Monday, March 19, 2007

Call it Whatcha Wanna Call it

Hey babies,

Maybe this is kind of self-indulgent, but I hope it's cool if I just talk about my weekend. I always wonder: Why is it that, after so many years of imbibing alcohol regularly, it doesn't get old talking about all the crazy crap that happens when everyone is 'faced? Like, remember in high school how it was considered bad-ass to party till you puke? Thankfully that is no longer considered a badge of coolness (unless you are this guy ), but it's still, like, a slightly more classy version of that.

Which brings us to St. Patrick's day--one of the best days of the year, and one of the only days where is it socially O.K. to start drinking the second you wake up, or even to wake up earlier than usual in order to start drinking. It is always a good time in this town, and particularly so this year because it fell on a Saturday. So basically by noon the streets were flowing with vomit. Literally, I stepped in vomit before noon. Me and LL Cool JCL enjoyed quite the day of debauchery--brunch boozing, park boozing, Trax boozing with June and Soccerball Head. Eventually we stumbled upon a t-shirt printing store and walked out with green shirts reading "Suck My Face" (mine) and "Kiss Me I'm a Tranny" (LL Cool JCL's). And so everyone all night to him was like, dude are you really a tranny? they did a really great job. Like, HUH? Some people have no sense of humor.

My shirt was not a joke, however. Anyway, we went into the downtown fray and ended up at a bar--we were instructed to drop the name "Seamus O'Shanahan" for free entry. Apparently we didn't start drinking early enough, cause the second our posse walked in we all felt soo...sober. Because the entire bar was filled with generic drunk people wearing tons of green plastic crap who were SO MUCH MORE drunk than us, and SCREAMING Journey hits so hard they were red and sweaty in the face. Which is enough to somehow erase the effects of 11 hours of boozing in our case. Nonetheless, a good time was had by most (not the puking people, eg, or the arrested people), especially because there was this Irish dude who bought copious shots and drinks for everyone who so much as looked at him. Ausome.

Thanks, Irish people, for being so prolific reproductively. Did y'all know that like 70% of Americans have Irish blood? I can't really substantiate that, but it's something like, really high. For such a small Isle they've really made quite a splash.


To the global community,


OMFG Never Again

I feel REALLY bad about neglecting mah blaaaahg for such an inappropriately lengthy period of time. I have good excuses, though: it's been a zany couple of weeks. First, I got this new assignment--at a law firm. And my supervisor, "Gaylord", is cracking that whip hella hard on me and micromanaging the shit out of my office affairs. Thus I didn't want to get caught managing a BLAAAAHHHHG that's called Temp to Fire which he could easily google and discover that is all about how I am slowly leeching the efficiency and integrity of their biz. And after work, doing my updating shit means trucking my Craptop to the nearest cafe that also serves beer, which, lately, has been hard cause between Adam's send-off (SAD), St. Paddy's weekend, the recent beautiful weather and whatnot--shit has been real busy.

Anyhoo, so this job, despite the Gaylord's constant presence in my grill, is aight. It's you say...weirdly friendly. Like, they made me write an introductory email to the whole office with fun friendly facts about myself. In the third person. With no prompt, WTF am I supposed to include? I don't have concrete, office-friendly hobbies or interests like "playing basketball" or "salsa dancing" or "spending time with my 4-year-old son," to name some examples from past emails I peeped. I mean they REALLY know what I do on weekends? I thought about making something up like "playing backup tambourine in a Carole King cover band" (*NOT A TOTAL FABRICATION), but, this seems like the kind of office where they would be really into it and the "surprise" you at one of your made up performances in the name of team-building. So I guess good thing I am not actually in a Carole King cover band. (YET.)

I did bang out and then discard some more truthful introductory emails:

Hey all! You may have noticed a bright new face at reception. Meet "Tempist," a 23-year old graduate of XXXXX College. She graduated in 2005 with a degree in Inflated Career Expectations and has since waitressed and answered phones whilst living with her parents. For fun, Tempist likes to keep well abreast of the activities good-looking famous people to but mostly smokes doobies and drinks with her friends and sometimes plays the lotto. Catch her in the bar sucking face with the nearest short guy in a vest. Be sure to stop by and offer her a warm welcome!

Mind you this is a temp assignment!

See, I didn't want them to think I'm boring, but I also didn't want them to think I'm crazy. So I landed somewhere in the middle and as a result, no one talks to me. Which is cool.

Actually, the people here are pretty nice and now I have a regular dude who I chop it up with, "Paco." He swings by and we bullshit for 2 seconds and today we were bulshitting about how we were so beat from St. Paddy's day.

So I'm all: "Yeah dude, I am paying for it right now!"

And he goes: "Ha! Yeah. Well, you know what they say--sometimes, you just gotta have another drink!"

So I'm like, Yeah I hear that!

And he's like, I have a minibar in my office.

And I'm like hell yeah dude, assuming that he's being jokey of course. But 5 minutes later he comes back wielding a styrofoam cup half filled with whiskey and Baileys. Not wanting to look like a pussy I took it, obvi. And then I felt fucking great. And so now I have a coworker who feels me.

Alright. It is almost time for Dancing with the Stars with the one-legged bane of Britain Heather Mills.

MUCHLUV-4 real,


Friday, March 9, 2007

Ladies Make Some Nooooooiiiiiiiiise!

Gentle Readers,

I JUST found out that today is International Women's (Girl's) Day. Fuck! And the day is like, half over already. We need to celebrate women today. So tonight, instead of toasting the Global Community as per usual--toast Womankind. Toast deserve it. You have come a long way!

I'm only being halfassedly sarcastic. I'm actually kinda flabbergasted that there is an International Women's Day. Are there any females out there who feel good about this, or who feel anything other than some combination of apathy and puzzlement? I don't get it...

You know, being a Wo-MAN ain't easy, but it ain't that bad either in this playground of wealth and liberty we call the U.S. and A. You can dress up like a Pussycat Doll and threaten to steal everyone's boyfriend and defend it with "feminist principles". You can be Starhawk (see yesterday's post) and defend it with feminist principles. You can more or less be whatever the hell you want and link it somehow to this amorphous notion of feminism.

This calls for futher discussion. But unfortunately I am using this Crapple laptop of mine that shuts down all the time and I also can't post the pics I want to. So, I'm gonna end here and finish later when i'm using a better comp.

Until then...



Thursday, March 8, 2007

Fun with Pic Posting! AND: Office Solutions

Hey y'all, What do you think of this new font? I chose Trebuchet--but as I'm typing, it looks suspiciously like Courier New. We shall see how this turns out I guess. So, what is up? How is everyone doing today? Thanks to Adam, Peter, Liz and of course Erica for the reader response. Yeah, what is up with Big Dog shirts? Why were they considered scandalous by the majority of our parents? And more importantly, where might one find a Big Dog outlet store? My brother, "Misha", says there is one somewhere in the state of Minnesota. As for Hypercolor, did anyone actually get a Hypercolor shirt as a kid? Did that shit acutally work? I would like to know. These were strictly forbidden in my household due to the carcogen factor, but I think at some point my "cool" aunt got me a knockoff version that definitely did not work.

Peep this handsome couple demonstrating how Hypercolor gets you laid...

That is dead sexy. But it looks like that chick is getting a weird Hypercolor rash all over her arm and belly. They should've touched up that foto a bit before putting it all over the web.
Also, for the record, I want to mention that this blogger shizz sometimes will randomly delete words from my post. So it sounds I don't speak ENglish. Or that I am writing this after having crushed and snorted ADD medication off a binder. Which is not something I have done personally, but some of us have (in front of terrified prospies).

OK. So. Topic for the day is common office probs and solutions to those probs. For instance, what do you do with a chatty coworker? Or, is it OK to use personal email at work? Or, what is the correct way to ask a coworker from Arizona if her boobies are fake? Which is the office conundrum that Erica is facing as we speak.

It's been postulated that all women from Arizona have fake tits. (*Suggestions for better words for tits are WELCOME by the way and will be edited into the post*)

Here's a recent convo regarding the matter that went down at "De
l Monte Asset Management" today:

dan: alan says they're definitely fake.

erica: how would he know?

dan: exactly. i asked him. he said in arizona all the women have fake boobs and he dated a woman, a massuese, with fake boobs. now my question is this: how could he let her go?

the funniest part of the conversation was dan's insistence on using the word 'woman' instead of 'girl' so as not to offend

Yeah... I would feel so demeaned if referred to as a girl during a conversation about my fake tits...what?

Ewww. personally, I would much rather be called a girl than a woman. For some reason "Woman" conjures up images of...I don't know...THIS person:

Or THIS person:

who is the author of THIS book:

Neither of whom I feel ready to emulate at this point in my life. I'm gonna go watch the Pussycat Dolls reality show now.

Yup, that's about it for today. I = AUDI

La Tempist

Wednesday, March 7, 2007

Green Tea Tastes like Shit

Hey fans (HA HA)

Sorry it's been a few days since I hollered at chu.

Last Friday, I had a feeling that I should not commit to any work this week. I suspected that I would be sick, and then I made it happen. First was the lobster bisque that my little brother "Billiam" brought home from the corner store. He ate 2 bites, said it was nasty, and offered it to me. I liked that he was expanding his young palate so I ate it to show him how delicious even liquor store bisque can be. Turns out I should have listened to young, who rarely refuses food, cuz I got food poisoned.

Did that ever suck. Particularly because I had these social things I wanted to do. My philosophy on sickness usually is to pretend like I'm fine so as to psych out the virus. I tried so valiantly to party, jager shots and all. But I just could not get there. My partytime self (witty, charming, coordinated-*chortle*) was bested by some bad lobster. Anyhoo, my efforts probably didn't much help the recovery process. So I was feeling like shit well into this week.

Not bueno!

So hump day is here. I haven't done skippy all week, and here I am in my local coffee shop sipping on a green tea. I gave up coffee for Lent and I think I misjudged how much I like coffee. I'm kinda irritable and the decor in this place is pissing me off more than usual. The decor, by the way = annoying, shrill bumper stickers plastered chaotically all over the walls. A few zingers:

NOT FOOLED by the Government
Question Authority

and one of my favorites:


which is funny when you look at the art displayed here, which are like, stoner renderings of Medusa heads.

Don't get me wrong. I'm no Ann Coulter; I lean way to the left (so says the online quiz I took the other day), and am all for questioning authority and all that good shit. But in this particular municipality, the authoritative ideology =s the dogma or what-have-you expressed cumulatively by all these dumb ass bumper stickers. So, why does one then feel the need to trumpet this accepted dogma via bumper stickers plastered on your wall/laptop/binder/Subaru? WHY?

We know you hate Bush. We know. In fact, we can easily predict your exact set of beliefs and opinions based on the fit of your jeans, your hat, your bicycle, your manpurse/satchel, the growth of your beard. That is all fine and good. But you know what? At this point, like 66% of the country disapproves of Bush. Turn your scrutiny on something else. The less obvious targets for criticism are often the most relevant.

Alright, that is DEFINITELY enough of that. I will probably be really embarrassed by this post later and edit out those last paragraphs. OK bye.


Friday, March 2, 2007

Define "Casual"

Hey y'all. Soo, despite my good intentions with respect to this blog, what with uniting migrant workers with temps to form a class-blind mega union and saving democracy and whatnot--I have a feeling that this lofty venture will quickly deteriorate into me complaining about my hangover pretty much every day.

That said, I feel like total shit! Thankfully it's Casual Friday, so it's hopefully all good that I smell like a dumpster and was seen classily eating cup o' noodles at my desk at 8 AM. Whatever--chick in accounting is wearing sweats and what looks to be a Big Dog t-shirt. (Remember Big DOg shirts? Circa Hypercolor.) Casual kewl!!

I, for one, uuuuusually try to make an effort to look civilized at work and brush my hair and stuff, because I've found that people tend to cut you slack when you at least look like you've got your act together. Besides, I was told that I am (temporarily) "the face of this company." It's a brokerage firm, or something like that, which means that the little stock market crash of 2 days ago could very well be my bad, right? You never know--what's it called, the butterfly effect? Where a butterlfly flapping its wings in Timbuktu is the breeze on your face? Very deep shit. Kinda making my head hurt right now, actually.Ow. Ow. Ow.

It kinda spices up life to think that way--to ascribe this awesome power to my pitiful little existence as a temporary corporate chump slash aspiring blogger.

Time for my 15-minute "morning break." WHat the hell is that about? I'd rather just sit here, but it's mandated by law that I go stand outside for 15 min. It's, like, designed for smokers. As a nonsmoker, what do I do, go outside for a gum break? Toothpick chewing break? Poke around in the hat store next door?

Or...just blaze up a doobie real quick...

Holler at u later.