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.