I cheated and used some real clothes but don't tell anyone. This will be our little secret.

Anyway if you would like create your own duct tape outfit all you need is the following things:

- Duct Tape
- Newspaper
- Construction Paper
- Festive wrapping paper
- Too Much Time On Your Hands

And the most important ingredient of all


Oh yeah and carry around a roll of duct tape (as can be seen on my left arm in the picture) because you will split seams in all the worst places. Especially the crotchal region.

Needless to say I made quite the spectacle of myself... but I didn't need a duct tape suit to do that.


Saturday, July 29, 2006

It's Like Prostitution Only Less Herpes

So for some reason I thought it would be fun to try out this nature thing all the kids are talking about these days...and in the minute I was outside I managed to walk through a spider web, get attacked by a bug, and started sweating in places I didn't even know could sweat.

Ah well, better luck next time.

A few weeks ago I sent out graduation announcements* (despite the fact that I graduated in early May) and now I am eagerly anticipating the money that will be rolling in the kind words and adulation that are coming my way. So far I've received two cards back and all I can say is Cha-Ching! that I am reminded of how fortunate I am to have a loving family who appreciates me and relishes in my accomplishments.

It dawned on me, however, after opening their letters that this would mean that I have to write the ever dreaded... Thank You Note! My least favorite thing in the world!!! But I think I'm going to make it fun this time around, for myself mostly, by doing the following.

I'm a big fan of public television and my favorite thing to watch are those pledge drives that everyone thinks are stupid and annoying. I simply enjoy them because for an outrageous donation you can get a really crappy pretentious gifts. For instance, a 250 dollar pledge will get you a cassette tape of a Javanese Gamelan ensemble, a VHS of a Kabuki play, an umbrella, and it'll all come in a tote bag embellished with the Public television logo!

This is exactly the approach I want to use for my Thank You Notes.

Your pledge of $0 to 25 dollars will get you the following message:


25+ to 50:




50+ to 100:

I will answer whatever stupid question you asked me in your letter no matter how many times you've asked me it before like what I plan to do after college, which I've already told you thrice! You will also receive the following message:


Love always,



You will receive all of the above, plus I will hug you at our next family reunion/party/holiday event.

My love is for sale! And much like a public television tote bag, it doesn't come cheap.


*Okay, okay my mother sent out graduation announcements but I did have it on my to do list! That counts for something right? Right?!?!

Friday, July 28, 2006

And So I'm Reminded You Can't Pick Your Family

It figures that just as I swear off talking to My Pretend Future Husband Who Doesn't Know It Yet, he messages me and asks me to go to a club with him. My mutant facial distinguishing mark *coughpimplecough* prevented me from going out, but it was nice to know he wanted to hang out with me and therefore wants to have my adopted babies.*

In other news, if I don't kill my father by the end of the day I think I'll have earned sainthood.
And so the story of my day begins...

I took off work so that I could take my car in to get the air conditioner fixed. Last night my father said that he would need me to drive my car over there with him so I would absolutely have to be ready to leave by quarter of 8. I told him to come knock on my door a little before quarter of 8 and I would throw on some clothes and we could go.

So I'm up well before 8, eyes closed but awake, just enjoying the comfort of my warm bed when I get the signal that it is go time! I throw on my clothes real fast and yell to my father, who was in the bathroom, that I would be waiting for him downstairs. Time passes and suddenly I start to realize my dad wasn't just using the bathroom, he was taking a shower! which with his combination of creams and sprays and baby powder and ground elephant testicles (I don't know there's a whole cabinet full of crap he uses) meant he would be ready in about half an hour. Time I could have remained in bed. (Boiling Point: 60 minutes)

He lumbers down the stairs as I'm working on some stuff and asks me, "Well are you ready to go?" (Boiling Point: 33 minutes)

"LET'S GO!" I head to the door. He asks me if I need a bag to put stuff from my car in (since things tend to mysteriously disappear when I take it in) and I tell him no because the only thing I care about taking out is my car charger (which has "disappeared" before).

I rush out the door eager to get this over with and as I'm stepping into the car, he tries to hand me a bag. (Boiling Point: 26 minutes) I slam the car door in his face as he stands there, bag in hand, staring at me. I simply start up my car, turn on the radio, and prepare to drive. He takes the hint. We go drop off my car and he offers to take me out to breakfast. I agree, not wanting to cook, so he takes me to... uggh... Friendlys (Boiling Point: 10 minutes)

My father has been trying to get me to join the Knights of Columbus for years and it wasn't until I came out of the closet that he finally stopped asking me (which if I had known I would have come out years ago). So instead of trying to get me to join, he talks to me about his trials and tribulations as Chief Grand Knight or whatever of the organization. I blankly stare at him as he goes on to talk about how they might have to combine councils due to low participation. (Boiling Point: 1 minutes)

Your Hero: That's nice...

Papa Bear: Haha, I forget you're not a morning type of person.
(Boiling Point: Imminent *Cue steam shooting out of my ears and fire breath!!!)

Your Hero: I'm not a you type of person. Speaking of this morning...

I then launch into a tirade against him in which I ask when we were supposed to leave this morning, whether he had heard me when I said I didn't need a bag, and a host of other stupid things that had been irritating me all morning. I wasn't mistaken about anything and he had heard everything I had said. His final response was:

Papa Bear: Much to do about nothing. *Throws hands up in the air.*

Being the Drama King that I am I couldn't possibly let it rest there.

Your Hero: The issue is not the bag or when we were supposed to leave, but the fact that you don't listen to what other people have to say to you or worse, you do listen to what we say and ignore it. Don't you see how someone might construe that as disrespectful and rude? Is that much to do about nothing?

Papa Bear: I'm sorry...

Your Hero: That would mean something if you took my words to heart and didn't do it again but I know you're going to. You know you're going to. I could go home and ask [my sister] and she'd say you're just going to do it again too.

My father was in silence as were the rest of the people in the restaurant who had begun eavesdropping. The waitress came.

Your Hero: I'll have the Super-Big-Two Combo meal, please.

And I don't know whether it was my dad's humilation or the sweet release of all that pent up annoyance, but that crumby meal tasted like a bite of baby Jesus. Is this what victory tastes like?

We came home, business as usual and my dad instantly began to grate on my sister's nerves because he's the loud bull-in-a-china-shop type with everything he does, and she was trying to do work for school. Normally this would annoy me too but I was back at room temperature again and there was very little he could do to bother me again. After my sister complained that he needed to leave the room, my father disappears somewhere. Soon after the house phone rings. My sister stops working to answer it.

It's my father.

He's calling from our bathroom.

There's no toilet paper in there.

My sister lets out the most blood curdling.

Later I am relaxing in my room playing my game when my dad yells to me that they can't fix my car today because they need to order a condenser. I'll have to bring my car back when the part comes in. We need to go pick my car up. I say okay and go back to playing my game. A few minutes later he impatiently yells to me, "Are you ready to go?" Normally I would be annoyed because he didn't say we had to go right away or that he was in any sort of hurry but after the not so friendly incident at Friendlys I was feeling corgial towards him so I stopped playing my game and we headed out the door.

For some reason he decided to take the scenic route this time but again that's alright, I'm happy I'm joyful I'm rested I'm relaxed. Nothing can bring me down.

We pull into the garage and my dad goes to get my car. He's talking to the mechanic and then comes back to the car.

Papa Bear: They have to take out the condenser so they can order the part so they'll need to keep your car for two days, while they order the part and replace it.

Your Hero: Okay...

I was confused.

Papa Bear: I'll go put the deposit down.

Wheels are turning as he goes back to the mechanic to put the deposit down and continue to roll as my father gets back in the car and we start to drive home.

Your Hero: Wait a minute... didn't they know that they would need to take out the condenser so that they could order the part BEFORE they called you on the phone?

Papa Bear: Yeah but they needed me to put the deposit down and to give them the okay.

Your Hero: So did you know I didn't have to be here and bring me along anyway?

Papa Bear: ....

And so we drove off into the sunset, father and his son bonding in their own unique way... with me screaming at him like a howler monkey.


*Okay okay the pimple wasn't the real reason, the real reason was because I had a questionable hook up with one of the birthday boys and have no desire to see him ever again if I can avoid it. But that's a whole 'nother entry entirely.

Thursday, July 27, 2006

I Just Need To Think of A Cool Tag Name To Deface Things With

I woke up this morning to discover the world's largest pimple taking up prime real estate on the southern tip of my chin. Part of me suspects that it is because I did not get my daily fruit (singular) allowance in the other day and this is my body's way of telling me it's craving an apple, and another part of me thinks my body is just rejecting my face. I can go for weeks without a single blemish and then all of a sudden my complexion looks like a minefield. This zit ain't jokin' around either. It has established quite the stronghold. It's one of those ones that kind of forms under the skin so nothing short of a cheese grater will reduce its appearance and I'm sure it's only a matter of time before it invites a few of its' friends to the party.

Oh well I don't have anyone to look nice for anyway. I haven't spoken to My Pretend Future Husband Who Doesn't Know It Yet in days in the hopes that just maybe he would miss me and realize his life is meaningless without me in it. But the other day I broke my talking-to-him fast by accidentally messaging him. And get this shit, he called me a lameass! I mean he was joking... and it was in response to me calling him a lameass...and he did it in an away message.. but still. This is a very bad sign for our pretend future relationship! How am I supposed to keep on pretend dating him when he doesn't show a shred of appreciation for me and degrades me so? I don't think I can tolerate his abuses much longer. I may pretend future divorce him or have a pretend affair if this nonsense keeps up. Unless of course, lameass is his term of endearment for me now. Awww... how cute! That's so much better than pumpkin or sugarbottom or something stupid like that. Maybe he IS pretend in love with me after all!

Still until he asks me out, I am reinstituting my conversation blockade with him forever!... or until the next time I talk to him. And yes I am an 11-year-old girl at heart.

Today was slightly less enervating than yesterday, though almost everyone in my office is getting sick for some reason. To me this means one of two things: One, I am soon going to come down with whatever plague is working its way through our building or two, I am typhoid Mary and everyone is getting sick because I am host to some disease which doesn't effect me.

Now it's just down to me, the reference librarian, the map librarian, and our Indian Graduate assistant who might quit at any minute because anything makes her shake like a leaf. Lemme explain. Around the office we like to play a little game called "What's making that weird noise?" and when the answer isn't me, it is invariably the air conditioner. The other day it was making some odd sound which kept growing louder and louder and the Indian graduate assistant was telling everyone she was afraid it was going to explode. Being the comforting person that I am, I assured her that her cubicle was well within the blast radius of the air conditioning unit and later, when I walked back into the office, it was turned off. AHAHAAHHAA!

When I wasn't making my coworkers paranoid I was busy trying not to fall asleep. Very boring day, so I decided to take a little tour of the bathrooms (which I don't actually use because I've got a mild phobia of public restrooms). After checking out my monster pimple in the mirror, which by that time had grown even larger (if it keeps up at this rate it may be able to declare statehood), and I journeyed into the stalls to check out the graffiti it had to offer. To my surprise there wasn't any in the first or last (the handicapped) stall, but the middle stall certainly delivered.

First there were the sage words of advice, "Smoke weed everyday" followed by some political commentary in the form of "Give peace a chance Kill W". The illustrations were a bit of a let down - an indescribable gang symbol with little googly eyes and the World Wrestling Federation logo, but I was certainly pleased by one comment.

"I wear thongs" scrawled on the stall door with a thick permanent pen. This last piece excites me for some reason. I don't know whether I'm more tickled by the idea of a girl using the men's bathroom or some thong-lovin' guy excitedly expressing his appreciation for his underwear, but either way I LOVE it.

It kind of makes me want to bring my own contribution to the table... err wall, but I don't want to be unoriginal, I want to entertain people or at the very least make them go "What the fuck?!" while they're doin' their business. I was thinking maybe I would write a word search or better yet a scavenger hunt where you have to look at various parts of the stall to find the answers to a riddle. The possibilities are endless... I don't know when I'll be able to do it though, what with my busy schedule of dropping pencils into the map cases and hiding in the microfiche room. One man can only be so productive for so long...

In the meantime I'll definitely be brainstorming... while I should be like doing stuff at work and figuring out how the hell to get rid of this pox on my chin. Gah!

Does anyone have any secrets? Tooth paste? Special astringent? Virgin's blood?


Wednesday, July 26, 2006

The Unspoken Feud

Now I'm not sure whether I should write about this on the interweb, in fear that it might insight something, but I think my department might be in some sort of a gang war with the East Asian Collection Staff. There is an area over by the China stacks which my staff has been using as storage space for books and I've heard rumblings that the East Asian staff has been pressuring my team to get those boxes out there so that they can use the area.

Rather than risk their own lives though, the librarians have sent the other student assistant and I into their territory to clear out those boxes, which while I'm on the subject, are so covered in filth that I come out looking like a coal miner. It turns out that several of the East Asian staffers have noticed our efforts, some even coming up to the other student assistand and excitedly asking him what we're working on. He doesn't have the heart to tell them, but the only reason we are clearing out those boxes is because we have twice as many coming tomorrow. AHAHAH!

I'm kind of afraid that they might have found out though because ever since we talked about this the other day, they've been giving me dirty looks. Of course that could just be because I am the embodiment of western culture I like to think they disdain. I'm just glad I have a box cutter or else I might be in serious danger because I'm always on their turf.

The two staffs are like night and day. We're mostly white, they're mostly (surprise) asian, and our differences are further exaggerated by our side of the floor being a group study area and theirs being a quiet study room. I thought this whole gang fight idea was just a figment of my imagination until I was reshelving some books today and discovered the following scrawled on our stacks:

Now I don't know chinese and I'm not even sure if this is chinese, but roughly translated, I think it means "Stay off of the East Asian side...or else... whitey!"*

Whitey! Thems fightin' words. Though I'm pretty sure that if it came down to it their side would kill us because I like to think that all Asian people know karate even though I don't know a single Asian person who does.

Yep they'd definitely destroy us. And then they would steal all of our carts which have been systematically stolen from every other part of the library and never returned. We've got a wealth of carts and the East Asian staff has been using shopping carts to push their goods around. If that's not reason enough to throw down, I don't know what is. It would seem it's only a matter of time....

Until then I will keep my box cutter close to my heart and my fighting spirit alive.


*If anyone actually knows what that means feel free to tell me.

Monday, July 24, 2006

Well Ain't Life Just A Bowl of Cherries... I Fuckin' Hate Cherries

I have a friend who is currently working at a camp on Catalina Island in California and every few weeks she sends all of us an update on how she's fairing. To set the tone for one of her emails think fairies and unicorns dancing on a rainbow bridge over a chocolate river, and this is pretty much the mindset that my dear friend inhabits 24/7. Some may think she's just a happy go lucky person, I just think she's mentally ill. I don't know how I managed to live with her for a year, but we get along pretty well even though I am what some may call a black hole of human despair.

A few days ago we received the latest installment, which was entitled, "Sunny days are here to stay". Uggh... already I was cringing, but after reading a bit into it, it would appear that all is not well in the world of gum drop rainfalls and licorice roads (okay I'm done with the cutesy imagery). A dark cloud had cast itself over the isle of Catalina in the form of a young camper. She began, "The older kids are cooler then I could have ever imagined and they have inspired me and at the same time made me question whether or not I was in the right profession. One day out of the past 21 really stands out in my mind..." And what pray tell was this soul crushing experience that nearly pushed her to the brink and made her reevaluate her life?

It turns out that one particularly "tough" camper who she "didn't connect with until the 2nd to last day of class" had the audacity to say to her "its not my [fault] that you're an angry biologist that doesn't get paid anything". Oh snap! And get this, he had said it in such a condescending way that she was so deeply hurt she had to go windsurfing to work out her pain! When that didn't work she went to her supervisor who goes by the name... Butterkup... oh lord... okay I swallowed the vomit, and she talked to her about her troubled student. Butterkup went and gave the boy a stern talking to, while my friend went repelling off a pier with some fellow counselors in order to talk out how to handle the situation.

Then comes one of those early 90s sitcom moments when the music gets all sappy and people start hugging, which explains why the email is so aptly titled "Sunny days are here to stay".

It turns out the child had spoken to his parents and told them he wanted to be a marine biologist, and they asked him, "Why would you want to do that you won't make any money?" The child later apologized to my friend and they were finally able to bond together and become close friends.

The End.

Now see, if I were in that situation I would have maybe brought up the point that my biology degree allowed me to move across the country to a beautiful island where I've got my own bungalow and all I do is jump off piers and windsurf all day, but maybe that's just me. Actually if it was me, I would have laid such a hurt down on that little prepubescent that his children would be emotionally traumatized by the verbal beat down he received from me. I mean come ON already. I have never and will never understand people that let others disrespect them like that and get away with it, but I'm also mouthy and too stupid to know when to keep my mouth shut so maybe I'm not capable of comprehending big ideas like forgiveness and social graces. Still that little runt would rue the day. Mark my words.

But seriously if that is the roughest thing my friend has had to endure in her life in Catalina I would hate to see her have to teach at an inner city classroom. Her head would probably just up and explode.

...and ladybugs and butterflies would come flying out. (I know I said I'd stop but I just couldn't help myself).

2 days down 3 to go until the Freakin' Weekend!


Sex, Romance, Betrayal! - None Of These Things Are In This Entry

Every once in awhile I'm forced to buy my lunch at work because my mother, in her age, seems to forget when she goes grocery shopping that a) she is feeding a family of four and b) that some people like to eat more than one meal a day. So on those days when my kitchen pantry leaves me wanting, I purchase my food from one of the local eateries here on campus. Today I was lured in by the Student Union's promise of a Subway "restaurant"* and for the second time I have been unable to locate it in that massive rat maze of a building. I know it exists. I've seen people walking around flaunting their Subway subs wrapped in little Subway branded bags holding Subway decal-ed cups, and yet I have searched that place high and low and can't seem to find it anywhere! This is very disappointing, especially because I really had a craving for a meatball sub today. Mmm 'ball sub. But instead, I once again had to settle for the reconstituted meat product they're offering up over at the Chik-fil-a.

I suppose I could always ask the information desk which is conveniently located by the entrance I use to get into the building, but they will probably direct me on how to get lost, and I am determined to find that Subway on my own... or die trying (by eating McDonalds... speeeewww)! I'm beginning to suspect it's like Valhalla... where only the worthy get to see it, but whatever the case may be this will now be my quest. As God is my witness, I will find the Subway!

Is it sad that while some people wait their entire lifetime to go on spiritual pilgrimages to see Mecca or the Holy Land, my equivalent is the Student Union Subway?

The answer is yes. Moving on.

I think I have peaked in my folder misnaming scheme. I thought I had hit a slump there when the only 3 letter words I could create were Hog and Man, but then today I remembered the rule where if you have to move more than 5 maps then we will just use 5 to 7 characters for labeling those folders and that was when I strategically left a map where it was so that the label will have to read:

Mud Butt! AHAHAHAHAH (it was originally Mud Butte)

....and I'm officially back in the 5th grade again. But seriously that's about as good as it gets. There's nowhere to go but down from here... or up depending on how you look at it.

Other than that, it has been a rather boring around the library today (shocking, I know), but we managed to entertain ourselves with the many funny titles we find lying around this hell hole. Here's a small sample:

So you think you have Malaria? (A Pamphlet)

A Guide to Telling the Difference Between Bolts and Screws (20 pages long!!!)

And my personal favorites...

Step Into Action!: A Guide Book for the Above-Knee Amputee

How to Spot a Jap.

The last book is the most racist and hilarious thing I have ever read in my life. It's from World War II and details how to tell the difference between a Japanese person and a Chinese person (or Chinamen as they would be so apt to say). What I learned from this book is that Chinese people look and act more European while Japanese people have no waists and are afraid of democracy. And get this - it's illustrated! Which truly makes it seem more legitimate and assures me that everything it says gots to be true.

So if anybody is having any troubles telling their Asians apart just let me know. (This Just In: I found it online! Here you have it folks: How To Spot A Jap Enjoy!)

Alright that's enough rambling for one day. Hope everybody is having a great week so far!


*How can those Subway advertising monkeys in good conscience call that franchise a restaurant when your food is made in an assembly line. I suppose the boundary between a restaurant and a face food joint is similar to the fine line between art and pornography in that you can't necessarily describe it but you know the difference when you see it.

Sunday, July 23, 2006

Who Needs Enemies When You Have Friends?

This may make me a horrible human being but I honestly think that I'm happiest when all my friends are miserable. And boy did graduation ever deliver! All those people who made fun of me for taking unpaid internships throughout my college experience are now hurting on the job marketing because, surprise, surprise, their part-time jobs at the Chicken Shack didn't prepare them for the real world. HAH! Not to mention those friends who don't even know what they want to do with their degrees (or worse can't do anything with their degrees) and are currently scrounging for a real job because they have been given the boot from their parents' health insurance plan. Double HAH!

And some of them didn't get into their graduate programs ahahahahaha

But still despite my reveling in their misfortune, a small part of my black little heart goes out to them and I have become, dare I say it, maternal in my concern.

For instance my one friend is determined to make it on her own. She was a sociology anthropology major and she hated everything about her degree, yet despite not having a job or any sorts of funds, she moved into an house with three other guys and has taken on a series of odd jobs to pay the rent. Factor in that she can't drive a car, refuses to let her parents teach her, and is therefore limited in both her job and housing options because she has to be near a metro stop, well lets just say you've got all the makings of a category 5 Shit Storm because, unless she wants to live in North Crackton or Upper Hobotown, it ain't gonna be cheap.

So far she has sold jewelry for a crazy woman, played counselor at a bike camp (which she's not very good at because most of the kids don't speak English and she knows absolutely nothing about bikes), and I think her current gig involves busting tables at the Cheesecake Factory. Ah what your degree can earn you.

One day she visited me at my work and she was holding some CDs. This was at the height of World Cup so she was assaulting me with tales of her experiences with the little hoodrats that go to her camp. Like how the camp leader asked the children to raise their hands if they play soccer, one child didn't and another yelled, "Jose you know you play soccer, you Spanish".

Children truly are our future. 2:^/

So as she's telling me this I can't help but notice the CDs that she keeps waving around in her hands.

Your Hero: What are those for?
Dumbass: Oh, I'm taking these to Record and Tape Traders to sell them for metro fare home.

She was going to go hock CDs for money! Sell her personal belongings or else she couldn't get home because she didn't have a dollar to her name! I wanted to hold her close and not let her go until she came to her senses but instead I did what any good friend would do and made fun of her. If she isn't prostituting herself within a month I'll be very disappointed in her. Until then she will be serving as a constant reminder that if I ever find myself having to grift for gas money I'll be packed up and moving back in with my parents before you can say "unemployment check".

Last I heard she had visited her family while they weren't home so she could do some "grocery shopping" because, when taking on her jobs, she did not take into account budgeting for things like... food. You know those basic life necessities are hard to remember sometimes.

Oh brother.

At least I can still be friends with her because she's struggling... unlike some of my other friends who, though unemployed, are desperately in love with their BOYFRIENDS and one even has that gall to go and get ENGAGED. As a new mother, I do NOT approve of these boys. Not because my friends don't deserve these men (I know these guys and to say they look like they're missing a chromosome or two is to put it nicely), but that I should be firmly established in a relationship before they go finding the loves of their lives. That's just how it works. If I'm not happy, no one's happy. Otherwise it's just depressing that they can find people while bein' all sorts of retarded and here I am playin' with my balls. I mean I'm pretty fun and not hard on the eyes. Behold:
I mean sure... it's an artist rendition but with my rosy glow, messy brown hair, and charming personality I should have to barricade the door to keep the men folks out. But no, instead those fools are out gallivanting around with boyfriends linked to their arms while I am here writing blog entries about it.

I can't even remember the last person I was involved with... okay I do and the last thing I ever said to him was "I hope you don't become a statistic!" but I can't remember the last person before the last person and that is very unsettling. It's not like my standards are too picky either, I mean at this point I just want a man with a birth certificate and all of his teeth who isn't a heavy weight contender or barely legal. That's not asking for much is it? Is it?!?!

Oh well I can't get too depressed by my friends' happy relationships. After all they'll most likely result in heart-wrenching break ups which I will eat up with a spoon... And then there's the case of the engaged one where there's a 50/50 shot of that marriage gone' down the pooper (or in her case 80/20 because she demanded a ring before graduation).

But once that's all done with, I'll back on top again, standing on the rubble of their ruined love lives... With my amazing boyfriend... who I'll be living with... in a mansion... on the moon... oh gawd I gotta go


Friday, July 21, 2006

The Middle East

I don't like to write about politics in my blog because it is a very divisive issue, but with recent events in the Middle East I find it very hard to ignore what's going on in the world. As a socially conscious individual, I can't help but weigh in.

Many critics and historians have argued that the reason the Middle East is such a hotbed of violence, war, and destruction can be attributed to the fact that it is geographically the origin of many of the world's religions and a great melting pot of various cultures and ethnicities who all have stakes in the area which results in conflict. While these differences do exist, I believe the reason for the current state of the Middle East does not have to do with any of these factors, but rather due to these countries having a short supply of ice cream.

Imagine it's 110 degrees outside, you're dressed in robes, and the only thing you have to relieve yourself from the relentless heat is a warm bowl of sand. If I were in that situation I would be making pipe bombs and blowing up buses too in the hopes that the blast would at least generate a cooling breeze.

Tempers rage when temperatures rise, at least I know mine do. My air conditioning doesn't work in my car and if its a blistering hot day and you cut me off without giving me so much as a courtesy wave, as far as I'm concerned that gives me license to kill you... or at the very least honk and give you the one finger salute.

I'm not thinking about God at those moments, I'm too busy focusing on the beads of sweat rolling down my back and my headache which feels like a baby bird trying to hatch its way through my skull. And I am NOT prone to road rage by any means. In fact my friends often comment on how passive I am behind the wheel. I manage my Buddha-like zen driving state by being a terrible driver and constantly assuming I am the one at fault, however, for some reason when you add heat in the equation every mother humpin' person on the highway is an idiot flouting all the rules of the road just to screw me over and prevent me from quickly and efficiently commuting to and fro my destinations.

I don't know how the heat does it, but it does it. And the only thing keeping me from smashing my car into the back of your wreckless driving self is the thought that when I get home I can sit down and cool off with a creamy, delicious bowl of ice cream:

Well... that and I don't want to get sued or total my car or go to prison or...

yeah. Yay ice cream!


I'm Like A Teletubby But Gayer (If That's Possible)

This entry brought to you from the Reference Desk (but not posted until right now because I don't really want my coworkers finding my blog).

Gah finally I got the chance to use the computer! There's this man that is always scheduled for the reference desk right before me - Bill or Tom or Jim whatever I don't actually know what his real name is I just call him Generic Named Guy. Well he's scheduled for 3 hours every Friday and all he does is make personal calls and look at sports websites all day. He's not even with my department so for all I know he doesn't even work here. Whatever the case may be, it never fails that right before it's my turn to take over the reference desk he starts composing an email or looking at a website (today he did both) which take him well beyond his 3 hour mark. I find this to be very inconsiderate and frustrating because it takes precious precious minutes away from my online time in which I could be composing whiney blog entries like this one about people like him. That man owes me 10 reference desk minutes and I will pay him back... with a vengeance! Someday, somehow...

Speaking of my maturity, one of the ways I've been trying to train myself for the real world is by breaking myself of my fucking swearing habit. I drop a book and I drop an expletive, I forget to do something and I forget where I am and use an expletive, I bang my toe and I bang an expletive errr okay that last one didn't work so much... but still I've tried everything. Foreign curse words worked for a little while except some sound a little too close to their American equivalent, or worse, don't sound the same at all so I couldn't catch myself saying shit... and then change it into mierda. Shiiierda see doesn't work. What a bind!

The only prescription that seems to have cured me of my filthy whorish mouth is replacing my bad language with cutesy words. For example, I say Sugar Honey Iced Tea (Hold the Lemon) instead of shit and fudgicles instead fuck. That sorta thing. The only problem now is that I'm walking around the office sounding like a children's television program and I think I might have to cure myself of my cursing cure habit before I ruin my image as a cold, heartless bastard. Bastard! I haven't found a replacement for that one yet, so I sound even more ridiculous because I censor myself only with the words I've found legitimate replacements for.

I think I might just have to phase out talking altogether. Do they have cross words in American Sign Language?

I need help before it's too late. Seriously. Someone stop me before I start sounding like that Meg woman (if that IS her REAL name) over at Cute Overload. Now I'm not one to speak ill of one of my fellow bloggers... oh who am I kidding I'm a bitchy malcontent and that's exactly the kind of thing I'd do but I fear the Curator of Cute may be... how shall I phrase this delicately... borderline retarded (it was that or heavily medicated that's at nice as I get). I mean I LOVE animals as much as the next boy lover and I loooove Cute Overload lots, I just don't like to admit it, but the captions for the pictures have GOT to go... or stay because that'll just give me something to make fun of like I'm doing right now.

Anyway a cute asian patron is in need of my services and he thinks I'm looking up his request right now. HAH jokes on that fool. If you need me I'll be in the stacks, just follow the sounds of someone dropping books and yelling "Son of a biscuit!"

Seriously people I must be stopped!

Thursday, July 20, 2006

Livin' La Vida Loca*

I was devastatingly early to work today so I did not get to commence with my calling in late for work plan and the rest of the day went on relatively without incident except that my librarianing nemesis complemented me. She said I did an excellent job on something I had completely forgotten I had done a week or two back and from there she started talking to me about World War II knitting while she photocopied a children's crocheting book. Fortunately for me the copier jammed during the conversation and I used this distraction as an opportunity to run away. Haha just like squid ink.

Hmm maybe she hates me because I show no interest in our conversations... nah

Many of you may ask how one gets through the fast-paced, high-octane, glamorous life of a librarian employee, and let me tell you it's not easy but I will reveal my secrets to you. I manage to make it through the day by A) looking at obscure websites, B) taking grainy low-quality pictures of strangers on my camera phone, and C) purposefully fudging my assignments.
Obscure Sites Quarterly:

Here is what we in the business like to call a beard weirdo or beardo:

(Picture care of USA Beard care of David E. Carmazzi)

What's weird though is that I saw lots of photos where men with beards like the one above, were shown in the thick of a throng of women - they have Beard and Mustache Hags! Oh yeah they're everywhere. If you want a woman fast get yourself some crazy facial hair and you'll be fighting off the wimmens with a pointy stick (hiyooo double entendre).

The only way thing that would complete this man's appearance would be a meat hat

My Budding Career as a Stalkerazzi:

There is this adorable little man whose name is, I shit you not, Mr. Peacock (insert candlestick in the observatory joke here). More often than not though I refer to him as the World's Oldest Man because... well here see for yourself:

Yes I am available to be hired for Weddings and Bar Mitzvahs. Prints of this photo can be ordered for $10.

That glowing thing to the left is Mr. Peacock, complete with hump, eating his little sandwich that he made himself. Being the amateur that I am I completely forgot to turn off the flash on my camera but Mr. Peacock didn't seem to notice or care as he just went on gumming his food. Dining with him is the enormous blue bag he carries EVERYWHERE he goes/shuffles. Normally I would be afraid of mentioning his real name and showing his real picture except for that fact I'm pretty sure the last of his kin died during the Ice Age. So we're all set!

When Mr. Peacock isn't wandering around the floor of my library and asking my Korean coworker how to say things in Chinese, he's busy sharting out a lung in our bathrooms. Today I was checking for duplicate copies of books when he shuffles past me at top speeds toward the bathroom. Being a good 20 feet away from the bathroom, you would think I wouldn't be able to hear anything but oh no no my friends. I. Heard. Everything. The acoustics must be amazing in there because I could have sworn he was crapping into a microphone. If I ever built an amphitheater I'm definitely modeling it after that stall. For serious.

Anyway he ambled out not a care in the world, no idea was I was standing in there in horror thinking about what that bathroom probably looked/smelt/etc.ed like after he had his way with it.

Message In A Map Case:

For over a week the student assistants and volunteers at the library have tirelessly catalogued part of the map collection at our library and now one of the librarians wants to label those maps without going over 6 characters for some reason. This is a problem because many of the folders will go like this. The first folder will be North Crackton to Shithead Town, the second folder will be Shitland to TugJobton.

The horror! The folders would say Nor thru Shi and Shi through Tug. Two SHIs?!? The patrons will get confused!!!

So now it is our job to go back through the maps and move maps around so that such a duplication does not occur. If we have to move more than 5 maps though he said we will go with 8 characters for those.

I can proudly say that I have not followed directions once and have in fact purposefully shifted more maps than necessary because I cam across such titles as Gaylord and Jewel which when broken down to 6 characters is Gay and Jew. Teeheehee

It's like the DaVinci Code... but for idiots!

And I'm damn proud of my work.

Here's to another day of not getting fired.


Linkity Love:

Old Man Six Shooter

*Yes I do hate myself for quoting Ricky Martin in the title of this entry.

Wednesday, July 19, 2006

Workin' Hard for the Money

After today I am about 95% sure that my coworkers completely hate me.
Exhibit A:

I'm not sure who my boss is so I always email the woman who gave me my job. Today my father, Papa Bear, was taking my car in to have the air conditioning checked out by a mechanic friend at his work so as a professional curtesy (which I was never asked to do) I emailed this woman just to let her know I would be arriving late.

Here is her response:

"Oh no... we'll miss you ;)"

I almost drowned in the sarcasm. But I can appreciate that because I am perhaps the most sarcastic person I know and everytime she says something to me along the lines of "Want me to train you on statistics materials?" I overenthusiastically reply, "THAT WOULD BE MY DREAM!!!" But still... ouch.

Exhibit B:

I finished all my work and I asked my coworker if there was anything I could work on and to paraphrase she told me she was too lazy to give me one of her assignments because it would take too long to explain things to me.

Exhibit C:

I arrived at work late today (because of aforementioned circumstances) and another woman I work with asked, "Hey.... did you... change your hours or something?"

I then went down my laundry list of reasons as to why I have not been arriving at 10 like I usually do this week (all legitimate such as the surprise construction they are doing on my route which closes down the right lane of traffic and adds an extra 30 minutes to my commute) to which she replies, "Well could you let me know because I'm usually the first one in in the mornings." To which I replied I do contact people when I'm going to be late, I just haven't been contacting you because I don't have your contact information. "Yeah... you can find that on our website." You can find that on our website....

You can find this on my website!

Meanwhile she was perfectly perky the whole time she said all this so I'm not exactly sure how to react to this conversation. I do, however, know that I will be contacting her by email and phone every time I'm going to be so much as a millisecond late.

Oh yeah, she's created a monster. She just hasn't realized it yet.

So much for not talking about my coworkers haha From now on going to work will just be code for trying not to get fired 9 to 5.


Tuesday, July 18, 2006

Feel the Burn

Uggh it was so hot today I sweat completely through my shirt and probably would have sweat through my backpack too if I had been outside any longer. I literally toweled down as soon as I got to the library and even then I was still soaking wet.

I've taken to bringing a nalgene with me to and from work because I don't have air conditioning in my car and I have visions of getting heat stroke and being baked alive in my car... especially after I narrowly missed an accident which caused a 5 hour delay on the route I take to work. 5 hours?!!?!?! From what I remember there was a gas tanker and a tractor trailer involved and maybe a meteorite. I really don't know I don't pay attention to the news.

Still I finished my nalgene of water before I even got to work and barely made it in. Ah well... once there I was good because my sweat froze to my body in the library.

Speaking of the library I was eating my lunch today and I think some hot Jewish guy was checking me out. He came with a yamaca and everything! (In reality aforementioned Jewish guy was either A) just looking around as he wrote, B) waiting for someone and checking to see if they arrived, or C) was doing a social behavior psychology experiment and focused on me because I make a lot of crazy arm gestures when I do everything because I am as gay as the men's locker room at the Olympics). Still I like to think that he was thinking about renouncing his religion to be with me.

It must be nice to have attractive people checking you out. All I get are fat latino/african American guys and little boys hitting on me - EVEN ON MYSPACE. (Editor's Note: I have nothing against fat guys or minorities as I have made out with a couple chunky monkeys in my time including a black guy. I'm not racist I hate everybody equally). But at least on myspace I can fuck around with them. I give them my AIM screenname that I give to people I don't really know or like and then I talk to them and attempt to drive them away. My success rate is about 95% but some people are persistent even after I've talked about how I like to wear kitty cat ears or how that burning sensation just will. not. go. away.

It seems easier for the heteros to find people since they do have a bigger pool to find that other fish, but then again maybe not. Maybe they just settle faster. Like my coworker has been seeing this guy and they've been on a couple of dates and she says she doesn't know whether she likes him or not but she's always talking about him so of course that means she does. Well I'm pretty sure her lover boy stopped by work today and if that was him... well... to put it nicely he looks like a Frankenstein monster.

Is that going to be me? Settling for some ugly as sin mother fugger 'cause I'm so desperate for a date?

No, no, no of course not. That will be someone else... settling for me!

Okay I feel much better now that I'm not destined to be with a mutant in my golden years.


Oh yeah and here is some linkity to love to all those people who have left me comments. Thank you very much! I love comments. They make me happy and they keep me from cutting myself*


*I have never cut myself intentionally nor will I ever because I'm deathly afraid of anything sharper than a spoon. I do not condone cutting and I don't find cutting humor to be in the least bit.**

** Okay maybe a little bit but that's because I am a terrible human being. I give you permission to hate me for my callousness.

Monday, July 17, 2006

A Learning Experience

I wrote the following on a little notepad I carry around at work:

Even though it was about 100 degrees outside today, the weather inside was at least below zero. I'm not sure what type of airconditioning they have at the library but it could have given an eskimo frostbite. Fortunately, though it was inordinately hot today, there was a nice breeze which invited me to go take in a little natural light and fresh air.

While I feasted on a meal fit for kings - pretzels and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich - a bold little sparrow kept inching its way closer to me. It had some sort of white growth on its beak which I can only hope was a bread crumb or otherwise I may have that bird flu the kids are all talking about these days.

As I carefully guarded my bag of pretzels from that menacing litte bird, I carefully reflected on my experiences as a library helper monkey (or a student assistant as they like to call us). I've learned a lot from this job... not really about the librarianship profession but about myself. The librarians are always throwing library buzz words like cataloguing and backspacing and needs and offers at me but I'm hardly suckling from the teet of knowledge at my work. Instead I'm getting invaluable life skills and have become more aware of myself.

The first thing is that I talk to myself a lot.

Your Hero: And take that folder and put it over there and -

Coworker: What did you say?

Your Hero: Wha? Oh... nothing. I'm just talking to myself.

Coworker gives me strange look.

Your Hero: ...Now where was I, oh yes, here we go.

The second is that I am a shameless eye rapist of the highest order. It's hot out and all the athletes are on campus for sports practices and they are just takin' it all off. But rather than take a quick and subtle glance I am there eating my sandwich staring them down so hard I'm surprised they can't feel my eyes burrowing into them. I've yet to be called out on it or gay bashed or anything like that so I suppose it's not really eye rape but I'm certain most of these meatheads would pummel me within an inch of my life if they only knew. Until then...

Time has nothing to do with minutes or hours or half hours, it is all about food. As soon as I get to work I start thinking about my lunch break and as soon as I'm done my lunch break I think about dinner. The numbers on the clock are inconsequential. I don't look at them to see what time it is but to see what time it would be reasonable to take my lunch break.

I'm sure more pearls of inner wisdom will develop as I continue to work (if you considering checking your email 10,000 times a day and text messaging your friends from the stacks, work) and I look forward to seeing all my other ticks.


Sunday, July 16, 2006

Burnt Out

Good news! Death didn't come for me after eating that apple yesterday nor did my body go into some sort of cardiac arrest from the nutrition so this is definitely a positive sign. Unfortunately though I do feel rather burnt out for reasons unbeknownst to me. Perhaps processing natural fiber takes a lot of energy out of you. I wouldn't know. Whatever the reason I have been a certifiable bump on a log as evidenced by the fact I woke up at the crack of 10 and all I've done is play videogames until I came upstairs to update this piece.

My life is just a crazy roller coaster like that sometimes.

Since I've started this blog I've been looking at a lot of people's diaries, particularly those of other gay bloggers which makes me feel sort of like an animal. My cat is kept indoors and she goes absolutely crazy when she sees another feline roaming about in the yard, even going so far as to stand up on her little hind legs and press her face against the window to get a better look. Same with my dog when she sees another pooch. She does this thing where she spins around, stops and looks, barks, spins around, lather, rinse, repeat. Being a gay, I am similarly fascinated and drawn to my own kind and have frequented lots-o-gay diaries in the past couple of days. I won't admit how many because I'll just embarrass myself.

But anyway, on my gay blog tour I have come to find that many seem to focus on either gay porn, pictures of hot guys, or my favorite of all - The Blogger's Own Sexcapades.

The latter are by and large my favorite simply because they are so GD ridiculous. Here is a simple formula for the typical sex blog entry:

1) You meet some random guy at a bar/club or you contact them online. The guy is, naturally, the most gorgeous person you've ever seen in your life even more gorgeous than that guy you said that about last week.
2) You take the guy back to your place or go back to his. Insert something about roommate/family being/not being home at the moment.
3) When removing clothing, you see that this guy is hung like a bull elephant, but never fear so are you.
4) Include every sexual innuendo in your repetoire, use lots of synonyms for male genitalia (my absolute favorite being f*** stick).
5) At this point someone is usually gone down on but sometimes you just get right down to it because this is your third guy today and you have a quota of 10 to fill before the end of the night.
6) Condoms are like water in the desert but one of the partners pulls lube out of nowhere like a magician's trick.
7) Bowchickabowwow some sort of jack hammering terminology is eventually used to describe the act.
8) Spread seed, wam bam thankya mam.
9) Finish off with some sort of line about how it was the best sex ever and how you'll definitely see the guy again.

Congratulations you're done! Now you never have to read another gay sex diary again oooor you can start writing you own.

This has been a Public Service Announcement Brought to you by Stucking Fupid.


Saturday, July 15, 2006

Apple Update

So here is a before picture of my apple in all its red, juicy delicious glory.

WARNING: Do NOT stare directly at my legs or you may go blind from the paleness.

Look at that apple... all sweet and little and innocent.

And here's a picture of the apple after I got done trying to cut it into pretty neat little wedges like I saw my sister do when she was making a fruit salad:

That bitch made it look easy. Note I was attempting to cut the apple into 6 wedgies, ended up with 5 (that is if you don't count the fact that most of the pieces are still connected to each other because I didn't cut all the way through), and it took me so long to deseed them and cut out the stem thatthey got brown.

Apparently a college degree did NOT prepare me for apple cutting. Who would have thought?
So I was talking to my friend as I was eating my hacked up apple chunks.

Your Hero: Uggh... trying to eat an apple. I'm on a mission to eat more fruits and vegetables.

Jerkface: So you hate apples?

Your Hero: It's going to be a long long road... no I like them it's just that I take a bite and then my body is like, "I'm set now where's the pizza?"

Jerkface: haha Get a dessert pizza, they have apples in them.

Your Hero: Ew, one fruit at a time... that's my food policy and my man policy.

Jerkface: Apple pizza, I'm not saying a ton of fruit I'm saying one apple on a pizza

Your Hero: Ew, I like my foods like I like my schools...
Your Hero: Segregated!
Your Hero:... wait that's not right...okay I give up on analogies.

Jerkface: Right you should have said something more along the lines of 'I like my foods like the south'.

Your Hero: Mmm! This apple gets better after it's been sitting out for 10 minutes

Jerkface: Eww!

So I debated breaking out some peanut butter or maybe a little carmel to help facilitate the process but then decided no no no... I must do this cold turkey. Knowing me I'd throw the apple aside and then I'd be lying on the floor of my room in a diabetic coma because I ate an entire jar of carmel topping.

I must be strong and ever vigilant.

The apple took me approximately 45 minutes to finish - a new record!

Next up I'm thinking I'll take on an orange.


It's Supposed To Be A Moose... I think...


So one of the problems with being a skinny bitch is that people always think you need to eat more. I could finish a 3 course dinner and still have people forcing a baked ham down my gullet. Fortunately I was always up to the task, oftentimes eating people out of house and home and then wondering what was for dessert. I loved it, my friends who worked out and calorie counted every day hated me for it, which made me eat more and more and worse and worse just to see them turn red with anger. But now the race horse that was Mr. Metabolism seems to have injured himself starting out of the gate and now might have to be sent to the glue factory or put down with a bullet of... diet and exercise.

I wake up in a cold sweat just thinking about it. Instead of eating muffins I'll have to eat apples, instead of pasta I'll be having salad, instead of a 2000 calorie snack I'll only be eating 2000 calories a day!!! My soul aches!

Several Challenges Await Me:

1) I hate fruits and vegetables. Essentially if it is overprocessed and doesn't look like it came from nature I am all over it like a fat kid on a cupcake... or like me on a cupcake. Oh gawd!
2) I am a picky eater and a food white supremacist (i.e. I don't really like Indian, Thai, Chinese, etc. food just "American" food).
3) I don't like to do exercise that involves... movement. I get too out of breath doing most activities because I have self diagnosed myself with sports induced asthma. Also certain types of cardio such as running make my teeth hurt for some reason. Basically what I need is a machine that does the work for me that involves some sort of morphine drip and an oxygen tank so I don't feel any of it.

So with that said. I am going to start Operation: Taking The Hell Out Of Health.

Goal 1: Incorporate more fruits and vegetables into my diet.
Goal 2: Experiment with new and different foods.
Goal 3: Exercise more (and by that I mean start exercising).
Goal 4: Make doctor, optometrist, dentist appointments (since its been awhile and I hate them.)
Goal 5: Floss daily (flossing feels like barbed wire in my mouth but I don't want my teeth to look like a bombed city).

First up I am going to start where the Bible did. With an apple. Wish me luck.

I'll report back later on how that goes.


Friday, July 14, 2006

A Day In The Life...

Today I'm pretty sure my butt was trying to eat my underwear. No matter what I did I could NOT shake it loose. I even grew so bold as to pick my wedgie and my underwear still ended up tucked away in my crevices. Gah... next time... totally free balling.

So I don't like to talk ill of my coworkers because I always hear about these stories where people get fired because they called there bosses big hairy losers so instead I'm going to make fun of the woman who works for payroll.

I love this woman but only because she is carnival freak crazy!

To set the scene for you imagine a woman with a femullet who looks like she shops at Walmart for all of her clothing. Also imagine her speaking with a speech impediment that makes her sound like a 4 year old child.


I enter the payroll office and am visually assaulted by pay roll lady. I take a moment to adjust to her and then ask:

You Hero: Hi is this where I pick up my checks?

Looney Toons: Yes it sure is can I have your social security number-just kidding we don't use that anymore to identify you anymore. They changed the policy. I just need your last name.

I say my last name.

Looney Toons: Monroe... Monroe... *Starts searching a binder*

Wrong! I repeat my last name.

Looney Toons: Orbin? Oh *Starts searching a different part of the binder*

I SPELL my last name.

Looney Toons: Oh I didn't think an Orbin worked here okay here we go *Searching wrong part of the binder still*

Your Hero: Sorry I must have mumbled... my last name begins with...

I start spelling my name when she interrupts with-

Looney Toons: Oooh are you independently wealthy do you want to marry me?! Haha

Your Hero: Wha? Oh yeah I've been forgetting to pick up my checks.

Looney Toons: If you can guess how many you got here I'll give them both to you.

Your Hero: Umm I should have two.

Looney Toons: Ding Ding Ding! You win!

Your Hero: Yay.

Looney Toons: Okay here you go.

I grab my checks and try to run out as fast as possible.

Looney Toons: WAIT! You need to sign the list or they'll beat me up. You wouldn't want that?

Your Hero: Of course not...

I LOVE the working world!


P.S. Incase you're like my stupid friends and have no idea what that drawing is of in my last post, it is a monkey. I call him Darwin.

Sometimes I draw him with a banana but my bananas usually look like penises... or do my penises look like bananas? Hmmm... I'm the next Aristotle.

Creative Genius!

New Home

Hi all,

So the template of my last diary died from neglect. Apparently diary entries are like water to it and it's somewhere in the ether now. For the longest time I considered myself a diaryland purist considering my precious diary host to be in a gang fight with other sites who were the web equivalent of school yard bullies. Yeah I'm talking to you typepad!

But after looking at other diary sites I am starting to see why some people think diaryland was (to borrow a Dane Cook phrase) a big pile of douche. The scales have fallen from my eyes and I have finally seen the light.

My last diary chronicled my college years. I am now entering a new chapter in my life as a working stiff and a graduate student and a big old queer who is finally out to his family after 21 years. So I think it is only fitting that I also make a new diary to reflect these changes. I look forward to everything that is to come.