Wet Claw: The Returning

I'll say this much for M-Do: she's consistent.

Another collision in the ladies room. Another trip to the sink. Another wet claw under the faucet. Another job well done.

Ted Stories

Oh Ted.

An old college friend of mine (the son of the guy who played Isaac on the Loveboat - no I'm not kidding) has an online comic thingy going on. I somehow made it into his latest installment (I was his RA in college).

Too funny!!!

It's a pretty cool site (outside of the fact that I'm now on it)...

http://www.tedstories.com/

Fish Dude

No matter where I am, no matter what I'm doing, they always find me.

This time I'm in the grocery store, minding my own business, when he descends upon me: Fish Dude from behind the seafood counter.

Now, any card-carrying Black person knows that in a Black grocery store? You. Never. Leave. The. Fish. Counter. I don't care if it's the second coming of Eddie Murphy. You just don't do it. Black people do not play with they seafood!

But Fish Dude obviously had a death wish when he strolled three aisles over just to holler at me. And you would think, given that his life was in jeopardy, he would make a stellar impression from moment one. But no. Not Fish Dude. Instead he stands at the end of the aisle and yells: "Man, I bet you got some pretty feet!!"

What the hell kinda line is that?????

He elaborates, "So, you married? You seein' anybody?" Gee, I wasn't until about 30 SECONDS AGO.

Fish Dude prepares to launch his second offensive when a man walks up, looking alarmed, "Excuse me, are you the Fish Dude??" Fish Dude confirms that he is, indeed, a proud purveyor of fine fish. The man starts to make his seafood request when he catches Fish Dude's expression and realizes he's mack-blocking, "Oh my bad, dawg! Don't worry about it, she'll roll back past here later on!!"

Then the guy looks at me and goes, "You need to ask him for a discount on the shrimp!"

Peace out, homey.

Fitz

This is Fitz. The bane of my work existence.

Otherwise known as Sick Ticket . Yes, he really is shaped like an eggplant.

M-Do

Here's M-Do in full-on winter regalia.

Otherwise known as "Wet Claw".
Otherwise known as "Mrs. Doubtfire: the Musical".

D.A.N.

This is DAN (as in "dumb-ass neighbor").

Usually he rocks a $0.25 mullet. But when summer hit, he decided that he'd need a more modern look to impress the office ladies. Too bad he ended up looking like one.

Spacely

This is Spacely.

My boss. Before and after a haircut. Why are all the dudes in my office follicularly challenged?

Get to the Good Part

I admit it: I'm an ad ho. I watch most television shows for the commercials. But considering how much sludge is on TV nowadays, no one's blaming me.

Probably didn't hurt that I majored in Art Direction. In school, the instructors gave away all kinds of juicy advertising secrets. Like how certain, family-oriented household product manufacturers would make sure that the couples in their commercials wore visible wedding rings. Or how weight loss spots always make the formerly-fat broad stand at an angle so you really can't tell how much flub she lost. But despite the degree I eventually got, I still am not equipped to answer these earth-shattering questions:

1) Do Black people stink? Apparently the Right Guard peeps think we do. Anyone seen that "Red Rover" commercial where all the guys holding the line are these string-beany White kids and all the linebacker-looking, Black dudes (i.e., Terrell Owens) are "odor"? I'm sure it's chock full of insider sports jokes but it's not quite making me laugh.

2) Why is it that everything is sweetened with Splenda nowadays? They've got the market sewn up. Every doughy delight, carbonated cola, sugary snack and tartar control toothpaste boasts fake sugar. Heck, even pretzels come coated with the stuff. Splenda just swooped in, pimped-slapped Sweet-N-Low, and took the joint over. That's some gangsta bleep, right there.

3) Speaking of carbonated colas, can someone please explain what's going on with diet sodas these days? Let's use Coke as an example. First you've got your Diet Coke. Then you've got your C2, which is Coke's half-carb, half-sugar doohickey. But then they throw Coke Zero at you. Um, what would be the difference between that and, say, zero-calorie Diet Coke? And, while my head's still spinning, they unleash Diet Coke with (you frickin guessed it) Splenda. I need a "For Dummies" book just to make sure I'm drinking the right thing!

4) When did Orbitz grow some gonads? The other day I thought I was dreaming when I caught a commerical specifically geared towards gay travellers. The Orbitz gameshow host asked a gay couple could how fast they could book a trip to (big shock coming) San Francisco. I don't know how the ad execs managed to push that one past the midwestern housewives but more power to 'em!

5) Who wants greasy legs? Why do all the women in the new Nair commercials have slicked-up stems? The new, low-budget spots have these shiny-legged broads twirling around for no good reason. No one wants to be prancing about on bumpy legs but we don't need to look like we're walking on sticks of butter, either. The only greasy legs I need to be looking at are in a bucket of fried chicken.

6) Why is it that every woman with herpes has a man? It's a "brand new day," people! All the Valtrex ads feature a woman having the time of her life in some exotic locale. She's riding a horse, oaring a boat, frollicking on the beach. And because it's imperative that herpes sufferers are never shown by their lonesome, the ad peeps make sure she's got her man in just about every single shot. The conclusion: women with herpes have stellar social lives. And I? Don't.

I'd Sooner Live in a Cardboard Box

I don't care if the rent is free - don't even THINK about moving into the Ivy Club Apartments.

I am ready to hire a bunch of random lackeys, grab a grip of cardboard boxes and haul my ass right out of this pile of bricks. The Ivy Club leasing people run around inventing drama and then disappearing before anybody can call them on it. It is just unbelievable how many ways these people have found to jack up somebody's living experience.

Every time you stop by the leasing office, the place is a ghost town. The office hours are 9-5, Monday through Saturday. But when I roll in at 3:30 on a Wednesday afternoon, it's me and a tumbleweed behind the desk. And getting in touch with the leasing manager is more like trying to put a call through to the White House. I hear, "She's on call" or "She's unavailable" or "She's in a conference." I need just one person to bring me concrete evidence that this chick has completed an ounce of work since 2001.

But I can deal with slackers in the front office. What I can't deal with is fools who play around with my money. The Ivy Club people can't even do the ONE thing their job demands - keep up with the rent checks.

My May check went in the same drop box that I put it in every cottonpickin month. But eight days after I drop it off? The leasing office is saying my rent is "late", they've "taken legal action" and I'll be billed for "legal fees." No warnings, no questions; I'm obviously the fraud. And they don't deliver this accusation in person or over the phone. Instead, they type up a letter and slide it under my door after office hours. EXCUSE ME??!?

The next day I'm all over them and they start back-pedaling, "We're sorry, somehow your check must have gotten lost! But don't worry about the charges - they'll be dismissed."

Don't worry?? These people can't even keep up with a check and they think I'm going to trust them to get a court case dismissed??? I ended up taking hours off work and driving all the way to the county courthouse just to find out if the coast is clear. I also had to pay a $25 fee to put a stop payment on a check that they lost in the first place.

And the gift keeps on giving. Today I find another threatening letter under my door (after office hours, of course) stating that I have a "delinquent balance" of $200. FOR WHAT?? Are they just MAKING UP random fees now?? I frickin hate it here.

My lease is up on October 31st. Guess who'll be sitting in a U-Haul with the engine running the first day of November?

Do I Have to Be Here?

Can I just tell you how much I don't want to be working right now?

And by "working" I don't mean gainfully employed. I mean actually sitting here with work to do. Because I don't want to do it. And I'm just staring at it. And it won't go away.

You've had those days, right? When even the smallest request from a coworker makes you want to find their mother and curse her out? When the sound of a ringing phone is so infuriating that you wanna yank it out of the wall and hurl it across the office?

Hell, for some of us, that's everyday.

And on days like this it's always the stupid stuff that winds up in your inbox. Somebody left out a comma. Somebody else doesn't like the color red. Somebody's manager wants to read it in Spanish - do any of these sound like an issue I need to be dealing with??

People advise you to rest your eyes, take a walk, go outside and get some air. But who is going to be responsible for making sure you actually come back?? Besides, if I return to find some project folder in my chair, it's likely to end up in the trash.

Just like this: http://www.widro.com/throwpaper.html

Are you KIDDING me??

The world is chock full of jack-leg dudes. Like the ones listed below:

Krusty the Clown - he's got half a working tooth, field rodents in his hair and nothing even close to a job. But he knows he's got everything a woman could possibly want. Yeah, I walked out of the house this morning just to give you the time of day. Keep it moving, smokey.

Casper the Friendly Ghost - this is the guy that gave you the time of your life then talked to you on the phone so long James Earl Jones cut the line. But a minute later, he's fallen off the face of the earth and you're filing a missing person's report. Where's the punchline to that joke?

Barnacle Boy - you need a grappling hook and a crowbar to pry this guy off. He's constantly hanging around your desk, he's got all your numbers on speed dial and your license plate is committed to memory. Always hugged up on you, always trying to take you out. Face it, the dude is your destiny.

Somebody's Grandfather - this guy obviously came over on the Mayflower carrying an AARP card. In fact, one old boy had the nerve to tell me that I looked like his granddaughter. Um, maybe because she and I went to high school together??

A Monkey's Uncle - this one shows up at all the summer barbecues wearing a polo shirt, khaki shorts, patent leather loafers, knee socks to his chin, and enough gold around his neck to pay somebody's college tuition. His award-winning woman approach? "Ay, baby girl! Come on over here and give Lester some sugar..."

It's about to be me and some cats for the rest of my natural life.

Grandfather Rant #1

I've already been accosted by somebody's grandfather and it's only 6:30 in the morning?? That's GOT to be a new record!

On the way to work I remember that I'm low on gas, so I begrudgingly stop at a Shell station. The transaction is completed and I'm ready to roll out when this ginormous Chevy Avalanche drives past and the driver starts waving at me. He looks kinda familiar - like a family friend or something. But I don't have time for a social visit, so I wave and keep driving.

Unfortunately we both get stopped at the same red light 30 seconds later and he starts gesturing for me to roll down the window. Remember, I thought I knew this guy...until I get a better look at him and realize he's just some crusty old man trying to push up on a broad who could be his daughter's daughter. And this one's a real winner...

Grandfather: "I'm gonna take you out to dinner. How bout that?"
Me: "Uh, no. That's not happening."
Grandfather: "Really? Why is that?"
Me: "Because I'm already with someone."
Grandfather: "Oh, okay. Well he's lucky..."
Me: [starting to roll up my window] "Thanks."
Grandfather: "...wit' yo' pretty self."

UNCLEAN!! UNCLEAN!!

Doofwad Crossing

Are pedestrians majorly bold or majorly retarded?

I'm on the way to work this morning, driving somewhere in the neighborhood of the posted speed limit. Not a crosswalk or another car in sight so I'm just cruising. All is right with the world.

Then, out of nowhere, Pedestrian #26 casually saunters into the middle of the road. Oh, I get it. Since I'm in a car and you're on foot, I'm expected to slam on brakes in order to watch your dumb ass traipse across the street. Good lookin' out!

Don't get me wrong, I have no problem with pedestrian laws - for the most part. In NYC I was a full-time pedestrian. But NYC peeps usually know the rules of the road: if you can make it across the street before a delivery truck plows you down? Go for it, sport!

But here in DC? It's another story. Fools take hours to usher their butts across an intersection. And don't let them see you waiting or they'll stage a sit-in. There's no courtesy. No concern for the increasing levels of rage building up inside the head of the driver that's WAITING for you to get the hell out of the way. You hoofing it at a brisk 0.00179 mph - hey, that's fast enough, right??

Speaking of hoofing it, the heifer that strolled into the street isn't the least bit concerned for her safety - she just knows I'm going to stop. But you don't know me! I could be one fry short of a Happy Meal! I could be playing points! But because I'm supposed to stop that means I will stop, right?

My thinking is, if you wouldn't walk up to me in the street and ask me to hold your wallet then why would you trust me, a complete stranger, with your life??

Is that just me?

MJ Got Off

No pun intended.

Somehow I'd managed to completely ignore just about every facet of the MJ case since it went to trial. But when I heard on the radio that they were close to announcing the verdict I nearly swerved off the road. I'm on the way into the shoe store and they have to drop the MJ bomb now???

I must have been doing 90 when I found a parking space in front of the store. Fortunately, the store had a radio on but, unfortunately, the volume was set on "church mouse" and the frickin shoe ladies wouldn't quit flappin their yaps. Go pull some stock from the back or work the register. JUST SHUT UP.

Wait, what am I so worried about? This is Rack Room Shoes - I walked the entire length of the store and in five minutes found, what, eight pairs of metallic-green orthopedic clogs? Frickin waste!

I rush back to my car but the radio station is still waiting for the jury to be seated. Crap, the fuel gauge is on empty, which means I have to stop at a gas station, which means I have to get out of the car again. I pull up to the pump and jab my card in the slot but the thing takes 20 minutes to authorize the transaction. Hello, I'm buying gas not taking out a student loan - what is the problem??

Transaction approved, now I've got to find a way to pump gas while sitting in the driver's seat of my car. Fueling done, I run back to the pump to snatch up my receipt. It's still printing??? I'm convinced some dude is inside the pump playing with my mind.

Back in the car again. Ten minutes later the reporters FINALLY get to the point. Count one: not guilty. Count two: not guilty. Count three: hell, just mail Michael some kids.

Then the radio station peeps chime in:
First guy: "Hmm, wonder what Michael Jackson will do when he gets home?"
Second guy: "Probably some kid named Bradley..."

Jacked up.

Love Me Some Chick-Fil-A

This is what happened on my way to interview with AOL this morning. Serves me right for trying to find another job...

The interview was slated for 10am so I left my house almost TWO HOURS early. Plenty of time to make a good impression, right? Of course not.

I'm on the Beltway headed toward Silver Spring when a wall of traffic hits me. We creep along at some limp-limbed pace with no sign of a break. Little did I know I'd be sitting in traffic for another 1.5 hours. It's 9:25 and I haven't even made it into Northern Virginia yet!

I'm deciding whether or not to call AOL and cancel the whole thing when the need to pee becomes so overwhelming that I almost tossed myself out of a moving car and ran into the bushes. I'm all the way over in the left lane...the next exit isn't for a few miles...sweet Lord, my head is about to explode!!!

After an eternity I managed to maneuver onto the first available exit ramp - only to hit more traffic. I finally spot a row of fast food places, so I shove my car into a parking garage, grab my purse and haul ass up the block. I'm in an all out pee-dance sprint when I pass a couple of bewildered security guys:

Me: "Where'sthenearestbathroom??Igottagosobad!!!"
Security Guy: "Uhhhh, there's a Chick-Fil-A at the corner, right up the block."
Me: "Thankyousomuch!!!Excuseme..."

I bolted up the street, tossed myself into the Chick-Fil-A and careened toward the restroom. [Wouldn't you KNOW there'd be some smarmy guys trying to push up on me! Who's gnawing on chicken at 10am, anyway??] I park myself in a stall and take care of business. Dear mother of heaven, sweet relief at last!!!

Of course, they were out of toilet paper.

Gallant Fox III

It was bad enough when they messed with the elevators. Now the Pentagon is running a public safety drill. Here are the details:

--------------------------------------
Subject: Large-Scale Public Safety Exercise at Pentagon
Tomorrow the Pentagon will host a large-scale exercise named Gallant Fox III. This exercise will involve a large number of emergency vehicles from local fire, police and rescue units. Loud noise simulation devices ("flash-bangs") will be used during the exercise. Some Metrobus pickup and drop-off locations at the Pentagon will be changed. Please do not call 911 unless there is an actual emergency outside of the exercise.
--------------------------------------

Here is a list of our office Gallant Fox III screw-ups:

M-Do: will attempt to lure hoards of male emergency personnel using strategically placed orange folders. Later she'll be taken into custody by military police after accidentally setting off a 50 lb. crate of "flash-bangs" with her plastic fish cup.

LJ: will spend half the morning pointing and winking at female emergency personnel. He will then commandeer an EMS bullhorn to request Sassy's personal information from passing Pentagon staff.

MR: will be surrounded by a Hazmat tent after audibly breathing upon (and, consequently, immobolizing) military personnel. Will use his one call to phone his wife and yell at her.

WQ: after being informed of the upcoming public safety EXERCISE, will round up WA, don her Richard Simmons brand Aerobi-Gear and head off to the Skywalk to stretch loudly for half an hour.

RH: after completely screwing up his morning bus route, will be harpooned with a long range tranq-dart when his Muffet is mistaken for an agent of biological warfare. He'll be released after several hours of interrogation with a weed whacker and carafe of powdered tea.

Sick Ticket

I'm sick of working with serial killers, man.

It is not necessary for you to creep the hell outta me every time you walk into my cube. And why are you standing back there, breathing so hard I can hear it? And why does it STINK from three feet away?? And why did you send me an email just to come all the way back here to TELL me that you sent me an email?? WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM???

But that's frickin Fitz for you. He can't even pretend to be a normal human being. If you say hello to him in the hallway he scurries away like a forest creature. But ten minutes later, he's all Bob Hope with the corny jokes. Dude, get OUT of here!

It's even worse if you're female. He doesn't know how to look AT you when he's speaking to you so he'll pick some part of your anatomy to fixate on instead, "Can you print out another copy of this for me?" Um, my leg can't operate a laser printer, you sociopath.

For real, he has no idea how to even approach a woman. Yet he's married with teenage kids?? No way did this guy push up on a broad without her phoning authorities. We're all positive he bought his wife over the internet.

Lord, here he comes AGAIN!!!!

Sick Ticket Haiku

An Ode to Fitz...

He breathes audibly
Funk that singes nasal hairs
Please stop breathing here.

No hope of dating
All day he lingers about
Breathing female air.

Charm that eludes him
He has no skill with women
He must order wives.

Road Rant #2

Where are these people getting their driver's licenses - out of a cereal box??

Imagine this scenario: you're heading out of the shopping mall to your car. You're tired, you're ready to go home, you've got your keys out. Then you realize that some cretin has parked so close to you that the only way you're climbing in is through the sunroof.

Why is someone's rotted hulk shoved up against my car?? The space is big enough for a '76 Impala. What are they doing - parking horizontally??

And you just KNOW the moron won't emerge from the mall to watch you pretzel yourself into your vehicle. You're almost tempted to sit there with your knees behind your ears WAITING for the fool to show up.

Another flippin genius.

Wet Claw

It's not safe to shake hands with people these days...

So I'm in the restroom when M-Do walks in.

She takes care of her business then she strolls to the sink. She turns the water on, sticks one hand under the tap then towels off like business is done here. No soap is involved in the entire scenario.

Frickin scabies, man.

Road Rant #1

Traffic is like air around here: it's everywhere and it stinks.

We all have to deal with it and we all hate it. So why is there always that one nimrod who isn't in a hurry to get anywhere? This is the guy that's got 4 car lengths of empty space between his jalopy and the vehicle in front of him. This is the guy that slams on brakes whenever he gets within 20 feet of another car. This is the guy that's got both, white-knuckled hands glued to the steering wheel like it's the last life vest on the Titanic.

And what is Pokey thinking? It's rush hour on a Monday morning - obviously he's headed to work. Aren't people expecting him to arrive well BEFORE 3pm?? Does he really think we all left our houses in the hopes of staring at the back of HIS car all morning??

I wish these people would just put it in park and WALK it.

QOTD - 6/3/2005

Question of the Day...

So you're walking along (or driving along) when you spot a single, lonely shoe on the side of the road. We've all seen it but have you ever wondered...

1) How does one lose a shoe?
2) What happened to the other shoe?
3) Wait, how does one lose a SHOE???

Any theories?

Gotta Love Management

Our department seems to play a game of Musical Managers every 12-18 months. Our current ruler is only considered an “acting” manager which means that he could be (and has been) replaced by a “real” manager at any given moment. This also means that he gets the “acting” position back whenever something happens to our “real” manager. Which is why we ended up having the meeting described below…

Oh dear. It’s been less than six months and our new manager is audi-5. Which means Spacely is back on “acting” status. The announcement meeting was a total fiasco.

The principles:

Spacely – suddenly became Mr. Empowerment during the meeting: "I'm not going to let this 'acting' status stand in my way. I'm just going to do what I wanna do while I've got the chance!" And he somehow got it into his head that the entire office was completely distraught over the managerial antics. "Hey, this place is your bread and butter. Don't let all this craziness interfere with your job." Aye aye, Cap’n!

M-Do - Came dressed to impress in her signature rutabaga frock complete with some kind of beaded turquoise accent bracelet. And before you ask, not a single speck of blue was involved in any other facet of the ensemble. Then she’s loudly asking if there’s a chance that we’ll get our bonuses. Uh, bonuses would only be awarded to people who actually work here.

WQ - completely stole the show. She was missing when the meeting started and then it took 15 minutes to round her up. She wasn't in the room for 20 seconds before she loudly started in with: "I don't know what you're talking about. What's going on? I'm confused!" Spacely, whose biggest fear is that somebody somewhere hasn't already heard the news, tries to retell his entire story. Yet WQ is still asking: "What's this all about? I ain't heard nothin! Who is this??" She keeps babbling on until the entire room yells "Would you just LISTEN??!?"

But the voices wouldn't leave her alone, so she grabs the remote to the conference room television, points it at the TV and starts pushing buttons. Thankfully someone had the presence of mind to unplug the TV after it was last used so nothing happened. She then aborts the TV mission in favor of the conference room VCR. She starts pulling out cords and examining them, looking at the plugs. All while Spacely is still talking. If the meeting had gone on for much longer I think Bunny would've been compelled to physically assault her.

Elelator Go Up...

Building management installed security badge readers in each elevator which means we have to use our badges to access certain floors. Change is hard – especially for some of our less technologically savvy coworkers…

Here is the list of people most likely to get confused on the elevators:

CL: after spending half the day riding the elevator, will resort to scaling the building's exterior using only her purse and a 3-ring binder.

RH: will give up on the elevator altogether, return home and attempt to "telecommute" by phoning Fred 48 times to complete his assignments for him.

MR: after uselessly pacing for a solid 40 minutes, will proceed to breathe audibly on the button panel, consequently shorting a fuse and disabling the entire elevator system.

WQ: will mistake the card reader for an intercom and try to use it to phone building security. When this fails, she will proceed to become distracted by a shiny object and forget her purpose altogether.

Heads Will Roll

It can really suck to be a government contractor. Especially when your manager possesses the IQ of a fruit bat and is threatening to ruin lives by laying people off for no valid reason. Nicknames have been used to protect the moronic…

Spacely is guaranteeing that heads will roll by October, "Some people will not be here next year that are here now."

We got a 25 minute explanation for why he needs to chop some of us and zero minutes explaining why his statements don't even remotely match up with what the VP told us last Friday: that no layoffs are coming. Spacely claims that none of the cutting can take place until he gets official VP approval, "And I'm not gonna ask him if I can do this. I'm just gonna say, 'Hey, this is what I'm doing. Do you approve?'"

Question: how can the staff cuts be mandatory if he has to get approval first?

Naturally questions arise. We ask him how far in advance the doomed would be warned but we couldn't get a straight answer out of him. The best part? People are getting canned but our department is still going ahead with a new technology initiative. So we'll have a kickass software setup and nobody left to use it.

Spacely's final thought: "I can't seem to get promoted so I may actually disappear after the whole department gets reorganized..."

One can only hope.

Ode to Fine Mens

My ode to fine mens (or lack thereof) in this city...

Where are the mens?
Where are they, I say?
Are they out at night?
Do they sleep all day?
I see no fine mens.
They must not exist.
Am I not in their club?
Am I not on their list??
I do not see them in a car.
I do not see them near or far.
I do not see them on a boat.
There are no fine men on a goat.
I do not have fine mens to call.
I do not see fine mens at ALL!
I do not see them on a train.
I do not see them on a plane.
I do not see them on a ship.
I could not find them on a trip.
I did not see one on a mule.
I did not spot one buying fuel.
I do not have fine mens to call.
I do not see fine mens at ALL!

Bad Scene #3

The bad scene to end ALL bad scenes. I never want to date again after this...

Let’s call this guy Tallboy. He's 6' 8" and very attractive. Of course I met him at the gym - where else do I go?

So Tallboy asks me out one night and we meet at 8:30. We end up going to a couple of monuments and it was actually pretty nice. At first he seems really cool and funny, curses a bit much and is just a tad too blunt sometimes. What the hey, I'll cut him a little slack. But as the night wears on? It becomes an episode of the Twilight Zone:

He's randomly singing the same song every five minutes. Out loud. To himself. And when he's not singing he's talking - again to himself. He's still cursing like a sailor and hollering out something that sounds like "big tongue" over and over again. Later in the evening I'd had enough of his "big tongue" antics and finally asked what the hell he was talking about. He says, "It's this joke me and my boys got going. If a guy ain't 'packin' then he's got a big tongue to make up for it. But if he is 'packin' then he's got a little tongue"

...crickets chirp...

"What? You don't find that funny?" Dude, I don’t even get it.

And of course he gives me the "I'm not in a hurry to screw some strange girl" speech. So why is it that he's constantly commenting on my capris and getting touchy-feely? Then he tries to get even MORE touchy-feely. What? Are? You? Doing??

And this image will horrify me till the end of my days. We're sitting outside the Lincoln Memorial. (Need I remind you that this is a historic landmark filled with parents, kids, the family dog, etc.?) Tallboy is saying how much he loves the summer because you can wear shorts and go without socks for awhile. Next thing I know, he rips his shoe off and goes, "Hey, are you into feet??" He’s grinning his head off and twiddling his toes. WHAT THE HELL??!!

"You know, are you into feet? Do you like kissing toes and whatnot?" UM, PUT YOUR SHOE BACK ON!!!

Longest story ever told, short - beneath all of that borderline psychotic behavior, there just wasn't a whole lot of chemistry there. If he wasn't 6' 8" and cute, he'd have not a PRAYER of interacting with a woman under any circumstances.

Bad Scene #2

On the rare occasion that I do go out on a Friday night? I usually have this to show for it...

Friday night was a barbequed mess.

We went to H20 at a friend's suggestion - we saw my uncle, your great-uncle and somebody else's grandfather. Then we drove around for another hour but nothing was popping. Then we went to dinner and started talking about guys. Then we drove around for another hour and still nothing. Then we started trading "I'm dealing with this guy that doesn't want a girlfriend" stories. Then it rained. Then Kesha's ex-boyfriend called and pissed her off. Then it rained harder. Then Old Navy closed.

Long story short: we ended up at Kesha's house looking sad and defeated.

P-Day 2004

Holidays that require festive attire can hit an office environment pretty hard…

NEVER in the history of my life have I seen a holiday abused like St. Patrick's Day, 2004.

We obviously need to lay down some P-Day ground rules, here:

Rule #1: I don't care if it's got half a million flecks of green in it, on it, or under it - yuletide accessories are not appropriate P-Day celebratory attire. Some woman was parading around the lobby with a heart-shaped wreath pin bolted to her blouse. Again, I say no.

Rule #2: Donning your official "Peter Pan Bus Lines" blazer in honor of P-Day is not only obscenely tacky but will cause the company to take legal action against you. And if you are so bold as to pair up the offending blazer with a shamrock tie and half a dozen Patty pins, your "luck of the Irish" days are definitely numbered.