Some Annoying Things of Note

I'm gonna make this snappy because it is WAAAAAAAAAY past my bedtime but I shan't go to bed mildly annoyed by the following things:

• NYC's Speakeasy Boom- I'm not gonna lie, I kinda dig these exclusive, hard to find, basement-y places where the word bartender is a four letter word...it's mixologist, which I don't debate as they do make some pretty crafty concoctions. However they take it a bit far when its starts involving raw eggs n' such. Here's my gripe though- Um, drinking is perfectly legal so all the pretend secrecy is starting to get cheesy, what's next we all start doing lines of powdered sugar in the bathroom?
  
• The Excessive Use of the phrase "Stimulus Package" in marketing- Dominos has a "stimulus package," Trojan has a "stimulus package." Though competitively priced pizza and condoms does sound lovely I don't think its exactly the solution to our nation's financial problems. Just a hunch.
• Some Questionable Fashion Trends- The "Jesus" flats aka Gladiator Sandal won't go away (literally, it looks like the shoes Jesus wore); Jumpsuits (aka "onesies" for grown-ups) are in- which I have mixed emotions about...some I like, others have drapey crotches which I am already predicting girls will admire on each other perpetuating this dreaded look; in the meantime, the drapey crotch frock will expertly function as a man repellent. Suiting is creeping into odd places...some of this is working for me, as you see here (horrid photo compliments of Top Shop's Look Book...are you serious?).
• Obama Jokes Involving Chicken and/or Watermelon- do I really have to explain this? Is this really considered funny to people? I'm not even referring to the obvious, offensive nature these jokes. I'm specifically disturbed by the fact that people are so simple minded that they still find chicken and watermelon jokes funny. I've been doing some stand-up comedy lately, how come these morons don't come to my shows? It would make it a lot easier for me...I could just go up there make a few bathroom jokes and maybe choke a rubber chicken and I'd be an instant success!

Lastly, insomnia is kinda dumb. I could do without that as well. But it's still not as bad as being subliminally tricked into wearing outfits that make me look like I lost a really, really important bet.

Idiot Fish out of Water

Hi. I'm gonna ignore the 900lb gorilla in the room that is our inconsistent postings. After reviewing the site meter it has been brought to my attention that our readership has dwindled to those that serendipitously stumble upon our musings after googling something like impetigo from a tanning bed or worms in my yogurt read Wash Your Fruit in July 07 Archives or not...
Anyway, my career as an office raider has really taken off and has taken me to far away places including East Williamsburg, Brooklyn. I do not fit in there...at all. I, unfortunately, do not know any of the rules of Hasidism and have been breaking them all over town. I tried to shake one of my clients hands the other day...naturally he didn't want to shake my grubby hand and not taking the hint I essentially lunged at him and wrestled a hand shake out of him. If I had peed on him it would have been only a smidge more innappropriate. A few days later, I sashayed off an elevator in to the men's waiting parlor. Though after a night of heavy imbibing I often look like a hot tranny mess I am no man and do not belong there. Upon noticing the sign I went and sat on the other side in the ladies' waiting parlor. It's like middle school but not really at all. Then upon leaving the building a gentleman and I were waiting for the elevator, the doors flew open and I waltzed in and enthusiastically looked at the man to join me and he gestured for me to go on my way. There will be no riding on the elevators with moron girl or maybe just women in general, not sure.
After a day like this I asked Office Knight (aka my sister) to do a little research on the customs of Hasidic Jews and she said she would do no such thing because she was deriving entirely too much joy out of my blunders. I thought, perhaps you might too. Good day to you.

A Controversial Confession

Here goes. One…two…three. I don’t like reading fiction.

I’ve tried and tried and the same thing keeps happening. I get bored or confused or both and besides, reading fiction does not provide any tangible improvement to my life.

While you’re busy judging my intellect, consider a recent attempt to appreciate this genre via Ernest Hemingway’s A Farewell to Arms.

“In the late summer of that year we lived in a house in a village that looked across the river and the plain to the mountains. In the bed of the river there were pebbles and boulders , dry and white in the sun, and the water was clear and swiftly moving and blue in the channels.”

Problem #1: Extraneous information


What do white pebbles have to do with anything? CUT TO THE CHASE ALREADY. At most, the whole book should say, “We lived in a crappy house in a village and then a bunch of things happened such as (fill in the blank) and that’s pretty much it.” That’s the whole story. Not 332 pages of carrying on about dry pebbles and crinkly leaves and the coarse texture of someone’s wool coat.

Problem #2: Intentionally traumatizing one’s self


I believe that if I kept reading, a ton of the characters die. Assuming that one of life’s greatest agonies is mourning the deaths of other people, why would I suddenly say to myself, “It’s a beautiful day out. Let me read about made-up people who die.”
Or what about those fiction books where lizards and witches show up at banquets and get in fights or fly around in glittery outfits. Seriously.
**

Now contrast this with the life-enhancing genre of non-fiction.

Consider these forms…

Biographies – I got to read about Ted Kennedy banging people in someone’s study at parties. Riveting! Who would guess that wrinkled Ted Kennedy did anything but think about healthcare policy and drink too much. And why doesn’t this happen at the parties I go to?

Personal Finance – I’ve learned about building an airtight credit score which will lead to access to mortgages which will lead to a rockin’ apartment which will lead to awesome parties where my guests might bang people in my study.

Personal Transformation – I’ve learned that NOW is all we have. Am I lying in a ditch, staring at a gash in my leg, or trapped at an evangelical church service RIGHT NOW? No. So all is well. Now I can go back to thinking about Ted Kennedy or my disdain for flying lizards.

-Office Knight

IT HAS BEEN WAY TOO LONG...I feel Awkard

Hello to probably like one reader (or none) that has hung on with hope that someday, yes someday the folks at officetan would return. We haven't been really that busy to be honest we just sorta forgot about the blog. I am now focusing my comedic efforts on stand-up. I want you to come watch me, heckle me, throw fruits at me that people think are vegetables. Tomotoes people...tomatoes. I will always wear black just in case. Come to think of though, they really should just be vegetables. They have a much lower glycemic index than other fruits and they're not sweet. Can you imagine if you got a fruit platter delivered and it had pineapples, grapes, sliced melon, strawberries and tomatoes? That would never happen. But guess what? I have seen tomatoes, cherry tomatoes, ironically hanging out with the other crudites...yeah. How 'bout that Just like y should be a consonant or a vowel. Not this a,e,i,o,u, and sometimes Y. WTF is that? Like, me, Sally, Jerry, Kerry, and John are all non smokers and sometimes Ned. No...you smokers that say you're non smokers because you only smoke when you drink...that leads to another question now doesn't it...how often do we drink Ned? Three times a week...that sounds like you're pretty much a smoker. Or people that don't buy their own cigarettes consider themselves not smokers...well that's excellent so now you're a mooch and a smoker. 

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?!?