China Sucks

Woof.

He Hates Drake

Get Mortified's gettin' animated! Here's a flick called I Hate Drake, based on the 1982 diary of William Patrick Nolan Jr. It's terrific!

Remember That Show Kids are People Too?

I hated it.

Anyway, you know how I hate people? Well, here's my gorgeous and f*cksterical friend Jenn Hyjack and guess what? She hates people too! If you don't click here and play her song "I Hate People" right now, I can promise you that you'll hate yourself.

Hello? Is It Me You're Looking For?

I was feeling blue, so I stopped on over to Matt Sears Forever, and boy, was I not sorry. And I don't feel ashamed to have shamelessly poached this amazing gem from him either, because I feel it is for the betterment of the community that I share it.

I will also shamelessly and reverently quote Matt Sears directly about the clip: "The scariest instant in film and video history occurs at 5m 12s. It will seriously make you believe in the Boogey Man."

Two Tables for One in Grand Central on a Thursday Night

To my left, a woman dining alone with a martini.

To my right, a woman dining alone with a martini.

Straight ahead.

I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry

Hear the lonesome whippoorwill
He sounds too blue to fly
The midnight train is whining low
Im so lonesome I could cry

Ive never seen a night so long
When time goes crawling by
The moon just went behind a cloud
To hide its face and cry

Did you ever see a robin weep
When leaves begin to die
That means hes lost the will to live
Im so lonesome I could cry

The silence of a falling star
Lights up a purple sky
And as I wonder where you are
Im so lonesome I could cry

~ Hank Williams

I Don't Need No Doctor

All I need is my lawyer.

I Understand Avoidance

Men frequently act like tools by pretending that things aren't happening so they can avoid the obvious, and this annoys me. But I must admit, when it comes to my boss's revolting raw and bloody finger tips, I suddently empathise with those who revel in the warm and fuzzy feeling of avoidance. Head in the sand ignorance, blindness. If you don't look at it, it's not happening. Reprieve. Oh, delightful reprieve. I don't look. It's not happening.

The Empire State Building

The Empire State Building

Doesn't matter what your job is in this joint, working in the Empire State Building is cool. You'll never see a structure like this in Vegas. Art Deco. In the center of town. Solid fuckin' materials. Steel, marble, brass and chrome, man. Doors that slam. It's an art piece. I have a view of it from my apartment, and now I go to work there everyday.

My job happens to be a piece of shit, but this building is an art piece. I can appreciate that. I'll share some of my Empire State Building pictures shortly.

A Knowing Glance From the Water Cooler

My workspace is "conveniently" located directly next to the pantry. This would seem advantageous, except that the floor isn't too large to begin with so a chance to stretch your legs is generally anticipated. Sitting right there is sort of like being seated in a restaurant next to the kitchen. Terrible. It's gross because you're so close to whomever's food is being prepared, and also it makes for an excessive amount fake pleasantries and slient head bobs of "what's up?" with the entire office all damn day long when you don't really care, you just want to do your work whatever it is you were doing without being so...exposed all the time.

And don't think I don't see you taking a nice cold cup of water at the water cooler and sneaking a glance at me, fellas. I see you. It's creepy. Plus, I look like shit, so you should be ashamed of yourselves. Where are your standards, leering at me? You're that hurting for eye candy? Eeww. But at least I showered today--and if you're not going to, you should at the very least brush your hair. I mean COME ON! I see the pillow mark in your 'do! Gross! Pull yourself together. Get some self respect. Anyway, it's tedious to sit there because these people are fucking strange. Miserable, serious personality disorders, plus they look weird.

Luckily, today I met a nice, pretty blonde woman, stylish and normal-- totally in my genus as well as my species, if you will-- named Whitney who was waiting behind me to use the copier, also "conveniently" directly next to my work space. I introduced myself and told her I was temping here until January. A few hours later in the pantry, she complimented me on my new bag. The first compliment is a much-anticipated and quite integral part of every purchase of a new accessory. So, I like Whitney. She is not one of the freaks. She also managed to re-heat for herself a very nice BBQ brisket dinner for lunch in the microwave. Everybody commented on it to her. About how great it smelled and what was it and stuff.

Speaking of freaks, my boss had a difficult time managing her mania today, which she unleashed on me. Let me try and describe it. If you can imagine being yelled at by a 4-foot tall, sleep and nutrition-deprived mouse in a knee-length and dirty Cat-in-the Hat T-shirt with her fingernail beds gnawed so incredibly raw as to blind the hapless observer just from the sheer horror of it all? That might help you understand a little about what my afternoon was like. Add to this the fact that even though NYC is in the midst of a balmy 60 degree Indian Summer, the Empire State Building has officially turned on her / his radiator heat for the season, and it's on until May 2007.

Joy.

The offices are sweltering and though tenants can open the lovely and large working windows (something that new buildings don't have), they rarely do very much because they claim their papers will fly around. I argue it's because they feel they'd be compelled to jump, but I think it's a little of both. As I described earlier, I sit no office, but near the pantry in a secretary station with no access to windows of any kind. To say that I was sweating my balls off today is an extremely polite way for me to put it while I enjoyed the following sentences hurled at me in rapid fire succession:

"Where were you??! I thought you were just going to go down to the lobby to see when the next mail pickup was?!!"
"But you didn't write down how many copies you made!! It's charged to Marshall!"
"You closed Word Perfect again!!! Why do you keep closing it? Keep it open!!! It's just easier!!!"
"You didn't make those copies!Or you lost them. Where are the copies? Now you'll have to make them again. Did you know we're charged 17 cents a copy???"
"Did you alter this toolbar? I can't get find the 'create new folder' icon now! !!Why did you fiddle with this???? Great. You moved stuff in the Word Perfect toolbar. Why did you do that? ??This is a huge waste of time and now I have all this other stuff to do and I can't find how to create a new folder!!!"

If further explanation on this color commentary is required, I must mention that I had nothing to do with all the shit she was talking. And the only way I knew I was going to be able to ride out this hurricane of sweaty mouse mania was to let her roll, roll on and on and on, and with hope, it would in turn roll off of my back. And frankly, for as horrible as it was, I was simply just too hungover to deal. Sometimes being hungover can actually help you, and this was a prime example. I also was enormously hungover the day I got the shitcan from my last job. Why fight a battle you're going to lose? I was just too hurting to let the stupid turkeys get me down on a lame techincality, and that happened to be a good thing. The sober Anne would try to fight it, wasting words and most likely saying stupid shit. This time, I said little and left with a lot of hang over and nothing in my stomach but pride-- and a sausage biscuit.

They say drunks survive accidents more often than sober people because they're "relaxed." It's true. I went to college with a dude who fell 5 flights through center of a staircase through the wooden railings and down to the marble tiled lobby of an old dorm during a hallway kegger, and I was there. Hallway keggers were banned soon after this incident. His fall was broken gracefully by bouncing his back off the top of a ten-speed bike which was chained to the landing railing. I was at the bottom of the stairs and got a front row seat for the show. Um, ouch? An accident like this would paralyze most people, but not Bobby*. Thankfully, Bobby was a booze bag, and Bobby lived to tell. Had he tried to break his own fall, he'd now be blinking once for "One beer" and blinking twice for "Two beers." To his aging parents.

Same deal here with avoiding the mouse tornado. Close your eyes, and the tornado too shall soon pass. If you can't see it, it can't see you. Just breathe through it. Well, at some point after those particularly insane blow ups, and the Mouse scampered back into her office, I must have muttered under my breath--or mouthed silently with dramatic eye rolls to the sky-- "Crazy!" And apparently Whitney observed this from the water cooler in the pantry. I was so hungoer, I didn't even realize I had done it. Until she approached me.

"Yeah, she's...crazy. Yeah."
"Wow. She's fucking crazy, right?"
"Yeah. You're working for her until January?"
"Yeah."
"Yeah, we were talking, the two girls I work with, we wondered if you'd last until January."
"Great."
"Yeah. Has her son been in yet?"
"No."
"Oh. Then it gets really crazy."
"Great."

Whitney also said that there was an old guy in one of the offices who was caught sitting at his desk this weekend totally naked. Last week he assaulted another old attorney in the hallway. He and his wife and their one employee cook fish at the office on the weekends. And all kinds of other crazy bullshit. I will find out legitimate details and report back.

*Crappy student but got by, a Long Island guy who bartended summers at the Boardy Bar in the Hamptons, and now he's a stock broker with a wife and 4 kids in CT.

Absurd-o Photo For Friday-o

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Casanova's Women

Giacomo Casanova, 1725-1798

The New York Times today features a review of Casanova's Women by Judith Summers. It looks good! Me want! If you can't run around gettin' laid all the time because you have like, a job and stuff or you're clearly just too good looking and too approachable for the general population so for some reason they don't want to bang you (my excuses) then why not read about someone else livin' the life? In Venice, no less, one of the most amazing and intoxicating places in the world? This book seems to have all the non-fiction stuff I like to read about: history, sex, women, far away places. The only thing it might not contain is murder (and I love me some murder) but perhaps it does. It is the 18th century afterall. Maybe someone gets poisoned.

Ah, Giacomo, Giacomo, Giacomo. You-a lived-a! You-a loved-a! You-a died-a!

Where Are These Men it's Supposedly Raining?

"It's rainin' men...yeah..."

Lies.

Anyway, the guy was nice. Nice, nice, nice. A nice simple guy with simple tastes who can read and make conversation. A handsome guy, a tall guy, a former college basketball player, who goes to church on Sunday and parts his hair in the middle. A small town guy with a nice smile and lots of friends. Listens to Imus, has never heard of NPR, but is interested in checking it out.

So...

I don't know what to tell you other than it's probably not meant to be. Why? Well, for one, he's very nice. And nice to me. I seem to prefer to be treated like crap. It's my thing. And church? Come on.

I've Already Scripted the First Few Lines of My Date Tonight

I think things will be interesting for me if I make things more interesting for him. This is how I imagine things will go.

"So, tell me all about this new job of yours?"
"My boss has no fingernails."

-silence-

"And when I say no fingernails, I don't mean just short. I mean, bloody, raw nail beds. Exposed."

When To Throw in the Towel

Read 'em and weep*.

Gals:

9 Signs He's Not Into You

Guys:

9 Signs She's Not Into You

Of course, there will be gray areas that will render these tips worthless and torture you more.




Have fun!




*I know I did. Do. Shut up! Whatevs.

Doodle Found Solace at Church Too

Church Has Finally Given Me a Sign

Today's E-Dating Contender #2

Witty online dater writes:

If you don't respond...I'll be forced to attempt Hara Kiri using a soiled spork from KFC. Taco Bell if I'm reeaaly desperate.

Sort of a cute line, right? No doubt he's used it dozens of times, but it's not too terrible.

Let's talk terrible: the photo.

Vest, no shirt.

Let me repeat:

Number of Vests (1)
Number of Shirts (0)

Does Anyone Give a Shit That I Prefer Pie to Cake?

Here are my preferences, in order, give or take.

You may take my order.

1. lemon merengue
2. strawberry rhubarb
3. apple
4. blueberry
5. cherry

All I Did Was Google the Word "Cheerful" and I Got Blue Balls

So remind me never to do that again.





Main Entry: cheer·ful
Pronunciation: 'chir-f&l
Function: adjective
1 a : full of good spirits : MERRY b : UNGRUDGING
2 : conducive to cheer : likely to dispel gloom or worry