Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Cubicle Nightmares: Bumpin Uglies

This month’s been absolutely hellish in respects to my job and bubbling social life. Yeah the latter part is a blatant lie, but you love the holy shit out of it!

Self deprecating speech makes everyone feel better. You feel good being induced into complimentary responses and the people making the speech feel good for receiving a smidgen of confidence from an unwitting proponent of the human condition.

That’s my two cents.

Now here’s a buck twenty five.


So the world’s oldest person died today at age 115. Eunice Sanborn credits her long life to Jesus. This is another instance of people not disclosing their secrets. Every other story I hear about the oldest person in the world revolves around some weird thing they did everyday or throughout their lives. There was the woman who ate McDonalds French fries for lunch everyday. There are the goobers that emphasize a good vegetarian diet and smoking Winstons is the right path to longevity.

Then there’s Betty White who eats nothing but junk food everyday and apparently will never die. I love that the chocolate intake of these supercentenarians is very common in the descriptions of their lives. It’s usually measured in kilos per week. I empathize with their predicament. I mean, god wont let them die, and chocolate is so abundant. Why not munch out your last days on the planet and be happy? I’d personally take up risky hobbies like MMA, Ninja Warrior, or Frisbee Golf.

Grimace, get yourself together man and stop being a ginger woman.
 A personal anecdote about names around the office:

Things that are giving me cancer: giving up, turning into something I'm not, febreze, and talking to acquaintances about the weather for prolonged periods of time--doubly so when it comes to interaction with people I’ve worked with for months/years and still don't know what their name is or what they do here.

When the social hump of introductions gets passed, there's a point of no return. This person will now remain nameless for the duration of our coupling. As close as the relationship may get, the only way that the undisclosed name can be once again disclosed is only on the arrival that you realize the person doesn't know your name.  There's always stealing their wallet or glancing at their bar receipt.  Just be careful before you start calling him/her "eyebrows" or "hat" or "lava cake" or whatever the waitress puts at the top of their tab to remember who they are.

I think this all stems from our inherent need to seem different than other people. We like to stand out in other people's mind as "dude who quotes David Barry" or "guy who said something to me that any normal person would've gone straight to HR about.  He rolled the dice and came up with seven." The constant interview process we're in has been drilled into us from a young age. There's an overall theme to life and it seems to be selling one's self is the ticket to success. I don't really buy into that. I think that nepotism and egotism rally more to the cause of success than selling yourself. Personally, I can't stand being sold something, or somebody. My point is that when we interact with someone and it's not in a professional atmosphere, just lackadaisical chance meeting along mutual interests, we subconsciously remember their names as well as characteristics, and usually a short story that is so totally classic "Ted."  Replace "Ted" with who you are friends with.  It could be Partario or Hubert or any of your millions of friends.

The office romantic affair of watercooler jibberjab with your coworkers can be done without names.  It's like some crazy unisex bathroom in a strip club.  The lights are low and we're exchanging very few details.  But we're connected some way.  In the office we're connected through the company we both work for and the BBQ's that we don't want our office friends to come to.  In the unisex bathroom there's usually some sort of physical connection.  Bumpin Uglies.

So there you go.  Office banter around the watercooler = anonymous sex in a unisex bathroom while a creepy guy watches from the corner.

Tuesday Hot Links:

It's fuckin snowin

Watch this giant yo-yo

Google gettin in on la Revolución

Fuck you. Give me free pizza

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