WIPEOUT!!!!

I’ve never been a particular graceful woman, sober or drunk, but I have been able to avoid tripping over myself in the workplace for over 2 years. That impressive streak has now come to an end.

On the way to the bathroom, right in front of Small Fry, my heel caught in the cuff of my pant leg and I went crashing to the floor. I crashed HARD. I’m pretty sure I have a rug burn on my cheek. It was a full on face plant. I don’t embarrass easy so I laughed, stood up, and continued to the bathroom as if nothing happened.

Back at my desk, nobody mentioned it and I thought for sure Small Fry would give me shit about it. Nothing. That’s almost worse. I would rather laugh about it with the eye witness because if I were to be on the receiving end of such a viewing pleasure I wouldn’t be able to shut up about it until he either killed me or himself. Too bad. I shrugged and didn’t bring it up. It was soon forgotten. (Aside from the raw design on my right cheek.)

Later in the day Small Fry’s pal Willow started chatting about his high school days when he won State Champion for Wrestling. My response, ewwwww, men rolling around with men in leotards is icky-pooh! He threatened to kick my ass. I said cauliflower ear wouldn’t go with my outfit, maybe tomorrow. He started talking about his sweet moves which inspired Small Fry to interrupt with, “I think she’s got you beat with her diving squirrel. She has perfected that move. She didn’t even break her hip.”

I haven’t stopped laughing. He doesn’t seem all that bright and yet the dude is a witty whipper snapper. Love him. It recently dawned on me that he reminds me of my summer laughing with Little Brother. (Reminder, Puddy’s little brother not mine.) Hmmm…Little Brother. I miss him. That leads me to the question, do I swing by Eugene, Oregon in search of LB or do I seduce SF?

And if I chose the latter, which line do I use? 1. So…do you fancy squirrels? 2. Hey Small Fry, do you like ketch-up or need a little Dubs sauce? 3. And by the way, my hips never break.

Learning the hard way...

Doritos recently relocated to the Los Angeles area. She has a great job, reliable car, steady school schedule, and decent boyfriend. She’s as happy as they come. A regular 30-year-old woman living the dream.

In a recent apartment search, Decent tagged along and at the end claimed, “I could never live with you.” They had never talked about it and although it crossed Doritos mind, she hadn’t mentioned it. She didn’t argue and continued to search for a small one-bedroom paradise until she found something that fit with her happy life, living alone.

Like most women, Doritos started to analyze why Decent felt it was necessary to express that he could NEVER live with her. What the hell is wrong with her? And it’s not like she asked him! Why would he say that? He has some nerve and blah, blah, blah. After a week of complaining to her girlfriends, she got over it. Their relationship was the same good time it had been before the odd statement so she let it go.

After one particular evening of having a good time and letting it go, Doritos realized she forgot her cell phone in his apartment. They agreed she would stop by after work to pick it up. He mentioned he had a friend at his place but she wouldn’t be interrupting anything.

Doritos arrived and ran into his friend, some guy Decent knew that she had met before. Friend explained that Decent was at his car if she wanted to talk to him. He seemed nervous that she wanted to go into the apartment. Since she has a key (yes, Decent who would NEVER live with her, gave her a key to his place) she explained to Friend that she just had to pick up something and moved to the apartment door to continue her business.

The apartment had some new décor since her departure that morning. Every table surface was covered with little baggies of marijuana grouped together in bunches to conduct a proper inventory. She was shocked and freaked out but needed to find her cell phone. It was located in the bathroom along with a full bathtub of Mary Jane waiting to be distributed in the baggie groups along with their friends in the living room. Doritos surveyed the scene and realized suddenly why Decent could NEVER live with her. He appaently played Weeds in his free time.

As upsetting as it was, she broke up with him. Doritos has a five-year plan that includes marriage and children, not potential jail time and drug wars. Who knew, “Are you a drug dealer?” was a necessary question to ask when you meet someone new. She had learned the hard way to ask, “Are you married?” or “Do you live with your mother?” Add the new one to the list.

Doritos was also upset that during the 6 months they dated, they split everything 50/50. If he’s wheeling and dealing dope on the side, shouldn’t he have enough money to pick up the dinner bill every now and then? The answer is yes.

Can I pass as a 22 year old?

Survey says….NO.

The truth became apparent recently. To be specific…
Date: 11/16/06
Time: 6:04 pm
Place: Hawaiian Tropics in Times Square

Small Fry started working in an area near mine a few weeks ago. Since his start date we’ve become “friends” and spend most of the day joking around over IM. I would say flirting but because he’s almost 7 years younger than me it just seems wrong. He’s a good looking kid for sure. In fact if I was in my early 50s he is EXACTLY what I would be on the hunt for to satisfy my Mrs. Robinson fantasies.

He invited me out with his friends for happy hour after work last week. I don’t think he thought I would actually say yes, but I was itching for a night of drinking and my friends had to work late so I thought, “Why not?” I now have an answer to that question.

It dawned on me shortly after I consumed my first drink that I’ve never hung out with guys that have just graduated from college, those in the 22-25 age range. When I was that age I hung out with men at least 30 and older. And the fantastic male friends I have now are my age, but I didn’t start to hang out with them until we were 26. It’s hard to believe they would ever act like Small Fry and the Fry Guys.

I hung around the bar with five 22 year olds who can’t hold their liquor and can barely afford to tip the bartender. I can’t remember the last time I had 3 shots of tequila before 6:30 pm but I’ll recall this experience if it ever happens again. By 9:00 pm all of them were stumbling, drooling, and groping the cute waitresses. Small Fry was nearly passed out on my shoulder and the other 4 were telling girls about their college fraternity days. They kept slapping each other high five and doing some other hand gesture that I assume is their gang, aka brother, sign.

I needed to be seriously drunk to hang around these kids and I didn’t feel like the straight liquor was doing the trick. I ended up babysitting, literally, Small Fry who required an escort to Penn Station. As I basically carried him there, he told me about his ex-girlfriend who he recently broke up with because she was too concerned with the “shallow things in life.” I don’t even know what that means and he couldn’t explain it, really. He kept saying, “ya know?” Since we spent the evening hitting on the young flesh in hula skirts I kind of thought discussions of “shallow” were out of place. Was he trying to prove he was mature? This cougar ain’t impressed.

In the end, I confirmed I can still drink like I’m 22, have a tolerance of an old drunk, and recover like road-kill. I walked into work the next day looking like I had been dragged behind the taxi instead of riding safely inside. Meanwhile Small Fry apparently fell asleep on the train and woke up in Rockaway Beach without his wallet but still managed to arrive to work on time looking shiny and new. Little shit.

I received emails all day rehashing the high points of the night. I am now “one of the Fry Guys.” Or their mother. I guess the best part of the evening was when a kid hit on me and I said, “call me when you get some pubes, okay?”

Sucker!

Exact financial status is just not something that should be discussed amongst friends. There are exceptions, but very few. I use my friends help when trying to negotiate better salaries for other jobs and vice versa. We’ll talk percentages when bonus checks are cut but savings accounts, portfolios' status, trust funds, etc are not discussed. The reason it shouldn’t be shared is everyone has a different concept of what “financially okay” means. Some more warped than others...

My group of friends (if you’d to join, please submit a resume, list of interests, and headshot) has the general understanding that dinner checks are split evenly and the “you buy then I buy” concept is applied to rounds at bars. If it’s your birthday or going away party, you usually don’t pay, and if you showed up after dinner, it’s nice to throw in a couple bucks for drinks consumed. We all understand that it evens out somewhere along the line.

There have been instances in large groups where aquaintances have complained about the bill because they only had 1 drink and the rest of us had more than 2. In those cases, we let them pay what they want, talk about them behind their backs, and never invite them out again.

When Cash came to town, I warned her about the unspoken arrangement that would apply to her if she expected to be invited back. She debated how it was generally unfair but agreed to comply for the night. Because she doesn’t have a steady job and only has to pay rent (since everything else is funded by whatever man of the moment she relies upon), I’m usually more generous with the portion I pay. Well not any more.

At some point during her visit, she asked if I was planning to buy a place in Manhattan. I was like “Oh sure, as soon as I get my next pay check.” Ha! Given that my shoebox of an apartment is at least half a million, I’m not interested in considering it an option. I’ll continue to pay rent and complain about it, thank you very much. (I’m not moving out of the city so I can own a place, so keep the suggestion to yourself.) She advised me how buying a place is such a good idea because rent is a waste of money. Really? This is BRAND new information. She then described the condo she plans to purchase a condo in South Beach by the end of the year because she will have $100K in savings and that was her financial goal.

WHAT?

The bitch has $100K in savings (yes, savings/cash account, this doesn’t count her investments because I asked) and won’t pay for movies, brunch, and drinks? I guess she thinks, why pay for those when you have sucker friend Dubs picking up the tab?

I don’t care if everyone else I know has that much or more in their accounts, that isn’t the issue. The issue is acting like you have NO money when you have six figures sitting at the bank.

What is a person like this called? Cheap? Spoiled? I can’t put my finger on it…

Picture This...

I’m not sure where Rose finds them but she does. These guys always seem fine, possessing the basic qualities that make a person great before you know anything real about them; good-looking, good sense of humor, good time. Good in bed is also necessary but Rose doesn’t know that about all her boys because unlike me, she usually waits to sleep with them until she knows them well. By then, some of the initial great factors fizzle so then the sex, good or bad, never happens. I prefer to find out before I waste time actually liking a person.

Rose rid herself of MySpace dude but replaced him with PhotoFun man. She received an email from him with a series of pictures and no explanation. Just six shots of him before and after various outdoor activities; biking, hiking, snowshoeing. I can’t decide if my favorite is the muscle man shot as he’s exiting the colorful forest, the one where’s he laughing at the silliness of lying in the snow, or the full-body stance decked out in his shiny spandex. I understand that serious bikers have to wear such shorts but do they have to take pictures of the crime and send them to the girl after a few dates? The answer is no. Unless he’s trying to say “I don’t think we should see each other any more because I’m weird.”

Success PhotoFun! It worked. Instead of trying to solve the mystery of the photo gallery, Rose decided it was best if she didn’t respond or speak to him again. I concur. A few people I’ve surveyed think that’s a little harsh. These were also the people that said “what a weirdo” when I described picture sharing time. So why is it harsh? Rose has men falling at her feet regularly, no reason to hold onto the happening fellow that captures his precious moments to share.

I’d post the pics but that would be mean. And I’m a sweetheart.

HEADS UP!

I’m always surprised to hear stories where women throw things when they are fighting. Typically at a man. Is this standard woman behavior? Should I be expecting this overwhelming surge of fury to happen one day? Do you just hit a point where you shrug and think, “And now it is time to pitch sharp household items at the person I married. Watch out kids.”

I had dinner with Trainwreck this week and he likes to spend a portion of the time complaining about his wife, Geisha. They fight like crazy. I know both of them but I don’t really have a side. They are both ridiculous. I can’t get past the fact that they have millions of dollars, healthy adorable children, and nothing to complain about. I guess they fight so they do. The reason for their current unhappiness always falls on deaf ears. I wonder what they would do if they had real problems.

In a recent argument, Geisha decided throwing silverware, including knives, would be the best way to work out her anger. Trainwreck hid in a closet like a little girl and called the cops. She was then arrested for domestic abuse. I thought this shit only happened in trailer parks. Nope. Stuffy residential areas where the best deal is a $5 million dollar spread have the same trash. I bet this impressive display gave the neighbors something to talk about. If her intention was to kill him, why didn’t she just put shredded glass in his take-out like a normal woman? Hello? Problem solved before his next digestion.

You may ask...why was she so mad? Something about the tiles selected for their new pool. Why did he call the cops? So he can have something against her if she tries to take the children away. Why doesn’t she leave him? Because she’d only have half his money and nothing to complain about. Why doesn’t he leave her? He never would. So home sweet home. At least they have enough money to pay for the therapy their children will need.

I know marriage is tough, but come on! This is just insane.

I am constantly worried about acting like a crazy woman. I’m obsessed with it actually. To the point that it probably makes me nuts. I enter most situations thinking, is this what a crazy woman would do? I assume it is because it's our nature so then I automatically do the opposite.

I think throwing knives is pretty much as sister-psycho as it gets. This means in a similar situation where I was as enraged, instead of taking out the silverware, I would stop myself, act calm, apologize for yelling, tell him I loved him and that he was perfect, set up a fund overseas to drain different accounts, find myself a good lawyer, and figure out a way to force him into an affair for blackmail. (If he was already having one, the last task would be real simple.) The kids would still need therapy but at least they wouldn’t suffer from shell shock when kitchen utensils were used.

See, I’m totally sane! Oh boy….I would never actually go to such measures, but just in case, I better stick with single life and no children.

Breaking Up

Don’t worry, I’m not complaining about another break-up. Well, kind of. This is about the removal of Vince Vaughn from my Top 5 list. Christian Bale has been bumped up to the number 1 slot. Congrats Christian! I love you! This leaves an open spot after Viggo Mortenson to be filled with 1 of the following: Daniel Day-Lewis, Daniel Craig, or Jason Statham. I'll keep you posted on the results.

I watched the movie The Break-up and hated it. I was furious by the end. I’m not much of a Jennifer Aniston fan so it was a gamble but Vince is my boy. WAS my boy.

I can’t stand it when they advertise a movie as comedy that is not comical. Not even close. I actually cried. It was so sad! I’m not particularly sensitive but I can cry at fiction. Like the last season finale of Grey’s Anatomy. I required Kleenex for that one. Tragic.

Hard to say if the tears fell because of the overwhelming hatred for Vince Vaughn that resulted or the actual movie. Either way, “comedy” my ass.

Does anybody notice that Vince says the exact same lines in every movie? The following phrases were present in Mr. and Mrs. Smith, Wedding Crashers, The Break-up.

“I like where your heads at.”
“Good talk.” (Said after he delivers a soliloquy to someone and they don’t have the opportunity to offer anything to the conversation.)
“…get hopped up and make some bad decisions.”

Is it supposed to be funny the third time it is delivered? Does he think people are not going to see more than one of his movies? I used to think he was hilarious but now it is just RUINED.

He often repeats phrases from Swingers but I find those acceptable since it made him. I wish he’d consult someone before manipulating a script. I think I'm the only one qualified.

Move yourself!

Wasting Time and Space

My gorgeous friend Cash came to visit this weekend. I haven’t seen her in awhile and I had forgotten how much fun it is to play the role of her bodyguard. I have to admit that I’m good at it. I like when I can act like a complete bitch and it’s appreciated by someone.

In the couple days we roamed around the city shopping and drinking, Cash was stopped several times by a variety of men who would say, and I quote, “I just had to come over and say HI because you are like so beautiful.” She would chat with them for a couple seconds waiting for me to enter the scene and deflate their ego. We established the routine long ago. She gives them a minute or so of her time while I think of something that’ll put them in their place. I have a limited tolerance for unappealing men that even THINK she would be flattered by their approach. I wonder where and why they achieved this level of confidence.

I do appreciate a confident man, or one who at least knows how to hide his insecurities, but never someone who would approach a model and say “you are beautiful, what are you up to?” like the ugly man did yesterday in DSW while shopping with his friend. Cash explained what we were up to at noon on a Sunday while I asked, “What are you boys doing in DSW?” If they had said, “picking up chicks,” I may have laughed but he just said, “shopping for shoes, what else?” I don’t know…browsing for testicles?

Is it possible that at one point in their life they dated someone in Cash’s league of beauty so they assumed they were on equal playing fields? Or is it always just worth the shot?

I don’t mean to consistently harp on the ugly. If it makes anyone feel better, I’m just as annoyed with the other side of the spectrum. The beautiful people who don’t realize it. For example, out on Saturday night, there was a hot man checking out Cash but he never approached. He just stared from afar. I watched and kept Cash up to speed on when she should make eye contact. He never moved. At the end of the night while retrieving our coats, he grabbed her arm and asked her to stay through a drunken slur. He admitted to wanting to talk with her all night but didn’t have the courage. Good God. This type of line is never acceptable. Do gorgeous men thinks it makes them sound modest? Or was this guy in that small percentage of men that do not realize where they line up? If so, what a waste. Or do they not approach because they are used to women throwing pussy at them so they’re not sure how to do it? Hmmm…this issue should be included in future political party debates.

I would say I know my level of attraction but after 5+ martinis I have no problem hitting on people I think are God-like. Whether or not they actually are is a different topic, but I’ve got the balls to let them know what I'm seeing right then. Like I did for the gorgeous waiter from Friday’s dinner. I called him Adonis to get his attention and it totally would have worked if he hadn’t been busy buying Blanche’s boyfriend a cocktail. I guess I miss a few other factors with Stoli in my system. Don’t worry…I’ll get him next time.

Square Pants in a Twist

I continue to spend most office days improving my relationship with Square Pants. We flirt around the possibility of relationship but we haven’t officially done anything that fits that description since the drunken affair a few weeks back. That wild hair aside, he has returned to his rigid appropriate ways. I am hopeful that his straight as an arrow approach to life is a show for professional purposes and one of these days a naughty, complicated, sexually charged man will break free for good. My dreams are fading.

Last week we planned to meet for happy hour with Doll and Meatball, a couple of people from one of our projects who also happen to have a juicy rumor circulating about their relationship status. One of those boss/subordinate things that is a tad too close. I don’t believe they are getting it on outside of the office walls because she’s hot and he’s not but I don’t know for sure so I join the speculators for some decent gossip fun. Doll came to me upset about the Meatball rumors thinking I would be sympathetic given my vast experience dealing with a poor reputation. I don’t think sympathy is the right word, “If you’re sleeping with him to get ahead, that’s not going to happen. Sleep with Hannibal.” (Hannibal is the director of the department.) These kids, they have so much to learn.

When sharing the story, I didn’t expect to teach Square Pants another basic reality.

We love to laugh about Doll and Meatball. He just CAN’T believe they would get together since Meatball is her manager. OH MY GOD that’s just CRAZY! We joked in this nature for several weeks. During one hilarious IM conversation about them both being out of the office on the same day, I typed, “I wonder if his wife gets nice gifts out of the deal.”

Meatball is married and has a new baby girl. Something I figured Square Pants knew. But no, that was hot off the press. I BLEW HIS MIND. I was planning to do so in other ways, but this will have to be the peak of my blowing. Square Pants called me immediately following the announcement of Mrs. Meatball. “He has a wife!?!?!” Given his shock, I didn’t mention the baby until he had calmed down. 3 days later. Square Pants was just disgusted, “That is just sick! What a scumbag!” My only response, “Sometimes, Baby, there are things in this world that you’re not going to like...” I didn’t mention that would be about 80% of what I’ve accomplished to date.

I guess I thought Doll and Meatball were worth gossiping about because of the scandal with a married boss. Square Pants thought it was worth the gossip because it meant people had sexual tension within a 5 foot radius. We weren’t quite on the same page.

I know I’m tainted when it comes to this sort of thing, but I find it so rosy-cheek and bright-eyed when someone is surprised that a man would cheat on his wife. It’s almost cute. I wonder how Square Pants reacted when a tree in Pleasantville caught fire.