A Guide to Halloween Candy

Everyone loves Halloween for many reasons, (girls dressing like skanks, parties, mutilation of pumpkins, etc.) but I love the candy. Well, besides the girls dressed like skanks. That should be a given. Anyway, since I have no kids of my own, I’m left with two choices on how to get my annual fill of fun sized, sugary goodness. I can buy candy, hand it out and keep the leftovers or count on my co-workers to bring in their leftovers. Obviously, I prefer the latter.

Since I haven’t bought any candy yet, the only thing I’m going to find in the store is shitty candy like Smarties and those gross knock off M&Ms in the clear plastic sleeves. Sick. Not only will the trick or treaters in my neighborhood scoff in disgust at my pithy offerings, but now I’m stuck with shitty candy leftovers. This is not good.

But, if I buy no candy and wait for my co-workers to bring in their leftovers, I save money and get good candy. It’s a win/win in my book. And by not handing out candy, I’m helping to combat the childhood obesity epidemic currently plaguing this country. See? Everybody wins. Especially me.

However, if I’m relying solely on my co-workers to give me my fix this year, I have to hope that their leftovers meet my standards of what constitutes good Halloween candy. Here’s my list of Do’s and Don’ts for Halloween candy:

DO: Go for the good stuff. You can never go wrong with Snickers and Reese Cups.
DON’T: Cheap out with Smarties, little gross M&M knock offs, or Now and Laters.
DO: Have an assortment of both chocolate based candy (Baby Ruth, Butterfinger, M&Ms, etc.) and fruit based candy (Starbursts, Skittles, etc.).
DON’T: Hand out actual fruit. Terrible.
DO: Be generous. One fun sized Snickers is not fun. Three or four are.
DON’T: Place a bowl on the stairs with a sign that says “Please take one.” That’s just lazy.
DO: Drink while handing out candy. If it’s a nice night, sit outside with a cooler of beer and get faced.
DON’T: Dress up as a scarecrow and sit completely still on your porch and then scare little kids as they come up for candy. I’m sure your neighbors don’t want to be cleaning up the shit out of their kids Halloween costumes later that night.

Top 5 Best Halloween Candy

Snickers – The gold standard of candy bars. Chocolate, nougat, peanuts, caramel. Awesome. Milky Ways lose points because of no peanuts and 3 Musketeers only have the nougat, which is very uncreative.

Reese Cups – If you get two individual Reese Cups it’s the equivalent of a full size package you would get at the store. No other fun size candy can do this. You’d have to weld together 3 or 4 fun size Snickers to make a full one. Plus, frozen Reese Cups rule.

Baby Ruth – I don’t think I’ve ever eaten a regular size Baby Ruth, but the fun size versions are awesome. Lots of peanuts and caramel and other stuff in there. It’s like a more bad ass Snickers.
Twix – It’s the only candy with the cookie crunch. And you can also eat 20 of them without getting sick.

Kit Kat – I have no idea what is inside a Kit Kat, but it’s good. It’s some kind of wafer – I know that much – but that’s about it. Oh, and if you get two of these it makes a full size Kit Kat, so I guess I lied up in #2.

Top 5 Worst Halloween Candy

Smarties – Yes, you can grind them up and snort them like they were cocaine; I think. Anyway, they all taste the same: gross. Plus, they leave a terrible aftertaste in the back of your throat. Not good times. If you hand out Smarties you deserve to be punched in the neck.

Dum Dum Pops – “Hi, I’d like a quarter ounce of hard candy on a cardboard stick, please.” You also run the risk of getting a pina colada flavored sucker. The only people that like pina colada flavored anything are old people. They’re called Dum Dum Pops for a reason.

Red Hots – What’s the point? Leave the Red Hots where they belong – in hell.

Individually Wrapped Life Savers – These are Dum Dum Pops without the sticks. The only thing they’re good for is licking them and then putting them on car windows, which is what will happen to you if you hand these out.

Sweet Tarts – The older brother of Smarties. You only get two to a packet and that’s two too many. If I wanted to chew on something dry and sour, I’d eat a spoonful of baking powder.

So that’s your guide to Halloween candy. Follow it wisely.

I’ll be going to a party at a bar tonight dressed as Brandon Flowers, the singer from The Killers.

Somebody told me, that you had a boyfriend...

It’s a pretty non-descript costume - vintage suit and eyeliner - but I’m lazy and uncreative so that’s what I’m going as. It should be plenty of drunken fun. I just hope someone is bringing in Snickers tomorrow. I’m going to need them.

I've been everywhere, man

My job requires me to travel every so often, but not enough where I would say that I have to travel for work. (Ok… That was confusing. Sorry about that. But I can hear the homeless saxophone player from my office and he’s distracting me by playing the sax solo from “Baker Street” over and over again.) Anyway… I was in Columbus and Cincinnati the past two days for work so I thought I’d run through some highlights of the trip.

- This was my first trip having my very own corporate credit card. Over the years, I’ve seen these things get downright abused by my peers and they still have jobs to this day. Basically, everything goes unless you try to buy cocaine with it. I pussed out and used mine for things like parking, gas and food. Very disappointing, I know. Next time I’ll be sure to try and charge an eight ball or something.

- Another great perk of traveling is being paid for personal car mileage. I put about 500 miles on my car over the past two days, so my company is going to pay me $220. Tax free. Normally this would be awesome as I would have that much more money to waste this weekend buying drinks for girls that I have no chance with, but instead I just spent $200 getting my brakes fixed. So I guess that means road trips = free brake jobs.

- I drove down to Columbus on Tuesday morning and was in meetings until about 4:00. Afterwards, I went to the hotel to shower and change before meeting up with friends. While I was waiting, I headed down to the hotel bar to grab a drink. The bartender was a cute, perky 21 year old college student so I chatted her up a bit. I would come back later that night from the bar and innocently flirt with her while she was trying to close the bar. It was at that point that streamers and balloons fell from the ceiling signifying my initiation into the Brotherhood of Old, Creepy, Traveling Businessmen.

- Before transforming into Creepy McCreepyson, I met up with some friends at one of the newer bars on the Ohio State campus. It was a pretty nice Irish themed pub that featured a “Beat the Clock” approach to domestic beers. Every hour, the price of a pint would go up by 50 cents with the starting price of $1.00. With corporate card in hand, I threw down for a few rounds and some appetizers. A couple of hours later, my check was slightly higher than it should be for someone eating and drinking by himself. So, if any of you know how to explain a $50 dinner tab to your boss, let me know.

- The next day I drove down to Cincinnati for more meetings and then made the 4 hour drive back to Cleveland. On the way back, I stopped at a Bob Evans for lunch and was a little disheartened that the 23 year old waitress kept calling me “Hon”. She was also calling the 90 year old women at the table next time mine “Gals” so maybe that was her thing. Anyway, if you are a Bob Evans waitress under the age of 42, you can not be calling anyone “Hon”, “Sugar”, “Gals”, or any other homespun phrase. Unless of course you have 3 kids under the age of 4 at home. I have a feeling my waitress fit this last requirement, which in this case earns her a free pass.

- If you ever have to spend 8 hours on Route 71 over 2 days, I suggest that you find something to do with your time since it might be the most boring stretch of highway east of the Mississippi. I think I sent out at least a dozen text messages somewhere between Mansfield and Lodi and also completed the Jumble and Sudoku puzzle in the paper.

Overall, I’d say that I like traveling for work because it gets you out of the office for a few days and you get to eat and drink on the company dime. It also gives you a chance to flirt with hotel bartenders, get drunk with old college friends and try to picture that Bob Evans waitress before she popped out three kids. I guess you could do all of these things from the comfort of your hometown, but then it’d be just another week in Cleveland.

Boss, Origami, Handicap Bathroom, Pet Peeve, The Office

I probably have one of the coolest bosses in the world. She only works three days a week, she stays out of my hair, and just yesterday she had a dentist appointment in the afternoon, which lead her to give me the green light to go home whenever I wanted to. That is why if you e-mailed me yesterday after 3:00, I didn’t read it until this morning.

Anyway, for all of her positive qualities, there is one that has been rearing its ugly head lately: the noon conference call.

I generally like to take lunch around noon because it’s right around this point where that bowl of cereal I ate in the morning is in desperate need of some company. It lets me know this by rumbling around in my belly and screaming, “Hey, jerkface! Bring me some company!” As you can see, I take my noon time lunch very, very seriously.

Over the past two weeks, I’ve been invited into her office right around 11:58 and asked to lend my expertise on various issues. The first time this happened, not only did I have to eat, but nature was calling me in a matter that on any other day would’ve raised the Terror Alert Level to a solid Orange. The second time this happened, I had already brought back my lunch to my office (two slices of pizza from Vincenza’s) when I got the call from the bullpen.

Listen, boss. You’re great. You really are. Just leave my lunchtime alone. Please. That’s all I ask.
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Some guy was in the one of the stalls of the bathroom the other day and he was rustling so much goddamn paper I thought he was practicing his origami skills. This wasn’t newspaper rustling, but more along the lines of toilet paper/seat liner rustling. It was actually quite impressive and I wanted to hang around just to see if he’d hand me a paper crane or something.

But instead of being creepy, I decided to leave and actually go back to work. But before I did, I heard his walkie talkie go off, which means he was either a.) a security guard of b.) a maintenance man. Now, there are 35 goddamn floors in this building and you choose mine to drop a duke? Really? Come on, guys, you have keys to every floor in this building. Go up to the executive floor and drop a fudge monkey in one of their toilets. I’m sure they’re like gold plated thrones up there. Is that so much to ask? Is it?

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I’m not sure why I’m sticking with the bathroom thing, but we have a single person handicapped bathroom on our floor. I’ve never used it, but I’ve always wanted to. The bathroom is probably bigger than my office and the lighting is amazing. I just get worried that I’m going to come out of there one day and see someone in a wheelchair impatiently tapping his foot. Oh wait, he wouldn’t be able to tap his foot.

Anyway, I’m sure he’d give me a dirty look and that’s some karma that I don’t need to be dragging around.

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One of my biggest pet peeves is when people are so fucking clueless that they have no idea that their idiocy is affecting other people - mainly myself.

I was standing in line to get a sandwich at the cafeteria today behind two guys. The first guy took about a half an hour to figure out what kind of cheese he wanted on his sandwich.

Let’s see… Swiss?
Nah.
American?
Hey, I like America. No. I had American yesterday. I wonder if they have Muenster.
Probably not.
Hmm… What should I get?
American?
No, silly, you had it yesterday, remember?
Oh yeah. Thanks for reminding me.
You got it.

I wanted to scream at him to hurry the fuck up but he was bigger than me and wearing a maintenance man outfit, so I decided against it. If I do see him in the bathroom later today, well, then I really might lose it.

The second guy in line kept typing out an e-mail on his Blackberry while the sandwich girl kept asking what he wanted on his sandwich.

Sandwich Girl: What’ll you have?
Douchebag: (Typing: Hey brah, I totally nailed this skank last night! LOL!) What?
SG: What. Kind. Of. Sandwich. Do. You. Want?
DB: (Typing: Seriously, she was so effing hot that I wore two condoms so I wouldn’t bust too early! LMAO!) Huh? Oh, turkey on white.
SG: Anything else on it?
DB: (Typing: I say after work we hit up a happy hour and find some more skanks. Preferably some from Parma.) Gimme lettuce, tomato and onions.
SG: Any cheese?
DB: (Typing: Don’t wear your red Yankees hat either. I’m wearing it tonight. You can have it tomorrow.) What?
SG: Cheese?
DB: (Typing: I think this sandwich chick likes me!) Sure. Uhh… Let’s see. What kind of cheese do I want?

At this point, I was stabbing myself in the eye with a plastic fork. The bleeding has mostly stopped, but thank you for your concern.

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If you aren’t watching “The Office” this season, please do so. It is by far the funniest show on TV. Just do it. Please. If they cancel it like they did “Arrested Development” I’m going to fucking lose it.

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Yeah, my posts sucked this week. Sorry about that. But there are like 3 of you who read this, so whatever.

Have a good weekend.

The Costanza Test

Perhaps the hallmark for all lazy office workers is Seinfeld’s own George Costanza. When not unemployed, Costanza epitomizes the incompetent, dimwitted, unmotivated office dweller inside all of us.

George Costanza had several office rules which he lived by. I will now see how closely I follow the Rules of Costanza and in turn, figure out once and for all how close I am to actually being fired.

1. Never walk without a document in your hands. I’d say I’m about 50/50 on this one. Since the printer is right outside my office door and the only other place I walk to is the bathroom, this is a tough one to pull off. ½ Point

2. Use computers to look busy. Seeing as I’m typing this at work in Microsoft Word, I’d say this counts. 1 point

3. Messy Desk. On my desk right now I have at least three assorted piles of paper, a calculator, a cell phone, several pens and an empty cup of coffee. I have also scribbled down notes on the whiteboard next to me and have various manuals scattered around the credenza behind me. Why stop at the desk when you can just have a messy office? A messy desk equals a busy desk. 1 point

4. Use voicemail. Since part of my actual job is helping people with various issues, I can’t let the phone go to voicemail too often. I will, however, respond to a voicemail with an e-mail, which makes my response all the more impersonal. ½ point

5. Look impatient and annoyed. Costanza equates looking impatient and annoyed with looking busy. Since I’m a pretty pleasant fellow, I have a hard time pulling this off. Fortunately, I performed in an off Broadway production of Glengarry Glen Ross, so I can pull this off. 1 point

6. Leave the office late. If our IT department didn’t keep track of internet usage, I could probably get away with kicking around YouTube until 6:00 every day. But my boss explicitly told me that she’s not a clock watcher, so I’m pretty much out the door by 5:01 on the button. 0 points

7. Creative sighing for effect. Using a sigh around a large group of people signifies stress, which equates to being busy. Once again, I can’t say that I ever do this mostly because people would know I’m faking it since I pretty much assume they know I’m not that busy to begin with. I would need a Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally performance to pull of a faking job this big. 0 points

8. Stacking Strategy. In concert with the messy desk is stacking various binders and manuals on the floor, creating the messy office appearance. I think I covered this in Rule 3, but I’m going to give myself another point anyway. Costanza would. 1 point

9. Build vocabulary. Use business jargon and information about new products around the boss to make it seem like you have even the slightest bit of intelligence. Since I’m a pretty well read individual, I generally know what I’m talking about and when to use my 720 SAT verbal score to good use. 1 point

10. Don’t forward this to your boss by mistake. I think my boss might actually find this funny. Her boss – not so much. 0 points

Final Score: 6/10

So, I guess I have less Costanza in me than I thought. But now I’ve got something to work on. I mean, besides my actual job of course.

I’ll try to be slightly more original later this week since this idea has been done to death, but I needed something to do before 5:01.

No, really, it's not my fault.

I’ve noticed a disturbing trend that I need to share with you. It offends me on a number of different levels, but mostly I think it’s a matter of grown men not manning up their behaviors and actions and using the one scapegoat that has given me so much joy: alcohol. Of course, I’m talking about douchebags checking themselves into alcohol rehab facilities after they do something illegal, immoral or just plain stupid.

Mel Gibson – Did you know that Mel Gibson was actually born in New York and not in Australia? (Me neither. Thanks, Wikipedia!) He actually lived in the land down under from 1968 to 1985, but he was still born in the good ol’ U.S. of A. This is the equivalent of someone being born and educated in New England but claiming himself as a Texan. So, there’s strike number one against Mel.

Now, Mel is in one of my all time favorite movies, Braveheart. It’s got gratuitous violence and even shows the side of a booby, which was a big deal for a 15 year old. He was also pretty good in the Lethal Weapon movies and I thought we should have put him on the face of a coin after he made The Patriot. So how does Mel repay us? By drunk driving through the streets of Malibu after one too many Fosters. Mad Max? Try Mad Dog, pal.

As if drunk driving wasn’t bad enough, Mel then goes on an anti-Semitic rant accusing the Jews of being responsible for all of the wars in the world and then also calling a female officer “sugar tits”. (I actually have no problem with the “sugar tits” remark. I find this to behavior to be quite awesome.) This is after the fact that many (read: Jewish) people saw The Passion of the Christ as being anti-Semitic and Mel’s dad gave in an interview in which he said that the Holocaust never happened. Mel is in quite a bind. What could he do to absolve himself of this?

Let’s go to rehab!

Mel checked himself into rehab shortly after this little P.R. fiasco and just gave his first interview with Diane Sawyer a few days ago. I didn’t see the interview, but I’m guessing it went something like this:

Diane: So, explain your anti-Semitic remarks.
Mel: Listen, love, that wasn’t me talking. It was the booze. The booze is anti-Semitic, not me.
Diane: Do you expect us to believe that?
Mel: Yes. You see, I went to rehab where I exercised my demons that the Jews put in there to begin with. Everybody knows that the Jews were the first people to make alcohol, using it on the Jewish Shabbat. So, once I was able to exercise these Jewish devils – uh – demons, I was cured.
Diane: Makes sense to me. Mazel Tov!

You see what he did there? He blamed his love of the sauce for his racism and bigotry. Once you put the blame on something else and then take care of that problem, you’re completely absolved of your asshole-ish behavior. Listen up, Mel. You’re an anti-Semitic asshole and that’s something that rehab can’t change.

Man up, Mr. Gibson, and take responsibility for being a racist, bigoted prick. Or, you could just keep your trap shut and save the anti-Semitism for next Gibson family reunion.

Mark Foley – Our next individual is everyone’s favorite Congressional pervert. It was recently discovered that Rep. Mark Foley (FL) was sending inappropriate IMs and e-mails to underage male pages that worked in the Capitol building. I’ll give you a sample:

Xxxxxxxxx (7:41:57 PM): ugh tomorrow i have the first day of lacrosse practice
Maf54 (7:42:27 PM): love to watch that
Maf54 (7:42:33 PM): those great legs running
Xxxxxxxxx (7:42:38 PM): haha…they arent great
Xxxxxxxxx (7:42:45 PM): thats why we have conditioning
Xxxxxxxxx (7:42:56 PM): 2 days running….3 days lifting
Xxxxxxxxx (7:43:11 PM): every week
Xxxxxxxxx (7:43:14 PM): until the end of march
Maf54 (7:43:27 PM): well dont ruin my mental picture
Xxxxxxxxx (7:43:32 PM): oh lol…sorry
Maf54 (7:43:54 PM): nice
Maf54 (7:43:54 PM): youll be way hot then
Xxxxxxxxx (7:44:01 PM): haha…hopefully
Maf54 (7:44:22 PM): better be

Yeah, creepy shit right there.

So, Mr. Foley does what any self respecting person caught with his hands in the cookie jar (cookie jar = own pants) does and declares himself an alcoholic and checks himself into rehab. Ok, so I’ve done some stupid things when I’m drunk and have definitely made some poor decisions. However, those were relatively harmless and I was eventually cleared on all charges. But the main point is that however stupid my actions or words were, they didn’t mask who I really am: a horny, desperate, sometimes self-loathing 26 year old looking for love in all the wrong, yet legal, places. It’s not as if I get bombed and then start coming on to homeless people or start friend requesting 14 year old girls on MySpace. Instead, I strap on my beer goggles and generally make an ass of myself. Do I feel bad about it the next day? Sure. Do I feel better once my blood test results come back (fairly) clean? Absolutely. But the point is that I’m not engaging in illegal behavior and then blaming it on the booze.

Man up, Rep. Mark Foley, for the person that you truly are: a disturbed 50-something year old man with a penchant for teenage boys. And after all of this is said and done, move to Thailand. That shit is legal there.

Bob Ney – For those of you not into the whole “politics” thing, Rep. Bob Ney (OH) recently pleaded guilty to charges of conspiracy to commit fraud and making false statements and was involved with lobbyist Jack Abramhoff, who also pleaded guilty to a number of charges. After his sentencing, Ney informed the press that he will resign from Congress and that he will request a prison with an alcohol rehab facility. Big effing surprise.

Hey, Bob, you know what’s a really good way to stop drinking? Getting passed around a prison yard like a Frisbee. (Actually, that’d probably make me want to drink more.) Anyway, unless you plan on sneaking in some hooch or tarring the rooftop of the prison Shawshank-style, I don’t think you’ll have to worry about getting your hands on a nice cold one anytime soon.

Man up, Rep. Bob Ney and embrace the fact that you’re a crook that used the power of political office to achieve your own personal gains. Don’t hide behind a bottle of Jim Beam and tell us he made you do it. The sauce will get you into bed with some ugly people, but not corrupt ones.

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I don’t see this trend waning anytime soon. The public loves to believe that for all of the creepy shit that our public figures do, there’s got to be a boogeyman behind them pulling the strings. In these cases, it’s alcohol. The public can forgive these men a little easier as long as they believe that their actions were out of their control due to the influence of alcohol. Alcoholism is a serious disease but I don’t think it changes who we are at our cores. If you’re an anti-Semite, pervert, or crook when you’re drunk, you’re most likely one when you’re sober.

And that guy who was born and educated in New England but claims himself to be a Texan? Well, he had a problem with booze, as well as cocaine, and he cleaned himself up pretty good. He managed to run a few companies into the ground, own a baseball team while duping the tax payers out of millions for a new stadium, become governor of Texas where he executed more people than any other governor during that time and even get himself into the White House through somewhat questionable means. I guess the rehab game works a lot better if you play it before you really begin to fuck things up.

Apples vs Oranges

Last night, I went to a concert and ran into a girl I used to date who was there with another guy. Upon first glance, it appeared as if he had a wispy mustache and I was wondering what a good looking girl like her would be doing with a guy with a little bit of dirt on his upper lip. This also lead me to think about whether or not I would rather have the guys that date the girls I used to date be better looking than me or worse looking than me.

(Editor’s note: I consider myself fairly attractive, but definitely not the best looking guy in the world. On any given night, I’d put myself in the category of “Guy who could probably take home the not so pretty roommate of the hottest girl in the bar.” I’m also comfortable enough in my sexuality to properly evaluate the guys I’m about to discuss. So don’t even bother with the “you know how I know you’re gay” jokes.)

If the guy your ex-girlfriend dates after you is better looking than you, then you can at least assume that she’s a good looking girl and you were fortunate enough to have dated her and quite possibly have seen her naked. I mean, imagine if Brad Pitt dated your ex-girlfriend directly after you. You could tell people, “Yeah, I’m single, but my ex is now dating Brad Pitt.” This either means that a.) Brad Pitt is slumming it or b.) your ex is extremely hot and worthy of entry into Brad Pitt’s Fight Club. Plus, you could point out to girls that you dated a girl that Brad Pitt currently dates and that you technically “had her” first, which means that Mr. Pitt is wallowing in your sloppy seconds. Ok, so maybe I wouldn’t bring up the sloppy seconds part, but you get the point.

But seeing how Ohio isn’t running around with a bunch of Brad Pitt clones, you have to compare yourself to what’s out there. Most guys that girls date in Cleveland fall into the frat guy/chachi type and wear popped colored shirts, use too much hair gel and “know a guy” who can get roofies. These guys are almost always douchebags, but they’re also probably semi-good looking. Since we’re judging these suitors on their looks and not their asshole personalities, this would definitely cause me to take an extra couple of shots if I saw an ex out with one of these fucktards.

But let’s say you see your ex with a dopey looking guy who may or may not have a wispy mustache, a lazy eye and/or a clubbed foot. Now this is where it gets tricky. From a personal pride view point, I can say, well, at least I’m better looking than that carnival freak show. But on the other hand, you begin to wonder that if she’s with a guy that looks like Sloth from The Goonies do you fall into that same category. Are you, in fact, some variation of Sloth?

The answer is no, except for your mutual love of Baby Ruth's. You have a very positive sense of self and this guy obviously has a ton of money. There is no other reason.

So this brings me to my own personal scorecard and the judgments I have made about the guys that my exes date after me. Keep in mind that I am well known for my dry spells, hence, the lack of girlfriends (or girls I’ve dated longer than a week but not long enough to call a girlfriend) I discuss below.

For the sake of anonymity, I won’t use real names here. I’m such a nice guy.

The College Girlfriend – She was the last girl I dated in college and we broke up several months after I graduated and moved away. The last time I saw her, she was engaged to a kid with red hair. Now, I have no problem with girls with red hair, but guys with red hair kind of creep me out. They’re almost always really pale and border on having albino like qualities. So in this case, I was kinda bummed out that she went from a normal looking guy like me to a Ginger. Advantage: Me.

The Photographer – I dated her for a few months, but it wasn’t all that serious. I ran into her about a year after we broke up and she was engaged. Wow, that was quick. The kicker was that she was engaged to a friend of hers who was always hanging around us when we were dating. Sweet. Excuse me while I go schedule some blood work. Anyway, he’s kind of a doughy looking guy who was always staring at me funny. Advantage: Me.

The Poet – This relationship began like so many others on a Thursday night several hours past the Happy One. She was kinda seeing some other guy at the time we first started dating, but that didn’t stop me. After we broke up, we didn’t talk for a while, but then I ran into her again and we started hanging out. It was this second go around when we started running into people and having this conversation:

Poet: Oh hey, this is so and so.
Me: Nice to meet you.
So and So: You too. (Walks away)
Me: Who was that?
Poet: Oh, some guy I used to date.
Me: Before or after me?
Poet: After.

Repeat twenty times.

In all honesty, The Poet is one of my dear friends so I won’t say anything bad about her except that she dates a lot of guys. I mean, a lot. The girl can’t say no – to a date. Can’t say no to date. Just wanted to clarify.

As far as the guys she’s dated after me, it’s kind of a toss up. I’ve won some, I’ve lost some. Advantage: Push.

The Girl Who Works in my Building: I actually met her at a bar, but we both recognized each other since we parked in the same garage and walked to our building a few steps away from each other. She’s also the girl I saw at the concert last night with Wispy. I should note that upon closer inspection he didn’t have a mustache, but he was wearing a poofy vest sort of thing that looked like he stole it from Marty McFly. So, on style points alone, I win. (There’s a “Power of Love” joke in here somewhere, but I just can’t find it.) Advantage: Me.

I think almost everyone hates seeing his ex out with another guy regardless of the other guy’s looks because at some point, you presumably had feelings for this girl and now she’s with him. So you cope with that by convincing yourself you’re better than him even if he happens to be better than you for her. (Got that? I think I’m going to submit that line to the writers of Grey’s Anatomy.) Or you just write about it on a blog that only a few people will read and hope none of the girls you used to date ever reads it.

A New York City Recap

Since I don’t want to copy and paste the same e-mail to all of my fellow slacking co-workers, I’ll just post my NYC recap on this thing we call the Internets. I’ll try to avoid the standard “and on Saturday I went/did/saw…” format and hit up some highlights as well as some observations.

Let’s do this!

Thursday:

My flight was delayed by about an hour, so I got into NYC a little later than usual, but I managed to navigate my way around the Airport Express Bus and grab a cab fairly quickly at Grand Central Station. That night, we went to some bars where I said for the first of many times, “Five bucks for a Coors Light?!? What the fuck?” Nothing screams, “I’m from Ohio” quite like that. (I still don’t know why I was drinking Coors Light in the first place. I might as well have ordered a Natty.)

My friend Annie, who I was visiting, got drunk and made us get pizza that night. This would quickly develop into a trend. An awesome trend.

Friday:

You know what sucks? Going to bed at 3:00 AM and being woken up at 8:00 AM by your friend Catherine to go to a taping of “The View”. You know what sucks even more? Making your way down to the studio to find out there are no Friday tapings.

(Actually, that makes it sound like I was disappointed that I didn’t get to see “The View”. This is not the case. I guess what I’m trying to say is that since I was already awake and going to the studio, it was disappointing that we didn’t get to do what we set out to accomplish. You know what? I take it back. I’m ecstatic that we didn’t go to the taping. I mean, everyone knows that “The View” sucks ever since Star Jones left, right? Right? I should probably move on.)

Since we missed out on seeing Barbara Walters and company, Catherine and I decided to check out the Museum of Modern Art (MOMA) since it was in the area. However, we got there about an hour before it opened, so we walked around the neighborhood, which housed the David Letterman studio, Rockefeller Center and the Trump Tower. It was upon seeing the Trump Tower that I felt the need to use a restroom. Without getting into too many specifics, I must voice my frustration with the single ply toilet paper available in the public restrooms. For shame, Mr. Trump. For shame.

We walked around a bit more before heading in to the MOMA. Catherine scammed her way to a $12 student ticket, while I ponied up the regular $20 admission. Seeing as I spent more on drinks than I did on my monthly rent while in the city, I should’ve opted for the student ticket as well.

After walking around the MOMA for a few hours, we went searching for some food, mainly because I was being a whiny little bitch as I tend to get a little cranky when I’m hungry. We found a Thai place a few blocks away, so we headed out. However, I was so hungry that I actually ate a hot dog from a street vendor on the way there. I figured that it was merely an appetizer for the Thai food since both were made from bits of various animals that I was better off not knowing what they were.

That night, we rolled around town in a limo courtesy of Annie, who had won one from work for exceeding her sales goals. (I guess some people actually “work” while at work.) A few highlights/lowlights from the night:

- I ordered 3 enchiladas at dinner, but instead got something that looked like soggy nachos. So, if you go to Mama Mexico in Uptown and order the #71, expect to get soggy nachos instead. Assholes.

- While the limo ride was greatly appreciated, the fact that there was a half drunken Pepsi inside the limo took away from it a little bit. Oh, and I was also sitting next to guy I’ll call “Oscar” who was acting like an idiot. Thanks for ruining an otherwise semi-decent limo ride, Oscar.

- We went to the Park Bar in the Meatpacking District and followed that up by going to a biker bar next door. Oscar’s roommate got kicked out for not tipping the bartender enough. True story.

- I honestly don’t know how we got home.

Saturday:

(Since this is getting kind of long, I’m going to go all bullet point style on you.)

- We walked to Blondie’s for the OSU/BGSU game in all of our Buckeye gear. As we were walking there a fellow New Yorker also in Buckeye gear said that it reminded him of Jewish people walking to temple for the high holidays. All I was missing was my buckeye strung yarmulke. We were also passed by another New Yorker who saw us in our scarlet and grey and proclaimed, “Ohio State fans are fucking crazy.” He happened to be wearing a Yankees ball cap, a Derek Jeter jersey, and humping an inflatable A-Rod doll.

- After the game, we stopped by a thrift store just to see if there was anything worth buying. If you are even in Manhattan, stop into a thrift store. Most of the clothes there are nicer than the new ones I buy out here.

- That night, we had pizza in Little Italy before heading to Solace, a bar on the Upper West Side. While there, I started chatting up a local girl, but being in the state I was in (read: extremely drunk) and her being extremely boring, I turned down her offer to head to another bar.

Girl: We’re taking off to go to another bar. Want to come?
Me: Umm… (Weighing the options between me having to continue a mind numbing conversation with her and possibly getting some versus hanging around with my friends) No.

Next time I complain about not getting any, remind me of this story.

- I never thought I’d be able to drink until last call at a bar that closes at 4 AM, but I proved myself wrong. I wonder if I can list this on my resume.

Sunday:

- Drinking until 4AM after drinking all day watching an OSU blowout will give you one hell of a hangover. That being said, nothing quite says “hangover” like getting a sausage, egg and cheese bagel from Dunkin Donuts at 1:30 in the afternoon while sweating the entire time.

- I tried seeing “The Departed” on Sunday afternoon, but it was sold out. Instead, I went to go see “School For Scoundrels”. If Jon Heder and Billy Bob Thornton could just go ahead and mail me back my $10.75 for my ticket, I won’t tell everybody I know that this movie made “Dude Where’s My Car” look like “The Godfather”. I’d also like to thank Rolling Stone for giving this movie 3 stars and leading me to believe it had any redeeming qualities.

- Since Annie and Catherine went to go see a Broadway musical, I had the day to myself, hence me seeing The Worst Movie Ever Made. After our various forms of “entertainment”, we decided to meet up in TriBeCa (it stands for Triangle Below Canal Street) at Annie’s friend’s condo. I somehow found my way to TriBeCa through Chinatown, which has to be the dirtiest, sketchiest place on the planet. If you’ve never been there, imagine 3 or 4 city blocks of vendors trying to sell you bootleg DVDs, “I Love NY” t-shirts, and fake Rolexes while wading though ankle high piles of garbage and body fluids. It’s the modern day version of “Deadwood”.

(Side note: I bought a portable DVD player for my trip in order to plow through season 1 of “Deadwood”, an HBO drama about life in the Wild West. I can’t think of anything short of hardcore pornography or a snuff film that is more inappropriate to watch in a public place. Besides the random nudity and graphic violence, the dialogue is peppered with the kind of language that would make a trucker blush. Let’s just say, I’ve become completely desensitized to the “c-word”. Other than that, it’s a great series.)

Monday:

- Since I had ingested enough alcohol over the weekend to kill a small to medium sized Asian family, I thought I should do something productive and go for a run in Central Park. Catherine, Annie and myself went and we ran the wrong way not only around the park, but also along the reservoir, which caused us to get more than our fair share of dirty looks. That’s what you get for charging $5 for a Coors Light, a-holes.

- We continued our Day of Healthy Living ™ by walking across the Brooklyn Bridge into Brooklyn. Catherine managed to accidentally kick a stroller while flipping through her guide book. The baby kicked back. Tough city.

- I got to the airport a few hours before my flight and managed to get an earlier flight back. I think NYC was trying to get me the hell out of there.

Random Notes:

- While in Brooklyn, I saw an Orthodox Jew go absolutely bat-shit crazy while waiting for the car in front of him to make a left turn. He actually got out of his car and started yelling at the guy in front of him once the light turned red. The guy in the other car? Mel Gibson. See? Now it makes sense. (It wasn’t really Mel Gibson, but every other joke I wanted to make there was mildly to profanely inappropriate.)

- I was standing outside of the Metropolitan Opera House when a cop approached another cop while holding 2 steak knives and a Phillips head screwdriver. The one cop looked to the other cop and said, “School kid!” I think this is one child we can actually leave behind.

- The most famous person I saw all weekend was Rupert G from the Hello Deli, who is featured on The Late Show with David Letterman. Catherine saw the Dad from “Family Ties” and I think I saw Margaret Cho in Chinatown or possibly one of her relatives.

Final Thoughts:

I had a great time in the city, which was made possible by my good friends Annie and Jon. (Jon was studying all weekend, which is why he’s only getting mentioned now. However, Jon will most likely graduate in the top 10 percent of his MBA class from NYU in which case he’ll be able to buy and sell me 10 times over once he gets a job, so it’s probably best that I don’t piss him off.) The city itself didn’t intimidate me like I thought it would and I was able to get around without getting completely lost, mugged, or kidnapped. Next time I visit, I’ll be sure to drink less, experience more culture, and skip any movie featuring the guy from “Napoleon Dynamite”. Oh, and I should probably take up that invitation to head to another bar from a drunk girl with presumably loose morals who I’ll never see again.

Everybody's Working For The Weekend

Yes, I know it's Thursday, but today is my Friday. You see, fine fellows, I'm taking tomorrow off to head to New York City to visit some friends, so today is my Friday. So, in typical Friday mode, I'll follow my normal schedule.

8:00 - Show up to work. Jump on a conference call. Check headlines on MSNBC.com

8:17 - Ask "Could you repeat that?" for the fifth time since I'm obviously not paying attention to the conference call. Make promise to self never to let future son be a Congressional page.

9:00 - Head downstairs to get coffee and a bagel. Notice that there are a grand total of three bagels left. Drop a comment in the comment box that suggests that they "Make more effing bagels."

9:13 - Kick off an e-mail train (def. An e-mail addressed to several people wherein each recipient utilizes the "Reply All" feature) about last night's episode of "Lost". A typical Friday would be spent discussing "The Office", but I am incapbable of travleing through time.

9:45 - Say hello to the boss. Make small talk with the secretary. Think about lunch.

9:46 - Think some more about lunch.

10:00 - Start doing some actual work.

10:01 - Check more headlines online. Surprised to see we haven't started another war. Yet.

10:38 - Finalize my sketches for the most inconspicuous way for me to sleep under my desk without getting caught.

11:00 - One more hour until lunch.

11:14 - Continue doing work.

11:16 - Look up description of Adult ADHD online.

11:19 - Seriously, I should probably do some work.

11:50 - Hey, it's Friday. I'll take an early lunch.

1:14 - Hey, it's Friday. I can take a long lunch.

1:15 - Read the latest Sports Guy article on ESPN.com. This week he complains about the Patriots, Red Sox and Celtics and promises to "Light himself on fire." Next week he'll do the exact same thing.

1:54 - Send out "Happy Hour?" e-mails.

2:06 - Berate the engaged or married guys who can't go to Happy Hour because it's "apple picking" season in Ohio.

2:15 - I should probably get some work done.

2:30 - Break time.

3:00 - Begin wondering how early I could leave work without actually getting in trouble.

3:01 - Update my resume just in case.

3:22 - Check back on the boys at Deadspin.com. Wow. T.O. is a crazy motherf*cker.

3:45 - Reply to "work related" e-mails and phone calls. Cross fingers that everyone else left a little early today, too.

3:55 - Time to shut it down.

4:00 - Sneak out the door away from the secretary in order to avoid the "Leaving Early Walk of Shame".

4:03 - "Bartender, I'll take a Miller Lite, please."

Have a great weekend, everyone. I'll give you a NYC re-cap on Tuesday.

I'm back, baby!

After almost a one year absence, I've decided to start writing again. While approximately two people know about this dear blog, I'm going to try and maintain it for the following reasons:

1. I've got some free time at work and I'm pretty sure if this doesn't get me fired, the number (not content) of internet pages I view in a day will. If anything, this will document the falling star that is my career.

2. My roommate has a blog. She's been living with me for a little over two months and I just found this out. If she has one, I have one.

3. Maybe you'll share this with friends and then I can be like every other daydreaming blogger and hope for a book deal or a TV show (I'm looking at you, Jason Mulgrew).

4. Why the hell not?

So, be ready to be entertained or something like that. The most I can promise is that I'll try to be originial and if I'm not, I'll copy off of someone who is good. Stay tuned.