Posts published during May, 2005

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May 30, 2005

Dear Gym Jock

I saw you this morning. I was on the treadmill. You were on the bench press. I was sweating to Jay-Z, brushing the dirt off my shoulders, running like Kirstie Alley to a Dunkin Donuts convention. You, girly man, in your teeny little muscle shirt, were preening and posing in front of the mirrored wall.

Why, dear gym jock, do you ogle so steadfastly? It’s so very obvious that, while you think you’re putting on the facade of paying careful attention to form and physique, you’re really just enjoying the sight of your own reflection. You suck in your paunch, cinch up your special leather gloves, and think, “Yes, I am a sexy bitch.”

Every once in a while you’ll meander over to the elliptical machine for 3 minutes of lazy cardio. And then you’ll squat a few times, being sure to get a glimpse of your glutes looking oh-so-hot in the modified board shorts you chose especially for today’s trip to the house of holy hamstring worship.

And though you’ve got more beef on your arm than bicep, you will occasionally do slow reps to “impress” innocent bystanders/victims. You’ll lift once, and then twice. You’ll take sixty seconds to rest and reflect on you’re ahnold-like anatomy, and then you’ll lift twice more. And then, you’re spent.

I, meanwhile, am huffing and puffing like the wolf that’s come to blow the house down. You’ll ogle me inappropriately, feeling it’s your right b/c you are a gym jock – a man who is not afraid to stroll around the equipment, chest puffed out, prouder than a peacock.

But you know what dude? You should really keep the eyeballing to a minimum where others are concerned. Unlike you, I am not at the gym to primp like a teenage beauty contestant.

Just a tip: if I wanted to maximize the amorous ogling of self, I wouldn’t bother walking all the way to the fitness complex. If I were you, dear gym jock, I’d save myself the trip, and simply strip down to my skivvies, turn on some Abba, and do a little self worship from the privacy of my powder room.

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May 26, 2005

Gay or Nay?

It’s probably wrong of me to do this: I’m sure the karma police are gonna come kick me in the butt – but I simply can’t resist!

So I was on MSN today enjoying my nifty new update with all its fancy features, when I happened to notice you can now post a buddy icon for others to view. I posted my requisite cutie cartoony Hänni, and then scoped out everybody’s profiles.

Imagine my delight and horror to see that a certain Canadian from my past had posted this to represent his image to the world:

And now I’m kind of confused. It is true that in the 2.5 years we dated he spend approximately 2.25 of those years in the bathroom styling his hair…. (His motto: Gel, never leave home without it). And it’s also true that he probably doesn’t own a pair of jeans…. (I’ve never seen him sans snow white, starchy, pressed pants)… And yes, he is waifishly thin, but toned (thanks to hours of unmitigated time spent admiring his pecs and lifting weights at ye olde gym.) But really?

I always thought maybe he was just metro.

But recently, I’m starting to see things a little differently- Perhaps, I’m seeing things in a rainbow-colored light, or rather he’s seeing things in a rainbow-colored light.

Well, I can’t blame him. I mean, after losing me – well, it’s enough to turn any man gay, knowing you’ll never find such a perfekt gurl again.

But I digress.

In all seriousness though, Canadian From The Past, I salute you. For picking a boyfriend who so closely resembles Nick Lachey, you get two snaps and a circle.

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May 23, 2005

How Pretentious Can You Get?

So the housing complex is kicking my happy little family out on our duffers. In a matter of weeks the Pretentious Apartment Digs have magically transformed into the Pretentious Condo Digs, courtesy of a name change and a grossly inflated price tag.

Apparently people really will give their left nut for the (seemingly) right reason.

Yes, we got our letter a few weeks back. It said:

“Dear tenant, we have sold the complex to a developer who’s going to market your 1 bedroom apartment as a condo, and he’s going to make a MINT. Now, if you wish to stay, you must simultaneously bend over…and then give us your first born child. OR you can move your a$$ out, post haste!?

Well, the new landlord wouldn’t accept Sphynxy in lieu of our first born (too stinky), so hi ho, hi ho, it’s off to the next place we go.

I just thought it was really funny that, without notice they close the office (and consequently, access to the maintenance staff now that my sink is clogged up *again*), but they have added a new employee to the fold.

This new presence at our gawdy complex is: the Community Enforcer. Somebody drives around in this painted up hoopty that some two-bit body shop funktified to look like a bona fide cop car. Lest you mistake this pseudomobile for the real NYPD Blue type-ride, the garish bold script spelling out “Community Enforcement” across the hood makes it embarrassingly obvious that this is management’s sad attempt at makin’ this place look right respectable.

And I’ve been thinking. If it’s not illegal to mock up your car to look like it belongs to one Sheriff Barney Fife, well then what keeps me from giving my Corolla a little update?

Yes, I think I’ll take Ruby over to that two-bit body shop and get her the just-another-(faux)-cop-on-the-beat makeover.

Instead of black and white, she’ll be pink and white.

And instead of something boring like “Community Enforcement”, I’ll put Pussy Patrol across the hood…

Cause I’m a girl. And I like cats. And alliteration.

Wonder what Pretentious Condo Digs management would think of that!

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May 20, 2005

Hännihaus Endorses A Candidate

The pretense is over and the finally, the rollercoaster that is American Idol: Season 4 is drawing to a close. The lesser competitors have fallen, and all that remains are Carrie and Bo -2 kids with big hearts, big voices, and big hair.

And now, it is time for me to endorse my candidate for American Idol 2005.

I admit, both candidates can really blow – And not in just one sense of the word. I’m talking about blowing in every single way. You see, just as everything in the world has the opposing forces of yin and yang guiding them from within, so does each of the American Idols have something I call Happy Blow and Crappy Blow.

(Happy) Blow v. 1. Great singer, strong voice (“Dawg, you really sang that song great. You can blow!”)

(Crappy) Blow v. 1. To be of poor quality, displeasing (“Those skank-a$$ sunglasses really blow.”)

In the case of Bo Bice there is also a third blow that comes into play. This blow got him arrested on felony drug charges – but I digress.

And now, without further ado, I would like to announce my pick for American Idol: Season 4, Search for a Star is: *drum roll please*

Bo “he just might be half sheep dog” Bice.

In his admittedly stunning performance on Tuesday night, he blew the audience away with a surprise a cappella offering that, in my opinion, did not suck. Back home in ‘Bama he seemed genuine, enthusiastic, and gosh darn it, he already looked like an American Idol winner.

Congratulations Bo!

I’m voting for Bice, despite the lice. (tm DonutDave)

Carrie you can sing, but you’re a bit too wooden. If you try real hard, maybe some day you’ll be a real boy.

Til next, adieu!

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May 15, 2005

But I did Not Shoot the Dep-u-ty

Last night Sphynx was running around yelling for absolutely no reason. Loud and persistent, Mr. Kitten’s one-meow opera was really getting on my nerves.

I picked him up and cuddled. I poured him some delicious kitty kibble. I even donned ye olde fully encapsulated gas mask in order to clean his oh-so-stinky litter box.

But alas, Sphynx would not go quietly into that good night.

Well, there’s only so much a person can take. I’m not proud of what I did, but I had to do it. Last night, in sheer and utter desperation, I picked up the nearest piece of produce, which happened to be a banana. I yelled Sphynx! And as soon as I got the little devil in my sites, I pointed my potassium-rich pistol and then I shot him.

I shot the Sphynxy.

And then there was peace – or so I thought.

This morning at the unconscionable hour of 6:00 am, I was awoken by an abrupt thud. I quickly jumped out of bed, and fast a June hare, I saw Sphynx dart in my direction. In his mouth, and just as big as he is, was the aforementioned banana.

He dropped it at my feet and ran away. It was mangled and had a gray tuft of fur stuck to it. It wasn’t a dead fish wrapped in newspaper, but I’m sure the sentiment was the same.

What I learned is:

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May 11, 2005

Introducing Palak Paneer

A Very Hip Software Company is comprised of a real cornucopia of multiethnic techie employees. Small and diverse, in our office you?ll find someone from just about anywhere you can think of – from Britain to South America, Canada, Asia and everywhere in between. I even heard there was a girl from Alaska on staff. Conscientious, instead of a gas guzzling SUV, she drives a snowped to work. (SNOWped, get it?)

There’s one guy at work, let’s just call him Palak Paneer. Mr. Paneer is an Indian dude with a cheery demeanor, belly like a barrel with two prominent chicklets for front teeth. He’s an expert on databases, vegetarian food and ping pong.

But actually, he’s not that great at ping pong, everyone just tells him that so as to over inflate his ego. It’s hilarious to watch him wipe the sweat from his brow before each highly anticipated serve. In his head the soundtrack to that R. Kelly song plays “Can’t you see I made it? I’m the world’s greatest!” Meanwhile, we coworkers delight at his new found swagger, and the buck teeth bared as a sign of his intense concentration.

Forget about drinking games and dancing, when Palak Paneer’s spankin’ that ball, the party is on. Yeeeaah.

Before his time at A Very Hip Software Company, PP was selling slushies at some backwoods 7-11. (I know, so stereotypical). Palak told me that 7-11 was “crazy man”, that one time someone told him, “If I had a gun I would shoot you right now”. And what do you think the cause of such a violent statement was? The crime in question: Palak had overcharged the guy by 6 cents!

Of course all this talk of gun play had management exclaiming, “Maybe that’s how we should motivate you guys!” And then everyone started doing stick-em-ups with their hands and yelling about turning in TPS reports.

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May 5, 2005

The Idol Files: Part III

I hate to keep writing about this (b/c I realize there might be .5 of you out there who don?t watch the show), but I really feel like it’s important to discuss the madness that is AI.

So Bo – he’s made it through another week, and I can’t wait for him to get voted off. I mean, he’s gotten so vain glorious with his fashion mogul sunglasses and strategic hair smoothing. And this new shaggy, patchy rug he’s got growing on his face – does he believe that’s sexy? Who does Bo think he is anyway? The president of the United States? The freakin queen of England? The super cutie king of Indie/emo/folk music, Conor Oberst of Bright Eyes?

No! He is none of these. He is a pompous a$$!

I don’t know about you, but with each week, with facial hair growth reaching dangerous proportions, I think he’s starting to look more and more like another very hirsute celebrity:

And Federov – Although I despise the kid, I do have this to say about him. Being that Anthony hasn’t hit puberty, the chances of him committing a facial hair-related offense are slim to none. And I might like him a teeny bit for that.

And of course, Sausage Fingers – In an interesting twist, this week Scotty the Body changed up his look by shaving the ever present chin strap. While I find this action to be commendable for most, in Scotty’s case the lack of facial frizz made it painfully obvious that he is not destined to be the Idol. If he plays his cards right, he could be still an Idol – or maybe just idolized – or maybe just uncomfortably ogled at… I hear the Ghost Busters convention has an opening for The Stay Puft Marshmallow Man, and I can’t think of a better candidate!

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May 4, 2005

The Smut Hut

Kristoff told me that the last time he was on a roadtrip, he stopped by a gas station that was selling more than petrol, powerade, and chili dogs. At this inconspicuous shanty out in the middle of the marshlands, along with your hohos and coke, you can purchase the finest in smut mags.

Proudly displayed to the right of the cashier station, in the very location where you’d expect to find the more demure reads – i.e. The People, US Weekly, Rollingstone and Women’s day magazines – is a prodigious pile of porn.

We’re talking about a three-tiered display that’s roughly five feet wide. By my estimate, this contraption can hold 49 separate and distinct chronicles of the Hustler, Playboy and Juggs Monthly varieties.

In short – this is a pubescent boy’s dream.

Oh, and the name of said service station is so appropriately (and ironically) called: The Handimart.

Marinate on that one folks.

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May 2, 2005

The Idol Files: Part II

I’m really disappointed with the idols this year, and can not pick a favorite. None of them deserves to win, and I’ll tell you why:

Scotty The Body – Has abhorrent sausage fingers.

Carrie – Has no personality, and while her hair has gotten better in the past few weeks, I can not forgive her past indiscretions.

Anthony – Has a femme facade which was only made worse by singing, and kicking a$$ on a heartfelt Celine Dion number. Coincidently, this may have been the only time Anthony has ever wanted to nail a woman.

Vonzelle – Has the sweetest personality. I can not say anything against Baby V, except that I just don?t think she?s at the same level as past winners.

Bo – Has some skeletons in his closet of which I highly disapprove. Crack is wack kids! He does have talent though, and maybe people will still keep voting for him despite the cocaine – hey, it didn’t hurt the President.