All in a Day’s Smirk

Yesterday, I was incomprehensibly rude to somebody but I only realized it in retrospect. So now I am wearing my remorseful hindsight goggles. I had to walk with someone for a few minutes because we were both going the same way to our respective cars. So I tried overloading my brain with stuff to talk about so as not to have an awkward convo on the way over there.

What ended up happening was I kept interrupting him when he was making small talk with vast overly personal stories that left no room for another person’s input or even reaction.

In case you thought that was bad, then I got to my car first and instead of offering to drive him to his car, I said “Well, see you later!” and then glibly hopped in my vehicle and zoomed away. Once I had driven for about 5 blocks I caught sight of him still trudging steadily onward toward his car. I am the worst!

Not to mention I had a 20-minute ride home and he had an hour-plus drive.

Oh well. I wonder if there are yield signs in purgatory. You thought I’d say hell! How dare all (two) of you.

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Also there is one lone Smartie lying in the middle of the hallway outside my office. I can’t even take a picture of it, the sight is so sad. Darkest omen of Halloween I’ve ever seen…

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I figured out today that I am an office whisperer. When I pass someone in the hallway at work, I smile and usually immediately lower my eyes toward ground. That’s standard procedure. No biggie.

But today, I realized when I do actually say something to them, in the form of a greeting or a “how do you do,” I always whisper it. So as not to anger the productivity gods, I would imagine.

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My coworkers practically called me a genius today after coming up with our department theme costume for this year’s office Halloween costume contest.

It is a fairly simplistic, as-yet-confidential idea but they acted like I just pondered the theory of relativity while inventing electricity.

We then spent a nice inordinate amount of time coordinating how best to execute this group costume. I, and I think I speak for everybody, was thrilled.

I never really understand group costumes…or I never get them right away…

Here are some examples (in that last one, I think a woman is wearing blackface, but I’m not sure):

photo courtesy of Flickr and bradleyolin


photos courtey of Flickr and RBerteig

The Jackson One Continues Dominating; Plus Random Table Scraps

I tip my hats of congrats (all of them) to my comedic friend, Erin Jackson, who was on The Ellen Degeneres Show this past Monday (aired on Tuesday). I am so, so, so proud of her, and lucky to call her someone I know, whoa whoa.

Here is a detailed recap of her trip out to LA, city of dream angels!

And here is a clip of her talking with de generous Ellen (name puns can strike at any time).

Ack. It’s weird how even when you see someone you know on TV, it’s still hard to believe they’re actually on your TV. I imagine it’s even more surreal for the person in question. All the better when it happens though.

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In less exciting news, I love that when you have a really bad headcold, you can still sense the presence of a horrible fart in the room. Why is that exactly? Do I have a sixth sense but only about mundane events?

Also office BINGO returns on Monday. Time to get scrappy, and play to win.

I just got four distinct emails from Al Gore in a row! Turns out he just wants my signature and my money. I thought our friendship ran deeper than that, ole pal. Sigh pie.

Here’s a mini photo-essay called Complimentary Hotel Room.

1. COMPLIMENTARY HOTEL ROOM, WHERE ARE YOU!? YOU ARE SO CLOSE I CAN SMELL YOUR CIGARETTE SMOKE-FLAVORED GLADE PLUG-IN & YOUR FREE FACE ‘N’ FOOT SCRUB FROM HERE!!!

2. OH HERE WE ARE! TIME TO UNPACK MY COLLEGE WALL POSTERS & FENG SHUI THIS DOMICILE INTO ONE SWEET BUT AFFORDABLE ONE-NIGHT CRIB.
(fin)

Also cabs in Long Island either show up early and then leave without you, or show up really late and don’t apologize and charge you 20+ smacks to drive you down the street and over the hill. I’m just saying. It’s what happened to me. BE CAREFUL OUT THERE!!!

In conclusion, FTW, here’s the best Halloween partner costume ever. Suggestive much?
Let me guess. They’re just being quirky. But plug & socket! Don’t even point out where his plug sits because, oh, believe you me, I noticed. Also look at her vampish eyes seducing the camera. And may I add CAMMMANNNNNN.

Transmission Impossible

update my mom!

i got my car back as good as new-ish (sort of, not really). my little starburetor and all! and guess what? apparently, the car’s transmission went ‘adios and peace be unto you, my bipedal mother’ because of rough-handling.

yes! you heard right.

i was, in no uncertain terms, accused of abuse! me! the concerned parent figure! waiting at home biting off my nails and wondering where i went wrong!

now i know how parents feel when something happens to their children, and they are suddenly accused of bad parenting. this is the media’s fault. as if i could even imagine hurting my little motoroller.

granted, i treat potholes like an excuse to fly and sometimes i forget i’m driving mere metal and scrap, and i consider the possibility of bonnie and clyde-ing it into some grand sunset. BUT CAMMAN. take all the joy out of joyride while you’re at it, auto mechanic!


i’m not a driver, i just play one occasionally.
photo courtesy of Flickr and dao hodac

so now social services (i.e., parents) is monitoring my drivage for signs of physical and emotional scarring to car. and i cringe every single time i hit a rough spot on the road, of which there are many, urban developers!

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in brighter but scarier news, hello-ween!

i’m dressed down because i’m protesting dressing “up” but also i’m dressed as someone unemployed. a big ironic slap on the back to this whole JOB thing. i’m in full PJs and bedhead, and i’m carrying one remote control, one set of circled job ads (i tried to circle complete opposites like senior account manager…auto mechanic…dancer…though i know my subtlety will go lost on a holiday that gets most excited over wigs) and a xeroxed copy of my bachelor’s degree. costume contest at 2pm. i predict an unfair loss again. no chance of winning when there are group costumes on the loose. however, i’m also acting the part! so that should count for something. mad props at least.

here’s my favorite costume i’ve seen this year: a replica of Magritte’s “The Son of Man”

presenting my friend chris:

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in finality, i saw this tiny tot being strolled around this morning by his mom, and he was waving at these construction workers like they were his future prospects (mainly a food, a nap, coddling). “HIiiiiiiiiiiiiii” and “Hellllllllo” and smiley eyes and rosy cheeks and welcoming demeanor and all kinds of social skills that i’m still developing.

Dressed Up to Get Down

Oh the tangled webs we weave on Halloween! We were getting together – the coworkers and I – for a night of shenanigans. Our first. As a team. As a collective singular heartbeat of revelry and camaraderie. Location: Adams Morgan. Pizza to start. Drinks to finish. The rest we would make up as we went along. And went along we did.

photo courtesy of We Go West

The players: A Waldo (a la Where’s Waldo?), a sock monkey (moi), Sgt. Slutty (i.e., Army Barbie), a JAP (Jewish American Princess), and Sonny & Cher. The night could only go upwards.

As soon as we debuted onto the street, it was “Waldo! Waldo! We found Waldo!” Waldo posing with kids. Waldo taking pictures. Waldo signing autographs. We even developed a sketch wherein we chased Waldo shouting “Waldo! Come back! We found you!” We got sick of his fame soon enough though and started to spurn him. “Waldo doesn’t put out!” “Yeah, yeah, it’s Waldo. BFD.”

First stop: The Reef. We get inside. Start laying game. Sock Monkey whips a few people with her tail. I use the term ‘whips’ loosely. It could have been construed as a tap. We make friends with the Fanta girls. Cher got her picture with them. Indiana Jones. A Care Bear. And the best costume of the night: The Ipod guy. He is dressed all in black except for the Ipod that he has on. He has framed himself against a green background (paperboard attached to his backside) and he dances around frenetically like the Ipod silhouettes in those commercials. Freaking genius. We spot the Pope. A rabbi. Elton John. Yawn. We are ready to move on.

Next stop: En route to Madam’s Organ, I hug a gentleman for about 5 minutes. We meet. We hug. We move on. It was the shortest relationship I’ve ever had. He promised a followup, and I said “That’s a likely story.” Madam’s Organ had all kinds of rock/punk types. I stop outside the bar post-hug session to chat with the old-timers sitting out on the porch of the bar. They are into watching a sock monkey dancing. Even the blind guy (I hold his hand while I dance). I twirl around for them. I shimmy my tail. They dig it. I make friends with two more guys on my way into the bar. “What are you? You’re nothing!” This is what one of them shouts at me. “I’m a SOCK Monkey!” I yell back, perplexed but tipsy. “And you!” I point at him accusingly. “You’re a DREAM killer!” He guffaws. He likes me immediately. “You’re my favorite.” His friend agrees wholeheartedly. “You must be the sexiest man alive,” I tell him. They’re both won over.

I enter the bar. I see a doctor who gives free breast exams. We do the whole ‘nother round of drinks thing. And then we leave. And we bump into, none other than, the Wu Tang Clan. They are surprisingly attracted to Sock Monkeys. In fact, they try and bearhug Waldo into seducing the Sock Monkey back over to them. I refuse to tell them my name, going only by the tricky moniker ‘Sock Monkey.’ We escape the likes of Lil Jon and DMX, and continue onwards to Tom Toms.

Sgt. Slutsky keeps up the good work, planting a kiss on the right bouncer to get to the front of the line. Waldo is similarly let ahead because of notoriety. Imagine saying Waldo is in your establishment. The people will not be able to get enough of it. Waldo gets digits as soon as he gets in the door. The rest of us get shoved and pushed around. Some mafia men tell Waldo “Hey, we ain’t sayin’ nothin’ but somethin’ might go down, you know what i’m sayin’?”

Tom Tom’s fizzled out quickly. We saw some Heinekens, the Afghan pride assembly, the Blues Brothers. We shake it. Or rather, are shaken. The night wraps up. Sock Monkey’s lipstick is starting to look more like the remnants of Parkinson’s disease.

The only thing better than the night itself was discussing it over brunch the next day. Will there be a sequel? Yes, please.