Monday, September 27

Familiar phrase.

Almost everything that now happens to or around me is followed by, "And don't write about this!"

As you'll notice, I rarely use names and never use full names. This site isn't that widely viewed and most of the people who read this already know you and have probably already heard about what you've done. Everyone knows about your tragic Friday night, so there's no need for me to spread what's already done been spreaded.

Sometimes, I like to talk as if I were born and raised in Tennessee. I do this with only one person, although lately it's slipped into some of my more public conversations. People will turn when they hear; "You might could buy that, but Target's done having a sale." You'll especially make heads bob when you're saying this at (an Orange County) Macy's.

Anyhow, if I were to say that at Macy's and someone were to be with me, I surely wouldn't post about it.

Me 1. Fur 0.

The official recognition came on Saturday morning; I would not be wearing the fur coat. Jay had recruited a friend’s daughter to wear the jacket, so I was off the hook. I wasn't going to wear it anyhow, but now both sides were in agreement.

We got there thirty minutes before the doors opened. At first, it appeared that my job was to follow Jay around as he leaped and pranced and freaked out about absolutely everything. Too much stress makes him even more hyper, which is a scary thing, because he's a 9 when he's at his calmest. I have been accused- multiple times- of being a fast walker, but not even I could keep up with him. Finally, he told me to park myself at the bar and to enjoy a cocktail. He would find me if there was any need. I already knew one of the bartenders, who had previously worked for a (now defunct) local restaurant, so we chatted for a while.

Standing next to the bar, I ran into three people that I knew. I had a blast that night, drinking and smoking for charity. Las Vegas was the theme, so there were Blackjack tables, Craps tables, and other games that I knew nothing about. Each table was flocked with gorgeous men wearing spiffy looking tuxedos. That is something that everyone can appreciate, whether they know how to gamble or not.

The show for the night was called "Lost Vegas," which centered on the Flaming-O hotel. Anytime there are men in plastic blonde wigs and tutu's that are dancing and singing to Abba songs, you know you're in for a rip-roaring evening. The best performer had to be the heavyset Celine Dion, who was sporting a red sequence dress and a handlebar mustache. They played a mixed version of Celine's My Heart Will Go On, while men in women's bathing suits waved oars in synchronicity. As a nod to past shows, there was a small pool at the foot of the stage. The men all hopped in and put the US Women’s Synchronized Swimming Team to shame. Also, because it's a requirement for all gay-centric events, there were Cher impersonators. Other Chers surrounded the lead Cher: Vegas Cher, 60's Cher, Disco Cher and New Age Cher. Every era was represented.

Jason and I sat at a table filled with six fabulous men. We had a blast watching the show, drinking our wine and learning just how fabulous these six other people really were. They were there to tell us, so no stone was left unturned. Afterwards, Jason left with the help, while I finally did some volunteer work. I helped someone carry their auction winnings to their car. I'm so charitable. Shawn and I ended up staying for an extra few hours in order to help load the trucks and clear out everything that was left. I carried a dining room chair and a lamp, whereas he carried the freaking humongous cement sculpture, a dining room table and two mountain bikes. I can only be so helpful since my knee decided to break up with me.

Overall, it was a fantastic evening. They were able to raise over three hundred thousand dollars, which will help a lot of people in need. If there are ever any more events in which my drinking and smoking will benefit someone, I'd be more than happy to sign up today.

Friday, September 24

Select a charity.

I am supposed to wear a mink coat on Saturday. There is an auction tomorrow and I am one of the volunteers. My understanding was that I would be helping with the silent auctions, but things have since changed. No one seems to be thrilled to bits with the idea of modeling a fur coat. As I am a friend of the person heading up the auction, he has decided that I should wear the coat. Actually, he has decided that I will wear the coat.

We got into it over this piece of fur and he understands where I'm coming from; but he wants the money that the coat can raise, so he's willing to overlook the fur aspect. I'm not planning on boycotting the entire event, due to the coat, but I don't want direct contact with the thing. This probably sounds like a vegetarian complaining about the treatment of animals, yet wearing leather. I'm aware, but it still makes me queasy just thinking about the coat. We came to one agreement during our fur summit. I will not be wearing all black. As far as he's concerned, the coat is still on the table.

What I find interesting is the fact that anyone would donate a fur coat to begin with. I'm sure there will be some old lady who bids on it, but will she ever really wear it? Will people just bid to help the charity or will they bid because they like to wear fur? Tomorrow is going to be interesting.

Singular failure.

My body is old. It's old and past its prime. It has forgotten that I am not supposed to get injured carrying out simple, every day tasks or movements. In my twenties, I was able to do anything. Play any sport, climb every mountain, ford every stream.

I started to have knee pain on Monday. As I did in my twenties, I decided to play through it. The pain would surely subside after a good icing and what kind of permanent damage could one do by simply playing tennis? No matter how long it had been since I was a regular on the courts, I'm not eighty and it should go away in a matter of hours. It's Friday and my knee is still swollen and sore. After the pain started on Monday, yes, it might have been a mistake to play on Tuesday & Wednesday. Hindsight.

When I was about ten, my brother hit me in the eye with a tennis ball. We were playing some sort of tag, although I can't remember what we called it. There are two bases and two basemen; this being the pre-pc era, no one cared enough to use "base people." Besides, we were ten. The point of the game is to run between the bases without being tagged out. You remember that game, don't you? Is that ghetto baseball? No matter, I was a runner and trying to run between the bases. My brother threw the ball to the other baseman in the hopes that he could tag me out. I thought, in my infinite wisdom, that I should turn around to see if he had thrown the ball. He had indeed thrown it and my eye played the part of receiver.

I was taken to the emergency room, because my mother was scared that I wouldn't get into heaven with only one good eye. The fuzz on the ball had scratched my retina and I was forced to wear a patch over my eye for a period of seven days. The patch was horrendous, although not as ghastly as the gooey ointment that was underneath. I was most upset, because the patch didn't match my purple hippo halter-top. The incident wasn't intentional and my brother didn't suffer any ramifications due to the throw. Although, he was extremely jealous of my "pirate patch." Looking back now, I see that there was a lesson to be learned from that accident. Never look back.

About a year ago, I was hit in the face with a racquetball ball. It caught the left side of my left eye and part of my forehead. I was trying to adjust my position and prepare for my next shot. It seemed like twenty years since my ball had landed, only it wasn't coming back towards the front wall. I turned to see what was going on, only to be greeted by a tiny, hard, blue ball.

It all happened in slow motion. I could see the ball leaving the racket and coming straight for my face. I tried to move, but it was too late. I don't know if you've ever been hit in the face with a racquetball ball, but I'm here to tell you that the pain is worse than violent prison sex. There is no way to prepare for the impact. I immediately iced down my face, but I couldn't stop crying. It wasn't a boo-hoo type of cry. It was a my-face-wont-stop-leaking type of cry. I leaked out 8 fluid ounces one drop at a time. After this incident, I did not go to the emergency room, but finished out my racquetball game. Mark Jacobs doesn't make eye patches.

Thursday, September 23


Chris, I'm worried that some frightful act of kindness has kept you offline. Or maybe someone has taken all of the employees at your new workplace hostage and is holding out for fresh Twinkies. I hope you're not one of five caught in a trampoline and are being forced to eat the others in order to stay alive.

I'm postponing my exit from the building, which turns out to be a big mistake. The give-me-money population outside does not weaken, but grows stronger with each passing minute. This place doesn't have any good emergency exits.

They're out there.

There are ten or twelve kids who are having some sort of give-me-money-come-on-what-are-you-cheap event just outside my building. I'm afraid that it's going to cost me $20 to go home.

When you know the difference between "its" and "it's," you're invaluable.

I am the unofficial E-mail Ghost Writer at my workplace. Yes, it seems an easy task that doesn't need to be subcontracted, but then you might be oversimplifying the process.

As I've previously mentioned, one of my favorite co-workers is leaving this place for another much more fabulous place. His GM wanted to send out an E-mail announcing the departure, but, in keeping with tradition, thought that I should write it and that he should send it. It's commonplace that these E-mails are sent out in the soon to be departed employee's last week of work. I suggested that he use one of the E-mails he'd received about 3 days ago as a template, only changing some key text, so that it would be in-line with all of the other sad, yet hardly tragic, E-mails we receive. He informed me that his should be "more special," because the departing employee is his "bro"- and just a hair shy of a boyfriend, but an important hair. Here is the E-mail that I wrote and sent for his approval:

Hello, [campus] Community;

It's been three years, almost to the day, since a young Ed [last name] first stepped foot onto the [name of] campus. Being one family, we've all grown close to the [job title] from [ridiculously cheap company]. Whether it be playing racquetball with the burgeoning entrepreneur, calling him names in Spanish, as to practice before your semester abroad, or discussing new fads in the food industry, such as "Low Carb Cheeseburgers," it's safe to say that Mr. [Man] has been a big part of our [campus] family and will be sorely missed. He will be missed, not because he has been fired, but because he has decided to put his family first and accept a job that will support him- and them- in the lifestyle that they would like to become accustomed. Unless he wins the lottery, in which case he will stop working altogether. We at [ridiculously cheap company] would like to take this opportunity to give a heartfelt "Thank you!" to Mr. Ed [last name] for all of his hard work and dedication. We couldn't have asked for more, unless he bent over. Please join me in wishing him well and good luck with his future.

Good-bye, Ed [last name], Jr. Jr. We miss you already.

We've had discussions in the past about this employee's father being a Jr., in which case he should be "the third" and not "junior." Or Jr. Jr. He denies it all.

So, he is leaving. He's leaving next Friday. It's going to be weird not having another contracted employee here to speak with. Ed, good luck with your new job and don't forget the little people. The people who exemplified all aspects of failure, on and off the court, and made you strive for the contrary. You would not possess the ego that you do if it weren't for us, Billy Jean. In honor of you and the sleeper who left before you, I won't be enjoying any hot chocolate or candy bars in the near future and I'll chuckle every time I see why-am-i-so-big-it-must-be-genes eating a deep-fried, breaded cheese stick.

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one .50 cent donation is all it takes.  i hope.

.50 cent donation is all it takes.  i hope.





The Cute