Mollification

As my smallest pair of rigid distressed Paper Denim Cloth jeans has become the solitary measure of my success, I now frequent Trader Joe's to stock up on such stereotypical healthy items as baked tofu, navel oranges and baby carrots. My bland diet has permanently dampened my mood and stripped grocery shopping of all joy, and I lower my gaze to avoid locking eyes with boxes of chocolate dipped carbohydrates as I stalk the fluorescent lit aisles.

The other day as I unpacked my grocery bags, I was annoyed to discover that the bag of sliced green apples I had just purchased was missing. Reviewing my receipt, I noted that I had indeed been charged for a bag of sliced green apples. I checked my car. No apples. Where the fuck were my sliced green apples? Ughhhhh. Why is it that I must suffer for the incompetence of others?

Later back at Trader Joe's, I stormed customer service waving my crinkled receipt about, demanding a bag of replacement sliced green apples. As I left the store with my new bag of apples, I held the receipt up in the air once more, and murmured in annoyance at the inconvenience of it all. Upon returning home, I put the apples in my fridge and went about my day.

Last night, I explored my apartment for a snack. I discovered I am now proud owner of two bags of sliced green apples. Yes, I swindled Trader Joe's. Not only am I a black hearted bandit, but I also seem to be losing my mind. I also lack the ability to let unfortunate little mix-ups like this go, and therefore look forward to apologizing tonight to a balding vegan in a Hawaiian shirt who will judge me from now on as I shop for organically grown rabbit food. Oh well, my pride isn't worth much more than a three-dollar bag of fruit anyways.

On an unrelated note, I was thrilled to pull up next to this outside of 711 this morning.
Yes, I'm immature and too easily amused, but we've established this. Bimbo, Inc. Purveyors of bread and other baked goods. I couldn't help but be curious as to why a company would choose such an unfortunate name. The explanation isn't shocking. Founded in Mexico in 1945, "bimbo" had no literal translation in Spanish at that time and was chosen as a rough hybrid of Bambi and Dumbo, the names of the company's then two largest competitors. Bambi, Dumbo and Bimbo. Sounds like a bad porn involving stuffed toys from the happiest place on earth.

How was the company to know then that it's arbitrary and fanciful name would later be defined as "1. a young woman indulged by rich and powerful older men." A term used as early as 1919 in the United States, flappers in the 20s meant it as a compliment. "Bimbo" is derived from the Italian word "bambino," which translates roughly to young man or boy. It was only decades later that bimbo would be used in reference to busty blondes. Don't feel bad for Bimbo. As one of the world's largest food corporations, I don't think they worry too much about the occasional chuckle and the lone person compelled to blog about it.

Purell Prayers

Nothing makes me feel more like a nondescript lab rat than working during flu season. Within our cage, it begins with a solitary sneezer and then there are two. Like playing Ten Little Indians, one by one the sickness spreads until no healthy remain. Coughs echo within cavernous cubicles and the weary and beleaguered stalk the hallways with red noses and watering eyes. It's only a matter of time before I join the herd of the afflicted. Unfortunately, unlike with hoof-and-mouth disease where one simply slaughters the sick, in the case of feet not hooves, slaughter is not an option. And when those feet are dressed in expensive Ferragamos, taking sick days is not an option, either.

Here's my plan:

After spending the fourth quarter of 2009 unable to speak due to my bout with the bird/swine/cat/dog/fish flu, I am determined to avoid this round, even if I have to eat an entire organic grove of oranges. Fingers crossed.

First Date Rules

It's one of the current trending topics on Twitter, and as such I have to throw in my wholesome and sage advice for the purposes of boosting my readership. Groveling for hits. What can I say. But it isn't such a bad topic of discussion. Earlier, I drafted a post on executive gifts, i.e. wind-up sushi rolls and mini billiards sets for the desk. Sorry, sometimes the well doth run dry, especially on 5 1/2 hours of sleep.

Rule #1: No "Dutch Courage"
A term originating during the Anglo-Dutch wars of the 17th century as an insult against the Dutch, who were propagandized to only have the courage to fight when boozing it up, it is easy to see how it could easily apply to the dating scene. Going on a first date is quite like going into battle - you can use intelligence to strategize a plan, but ultimately you can never prepare for every contingency. That cute physician's assistant you met in line for paninis at Whole Foods might initially seem harmless, then on your first date suddenly comes bomb number one - he is a recovering meth addict. Bomb number two - he was in prison for two years for distributing ecstacy tablets. You try not to choke on your half-chewed spear of asparagus and manage a feeble, "that's ok" as you look around the table for your white flag. Of course this is the point when you wish you were shitfaced. If you're any kind of dating veteran, you might at this point be in the habit of taking a shot (or two) before a first date, perhaps popping the trunk of your car to take a swig or two out of a bottle of Absolut before pensively approaching the designated battlefield. But you shouldn't. Unless you're dating in order to collect material for a screenplay (as one of my dates was, asshole), you are probably dating in order to find somebody you might consider seeing again. The odds of your date wanting to see YOU again are lowered if you use your trunk as a mobile liquor cabinet, unless you are one of those lucky few who acts completely normal when buzzed or drunk (hate you). Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying you shouldn't drink on dates. I am just saying it doesn't make the best first impression when you stumble up to your date with glassy eyes and rosy cheeks, smelling of eau de vodka before the night has even begun.

Rule #2: Watch What You Eat
Avoid the following: large sushi rolls, spaghetti, burritos, club sandwiches, buffalo wings, soup, garlic fries, shellfish, curry. When your date gazes across the table at you, he or she does not want to witness a burrito defacating all over your plate and lap. When your date speaks to you, he or she does not want to have to wait as you signal with your hands and struggle to swallow a mammoth mound of rice and raw eel. When your date leans in for that first kiss, he or she does not want to be greeted with the fragrance of curry, onions, or garlic. A lot of restaurants post menus online so you can plan ahead.

Rule #3: Keep Your Baggage To Yourself
On a first date, avoid discussing past destructive relationships, substance or physical abuse, sad tales from childhood, or your love-hate relationship with food. Your date knows all of this might exist to some extent, we all have some amount of baggage, but your date is not a member of the FAA asking to see the contents of your carry-on. And if he or she is asking you about these things, beware. If your date wants to know all about your most awful, personal drama then he or she is guaranteed to one-up you in that department and is merely searching for a segue into a confession of his or her own loathesome secrets.

Rule #4: No Texting, No Calls
If you text or pick up calls on your first date, you are an asshole.

Rule #5: Kiss
Why wouldn't you kiss on the first date? Too intimate? We're not 14 here, I'm guessing you're somewhere between the double digits and triple digits (as far as kissing) at this point if you're anywhere near my age and went through a period of excessive binge drinking 4 nights a week. Weed out the slobbering tounge-thrusters or serial peckers in the most time and cost efficient manner.

Rule #6: Don't Head Back to His/Her Place Unless You Are Prepared To Just Do It
"Want to head back to my place and just have a glass of wine and talk, no pressure? I just want to get to know you better." Translation: "Wanna head back to my place and have half a bottle of wine and DO IT?" Be real. Ignore reality, and you wind up ending the night with a pissed off date who calls you a tease as you storm out the front door with your things. Unfortunately you forgot your favorite earrings on the coffee table. You'll never see them again. And they were really cute.

What are your do's and don't's for the first date?

How To Fuck Up A Proposal

The following is not staged. It's a video made by my co-worker's friend as he proposes to his girlfriend.



This clever fellow must be quite the jokester. He first proposes to his girlfriend with an empty box which he "accidentally" drops over the pier as a joke (had it been me, this would have been the point where I became physically violent, I think that's about as funny as suicide). Oh but don't fret, he has the real deal in his pocket!!!
He gets on one knee and professes his live via poem (I would have gotten pretty angry at this point as well) and comes out with the actual ring. He proposes, she says "yes." Happily ever after? The universe didn't think he was funny either, and in karmic retribution, he accidentally drops the real ring into the ocean. Shit. Custom made. Uninsured. This video makes me cringe.

I'm bummed I didn't find the ring in my salmon last night. I hope their wedding goes more smoothly.

How To Make A Party Fun

A splendid birthday party complete with penthouse, buffet, cigars and champagne. Well-groomed wealthy circulated, some familiar, some new. Furs and diamonds and air kisses. Polite chatter about formula one racing and helicopter skiing. A night where you wouldn't consider stopping at one birthday cake, why not two, three...

Thus far it had been a pleasant evening. Good food and conversation under a silk-draped tent. As I finished up my salmon (I'd greedily gone back for seconds, out-eating both men at our table, but it was gooood), I was elbowed by my friend. I looked over to see a belly dancer. Well, more like a hot girl in a bikini top. Uh-oh.

We watched as the belly dancer did little with her belly and a lot with everything else. The most entertaining aspect was looking across the room at the other guests' expressions. Priceless. The crowd demographic was mostly Caucasian and Asian, ages ranging from 30s to late 70s. I was witness to varying expressions of discomfort amongst the women, most with frozen tight smiles and eyes darting about, unsure of where to look. A sliding scale of enthusiasm amongst the men depended on whether their wives were watching or not.

The men got up one by one to dance with Ms. Gyrate, some completely unfazed and more than willing to shake what their momma gave them while others were purple and protesting, firing off an obligatory series of mechanical hip shakes before scurrying back to the safety of their food plates and glasses of merlot. Soon the dancer had accumulated several bouquets of currency fanning about her waistband.

Half an hour later, she started going after the women, at which point my table decided we desperately needed a cigarette break downstairs. I was sober, and my friends were almost sober. Sober sexy dancing with a belly dancer in front of forty isn't something I think I'm capable of. Unless you bribe me with cookie dough.

Note to self: add instant fun with a belly dancer.

Tweaking News!

Introducing the Starbucks doubleshot® Energy+Cofee LIGHT in VANILLA LIGHT *cue angels singing* Isn't she pretty?

I accidentally happened across this glorious find at a random 76 station. It has 30% of your daily calcium and 9 grams of protein and comes to a total of only 130 calories!+!! Why didn't I know about this before, is it new?

TMI Friday

Photo Credit: beanma.com

TGIF. Never were truer words written. Working 13 hours days has started to take it's toll on my personality. I'm a scraggly ball of fraying nerves and I find myself getting increasingly belligerent behind the wheel. Yesterday I flipped off a woman from behind before switching lanes and repeating the gesture from the side...double tapped. In my defense, she performed a highly illegal maneuver that almost got me railroaded, and nothing pisses me off more than a near miss at being slammed by 4 airbags.

What do you get when you put nine women (one pregnant) and one man in a room? Hilarity. An 8:00 am conversation about breast feeding proved too much for the solitary male. He has quietly endured weeks of debate over boys and fad diets, but apparently he has a line and it was crossed. Eyes wide and hunched over at the word "breast feed," he quickly scrambled out of the room for the next ten minutes and reluctantly returned after pausing at the door to assure the topic of conversation had drifted to something else. If I hadn't already had my morning coffee, I would have also recused myself, as hearing about the "Hooter Hider" nursing cover made me shift in my seat.

And because I love finding random junk on the web, here is my new favorite commercial. Meet "The Kush." Apparently there are women out there who find it impossible to sleep because their breasts are touching. Ok...first off, who are these women? I can't think of anybody I know who has confessed this problem to me, and trust me, I've heard pretty much everything. Second, this product is not only expensive, but unnecessary. $55.00 for a piece of plastic that looks suspiciously similar to something that many women already possess... I would also like to know whether a similar product exists for men who have difficulty sleeping because their balls touch. I also like that it is available in three different colors - nude, mocha or ebony. Why?



And, as always, the best part is reading some of the viewer comments. My favorites:

"Why don't you just save your money and buy a spice bottle from the grocery store?"

"Is there a man boob version"

"Why do they offer it in different skin colors? Do they expect people will think it's part of your body or something?"

"I'm only 12 years old and what is this?"

"I can easily craft that for my girlfriend with a knife and some woods for 0 bucks." "Yes, I'm sure your girlfriend is gonna love putting a hard, splintery piece of wood between her breasts."