Four Minutes

This hurts so much.

Bunnies

I finally joined a gym last weekend. This weekend I got an all new gym “wardrobe.” I figure by next weekend I might even have actually gone. I don’t know why I’m so nervous about going. I feel very vulnerable letting strangers watch me be a wuss, that’s why I chose a gym that I know is mostly full of fat old white ladies. We can gossip about our husbands and lack thereof and discuss the side effects of the various medications we all take. And then I’ll feel left out because I’ll be the only one not on Xanax and Lipitor. And because they have more stamina.

On another note, this video reminds me of the time that hooker was begging me to let her “entertain” me and I was dying inside because I was too young (26) to know about those things. HBO informs me that hookers come in all shapes, ages and sizes, but this particular one may have been the last one on Earth I might’ve been entertained by. Nevermind the “homemade” tattoo of the swastika on her forehead.

Though she tries to hide it, it’s clear…

Macy Gray has absolutely no idea what’s going on here. If you know how to make the laughing stop, do tell.

Also, I have no idea what’s going on. Celebs getting political is nothing new, but I’ve kind of had enough, especially after these videos. The first one was cheesy, though effective. I don’t know if this is the second or the fifteenth, but these things are produced by the guy who is responsible for this monstrosity. Kind of sucks all the magic out of it, don’t you think?

Toldyaso

Sweet Jesus, the rain here yesterday was unbelievable. I was almost evacuated from my home and as the water inched towards the foundation, I sent a text message to my “hag” asking if she got her ticket for the Ark because I didn’t want to be the only one on the boat who had sex with gay men. (I had a threesome with her boyfriend and my boyfriend when we were 17 and he was 16. It was a thing. Shut up.) I thought it was funny.

My boss has been surprisingly not hateful towards me even though as of yesterday I am completely, though still inconveniently, replaceable.  We were audited today and got in a lot of trouble, leading to the gratuitous dispersement of many toldyaso’s from the hole in my face. Toldyaso’s are like employment capital. I’m investing them in everyone and everything. I will probably run out and this will lead to unfavorable circumstances, including but not limited to a broken nose or the elimination of my position, but I’ll deal. I think. Just pray to the Baby Jesus that things go well until at least just after the vacation.

Cuz you know I won’t be able to come back 5 sunny days of relaxation and deal with the Doublemeat Palace.

Also conducive to my vacationization: a large refund check in the mail I wasn’t expecting. Large meaning there’s a comma in it. Just out of nowhere in the mail, a check with a comma, and a notice that I don’t owe anymore $ to medical places. Load off, much? Why yes, yes indeed. *Sips tea*

My new favorite blog is Stuff White People Like. Relocate beverages before reading.

“The Doublemeat Medley is PEOPLE!”

I know a lot of people don’t talk about work on blogs, and the various reasons why are completely understandable. If you haven’t figured it out: I am not one of those people. I’m there 9+ hours per day - it is a big part of my life. The part I’d like to cut out with a rusty saw, but I digress. I’ve decided not to hold back on work stories, and even though I don’t work in fast food or food at all or anything close, I have decided to start referring to my workplace as the Doublemeat Palace*. Because it fits.

No story to tell just now, but I did have yet another run-in (making strong efforts here to avoid any and all puns and double entendre) with Work-twink. He was parked by the backdoor of the Doublemeat Palace awaiting my exit. I tried to run but his fungal powers paralyzed my will (because I’m NICE), and I got stuck talking to him for at least 10 minutes. Finally I said “okayIhavetogonowBYE!” and darted. He was this close <-> to asking me to hang out with him. I’m still recovering.

*this is yet another Buffy reference.

WEIRD.

Yesterday I saw my mother and she showed me this book she got at an estate sale for fifty cents (because her biggest thrill in life is a steal, which explains my extreme excitement at finding an unopened season of Angel in a thrift store for $3.94 - it was one of the best things that happened to me in 2006).

Ahem. Anyway, it was a hardcover copy of Stephen King’s Insomnia in immaculate condition. I was flipping through the pages and something fell out - a 10 year old voter registration card. With my mother’s name on it! My mother has a very distinct combination of names, which resulted in me bypassing the heebie jeebies and going straight for the wiggins. I’m convinced it’s some kind of omen.

And there was a note written on the front page: To [My mom's name], from [my best friend's name which is also very unique]. This is weird because my best friend suffers from a rough case of Insomnia and has to alternate her sleeping pills so they don’t lose effectiveness.

In closing, a question: sesame seeds on bread - why?

It’s Buffy, Bitch

Thanks to the wonderment of technology, I now have Buffy’s “Once More, With Feeling” episode on my iPod and can, and will, watch it at any given time. You never know when I’m gonna whip out Marco for a Buffy sing-a-long. I’m dangerous. And bad! And if you want it, say the word.

…Coincidence, and Leprechauns.

Meg, co-worker: “C’mon, just tell me if you’re gay. Are you or aren’t you?!”
Me: “Don’t you think that if I were gay I’d have a better job and be much better looking?”
Meg, co-worker: [long pause] “…That’s true, gay men do have a lot of money…”

This is just one more example of why I don’t like communicating with people in any way that doesn’t involve daggers coming out of my eyes. And I walked right into it, as I usually do. That’s another one of those convos that bounce around in my head long after they’re done (at least a month for that one). Anyway, I don’t mind people I work with knowing about that, but I do make an effort to not have gay sex on my desk during work hours. And it’s easy, considering how often it happens in the first place.

I think I’ve mentioned Work-twink here before, but I’m too lazy to… Work-twink is 20, a complete closet-case, and has a “girlfriend.” I don’t even know what he does there at our workplace. He waves at me a lot. And because I’m a nice guy, I wave back even though I’m trying to look away or do any number of things that involve the swift and necessary extraction of my person. But, really, I am a nice guy. I’m like… a Niceness Cappuccino with Extra Super Foam, but liberally sprinkled with Queen Bitch’s Nutmeg. Seriously.

So anyway, Work-twink has this thing for me which makes me uncomfortable because 1. he’s so fucking awkward, 2. being 20, short, and completely assless and rail-thin to the tune of a Sally Struthers infomercial makes him not my type, 3. he walks with a limp and nobody knows why, which draws all kinds of skeptical intrigue, and finally 4. which was just added to the list will be revealed in the following paragraphs.

Four is a physical kind of thing so -GROSS- that I don’t know if I can write about it, much less think about it. But I will… for you. Last Friday, a day which I do not enjoy to stay late at work, I was driving by the front of the building as he walked out and I offered to drive him to the back of the parking lot because it’s a long walk, and, you know, Niceness Cappuccino.

Long walk, short drive. I could handle it. Because I’m NICE.

We pulled up behind his vehicle and I was thinking “yay, he’s going to get out now.” But he didn’t. He kept futzing around with things and asking questions. Questions like “so, do you have a girlfriend?” “How old are you?” “Don’t you want to get married and have kids?” I should be flattered since it’s rare that males take any positive interest in me whatsoever. But I’m bored.

It drags on, and other co-workers are driving by, seeing the scene and waving goodbye and laughing. Meanwhile, I’m trying to astrally project myself into a sunny meadow. Failing miserably, I finally looked at him to say “HAIL no I don’t want to get married or produce offspring” when I noticed something…strange. Something wasn’t right.

In fact, something was very, very wrong. So wrong that I died and was immediately reincarnated as whoever won the gold medal for Extreme Vomiting (I didn’t just get the medal, I had to die first… you see?) . He was sending a text message. Oh God, I can’t even find the words here. Fungus. Nail fungus. On all his fingers. Worst I’ve ever seen. In fact I’ve only seen people ever have it on their feet, not that I’m looking for it or ever will. He doesn’t have fingernails, he has tree bark - probably from a California Redwood or maybe one of those 1,000 year old Oaks. Some very large, very old tree’s bark… that’s what he had there. And this is hilarious to my co-workers because, naturally, I was the last to know.

And by that point, he had been in my car for twenty minutes. Aside from being severely grossed out and wanting to go home, I was now convinced that both me and my car, Maximo, were contaminated. I can’t bear to do a Google search to find out how it spreads, though my inner voice tells me “hard, fast and repeatedly.” I do feel badly for him, though, and (sparingly) wonder what kinds of conditions led to that for him.

At least when it’s on your feet, I guess you can wear socks and nobody will know, and by default, no one will care. As for now, I have found my germophobia, and it starts with fungi and ends at the door of my vehicle.

I know there are worse things, but this is so typical. Finally a guy likes me, but he’s practically a teenager and obviously a demon.

Everybody Wants To Be…

I was involved in a discussion a couple of weeks ago that has stayed with me and left me feeling dirty and gross. It happened after the hockey game I wrote about, immediately after we got off the train with the women from the Obama rally. My friends and I were standing at the station waiting for the next train, and politics naturally became the topic of conversation.

I was with three friends, two of whom are dating. One is slightly more conservative than my best friend and me, and the other, her boyfriend, fancies himself a “real” libertarian, despite his affection for the Bush administration (welcome to the Twilight Zone). He revealed that he supported Ron Paul, which I have absolutely nothing to say about because the thought merits nothing more than a blank stare. His girlfriend is more liberal, but she said she’d vote for McCain over Hillary just because she “can’t stand [her].” (I’d like to note that she’s the one getting her Master’s this semester, supposedly far more educated than the rest of us, right?)

They were surprised to find that I hadn’t yet decided for whom I would vote in the primary, and caucus for. I don’t even remember how it came up, but I said the words “Hillary” and “healthcare” in the same sentence and you would’ve thought I had whipped out my magic Stalin keychain and commanded them to bow before it, preferably in worship but at least in reverence.

Dude: Why should I pay for your healthcare?!
Chick: Socialized healthcare is such bullshit… if you were in Canada you’d have been waiting 6 months for that CT scan.
Best Friend: Honey… socialized healthcare is good… in theory.

I didn’t say socialized anything! I didn’t say you should pay for my healthcare. I didn’t say socialized healthcare was the pinnacle of Democracy and the most man can hope to achieve, possibly resulting in the second (or first) coming of Jesus or a Buffy movie. I didn’t say it was without flaw. I didn’t say I was even in favor of it.

I simply said “healthcare.” And the gauntlet materialized. It got much worse after that, but at least it didn’t last long because none of us wanted to take it onto the train. This has really annoyed me for over a week now - not in a debilitating way, but more like a slight toothachy way, the kind that comes and goes and you still worry about it when it’s not there because you think something might be wrong, but at the same time you’re glad that it isn’t happening at that particular moment because, wow, toothaches are really annoying, and then all that thinking about it causes it to come back.

So the only thing I even said about “healthcare” after that was that our system needed major reforms, but I feel gross and dirty because even if I did believe what they projected onto me, my opinion would’ve been “such bullshit,” or at best, a cute “theory.”

About this situation, I have a theory alright. But I can’t figure out if I think this because it’s true or because I’m insecure. Either way, any future political discussions amongst us will result in my immediate need to be anywhere else, including but not limited to on the toilet seat with explosive diarrhea.

Some friends, huh?

Sob Story

I haven’t updated in a while, and I’m sure that ones of people are concerned.

I was hoping to come home from work Monday and post the edge-of-your-seat thriller of me being fired from my job, but it didn’t happen yet. I somehow managed to forget that I can’t be fired until they have my replacement ready. I’m barely a company necessity, except in one particular way which requires a license given by the State. One which only I currently hold.

My boss and I don’t get along. At all. Mostly because I’m not much of an ass-kisser. I do my thing and I don’t expect much except fair pay and fair treatment, neither of which I receive. To be honest, I only took this low paying, dead end job three years ago as a temporary thing. And then my health declined and suddenly the health insurance was a must-have. Since my current boss started working for the company last July, I’ve been a bit of a punching bag. I suspect it is because I am gay and as such a constant reminder of his fierce gay nephew whom he believes he can somehow “turn into a man,” which is another story entirely.

When he would call me into his office and scream at me, I’d be a big mess of “yes, I am in fact mildly to moderately retarded and I apologize for not having noted that on my resume, but I am also lazy and have a tendency to daydream and a hobby of trying to see how many thumbs can fit up my ass at any given point in time. All of these things keep my cretinous brain very busy. Please hit me now, thank you, and I apologize in advance for my pained screams. Also, feel free to physically and/or mentally abuse my puppy.”

Because I didn’t want to lose my wretched health insurance.

So last Friday while I was on my lunch break, a co-worker called me complaining that they needed me there, stat, to sign some paperwork or something. And I said I couldn’t be back that quickly. One minute later, the boss calls me screaming, of course, and during that call, yet another co-worker calls and leaves a nasty voicemail. So I let the boss have it. While standing in the middle of Target, of all places.

Incidentally, an hour before all that went down, I found out that my CT scan results were entirely unremarkable (discounting the barely-enlarged spleen and hypothyroidism), and as such, was no longer in such dire need of my health insurance. And the clouds were lifted and the sun was shining and I saw Jesus and all that. All of a sudden, my job needed me more than I needed it.

Cut to me sending a carefully worded yet nasty company-wide email at 5pm.

I kept it short and sweet. Basically: “blame goes here, *points at boss*, leave me the fuck alone, and also your children look like they have down syndrome even though they clearly do not because your children will surely die of stupidity before the age of 11 whereas people with down syndrome can lead long and respectively happy lives, please stop fucking your siblings.”

So I came to work Monday with a box to toss my garbage into. But then I remembered why they can’t fire me yet. The best part is the evil energy field I can cut with a knife when my boss is nearby. He has heart problems, and I’m hoping to make them worse. Ultimately, his disgust for me is enough to keep me satisfied.

I guess I should stay for a couple months longer if I can, though, because I just got two more weeks of vacation and I’m planning one in mid-April.

Having dignity again feels good. I plan on keeping it.