Neighbors

So I've been very "vocal" about the jacked-up old house we used to work in. But I haven't mentioned much about the swanky new space, which is awe and then some. I have my own office with brand new furniture and a window out into the hallway (though sadly no windows to the outdoors). But I thank my lucky stars for what we ended up with. It's really amazing. No more stench vent. No more weird sound tunnels. No more everything creaking.

And right now, we don't have the full space. We had kicked out some folks for this space, but one department had to stay behind until their new space is built. We were concerned upon moving in that these folks would hate us. I mean, we're a loud bunch. We have 18-20 year olds busting in with their cell phones and their sometimes less than courteous manners. These people never make a peep over there.

But they've been awesome. We did a formal breakfast meeting this week with introductions, and they are all really hilarious. Well, except for a few sour apples. I'm thinking of this woman I can only refer to as Scowlella. She has this permanent frowny face and doesn't make eye contact. I think she needs sex. But then, that's my mental solution for anyone who's fussy.

And speaking of which, one of our "neighbors" has this smoking husband I like to call Hottie McHotterson. This man is sexay! He has nicely defined arms, perfectly tanned, great smile, sideburns (and I love a good sideburn), and today he was wearing this t-shirt tucked in behind his belt, board shorts, and sweet little Keen shoes. I was praying right then for a show called "Husband Swap." But then, I don't have a husband, so let's just call it "Husband Snag."

Then of course he spoke, and if I hadn't known better, his mannerisms and speech softly whispered "gay" into my ear. Damn these hot ambiguously straight men!

He's usually in our shared break room for lunch, and today we had this nice chat. they were telling me how great Keen brand shoes are and he says, "I can let you use mine for a while. Are you a 10.5?" For you, sweetie, I'll be anything you want. But much like Cinderella's wicked step-sisters, my foot was too big. "No, I'm an 11.5." But for you, I'll be anything you want...

Then home today, I noticed my not-yet-legal teen boy neighbor running down the street shirtless. Here we go again. Totally not fair. He runs into his house, and then I see him going in the opposite direction shirtless, underwear exposed, skateboarding. Today has been pure torture! Yeah, I know, call the police on the homo pedophile, right?

Certainly a break at my favorite coffee house will provide a needed respite from alluring men. And right into the den of estrogen I go. And no Barista Boy in sight, thankfully.

But instead I'm sitting, as I type, next to this table of 10 angry cheerleader moms arguing about fund raising for their precious lovelies. From what I gather, there could be an inevitable showdown between them and the skanky football moms. Take out your earrings, ladies, and get the Vaseline. It's time to take it to the streets, old-school. Cranky booster betches. This one mom, the outspoken ringleader I'm calling Momzilla, is a bossy sort. These women need sex.

But that's my answer to everything...

An Inner View Through An Interview

So why aren't interviews called inner-views? Why, when you get to know a person's thoughts, cares, interests, fears, and all that crap?

Who makes these rules, anyway?

Anyway, today I had a big interview for an Assistant Director position in my office. Army's moving on up (only on his hopes right now, but perhaps in reality very soon)!

It's a great position, and I'm really jazzed about it. But today didn't start off so auspicious...

The Swarm

Apparently, today is one of the worst days ever for pollen count. Like 1.21 jigawatts!! of volume in the air. I heard there was even a warning! Good lord! Thank god for my generic Claritin, or as I like to call it, Generitin. But even that didn't fully come through as my nasal passage bouncer. I had to down some immediate relief stuff and take some ibuprofen for the pressure headache. So I ended up a pill head with a throbbing alien in my forehead trying to hatch from the larvae beneath my skull.

I just imagine the air thick with tiny yellow tennis balls invading my airspace and landing on the surface of my insides and outs. Curse you, pollen! Curse you, I say!

The Punisher

I knew that when I got up early and my head was soupy, today would be trouble. So it came to no surprise as I was cautiously speeding to work that Punishment Light was up to its usual antics. Sticks and stones, Punishment Light. You shall not have your day of victory!

Still, I felt completely out of sorts and beat down for my afternoon interview. Perhaps time was on my side...

The Karoshi

The Japanese have a term for death from overwork. That was my morning. I was fussy and fuzzy, and here come the students. And the projects in between. And the notes from the previous day. And the emails piled in the inbox. If this was my pre-test to handling stress, boy was I failing.

Lunch out of the office with a little sody pop helped. I finished up a project and headed home for my impending interview.

The Sun Not Suiting Me

Let's just say that men don't have many options for business wear in the summer. Women have skirts, cute tops, and accessorization. Men just have hot suits with piled-on layers topped off with a noose... er, tie. Mind you, I looked stunning in my suit with my new Express for Men shirt and tie. But it was a sweat tent inside. Thankfully my drug cocktail of pills and sody had cleared my head! Merciless sun, curse you, too!!

The Inner View

With the exception of a few questions, I rocked out the interview! I had a scenario in which I need to make a decision between two candidates, and my reasoning for person B was solid. My mock presentation was creative and engaging. And my answers came out as I had pretty much wanted them to. I get nervous being put on the spot, but it helped that I knew all these people and they knew what a rock star I am.

It's hard to interview with JP the British Boss because he has a poker face during interviews. I remember that from way back when I got my current job. He gives almost no feedback. Before and afterward, he's his regular jovial and talkative self. But in this venue, it's hardcore JP, Wales Hold 'Em style.

The To Be Continued...

So now comes the wait. But only for a week. It's out of my hands, and I did the best I could. On the way back home, Punishment Light stopped me again, but it couldn't keep me down. My tie was loose, my top button undone, and one of my favorite Radiohead songs had just released itself from Andrew's speakers. The song is called "Let Down." But I'm not expecting one of those next week...

Sign Language

As you travel around the world or your neighborhood, surely you've run across an odd or out of place sign before. Signs are everywhere. I shared a few of my found favorites a while back.

So naturally, I love it when I was referred to a couple of hilarious websites by my co-worker crew member, S-Dub. There's something about the generic airline safety brochure drawings and the WWII-era poster style that gives me the tingles. But of course, the captions hold the humor!

Check them out:
Safe Now
Air Toons

I dare you to try to not laugh your ass off! It can't be done. Shout-out and mad props to Dub for her sweet hook-ups : )

Oh yeah, and now for a shameless plug of a little creative sign I came up with...

I'm Not an Addict... Maybe That's a Lie.

Who would have thought I could ever find a simple little board game that I love so much more than Settlers of Catan?

And then I met Carcassonne. I was at a mall game store looking for something like Settlers but a bit different. I asked the guy if he had suggestions, and he pointed me to this little blue box flanked by many smaller, similar boxes -- the collection of its add-ons.

My eyes locked, and at first, it wasn't all fireworks and dazzle. I checked out what junk it held in its trunk. I read over the back captions and checked out the pictures. Like a deceiving singles add on Match.com, I was unconvinced. Even the praise of Store Guy did little to sway me. He was like a good friend desperate to have his odd friend be shown a good time. And then Store Guy made a sweet offer: if I didn't like the game, I could bring it back. It was like I could erase it all if we had a bad date. Store Guy was a good game pimp. I slapped down my cash.

Like any good date, Carcassonne came with instructions. This is how I work. Don't do this with me. If only boy dates were so easy. Still, though. The instructions left me skeptical of a promised good time. Fortunately, I had reinforcements to play with me. Vick (Army mom), Lola (the grand ma-ma), and Egg (the step-daddy-o) indulged me due to their past Settlers enjoyment.

And then something magical. The game rocked! It's relatively basic in its design, but like any good game, the strategy is in the nuances. And the add-ons (which I've since laid down fistfuls of cash to procure) help to build larger maps, add new strategies, and insert other rules and impending chaos. The nice thing is that you build the map as you play, so it will never look the same twice. It's always fun to see how it will come together.

Guinness World Record for largest Carcassonne game

Everyone who plays is skeptical at first. Only after a game does it get under your skin. And like any good drug, it gets better with each use. Now I'm a fiend for this game! I just can't get enough. I even drove Pops to buy up the whole shebang himself. I've got my friends and family hooked on Carcassonne's sweet love. My next victim will be the lovely Gouda herself! Mwuhahaha!!!

If you are looking for a fun game, check it out. If you love Settlers, I guarantee you'll love this game just as much, if not more. Highly recommended.

Dr. Lovebrarian

It's time to share another of my free therapy sessions with Dr. Lovebrarian.

So The Lovebrarian has managed a hook-up --> long distance segue with Sports Illustrated Guy. She met SI Guy in the most random way, and now they are "love" partners. And for her, it's the best scenario -- he lives a little over two hours away, so there's no clingy factor. It's just enough attention to be sweet and to carry on a regular single life during the week.

Which got me thinking... perhaps I've been approaching this dating thing from the wrong angle. We're socialized to believe that long distance relationships are difficult and rarely work out. But let's face it, for independent coots like me, sometimes you just want your space. I need to take a nod from my human resources background and attack this issue like a job search. Do we need to conduct a local, regional, or national search to find the right applicant pool? I've been doing the local thing, but clearly I need a regional search.

Plus it totally lends itself to expiration dating. Things get boring or just fizzle, you can blame it on the space between. I like the idea of a time stamped relationship. Maintain until freshness date. Promptly dispose : )

So SI Guy has this total librarian fantasy thing, in which The Lovebrarian is considering to cast herself. We came up with the cheesy lines like "do you know what the fine is for an overdue book, bad boy?" or "shame on you for forgetting your Dewey decimal system." LOL -- I pioneered the idea of an edible body stamp with the script "FINE" on it. My imagination is tweaked...

My two favorite Lovebrarian quotes this evening:

1) Matter-of-factly spoken: "I mean, I don't want an STD."

2) Regarding the kooky roomie's man: "And her boyfriend is on our couch watching America's Funniest Home Videos... and he was actually laughing at it."

I LOVE it when people get offended by the most inane details! That's a brain-share moment.

In a less common bout of serious talk, we explored the topic of spending money and materialism. We both agreed that spending money on experiences is more enjoyable to us than getting the latest and greatest thing. If you think about it, what is more memorable to you? A beautiful or exciting vacation, or that brand new iPod?" Now granted, I love my iPod, but when I reminisce about my favorite times, they don't involve hanging out with the little silver guy.

And in a way, spending money on experiences is a kind of savings account. An investment in the future. The Lovebrarian shared that when her grandmother was 101 years old, she couldn't see well, couldn't walk, and had trouble hearing. She told The Lovebrarian the only thing she had left were her memories. At that point, the objects we collect mean very little. But the peak moments of our lives have power. And when we're all old and gray, the most solid part of memory and cognitive function is long-term, episodic memory. An investment, indeed.

This is one way our society needs a course-correct. For birthdays, I take my friend or family member out to their favorite restaurant, and we have an excellent meal. To me, that's worth more than any thing I could buy for them.

So I guess what they say is true. You can't buy me love. But at least I can enjoy a free moment with The Lovebrarian.

iRant: Pedeadstrians

Motoring home around 10:00 p.m. this evening seemed innocent enough. We've all done it before. Little did I realize it was amateur daredevil night.

First Encounter:

I'm on a four-lane avenue (two lanes in each direction) with a speed limit in the neighborhood of 40 MPH. That's roughly 63 KPH to my non-American readers reader. Mind you, it's night. And I'm not exactly in a well-lit stretch of road. Then who should be cycling against traffic in my lane but some punk kid on his BMX bike. What the fook? Are you trying to die? Or is this some X-treme audition for the sequel to 80's B movie "Rad"? I had to swerve into the other lane to avoid damaging my precious car. Oh yeah, and to avoid killing someone's dear son.

Look, I know the term side"walk" conveys a certain misconception of its purpose, but rest assured it can handle non-motorized vehicles quite well. This isn't Europe. We don't want to share our roads in this country. And most people value their lives. So take note, Travis, and pedal your arse onto the sidewalk or you'll be the hood ornament for some late-night soccer mom's land frigate. End of story.

Second Encounter:

I didn't think independently-operating idiots could one-up each other, but wonders never cease. On this same avenue in a busier and faster section, I motor upon a guy on roller blades (yes, roller blades), swinging back and forth in the entire lane at a break-neck 10 MPH. What the what? Are you kidding me? Hey Caleb, see that unused stretch of pavement five feet over? That's called a bike path! It will accommodate your wheeled shoes with relative ease. And best part is, there aren't death machines with people distracting themselves from driving poised to turn you into road kill on the bike path. We call this a "win-win scenario."

Jackarses.

Maybe we could keep these half-wits in line if we took some cues from Death Race 2000 and Carmageddon. I'm just saying...

Kaputccino

Friday was certainly an eventful day. I'll have to shelf my synopsis with Therapist because it was a doozy. Let's just say it involved tears, albeit good ones. Necessary ones. I'll get to that story later on.

Friday afternoon, I ended up at my coffee stop to do some work, and at first, Barista Boy was there. Nothing much happened, as his shift ended shortly thereafter, but who better to replace him than Spy Girl. My informant. And what did my femme detective have in store for me? Or is a female detective called a detectess? Hmm...

Anywhen, as I was leaving, I went up to say hello to her, and she opens with, "I asked Barista Boy if he was gay, and he claims he's not." Interesting. So she has her doubts. She said he wanted to know why she asked, and she mentioned that she'd never seen him with a guy or a girl before and was curious. He had gotten a bit defensive, I gathered, asking if he gave off some kind of gay vibe or something.

Then she went on to say that he honestly isn't worth the time because his life is a mess. And the more you know, the sadder it gets. He really needs to get his shat together. Which is a shame because he does have a lot going for him. I guess he's been adhering to a strict drug regimen to keep his mind limber. Wow, tragic and straight. I'm shaping up to be some desperate amalgam of cliches, and that can't end well.

I thanked her for her candor. And her speedy work. That was one quick junket! Still, it would have been nice to have a "rendezvous" with him even if he is messed up. Dysfunctional people can be passionate, you know. Or into crazy outlier sex that involves a rolling pin, mood swings, and maybe even pedal pumping. I think I'm better off.

Well, maybe.

Sigh. So let's chalk him up on Army's big board of Disappointingly Ambiguous Straight Men. Wow, I'm racking up some list here...

- Barista Boy
- Ambiguously Straight Guy
- Pac Sun Tyler
- Red Robin Tyler
- Hot Server Guy
- God knows who else I'm forgetting right now...

My people really need to work out some system or code. Something.

This is getting ridonkulous.

Espresspionage

So I finally worked up the nerve (or the noive, as the Cowardly Lion would pronounce) to do some detective work on Barista Boy at my new coffeehouse hangout. I appreciated everyone's suggestions on how to find out if he's one of my people, but in the end, I took a safe circumnavigation approach. Ask the co-worker.

The setting was perfect this evening. Closing time, and it was just me and Spy Girl. Barista Boy had been in earlier, and they were chatting for a while. In fact, I've seen these two chat on previous visits. So she has to know at least a little about him.

My opener was innocent enough: "Can I ask you a strange question? How well do you know Barista Boy?"

Spy Girl: "I guess fairly well, but only from work."

Army: "Do you happen to know if he dates men or women?"

Spy Girl: "Actually, I'm not sure. He hasn't really said anything about that. I've wondered myself. Maybe I can do some investigation for you."

Say what? My own mole within the organization? And a free agent at that? How could I be so lucky? And she promised not to connect her questions to me. Too good to be true? Can she find out who he "sleeps" with? Ah, she's my sleeper agent, hehe!

Afterward, we hit it off and came to find out we know several of the same people. She's also pursuing my undergrad major of Psychology. So it wasn't awkward at all, and I established myself as the nice and casual guy. So she has to be vested in getting two sweet young men together for (some hardcore action) a nice old-fashioned date.

So Army has dispatched his spies to get the "lay" of the land. I'll report back if I can muster some action along his borders.

Stimulating Conversation

So it's time to introduce a few new folks to the ol' Me Thinks blog.

Rather recently, I befriended a nice Canadian librarian. I call her The Lovebrarian for numerous reasons. Love is part of her name. She breaks the librarian stereotypes by being young, attractive, and socialable. And the name just sounds hilarious!

Our lunch chat topics tend to cover areas of relationships. For example, she has many (what I have termed) friends with caveats. We all know about friends with benefits. Friends with caveats are those friends who you like, but... fill in the blank. For instance, "Sally is a true friend, but she does tend to be a control freak." You get it. Well, The Lovebrarian, come to find out, has a social calendar booked with friends with caveats! I love it : )

And of course, I've shared with her my many fauxships with clingy guys (Back Stories A and B) and my uncanny knack to come up with nicknames on the spot (like the guy who sat in the corner at this party nursing a glass of milk. I named him Cal. You know, for calcium. This is what I do.).

So The Lovebrarian invited me over for a lovely dinner this evening, and I got to meet her friend Mary Louise Parker (who really looks and has similar expressions to the actress). The best part is that I thought she did, but didn't mention it to her. And then we talked about the TV show "Weeds" and she brought it up. I was like, HELLS YEAH YOU DO! I had a bit of red wine, mind you.

And we had a wonderful conversation about sexuality. I needed this kind of stimulating conversation (pun intended) because I've been stagnating recently in more ways than one. Socially, intrapersonally, and well... in other areas.

Mary Louise Parker has sexpertise, oh yes. She counseled me on the ways of doing the deed. Because I have my issues in that arena. And this country shames such discussions because we're a bunch of closeted Puritans from the Victorian era with lace poofed out of our collars and sleeves, and other such nonsense. No wonder there are people getting off to pedal pumping! Gracious!

Then we got to talking about commitment, cheating, and all that. My favorite Mary Louise Parker quote of the evening was on the topic of schooling a guy who has basically no experience: "I won't do any more f*cking charity work!" Classic. And then The Lovebrarian won for inspiring the best screenplay idea: My Big Fat Green Card Wedding. Because as she put it, "The only failed marriage worth having is one in which I get my green card."

I shared more this evening that I usually do, and it felt great to be open. Being prudish is bland and against human nature. Too much shame and secrecy.

Boy howdy, I have some great conversation pieces for Therapist this week!!

NOAA Meets Noah

So, we've had some weather lately.

Well, we have weather every day, I imagine. But lately, it's been, like, more than just weather. It's been weather!

Mutha Nature has been nice this spring and summer so far. Temps haven't been crazy and we've had no big storms. But this week, well, she's a bit more nasty.

Like two nights ago, I woke up to what I could only describe as the belief that paparazzi were outside my window snapping photos of me in bed. Don't ask why I decided to pose and pout. My motives are my own. But what it actually ended up being was a lightning light show akin to Laser Floyd or something. And then the wall of water came down.

And more downpours last night. I half-expected Noah to row by, and in fact thought I saw an elephant lounging upon an arc, but it was just a big dude in a moving truck. Mistakes.

And then there was the hail storm. Which literally came on the heels of a discussion at work in which I expressed I didn't believe in the tenants of Christianity and shared my general displeasure with organized religion. Like part of the discussion, the heavens opened up, and it was almost End Times. I had my eye out for Kirk Cameron to show up, but bullet dodged.

Speaking of bullets, the onslaught of marble sized hail was pounding against our House of Cards, which we expected to cave in at any second. Worst of all, my dear Andrew was helplessly left to his own devices in the Shuttle Parking Lot on the Other Side of the World. I was fretting that I'd find him to be a pile of scrap metal, but nary a ding or dent. Every cloud, a silver lining.

Then again, Andrew recently received a safety recall in which the car could quite literally lose control at any given moment, so that's fun. I'm motoring in a zoom-zoom deathtrap until next Wednesday. Perhaps I could make it death proof?

This post has no structure whatsoever. Last bit -- the National Weather Service would do well to issue storm warnings and watches before they occur, not so much after. Just a thought, NOAA. Take it as you will...