NYC: Another Stab at Rationalizing the Insanity

If you can make it here, you can make it anywhere. This song pretty much only reminded me of the numerous unauthorized "covers" compliments of inebriated college boys. Frank Sinatra was a close second. Now, when I think of this song, I think, damn, this song is true. I'd love to go on and on and on about how if you can afford a half way decent abode here then you would definitely be the resident "king of the hill" in many other cities; BUT that would compromise my award winning reputation as a blogger with original thoughts. Therefore, we will spend these next few moments exploring how the everyday nonsense that we've come to tolerate and heck, sometimes love in NYC would, most likely, in the majority of other American cities lead to disciplinary action up to and including incarceration. What inspired this posting was a boisterous pairing of adolescent trannies that bursted into a local Dunkin Donuts this past Friday early evening. I happened to be enjoying a blueberry iced coffee while I chatted formally on the phone with a superior of mine. Two VERY loud, giggly tranny girls tried to sell me a painting. Talk about awkward. I had to figure out how to sound responsible and respectful but not really loser-y to appease both parties while dealing with this charade. There is one thing right, however, about this situation. In NYC, we have trannies that are in their teens. In other cities you aren't allowed to be a tranny let along when you're a 15 year old. However, they really shouldn't have been peddling me their high school art. I highly doubt that was legal especially using Dunkin Donuts as their exhibit space.
Another time I was enjoying a very informal conversation with my elder sister, office doll (office knight and I have a sister who is a toy buyer), and she heard the sounds of a very loud bird interrupting our un-important conversation. "Are you in a pet shop?"
Oh No. I was not in a pet shop. Point of clarification: Office Raider doesn't usually go to pet shops, by the way. Not that there would be anything wrong with that but I just don't. I was raised in a zoo. I only roll with elephants and shi+ anyway.
Anyway, no, no, I was not in a pet shop. That was the local man that believes he's a bird. I've seen this man about three times. He seems to live in or around Chelsea or at least likes to do his bird stuff there. He just walks through the streets making bird noises and he has feathers on his head and wears a shiny nylon jacket with a bird embroidered emblem on the back. He's really good at the bird noises FYI. In most other places he would be at least told to stop by an official. And then of course, there's the usual. The talking to oneself or even arguing with oneself which at one point seemed to have gone up exponentially until it was discovered that people that don't drive like to employ hands-free ear pieces. And finally there is the whole sleeping on the streets which we explored here http://officetan.blogspot.com/2007/08/were-kinda-busy.html

The majority of New Yorkers think nothing of the hundreds of people that sleep upon the concrete. So, you see, if you can make it here, not only will you make it anywhere, but you're also likely to be bored out of your mind too.

Consumer Update

Have you ever contemplated getting a body wrap? This is a spa service where one is wrapped up like a burrito after they're basted in a moisturizing, exfoliating preparation. I tried one just this past weekend and I must say not as invigorating as I imagined. After numerous weekends away from home, my inner mommy-dearest demanded that I stay in and relax. I was gonna get a massage (a normal one, perves) but nooooooo, seduced by the menu of exotic treatments, I chose the "Slimming" body wrap. Why? Not sure. This was my first trip to this spa as well. It will rename nameless, I'm hardly qualified to be a spa critic. The spa was different. Not really a vision of relaxation as it was crammed with people and decorating and cleaning was hardly high on their list of priorities. I found this "spa" on spafinder.com. It had good customer reviews. No one cared to mention even in a PC way, such as "no frills," that this place was, well, not so glamorous? Think Coming to America barber shop as the structural setting. Before anyone decides that I'm a carrier of some gross beauty parlor disease, I will preface that it seemed sanitary. So I go up to this room where I find a pair of disposable panties. I begin to undress, as instructed, only to be barged in on by another woman who wants to explain to me that I should put the toilet paper panties on. Thanks. I'll spare you every step, all you need to know is that some black mud was smeared on my entire body with what appeared to be an actual paint brush and then I was wrapped up in a silver space blanket (aka tinfoil) like a glow worm. I was then left to sweat my ass off on a massage table that was encased with an electric blanket for an indefinite period of time. It was kinda nice. Oh, except for the part where I was barged in on two other times by various staff. I would've waived but I couldn't.

We're Kinda Busy

Summertime is a difficult time to blog. By the way, I don't like the word, "Blog," being an official word that has been so Incorporated into our language it can be a noun or a verb. I don't know, maybe I'm being judgemental because it sounds a lot like blob. Well, anyway, as I mentioned we've really not been able to blog (gross) as of late. I've just been very busy with tanning and trying to save the world. Recently I tried to save a struggling young woman from herself, actually. As I walked down my block close to the midnight hour I saw a girl taking a "nap" in the middle of the sidewalk. This napping station clearly was poorly selected as I would imagine her decision making skills were out to lunch compliments of a popular injectible also known as heroine. Maybe it was crack. Not sure. Typically in NYC to see someone napping on the ground is hardly a noteworthy event. However, this young lady, had broken several of the unwritten rules to sleeping in the great outdoors. Number one: you have to nap up against a building. The middle of the sidewalk leads others to believe that you potentially did not intend on napping, as in you're dead or almost dead. Secondly, she looked like someone who had just past out after coming from dance class. She was donning short Lycra-like shorts, a tank top, and one of those flimsy back packs that people use to carry their tap shoes and stuff. This is not appropriate narcotic fiesta attire. Add to this that she looked relatively clean, another no-no if your goal is to not be disturbed while sleeping on a sidewalk. I factor all this into my mind and decided to call 911. I could see that she was breathing so I didn't try to wake her because people sometimes act like wild boar when they're on drugs. The last thing I needed was some doped up dancer flailing around before the ambulance arrived. So I stood back and supervised. I was a safety patrol in 5th grade, you know. Of course, all of Hell's Kitchen wanted to know what was going on too. I quietly told each and every passerby that I had called an ambulance and then gave each and everyone the "go away" look. So I'm waiting and waiting and then a throng of drunken tourists from the UK crowd around and start cackling, "She's dead!" Looking at me, asking me if I had tried to wake her. Suddenly, without my authorization, one of them taps her shoulder and what happens? She acts like a wild boar. Jumps up and spins around, looking at the crowd of people watching her nap and yells in a deep voice, "HEY!" She marches away in a zig zag and my heroic effort is thwarted. I don't think she was a dancer at all. All of her teeth were missing. So, in fact, she was observing one of the snoozing on concrete rules.

When the weather becomes lame again we will aim to increase the frequency of our important posts. You're anticipated understanding is appreciated. (I love "anticipated" anything, cooperation, compliance, generosity because it's a nice way of saying, "You better fu(kin' do whatever it is we're asking).

Officetan Inspiration: Susan is NOT Lazy

It dawned on me not too long ago that most Americans are brought up to strive for mastering a skill or possessing a strength that is most daunting and least likely for them. Expressions like pull yourself up by your bootstraps arise from this M.O. Chasing one's dream fits into this notion as well. What's wrong with snatching up the "dream" that fell in your lap? One of the first motivational quotes I found doing a quick google search whilst composing this intellectually stimulating blog was:

It was a high counsel that I once heard given to a young person, "Always do what you are afraid to do."

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Facing "challenges" is one of the best ways to sift out your strengths, for sure. Pursuing areas that intimidate is important as well. However, how many of us have dismissed the accomplishment of succeeding at something that was easy? A common household serving utility is a perfect metaphor for this ubiquitous value: The Lazy Susan. For those of you who may not know, a lazy Susan is a serving centerpiece that swivels 360 degrees so that one can reach the snacks on all sides of the dish with a simple turn. I suppose it would be more admirable to have to lean over the table and potentially risk catching your hair or bosom or both on fire from a decorative candle? Note: Lazy Susans are usually used at parties so they're definitely candles. How about calling this handy piece The Awesome Susan? Why must we condemn those that work smarter not harder? From this moment forward I want everyone (including myself) to not apologize for picking the major in college where they knew they could do the least amount of work and get the highest GPA. No more minimizing the success of getting into a profession whose door was opened by a parent or a friend. And for Pete's sake, let's no longer dismiss our superiority in an area because we "have been doing it forever." I think that's a pretty damn good reason to be a cut above the rest. Here's a quote that I enjoy a little more than that Ralph guy above who's middle name is the same as that damn animated nerdy guy that most of us have wasted countless minutes of our lives on to find him in a sea of other douche bags that dress like him (ehem...Waldo).

The talent of success is nothing more than doing what you can do, well.

Henry W. Longfellow

"There are NO Books in Johnny's Room"

Hi there! Did you know that the blog is a little over a year old now? If you subtract the inactive moments I guess then it's really not our birthday but we're celebrating it anyway. Anyway, what awoke us (or me) from the creativity coma? Men's Health Magazine. There was an article on how to figure out if someone is a good match based on some aspects of their apartment. First off, clearly this was not written with New Yorker's in mind. Unless your W-2 has like eight figures on it, your apartment is not a fair representation of your awesomeness or lack there of. Naturally, when I saw the title of this article I immediately skipped past all the cologne and car ads to this important piece of journalism. I needed to know. I needed to know if my distinguished dwelling was communicating something unfavorable about me that was entirely false...or even worse...true. Well, not surprisingly, there weren't really any earth shattering parallels drawn. In fact some of them just sounded made up because some one's deadline was approaching. For example, it said that people who had a lot of candles in their apartment are typically adventurous. Ok. Maybe but how do we know they're not a neurotic environmentalist that tries to use as little electricity as possible? A nice idea in theory. But I'm sure that would be really annoying to be around. Or even worse, they're majorly cheap. There was also the typical reference to the book collection. Ummm...not fair. I think to toss out a romantic prospect because they had Jose Conseco's book or something might be a little judgemental. However the presence of self help books pertaining to unpleasant conditions or dispositions are certainly grounds for dismissal. If you see books regarding Anger Management, debilitating self esteem issues, Idiot's guide to Halitosis or books about getting "rich" doing something really dumb like selling thigh masters out of your garage you've got my vote to head for the hills. Besides, someone should know that those books should at least be hidden or stored off sight anyway. This did raise a concern for me, however. What if you don't have really any books displayed? Does anyone remember the scathing comment about Johnny Castle not having any books in his room as a way of suggesting that he wasn't so bright? Office Knight and I have books, but they were tossed into a coffin size leather ottoman that doubles as a coffee table.

One part did really resonate with me, though. It said that it could be troublesome if some one's alarm clock is more than 10 minutes fast. And didn't elaborate on why. I'm guessing something to do with assuming the person is disorganized or undisciplined. Frankly, I don't think someone should really give a damn if I prefer to "trick" my half-asleep self. Especially if it results in something positive like punctuality. Wouldn't one rather have their significant other wasting their trickery skills on themselves than on them. Obviously, my alarm clock is set more than 10 minutes fast.

Lastly, it mentioned that if the person has a lot of pictures displayed in their apartment where they're in the center of the photograph that they are probably narcissistic. What's wrong with a little narcissism? You're telling me every soccer goalie is conceited? Besides, narcissistic people are usually really good at a lot of stuff and very aesthetically pleasing. Anyway, I gotta go. I gotta go get some candles, a book shelf, re-set my clock, and find some pictures where I flank the group or maybe I'm just plain not in.

Break out your White Shoes

This weekend the Officetan clan eradicated their office tans. Two were in Fire(crotch) Island and myself, I was hammin' it up in the Hamptons. By the looks of myself and Office Knight it seems pretty apparent that the sun block application skills may need to be reviewed. I'm gonna go out an a limb and guess that Owfice Burn is probably looking like an important vegetable that's technically a fruit that many use to make pasta sauce. There are some other great things about Memorial Day. First off, any confusion surrounding the should-you-or should-you not wear white shoes business is cleared up until Labor Day. And that's really important because white shoes are really awesome and practical. Also, the week before Memorial Day weekend we get to share the fine streets of Manhattan with thousands of young males wearing all white. Fleet Week. A tradition that never truly got its fair share of recognition until Samantha on Sex and the City nabbed a young sailor putting yet another notch in her surely expensive and fabulous belt. Another nice aspect of summer is people's feet and bikini lines become a lot more well kept. And finally, the summer attitude is in full swing. If ya think about it, it being summer for the non-students/non 12 year olds of the world really shouldn't make a difference but somehow it does. The usually super tense, high stress New Yorkers often enjoy "summer Friday" hours and Jitney and ferry rides out to their hyped up oasis of choice. Happy Summer!

Nice Try

Another day, another batch of deep thoughts. I was sitting around in the Office Clan living room this evening when a profound thought came into my mind. Here it is-- Who the hell invented the idea that driving a car is a sport? And who among us has bought into this concept-- enough to watch this nonsense known as Nascar?

Let's face it, how much skill does it take to press your foot onto a gas pedal and then drive in a circle. And how come more chicks don't compete in this "sport". Can't women go and practice wiggling their feet around so that they're good at pressing gas pedals too?

If people are going to start making up non-sports, then I want in on the action. I'm going to decide that riding the subway is a lucrative sport and I'm going to be the best at it. You wait. You'll see me on TV thrashing around in a subway car dressed in a cool uniform that has a beer sponsor on it. I'll be tan and I'll look important and I'll win too. I'll win because I'll have the best balance while the cars are moving. This will allow me to avoid touching the germy rails that sicken my competition. As a result, I will be the grand champion of riding the subway and I will be celebrated for my extreme athletic skill.

THE CIRCUS LIFE

office knight and i have embraced a new life attitude... it is called "the circus life." we are done with boring-ness/ boring people/ the ho-hum. the new motto is, "embrace the circus or step out of the ring." gone are the days of stifling our ourageousness, refraining from breaking out in a moon walk, tap dance, comedy routine, strip tease etc. we are a circus act. we will jump through firey hoops, tame lions, balance on tightropes and wear shiney red jackets and tall top hats (actually office knight would freakin' rock the hell outta that outfit). the rest of the world is free to jump in with their own act or enjoy the show from the stands. what is no longer permitted is the following: individuals standing in the ring, arms folded, lips pursed, silent, and sneering. you are ordered out of the ring, and hereby placed on notice of such forbidden behavior!! office knight and i have found that embracing the circus life is really working out for us. it attracts the right kind of people, circus people: our people. it simultaneously weeds out the corpses, pulseless, lifless...(gooodbye says the bitchy butterfly.)

this weekend, 'the circus life mentality' proved to be particularly fruitful. office knight, aka 'the dancing bear' accompanied me as my wingman to an event where we were assessing the dating potential of an 'object of interest', who hapened to be hosting the gathering. the circus act kicked off with our opening routine where i revealed the misfortunate hair styles (and i hesitate to use the word style here) of office knight's adolescence (hello you perfect mullet). anyway, the circus routine was a raging success, and incorporated some of the most risky acts in our repertoire (involving pillbox hats, pirates, and judy garland). furthermore, despite knowing abosolutely NO ONE at this function, the show could not have been more successful. the 'object of interest' was not only a captive audience, but also jumped right in with her own circus routine. this one is seriously a keeper! i will be sure to let you know how this maybe circus romance unfolds. in the meantime, jump in and test out your routine, or sit back and enjoy the show! coming to a city near you....

-Office Burn

Office Raider Sees the "White Light"

Pinkberry. It's the new craze. It's a frozen yogurt chain that started in LA...I think. Accurate facts are immaterial to this story. The premise of these new treateries that are popping up all over NYC is that usually frozen yogurt never tastes like yogurt. I've noticed this, actually, good for them for tackling this dire, un-met need. Pinkberry has only two flavors, "plain" and green-tea. You can add to either flavor a variety of simply awesome toppings like Captain Crunch, Fruity Pebbles, Cocoa pebbles and your usual suspects, like sprinkles. Sprinkles suck, by the way. If you scroll through the pages of any gossip blog or flip through an US weekly you will see some stick figure with horrendous, 30" diameter sunglasses walking with a cup of Pinkberry. Being the esteemed journalist that I am, I set out to try this Pinkberry. It was great. However, I have to question a dessert product that makes people behave like whack jobs. It was awful...the line was long. Shorter people were on their tippy-toes trying to steal a glimpse of the toppings bar which might as well have been a mirage. Pedestrian tailgating was at an all time high. In fact, some one's purse was rubbing up against the butt and I had to turn around to make sure I wasn't being felt up like a mango before it's purchased at a farmer's market. As I approached the cashier ready to place an order for me and my friend (who was kicked out because of her dog) I hear someone call my name. I turn around only to be embraced by two python sized, tattooed arms that belong to my ingenious hairdresser, Stephen! Little did I know, Pinkberry is no place for hugging. I'm hardly exaggerating, no really, hardly, when I say that a riot practically broke out as it was my turn to place an order. I really shouldn't be surprised, though. I mean I deserve to practically get publicly flogged for delaying some one's precious Pinkberry experience by a mere 1.4 nano-seconds. If this is how people are going to behave, then I think the FDA seriously needs to consider making it a controlled substance, I could have been killed. No, it's okay...I'm fine.

The Porn Is BAAAAAAAACK!

Um...check out these salad tongs







Tossed salad anyone? Tee hee, get it? Mind you my mom gave me those "tongs." My mom reads the blog sometimes, thanks Mom!

We Don't Watch TV

In the last couple of months, I've had a few people respond in shock when they realize that I barely watch TV. Upon recovering from this concept, they inevitably ask what exactly I do if I'm not busy watching TV. Since the same thing has happened to Owfice Burn who also doesn't watch TV, I thought this warranted some deep thoughts in the form of an award-winning blog post.

First of all, I should say that TV does have its purpose. How else would I have seen Barbara Walters trick all her interviewees into crying (priceless), watched Laverne and Shirley fret that they were virgins when they thought that some thieves were going to kill them or viewed Arnold from Different Strokes escape from yet another molester.

But these were all witnessed prior to my non-TV watching days. Now, Owfice Burn and I have decided that TV is a weird concept. The premise is that you stop your life to watch someone else live their life--like Everybody Loves Raymond whose life consists of fighting with his in-laws. Or maybe I could pause my life to watch a bunch of people get murdered every SINGLE week on CSI or whatever that show is. And of course, if this were the 80's, watching TV would involve wondering if Tony Micelli and Angela Bower were finally going to hook up on Who's the Boss if only that damn Mona would stop marching in at exactly the wrong time.

Since it's clear that I'm above watching TV, I will share what I do with my time instead. It involves furthering my personal growth and becoming so extremely important and smart that you would throw your TV out the window if you thought you could become this deep.

First of all, I really like BLT sandwiches so I make them at night and that takes some time--especially the clean up since someone once told me that bacon grease can clog your sink if you're not careful. Oh man, I hate a clogged sink.

I call Owfice Burn a lot to make sure I haven't missed a minute of her life. She got a flat tire last week and her dad had to come pick her up on the side of the road. So I called her during the incident to remind her that despite the fact that she's nearly 30 and a very successful attorney, when anything goes wrong, her dad still has to pick her up. She's trapped in a time warp, she knows it, and I can't afford to miss a moment of it.

Owfice Burn calls me a lot to make sure she hasn't missed a minute of my life. She enjoys reminding me of an episode that took place when I had these blonde hair extensions. Although I thought they made me look kind of artsy and cool, she liked that one day one of them came loose in her car and we had to throw it out the window. She needs to allow sufficient time in her day to call me to relive this moment and to reminisce about how she kept telling everyone for weeks (including people that I was trying to impress) that my toupee came loose. Again, would this be possible if we were watching the Desperate Housewives bang their gardeners or whatever it is they do?

And finally, there's Office Raider, who is also too busy becoming enlightened to watch TV. I keep my TV off so that I have sufficient time to witness her personal growth. Her activities on this path include shouting commands to make the neighbors think that we're running an orphanage. This is a great use of time that was invented at our last apartment. She also likes to think out loud and I need sufficient time to listen to these thoughts--which include combing through my 90 year-old grandmother's psyche to determine why it is she's still complaining about stuff from her childhood that took place like 80 years ago.

So you see, there's a whole universe of life outside of your TV that you obviously can't afford to miss.

Affronted by an Electronic

I want to know who is in charge of giving certain electronic memos their shitty ass personalities. For example, today as I was gabbing away cheerfully on my cell phone when the battery died. First a silence and of course like a douche bag I'm like, "Hello? Hello? Hello?" Finally, I catch on and look at my phone only to see some bitchy butterfly go fluttering by and the words "GOODBYE" flash across my screen. Could this possibly be necessary? I really felt I was being mocked. It's not a "good" bye actually. I just hung up on someone and now I'm 2007's version of stranded. Another obnoxious one is that woman who says "The number you've just dialed is not valid. Please check the number and dial it again." Let's not sugar coat it: you know she wants to say, "WRONG! Your tubby fingers clearly just dialed the wrong number. How 'bout you try wiping the pizza grease off, fat ass, before you try calling your stupid friend." I wish our electronics would offer this kind of candor. Perhaps when dealing with the voice automated ho it would be more fulfilling if she would say "stop mumbling asshole," vs. "I'm sorry, I didn't get that. Please try saying that key word again." Oh and what's up with zero not being the fool proof method of getting a real person on the phone when calling for customer service? Anyway, for those of you that like nice weather enjoy your weekend because it's gonna be AWESOME out. Happy Cinco De Mayo!

Poisons

A great variety of misfortune has been bestowed upon the office clan household. Don't fret, it's nothing truly tragic, just some exposure to things that have repulsed us and or made us feel really weak. It all started with one of those Don't-Smoke public service announcement commercials. It seems that several big wigs got together and concluded that the no smoking campaign needs to employ scare tactics. One time I saw the icky, gooey plaque squeezed out of an aorta of a dead smoker. Thanks to this add I lost 10lbs because I was disgusted for weeks on end. Tonight we had to listen to some dude bitchin' about his stoma (for those that don't know, it's a hole in your throat) that he now has because he had throat cancer from smoking. He's carrying on about how annoying it is to keep clean and how he has to go to the doctor every three months to make sure his cancer hasn't returned. To make matters worse, this sob story is narrated in a irritating robot voice because that's what happens when your throat is removed. You have to talk like a robot. I guess all those cigarette breaks and post nookie smokes don't seem like a hot idea anymore. Here's my thing though: I don't smoke and I never have, so why am I being punished? It's a rhetorical question, of course.

Now let me share with you the wafer that has destroyed the fortitude of two hardworking young women that can take on nearly any challenge that comes their way: The Carr's Whole Wheat Cracker. A pleasant departure from their cardboard, sop-up-your spit water cracker indeed. Entirely too pleasant. These g'darn things taste like short bread! They're not salty, they're freakin' cookies! They masquerade as a sensible snack item when all that's inside is an addictive sweet treat! These mo'fo's blow all their cracker peers out of the water. If this were a contest, Saltines wouldn't stand a chance and a Ritz would put up a good fight but ultimately fail with humility for even trying. They've been appropriately nicknamed "cookie crackers" and they are banned from our home as soon as we finish our last box. Carr's tried to thwart our summer costume (aka us in the winter minus ten pounds), but we caught on...like several thousand calories later, but as the saying goes...Better late than never.

Oh and don't anyone try to scold me about being insensitive about cancer. This is a rant, it's meant to be outrageous and in poor taste. I don't care how many cigarettes someone has wrapped their wormy-lips around, no one deserves cancer.

The emergency

Owfice Burn and I had an emergency conversation two weeks ago. This is the same emergency conversation we've been having for years.

"Do you know any poems," I asked.

"Oh definitely," she bragged.

"Ok, quick. Tell me some of them. Details. Right now," I said.

Except, just as I suspected, she knows nothing about poetry either. She'll brag on this blog that she does--but investigate further and you'll find out that the extent of her poetry knowledge is Shel Silverstein's "Where the Sidewalk Ends".

So Owfice Burn and I are, once again, back at square one. Ask us about politics, finance, current events, real estate or beer and we'll give you an earful of information that sounds reasonably important. Ask us about deep stuff like poetry, art or the great works of literature and we're dead.

How are we supposed to make friends with all of those fun people who wear the artsy glasses and wispy skirts if we don't know this stuff!

Can someone please help with this emergency.

Oh and so you know, Office Raider doesn't know anything about poetry either.

On the Bashing-the-Bad-Dad Bandwagon

Why is it that every time I turn around I'm putting my tail between my legs for not posting? Whatev... I wish people were really angry enough that I would have to put my aforementioned "tail" between my legs. If I had a tail, though, you best believe it would be styled and coiffed to the max. Some days I would wear it all big and voluminous and other days, if I wanted to look serious and neat, I would tie it back into a bun. Yeah, that's how I'd handle having a tail. Moving on, some major news in the past week or so, eh? I'm sorry, I know everyone and their mom's dog walker's cousin's neighbor's husband has been blogging on the not- so- enviable parenting skills of Alec Baldwin. However, would really one more quick blurb regarding his really, really poor communication skills hurt the www? Probably not. I'll keep it short. For those who haven't heard it:

http://www.aolcdn.com/tmz_audio/0419_baldwin.mp3

First of all...he's not sure if his daughter is 11 or 12 years old. I bet Ireland is WAAAAAAAY embarrassed at school. Thanks Mommy Kim. Also, what did he plan on doing when he claimed that he was going to get on a plane and "straighten her out" and then immediately go home. Does that sound a little murder-y or perve-y to anyone else? I have to say this whole situation has brought out the sexism in me because, like some suburban mom, I don't think this would be as appalling if this message were left for, like, a 15 year old son. Fifteen-year old boys often deserved to get called pigs. And my final comment: what's all the banter about feeling humiliated...um, it's your daughter, why are you so damn embarrassed in front of your own family members? I think this event has alerted all Dads around the world to only berate their offspring in person. Yup! The fun's over Bad Dad Community, no more scathing letters, e-mails or voicemails. What does his hot brother, Billy Baldwin, think of all this? I hope his uncle-ing style isn't from the same sheet of music.

Office Tan--International Edition Part Duex

And, um excuse me...why do these terrorist kidnapping plots keep getting more and more ridiculous? This latest release with the 'ill fitting suits' is just too much. Look at the guy to the left of the woman with the headscarf (nice touch btw). Besides looking like he's busy smelling something, he also looks most annoyed by the 'ill fitting suit' situation, and kinda resembles pee wee herman come to think of it. (oh man, i am now secretly hoping that pee wee herman gets kidnapped next. you are too...admit it right now.) ok, getting back to my important analysis, the guy in the back left doesn't seem to mind his 'ill fitting suit' at all, and rather seems giddy over the whole debacle (this would definitly be my attitude). oh, and ps, the intellectual property world is all a-buzz because apparently the shirts are counterfeit Hugo Boss. Can't these terrorists get anything right?!?

Office Tan--The International Edition--Part 1

Excuse me, but why do British people often look like they're busy sniffing something?

Special Report: Office Raider is Very Dangerous Looking

Hi folks! I know, I know. I'm the most fair-weather blogger that ever lived. As soon as the shi% hits the fan, I'm out like a fat kid in dodge ball. In our time apart, however, I have collected quite a nice collection of foolish interactions that I will likely embellish on here. As you know, the officetan headquarters has moved to the hipper (and dangerously close to times square) Hell's Kitchen. When apartment hunting, I took a leap of faith and signed a rental contract despite the fact that my apartment was a pile of dust, literally. Being the detail oriented, office-y type I made a point of dropping in weekly to check up on the construction progress. To do this, however, I would have to wait for someone to let me in the building because I hadn't been blessed with a set of keys just yet. Well...in my sweetest voice, I kindly asked an older lady going into the building if I could come in with her and I explained that I was a new tenant but didn't have keys yet. She barked at me, "If you don't have keys you can't come in!" She was muttering some other nonsense too but who knows what she was saying. As she's barking at me and protecting her building from the dangerous bouffant on the stoop, she squeezes through the door to get into the building. Um, was barely opening the door and squeezing through really necessary? Did she honestly think I was gonna plow through despite our lovely exchange. I'm not gonna lie, I kinda, secretly enjoyed being treated like a dangerous intruder. To top it off, Ms. Neighborhood Watch McGruff lives across the hall from me. Guess I'm not so dangerous anymore.

A report from the new Office Clan headquarters

Our new apartment makes us so happy. It's a million times better than our old place which made us feel like we were living in an unimportant cave. However, nonsense follows the Office Clan wherever we go and a new address can't change that. Following are a few episodes that have taken place in the short 9 days since we began our new lives.

1. I brought my old lady grocery cart with me just in case I wanted to wheel my clothes to a laundromat. Office Raider and I promptly agreed that the old lady cart had to be stowed outside the apartment door so it didn't ruin our new ambience. Within 24 hours, someone stole it. Suspicious. I think it was one of my sticky-fingered senior citizen neighbors. I promptly posted a sign to request it's safe return and surprise, it was returned in the night. So I left the cart outside the door again (still didn't want it to ruin the ambience) and it got taken...again. I've posted another sign but I'm afraid it's a permanent captive now in an AARP member's home. I guess that's what happens when one owns an extremely valuable grocery cart.

2. Office Raider stirred me one evening from my important thinking to report that her radiator was breathing scalding steam all over her room. I marched in to the assess the situation (I'm a trained plumber) and nearly had my face melted off as I tried to clamp the heat valve shut--but unfortunately there was nothing I could do. The radiator valve was broken (I was too weak). Fearing that the whole apartment was going to be steamed into ruins, we called FDNY, who sped over and rescued us and shut off the valve. They rock and are great at shutting off radiator valves.

3. And to conclude today's adventure log, I'd like to report that Office Raider has transformed herself into a bilingual construction foreman. While we are very excited that our apartment is renovated, when we arrived we noticed that some of the work had not been completed--like the shower. Office Raider assigned herself to take a day off from work to supervise the construction by shouting various Spanish commands that she learned during her days as the star of her AP Spanish class.

Over and out,

Office M. Knight

Fraudulent Microwave Sales and Armed Roommates

Office Raider and I are dilligently packing for our move this weekend. In the mean time, we have posted a few of our luxury posessions on Craigslist for sale. Big surprise, the weirdos have rolled out of the woodwork to bid for them. Ed showed up and made us microwave some water to insure that our Microwave was functional. Good thinking, Ed. It's an old trick to sell a broken microwave. Our next buyer, Mary, is on the lookout for furniture after a hasty move from her last apartment. Apparently, she opted to leave her last abode when her roommate cocked a sawed-off shotgun outside her bedroom. Sounds like he was a jerk.

Stay tuned for more moving adventures.

Holes

Here's a fun activity for your Next Dunkin Donuts Visit. A long time ago the office sisters paid a visit to our local Dunkin Donuts to pick up an order of Munchkins. The only problem is we don't like the term "munchkins," it sounds way to much like our Grandma's maiden name. Instead we thought we would call them what they really are...holes. I like the chocolate holes and Office Doll (that's our other sister) likes the powdered ones. "We would like some holes please." The helpful employee began tossing the holes into the sack and I stopped him, "I don't want her holes touching my holes, they're dusty. May we have the holes in separate bags please?" Office Knight chimes in "Who has dusty holes?" I reply, "Office Doll has dusty holes, I don't want them touching mine, I don't like the dust." At this point I see these bright eyes under his Dunkin Donuts' visor dashing around with glee accompanied by a smirk. This man thinks that the double entendre is an accident. His equally pleased colleague is using his peripheral vision equally well to communicate the humor of this absurd dialogue. Finally an innocent bystander chimes in, "You guys are bad. It's Sunday." Sawree lame-o Innocent Bystander. If you're so Holy (tee hee) then what are you doing at Dunkin Donuts. Shouldn't you be sitting in a pew somewhere boring someone else. This post is dedicated to Katrine. The best Dunkin Donuts employee ever. She knows how many Equals I take depending on the size of my beverage. She doesn't work Sundays. We would never do that to Katrine.

Office Raider Has Been Fooled

Office Raider has been urgently forwarding this email (below) around to try and find this missing chick. I am far more advanced than Office Raider so I googled this and discovered that of course, it's a hoax. Office Raider is mortified. She even forwarded it to our 90 year-old grandparents who are undoubtedly now praying for this girl's safe recovery.

The email...

Help Find Ashley Flores

Maybe if everyone passes this on, someone will see this child. That is how the girl from Stevens Point was found by circulationof her picture on tv. The internet circulates even overseas, South America , and Canada etc. Thanks. Please pass this to everyone in your address book. We have a Deli manager from Philadelphia , Pa who has a 13 year old daughter who has been missing for 2 weeks. Keep the picture moving on. With luck on her side she will be found.

"I am asking you all, begging you to please forward this email on to anyone and everyone you know, PLEASE. My 13 year old girl, Ashley Flores, is missing. She has been missing for now two weeks. It is still not too late. Please help us. If anyone anywhere knows anything, please contact me at: HelpfindAshleyFlores@yahoo.com. I am including a picture of her. All prayers are appreciated!!It only takes 2 seconds to forward this. If it was your child, you would want all the help you could get."

Not Ready to Make Nice

The Office Tan household finally got a subscription to Netflix so I promptly ordered "Shut Up and Sing", the Dixie Chicks Documentary which is all about the drama that broke out when the the Dixie Chicks criticized President Bush and the Iraq war. Of course, legions of hicks were behind the whole mess. Anyway, the film ROCKS as do the Dixie Chicks. In case you don't know already, the controversy inspired the song "Not Ready to Make Nice." Check out the video. I'm really lousy at seeing symbolism but I think all of those shadows represent the corruption of oil and the darkness of evil. Yeah, deep and smart thoughts. Oh and by accident, after seeing the film, I developed a crush on Natalie Maines, the lead singer. I convinced myself that maybe she was gay and therefore I might have a chance. But since she has a husband and "Natalie Maines + lesbian" turns up nothing relevant on google, I'm out of luck this time.


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Breaking News: Don't Fly First Class

There has been so much news around air travel lately, even here at Officetan. A lot of the controversy has surrounded poor customer service, like people sitting on the runway for eight hours. Also it seems that whenever there is a forecast of even one snowflake falling, the airlines cancel all their flights. However, I'm not gonna take umbrage with that because I would much rather sit on the runway for hundreds of hours rather than go plummeting to my death because some ambitious pilot thought he could hack unfavorable flying conditions. By the way, I know the pilots don't make these decisions but I don't know the name of the airline personnel that does so whatever.

Anyway, now for the real news. Whenever I feel that my life isn't furnishing good blog material I go to a reliable news source that never ceases to provide fodder for my rant fire...Yahoo Odd News. Regular news is for the birds. We've touched on this several times. For example, why did I need to see a clip of a 100 year-old woman getting clocked like 300 times? It's upsetting enough as it is. Think about it: if you kept bringing up something really horrendous that happened at work over and over and over again you'd probably earn yourself some kind of stern verbal warning like the following:

"Hey Stan, I think that's just about enough, we need to get past this, you're really bringing down the 'team's' morale" (Stan is such an office-y name). Soooo.... why is this tolerated at the news' office?

Moving right along, here's what I found on Odd News that I thought needed a quick officetan review:

Paul Trinder, 54, said cabin crew moved the body of the elderly woman from the economy section where she had died after take-off, the Mirror and Sun tabloids said.
"The corpse was strapped into the seat but because of turbulence it kept slipping down on to the floor," Trinder, a businessman, was quoted as saying. "It was horrific. The body had to be wedged in place with lots of pillows."
The woman's daughter was also upgraded and spent the rest of the nine-hour flight from Delhi to London grieving next to her dead mother, the Sun reported.

My Important Commentary: What the hell? There is like 10 million things wrong with this situation. First of all, doesn't someone dying merit an emergency landing? And who's brilliant idea was it to "upgrade" this passenger to first class? Not to mention that the use of the word upgrade in this context is entirely inappropriate. I guess, for now, the next time you're offered an upgrade to first class, you might want to think twice since they seem to only offer free upgrades to people that are either really, really pissed off or dead. Oh, but the seats are a lot bigger.

I Don't Know

For some unknown reason I became really enthusiastic about St. Patrick's day. I kinda accidentally celebrated beyond what was probably necessary to acknowledge this holiday that I know nothing about. One of my finer moments of the evening was interrupting some foolish male in the middle of his gratuitous monologue to ask him why everyone was wearing green, he didn't feel so sharp after that. You know what...I'm gonna stop. I'm not feeling so hot, guys. Sorry.

It's Only a Matter of Time: The Progression of Airport Security

Airport security has been a hot topic now for about 6 years, for obvious reasons. For years they thought metal detectors sufficed and they were wrong. Then they added the patting down of (aka molesting) a "random" selection of people. Now you have to take off your shoes, which really makes a lot of people that fancy themselves as really sophisticated and serious look, well, not so sophisticated or serious. Not to mention that some of us have feet that are not a fair representation of the rest of their grandeur. In my case, I have feet that look like they belong to a four year old, I'm not even joking a little. Then there was the liquid explosives debacle. This has led to all sorts of inconveniences. Because of the new policy, you are only allowed like 3 ounces of any liquid in your carry on luggage...this gave rise to a concept that the office sisters created on our last trip...the "liquid" bag. The liquid bag was a duffel bag, headed for cargo, that contained all the potentially incriminating liquids. Some of the dubious serums that were transported included about 10 different strengths of sunscreen, shampoo, conditioner, lotion, and so on.

So... at this point, airport security has us waddling around without our shoes on, guzzling water in the security line, paying for overpriced bottled water once you've cleared security, tedious liquid packing guidelines, therefore this begs the question, what's next? Do you guys realize how screwed we are if someone tries to hi-jack a plane with a bra or underwear bomb? Yup.

"Attention travellers, please have your photo ID ready and remove all of your clothes." Gross.

Attention Annoying Gross People: YOU COULD BE A SERIOUS RISK TO YOUR OWN HEALTH AND OVERALL WELL BEING

okay, office raider is totally right, eyewitness news is so damn ratty. in the background i just overheard the following, "late breaking news"...

"Attention.: IF your doctor doesn't like you...he may not be paying attention to you when you're talking, and that could lead to misdiagnosis or failure to diagnose, which could seriously jeopardize your health!"

Translation: if you are gross and annoying, yes even your doctor will ignore you.

As a lawyer, I also recommend a news alert to that same population of gross annoying people, because they are probably also receiving inferior legal representation because their lawyers are ignoring them for the same reasons. Probably applies to the financial industry as well.

I think the solution here is quite simple. Don't be f'in gross and annoying and people won't ignore you. You will get your settlement, be properly diagnosed, and won't lose your nest egg in some junk bond investment accident.

Ohhh Mannnnn...

Why do these guys always look like they've been dragged out of their bear caves half way through hibernation season?

Something Really Annoying Has Happened

Ok team. So General Peter Pace, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff (aka Queen Bee of the military) announced this week that he thinks that homosexuality is immoral. No surprise. Military leaders are often kind of hick.

But what was really annoying is that Hillary Clinton, when asked if she agreed with these comments, answered that this would be for "others to conclude."

Um who?

More importantly, did I or did I not see Hillary at a gala for a gay organization this past Monday bragging up and down about her support for the community.

Here's the bottom line. I, Office Knight, am absolutely tired of politicians who try so hard to appease that whole bigot brigade so that they can have their votes. The bigots are the immoral people. They are the ones who want to maroon gay people on an island (party!!!) and then poison the tofu supply--knowing full well that an entire generation of lesbians would be wiped out if they succeeded. Ok, maybe there's no tofu plot but the island part is true.

Saint Anthony Pays a Visit to JFK Airport

The Office Clan is back from our Florida adventure--not rested but sorta tan. I would be more tan but Office Doll sprayed SPF 50 lotion all over me while convincing me that I would still turn that fancy shade of bronze that I desperately desired. Not so. I might as well have been wearing a snow suit.

Other highlights include the hotel manager coming to our door because someone complained that we were "singing". As usual, our lives closely mirror that of a 6th grader's as in, we still get yelled at by adults constantly. Not only were we not singing--but we thought that the old "this is the management" claim was a cheap line to break into our room and kill us. Consequently, we barked profanities at the door for a few moments before we finally realized that, in fact, we were yelling at the hotel manager.

And finally, for the second trip in a row, Office Doll's damn red rolling suitcase failed to show up at baggage claim. And just like the last time, we all quickly converted to Catholicism and prayed to Saint Anthony for it's safe return. Boy, that Saint Anthony is good. By the next day, he had Office Doll's red bag in a green pick-up truck en route to her apartment.

Over and out.

-Office E. Knight

Movin' on Up...to the West Side

I want to take this moment to thank our wonderful officetan readers for their readership and comments. It really makes the Office Clan's day. If there was no one to read officetan than we wouldn't have been inspired to scan the crap that was on our refrigerator to show the world wide web that we've decided to try to become fancier adults. Fancy adults don't put things that only they find funny on their refrigerator. In fact, super fancy adults probably don't put anything on their fridge. However, during the front-of-the-fridge reform we realized that there were a lot more areas that needed improvement. How about the soap dish in the shower? I'm not talking one that we put in there, I'm talking the permanent one that looks like some kind of ectopic pregnancy of the wall made of tub material, it fell off the wall for no reason and shattered in the tub, late at night no less. Why do things always have to fall or break in the middle of the night? Is it imperative that not only must one suffer the loss of an item that has lost it's function but also have the shi% scared out of them? And it doesn't stop with the soap dish. One time Office Knight's floor swelled up. Yes, it swelled, to a point, a point that would make it IMPOSSIBLE to have a platonic friend over on the aerobed. Every summer, our air conditioner doesn't really work, it will either do nothing, shoot out cold clammy air or breathe gross hot breath all over us in the already sweltering NYC summer heat. Not to mention, that running our air conditioner was like using our checking accounts as a disposable hand fan. Blunder after blunder it started to become clear that this was not about the refrigerator, the floors, the bathroom, it was the apartment. So we decided to move. We're moving. The Officetan Headquarters is moving to the West Side. Thank you all for helping us come to this important realization.

BREAKING NEWS: Being Prude is Extremely Important

Is everyone sitting down? I just heard the most RIDICULOUS nonsense on Eyewitness News. I know I'm not supposed to watch Eyewitness news because it's corny and is always freaking out all the dumb people. However, I wasn't really watching it, it was on in the background so when I heard the term "Purity Ball" come bouncing out of Sade Baderinwa's mouth I was all ears, and not in a good way.

What is a Purity Ball, you ask? It's like a freakin' prom/wedding where daughters make a vow to their dad that they will remain "pure" until they're married. Some of it's "traditions" include those very similar to a wedding including a father/daughter dance, a white dress, and a cake...I'm not sure if Daddy and lil' Suzy are feeding each other the cake though...can we say, "CREEPY!" enough? And lame! And waaaayyyy hypocritical! Why in the world would someone pledge their virginity to the sluttiest people around (aka men)? Furthermore, I see no one really gives a damn if their adolescent son goes out and gets laid a billion times, which leads me to my next question. If the sons are not pledging their virginity, then they're free to roam the ass trail. Now, if all the daughters' flowers are locked up in their weirdo dad's humidor or something then who is left for the sons to bang? You guessed it! The married women! So I hope the dads don't get pissed when their neighbor's son is getting more than a cup of sugar from their wife.

Lastly, is this really all today's daughters have to pledge? How about throwing a "Don't be Completely Useless" Ball where daughters promise their dads that they will try to do well in school and discover a satisfying (and hopefully lucrative) career so that they can be independent and not make awful husband choices because they can't support themselves. Perhaps that would be a little more worthy of celebrating.

Oh! And here's the kicker, in stride with the government programs that fund promoting abstinence, many of these "Purity" Balls have been subsidized with federal funding. I swear, if I find out that even a single one of these Purity Ball Queen's hymen has gone missing, I'm asking for some kind of repayment of my precious tax dollars!

Our Path to Adulthood--Part 2

As part of honing my domestic qualities, I do my own laundry. There are a couple of washers and dryers in my building so it's pretty convenient. About 2 months ago, when I went to dry my freshly laundered clothes, I noticed a tattered ratty skirt that had been left in the dryer that I wanted to use. It was so raggy that I took the tips of my thumb and forefinger, clasped them around the very edge of the skirt so as to touch as few skirt molecules as possible and gingerly placed it on top of the dryer for the owner to claim. Later that evening, I collected my now dried laundry, glanced again at the junkyard skirt and concluded yet another laundry adventure.

Meanwhile, the skirt-owner's laundry journey had obviously gone terribly wrong. 2 days later, my building was wall-papered with signs with frantic messages from the skirt-owner pleading for info on her missing lawn mowed-skirt. Like a good samaritan, I left her a message with all of the clues that I had. But apparently, my clues were not enough because this sign (below) was later slipped under each building unit's door.

Office Raider and I liked it so much that we saved it on our refrigerator. But now that we're trying to become adults, we're throwing away the original sign and archiving the scanned version on our blog.

Our Path to Adulthood: A Series

First off, on behalf of the Office Clan, I would like to issue my deepest apologies for the lack of new content last week, but it totally wasn't our fault. Blogger was like peer pressuring us to create some google account and it was confusing everyone, so we just didn't post. Also, Office Knight and I, as well as our sister, Office Doll are going away this week to try to abolish our office tans so we will be really busy packing and preparing for our journey. In the meantime, the latest initiative in the Office Clan household is to try to be more "adult." This includes telling people the truth and not making excuses for stuff that's none of anyone's business. For example, if you don't show up to a function, business or social, that you were "supposed" to be at you don't make up some big song and dance about how you got locked out, twisted your ankle climbing in the window and then lost your shoe in the air shaft, rather you just say, "Hey, sorry about the other night, I wasn't able to make it." It's all in the delivery, but really no one ever questions it. Another step to our adulthood is to try to de-junktify our digs. Our first task is to take down all the visual chaos covering our refrigerator. Now these items would not be proudly displayed like it was our first born's precious finger paintings if we didn't cherish them deeply so we're going to archive them right here. Our first piece. Making fun of national leadership...
take a close look, spot the confused person:

Breaking News: Sororities really do BLOW

Unfortunately I must take a break from the zany, day-brightening humor that I prefer to turn out to the millions (or 50) faithful readers of Officetan to rub my forefingers together and say "SHAME!" Shame on sororities! Apparently one of the Sorority's National Office/Chapter/Bitch Headquarters (whatever it's called) relieved 23 "sisters" from their sisterly duties at Delta Z for lack of commitment to demonstrating the values of the sorority (these aren't the exact words). Coincidently, these 23 "sisters" included those that were not-so-slender as well as the only black, Korean and one other non-white member in the ENTIRE sorority. Somebody pinch me, what year is it again? Thank goodness they got rid of these hooligans so that the others can continue to focus on coiffing their hair, growing their shoe collection, analyzing their one-night stands and counting their calories in peace. Oh! And we musn't forget that these are all very difficult things to do when you're trying to masquerade such important activities as community service. I know I'm stereotyping, I'm really not interested in being the "bigger" person here (we know how they feel about big people anyway). Many decent ladies have joined sororities just as a way to meet people. Let's not exercise such foolish logic any longer. Collectively (based on the behaviors of its leadership) these are hardly the type of people one needs to meet. Is it really that hard to come by a flock of friends at school that all enjoy getting dolled up, hooking up with undeserving boys, shopping and gossip? Probably not. And as an added bonus, if you find a group of friends on your own, it's completely free and there are no weigh-ins, essays, or ethnic background requirements. What a steal!

I Hope the Porn isn't Getting Old Yet

Hot and Bothered

Happy Monday! Even if you don't find this so humorous you may like to know that I had to walk around all day with boobs and balls on my fingers...

Media Analysis from Office Tan

Ok team, a couple of thoughts on the latest news coverage on Britney Spears…

#1 – If someone gets a haircut, it is not worthy of international news coverage EVER. If the media is short on stories, we at Office Tan have a few ideas. We try to think only happy thoughts here but we would like to remind the news outlets of a story that begins with “Dar” and ends with “Fur”. It is a lot more important than Britney’s beauty parlor accident.

#2 – The haircut actually looks kind of hot except that she’s got those alien ears. I don’t mind alien ears but Owfice Burn can’t stand them and won’t stop talking about them. Since I have the misfortune of being Owfice Burn’s best friend, I have had to endure endless commentary on why these ears are not as hot as other ears.

Would anyone mind taking a shift as a sounding board for Owfice Burn’s deep thoughts on attractive ear shapes?

Over and out,

Office Knight

Monday's Porn Offering

Monkey Love

CAUTION: DO NOT listen to this at your desk...there are some bad words (okay, it's all bad words) and we don't need anyone getting fired because of our blog...BUT I had to share this with you. Watch how someone's monkey baby totally cock blocks them by grabbing his cajones while the other monkey tries to get busy. With this kinda nonsense it's amazing there are any monkeys left.

Kicking Some Hijacker Ass

The Office Tan crew wishes that we had come up with such an awesome trick. We provide expert analysis where appropriate in the excerpted article below.

Bumpy landing foils plane hijacker
By Juan Manuel Pardellas, Associated Press Writer
Published: 17 February 2007
EXCERPTS

A quick-thinking pilot thwarted a gun-toting hijacker on a flight from Africa to Spain's Canary Islands by discreetly warning passengers he would brake hard upon landing, then speed up just as abruptly to knock the man off balance - and telling them to be ready to pounce, Spanish officials said yesterday.

The trick worked to perfection, with travelers and crew waiting until the hijacker was on the floor to douse him in the face and chest with boiling water from a coffee machine and beat him into submission.

The lone gunman brandishing two pistols hijacked the Air Mauritania Boeing 737, carrying 71 passengers and a crew of eight, shortly after it took off from the Mauritanian capital of Nouakchott for Gran Canaria, one of Spain's Canary Islands, with a stopover planned in Nouadhibou in northern Mauritania.

He wanted to divert the plane to France so that he could request political asylum, said Mohamed Ould Mohamed Cheikh, Mauritania's top police official.

Speaking to the gunman during the hijacking, the pilot realized the man did not understand French. So he used the plane's public address system to warn the passengers in French of the ploy he was going to try: slam on the brakes upon landing, then accelerate abruptly. The idea was to catch the hijacker off balance, and have crew members and men sitting in the front rows of the plane jump on him, the Spanish official said. (Office Tan would've wanted to be right there in the front row)

It worked. As the plane landed on Gran Canaria, the man was standing in the middle aisle when the pilot carried out his maneuver, and he fell to the floor, dropping one of his two 7mm pistols. Flight attendants then threw boiling water in his face and at his chest (THAT ROCKS!! The flight attendants rushed out with their coffee pot weapons!), and some 10 people jumped on the man and beat him, the Spanish official said.

"We were afraid. We thought it was people from al-Qaida or the Algerian GSPC who were going to cut our throats," said Aicha Mint Sidi, a 45-year-old woman who was on the plane. The GSPC is a Muslim extremist group. (Nah, he was just some idiot who wanted a free ride to France)

The hijacker was arrested by Spanish police who boarded the plane after it landed at Gando airport, outside Las Palmas. (How embarassing for him. He was probably all disheveled from his little squabble with all the people in the front row.)

The Day That Friendster Ruined Our Lives

I remember when I first heard about friendster.com. It seemed like a boring concept to me—that I could make up a personal profile complete with photos, a list of my hobbies etc and then my friends could link to me. Why would I need such a service when I had email for keeping in touch. But then it became kind of fun—if you had 30 first degree friends, you might have 2000 second degree friends and a zillion third degree friends. That seemed sort of interesting so I kept my profile.

As the months went by, Friendster hit the big time and it seemed that you could find almost anyone on Friendster. A quick search could yield long lost childhood friends, distant relatives and once in awhile you might even get a decent date out of it. Then of course, there were the other uses for Friendster that were rarely spoken of. You could secretly examine an ex’s profile for clues to her new life. Did she look happy in her photos? So soon, you might wonder. Did she have flirty testimonials from new people? Who the hell were they? Did she…lord forbid…suddenly change her status to “in a relationship”?

Or maybe there were people out there who had absolutely enchanted you in your one brief encounter. They too could be tracked. What kind of movies did they like, how old were they, did they like ice skating and eating celery with raisins just like you? Were they even single? Yep, you could check that through good old Friendster. And check and check and check, we did.

And then one day the world came crashing down.

Owfice Burn sent me a text message that said, “Friendster emergency.”

“Owfice Burn,” I said when I called her. “What is it?”

“On Friendster now, you can see who has been looking at your profile which means that all of the people you’ve been looking at can see what you’ve been doing.”

“Not funny,” I told her.

And so she urged me to log on to Friendster and sure enough, I could see a row of images of people who had been looking at me. That’s when I began to scream.

And as we called our friends, this scenario repeated itself. “Not funny,” they would say and then upon seeing the proof, they too would begin screaming. And soon enough, we were all screaming—all over the five boroughs, New York State, the Northeast, the South, Midwest and West Coast—we...were...howling. Our stalking, lurking, impulsive, compulsive searching ways were on naked display for our most sacred and secret loves to see.

We had been ruined.

And to this day, when I even hint at that awful day when we were shamed in the eyes of our unrequited loves, the response is always universal.

Said one woman, “Ah yes, it was the shot heard round the world.”

Said another who had gathered that night at Brooklyn bar Cattyshack to hold vigil, “It was like mayhem at Catty because everyone was stressed about eventually running into the randoms they’d been stalking.”

And all Office Tan can do at this point is file a class action lawsuit on behalf of all of us for pain and suffering and of course, the astronomical costs of hiring a search firm to help locate our collective missing dignity.

An Untimely Demise

She barely stood a chance, as she slipped through Office Knight's drunken fingers and struck the ground at about 4:00a.m. Ms. Slice-a-Pisa was brought into our world as quickly as she left it.

Donatella Versace Is in Big Trouble with Office Tan

U.S. presidential candidate Hillary Clinton should tap into her feminine side and wear dresses and skirts instead of trousers, fashion designer Donatella Versace was quoted as saying on Thursday.

At Office Tan, we believe in a woman’s right to choose her own style and further, we abhor that powerful women are routinely judged by their appearances while powerful men are free to look as butt as they want.

In response to Ms. Versace’s ignorant and old-fashioned sentiment, we could take the high road and publish an Office Tan academic paper on Donatella Versace’s role in the oppression of women. However, we prefer the low road and would like to make a few shallow judgments of our own. Let's begin.

Office Tan on Donatella Versace
In addition to her awful opinions, it appears that she is named after an adolescent Mutant Ninja Turtle. I suppose it’s fine to have a name that closely resembles that of a green cartoon character, however, if I were to find out that a cartoon turtle, sponge, rabbit, mouse etc was named Office Knight, I would quickly run to the courthouse and have my name changed to something more important sounding like Charlene. Charlene is an excellent name--much better than Donatella.


Office Tan on Dennis Hastert, Republican Congressman from Illinois, former Speaker of the House
Bottom line, he looks like his nutritional regimen consists of 6 kegs per day. If I were an image consultant and a reporter asked me to comment on Dennis Hastert’s appearance, I would eloquently say, “Red ties work best for him and he should stop looking so heart attack-y.”


Office Tan on Dick Cheney, Master of Darkness and Vice President of the United States
On the subject of heart attacks, I would say, “He needs to stop having so many damn heart attacks.” During the 2000 elections, Dick Cheney had to miss half the events because he kept having all of those heart attacks. And honestly, it’s just kind of embarrassing to have a heart attack twice a week. For lord's sake, stop eating bacon or donuts or whatever it is that is causing these problems! And yes, I know it’s not nice to make fun of people who have heart attacks, but Dick Cheney sort of deserves it after his leadership mishaps and his insistence on ruining everything.


Office Tan on Orrin Hatch, Republican Senator from Utah
Orrin Hatch was one of the ring leaders of Bill Clinton’s impeachment proceedings. And yes, we were all disappointed in Bill’s “critical lapse in judgment”. (Actually, we didn't really care) But Chris Rock said it best when he pointed out that some men are only as faithful as their options and, “Ain’t nobody trying to bl*w Orrin Hatch.” Exactly.

Desperately Seeking zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzs

In our pursuit of producing this award winning blog, we, the writers of Office Tan have not been sleeping enough. As a result, we have each made some unfortunate blunders. In no particular order...

Office Raider had just picked up a pair of her spikey bouffant heels from the shoe hospital when she accidentally threw them away during a routine disposal of her car garbage. May Office Raider's stilettos rest in peace.

I was walking to my favorite bagel store when I noticed Maggie Moo, the ice cream cow, standing in front of her namesake ice cream parlour. As I passed, I heard myself say to her, "Oh hey Maggie," like we're just cordial neighbor friends.

I don't know for sure, but I'm guessing that Owfice Burn has made a bunch of mistakes in these past few days. Owfice Burn makes lots of mistakes whether she gets plenty of sleep or not.

I accidentally brushed my teeth with Office Raider's free purple toothbrush that she got from her dentist. Because I am an outstanding sister, I promptly replaced her tusk scrubber with a brand new Duane Reade toothbrush.

Beyond these slip-ups, I've noticed that the intellectual quality of my conversations has deteriorated significantly. For instance, Owfice Burn managed to engage me in a heated debate over whether or not a hook is useful if one should suddenly lose one's hand. We finally were able to agree that a hook would be useful for picking up one's drycleaning. Beyond that, Owfice Burn declared that using a hook instead of a prosthetic hand is "so 1800's".

Dude, It's not your Musk

Since Valentines Day is approaching I thought we could explore some topics pertaining to love and relations, besides our porn posts. This post was inspired by a normally unwelcomed pop-up that caught my eye. It was an ad for some kind of synthetic pheromone product that boasts, "It Really Works!" I would hope that if you have escalated your "I-can't-get-ass" troubleshooting to pheromone therapy that you've exhausted all other dating resources such as:

Personal ads

Blind dates

Double-blind dates (this is when you're meeting someone that your friend found for you through another friend, in which case you're friend doesn't know either if this person is icky)

Find love sites like match & e-harmony

Find sex sites, masquerading as "networking" or "friends" sites such as Myspace and Craigslist

Dating someone you know you're not attracted to in hopes that maybe you'll change your mind

Getting a sense of someone's workout schedule and conveniently start working out the same body parts, at the same time as your crush...this one is so foolish, I've seen it. A classic is when someone goes from something like quads to triceps and then conveniently on to the kickboxing class that they you're joining

Dippin' into the co-worker pool

Meeting someone entirely disastrous "on paper" at a club and trying to get them to hang out with you during daylight hours without drugs or alcohol

Joining various hobby workshops in hopes that maybe some hot people also decided to take up pottery or cooking

Digging up an ex in hopes that "maybe things will be different"

Dating someone who's birth year started with the following numbers: 195, 196 when yours is 198 something

and finally...

Letting your parents set you up

Perhaps at this point you can justify resorting to such a ridiculous concept. I feel a need to highlight that if one truly believes that maybe all these methods failed because everyone just didn't dig their scent don't you think that maybe this person is just really lame? In which case, SHAME! Shame on the fake-pheromone makers for praying on the lame, I'm disgusted!

and then the lord delivered onto us a most ridiculous woman...

OFFICE KNIGHT
turns twenty nine...

here's to that last year.
that last year to...

"crash" at anybody's "pad",
have any furniture involving cinder blocks,
have any decorations involving non framed posters or tapestries
be on your parents cell phone family plan
have a name like "Katie" instead of the more grown-up "Kate" (special thanks to Tom Cruise for calling this to our attention)
have a jacked up myspace profile with photos of absurd escapades
crumple up parking tickets in hopes of city-wide computer malfunction
"roll out of bed" and run down the street with disheveled hair to avoid being late to one's place of employment
call anyone "dude"
get yelled at by "adults"

Office Tan Uncovers the Truth

Office Raider told me that she wants to go camping to uncover her inner-explorer so I have been assigned the task of finding an exciting trip for us to go on. Upon searching for a camping adventure, I came across a hiking club that takes trips throughout the tri-state area. It seemed like a good match so I began reading through the site when I came across the page on “trip preparation.” I thought it was going to list a bunch of gear that we’d have to buy but instead it had a whole section about how you have to stretch before you hike and train really hard in advance to have superior fitness.

Is hiking really that hard especially in the towering mountains of New Jersey? Isn’t hiking just glorified walking? If you’re out “hiking” and you suddenly cannot put one foot in front of the other, as is done in traditional walking, sit the hell down until you can again. Repeat these steps until you’re back at your car.

Upon learning that hiking was being embellished as an act of major endurance, we at Office Tan decided to uncover other activities that sound a lot fancier than they really are. The list includes…

“Presenting” at a meeting. Whenever anyone tells me they had to present at work, I imagine that they had to stand in front of a packed auditorium while waving a wand at some really smart equations. “Presenting” at work is actually just sitting in your chair and reading a sentence about what you’ve been doing every day for the last week.

Battling flames as a wildland firefighter is actually just banging large gardening tools around while foliage sizzles nearby.

If you are Owfice Burn, “lunging” at someone who you are very angry with is actually saying your sweetest hello and then engaging in enthusiastic and friendly conversation.

An Office Technology Solutions Specialist, Office Raider’s former profession, is actually a Copier Salesperson (Office Raider preferred the former title when describing her vocation to male suitors).

“Networking” is eating lots of dinners and having lots of drinks while cackling your head off in the presence of others who might someday help you get a new job, contract etc.

Eating at a “fancy” restaurant when one is not in a large urban area is dining at Olive Garden.

Being sooo “busy” when one is 87 years-old is rushing to and fro one’s bible study group, mowing one’s lawn over and over again and baking mushroom casseroles. We know this from observing the Office Tan grandparents.

Playing rugby equals legally mugging people (JUST KIDDING!!) Playing rugby is precision, finesse, endurance and strength and it is only performed by fabulous people.

Being a “Producer” in Los Angeles is ordering lunch and some chairs for your friend’s cheap-o 10 minute film.

Speaking of LA, being a production assistant in Los Angeles is having to make pool water wiggle for a film scene. That was my extremely important job when I lived there. And I made zero dollars per day while doing this which equates to zero dollars per hour and exactly zero dollars per minute. It was lucrative.