Just Your Average Strapping Young Lad

09:32 pm - Becoming Lance Bass: Pop Music and Spa Treatments

Well it's September and I'm bringing awkward back. Justin Timberlake claims to bring sexy back, but we all know that Timbaland is bringing most of the sexy. Timberlake (a name creepily close to Timbaland by the way) brings Ben Affleck while Timbaland's beats channel Channing (used for alliterative purposes) Tatum. I'm glad Nelly Furtado allowed Timbaland to be showcased in "Promiscuous." I mean I don't see either one of them as actually promiscuous, but that's where the song is relevant. Most people want to be slutty, but when the time comes, they fold under the pressure and go back to their morals. This track is far superior to "SexyBack" and if only Timbaland had Justin's bone structure and Nelly's ass, then he would rule the pop landscape. However, I sense a future decline in Timbaland's winning streak when I hear he is putting most of his focus toward bodybuilding and projects with Duran Duran and Elton John. The only way Tim can allow Elton John to see the pinnacle of his career is if he produces a track for him called "Sugar Daddy" with the usual Tim synths, bass drums, and perhaps a subtle twinky moan effect. However, pop fame for Elton John is scary because I just don't need the Jacques Lu Cont remix of "Tiny Dancer."

Now for the actual purpose of this post. I booked an appointment for a deep tissue massage at the slightly glamorous spa Burke Williams in West Hollywood. This pleases me immensely because not only will I be able to have my back tweaked and kneaded, I might meet the kind of men who go to spas in West Hollywood. On the phone when I booked my appointment, all was well: I picked a time and requested a male masseuse (because they're stronger [blatant lie]). However, I had one very awkward, yet critical inquiry for the Burke Williams receptionist Mabel (this name puzzled me and made me question the glamour of Burke Williams). I asked her if they wax back sides. She replied by saying, "Oh yes, we wax backs and you can receive a half back or full back." I interjected with a quick "No, I mean..." I didn't know how to say "ass" to such a luxurious place. I mean "back side" was misinterpreted, "butt" just sounds like a cop-out way to say "ass", and "ass" is too crude. "Ass" would have been my reluctant choice, but the thought of Mabel noting next to my credit card information that this is the "ass" guy who must be a homosexual overwhelmed my conscience. How could I walk into Burke Williams and get the 'ol wants his ass waxed stares? I caved and said "butt" and to my chagrin, found out that they do not wax asses because they do not allow exposed genital regions. I blame the Bush Administration and Senator Rick Santorum for this outrage. What is this world coming to when a spa in West Hollywood that offers a variety of waxing treatments and a "social steam room" doesn't offer asshole accomodations? I'm sure this results in mass insecurity in the social steam room instead of the orgies that should rightfully ensue.

Speaking of waxed assholes, I can't stop listening to Paris Hilton's song "Jealousy." Nicole Richie definitely deserved this song and it is a good addition to their publicity stunt of a feud. In the song, I really like the way Paris says "and now I'm like the devil" because when they enhanced her voice they must have accidentally hit the deep voice modifier while pulling the baby talk lever a second too long. For a second she is Gwen Stefani and Johnny Cash. This is one of the truly brilliant musical moments of 2006.

Current Mood: energetic

09:11 pm - Are You Lonesome Tonight?

Living as a vagrant in a friend's dorm room until my apartment is ready, I find myself on my own more than usual. Therefore, I can focus my attention toward people that I encounter. For some reason, my inhibitions are less prominent when alone because I have no one around me to impress or direct my attention. My life becomes a Midwestern indie flick where solitude is the one and only truth. Creativity is only bred through contemplation and neurotic quirks running rampant.

While in Westwood, for a lonely dinner in a lonely restaurant (a deserted El Pollo Loco), I thought about all the lonely people living lonely existences down lonely highways. The only other customer in the restaurant (I should just say El Pollo Loco, it really isn't dignified enough for the term "restaurant") was a woman with a floral print dress and the empty, yet confident demeanor of a divorcee. I thought to myself that I should join this poor old woman for a meal, but then I realized that she was just the El Pollo Loco manager on her break. Also, from the sound of the order she shouted to another employee, English did not seem to be her language of choice. C'est la vie. I left the El Pollo Loco and thought I needed some ice cream.

However, ice cream had to wait. When some lost Asian tourists pulled over to get directions to the nearest grocery store, a twenty-something couple in front of me answered for me and thought it was hilarious to send them way out of their way and far from a grocery store. I was infuriated by the couple's meanspirited plot. As the car started driving slowly away, I quickly told the tourists that the grocery store was in fact 2 blocks away to the east. While the car left in search of the grocery store, the couple confronted me and deemed me both a "faggot" and a "tool". Dumbfounded by these immature, yet slightly hurtful terms, I struggled to think of a comeback until I got the confidence to retort, "Now I'm not ashamed to say that I may be both of those things, but unlike your back fat, I have the option to show or not show those traits to the general public." I walked away and thought that the only reason I was able to create that comeback was my fury from society's lack of good samaritans and utter disregard for geography. I plan on minoring in Geography.

09:56 pm - The Ipod Family

Well, I'm coming back to the livejournal world. Hiatus, schmiatus - as Shakespeare always says. Following a period of creative lows, I emerge with new insights and stories. Befitting of a pretensious image, I am quite a fan of the comeback. The spotlight returns and all ill will is botoxed back to calm indifference. My comeback will hopefully revitalize my self-image and help the world's epidemic of awkwardness. Whenever someone utters that pandering-for-laughs phrase "awk-ward...," I merely look at them and ask them if they truly know awkward. Have they too been solicited for prostitution behind Jerry's Famous Deli? Were they too asked by a lusty manager to train the groom of a mail order bride on Microsoft Excel? Basically, my point is that nothing fights the awkward like a sophisticated put-down.

For President's Day Weekend, I felt enough guilt to visit my family back in Orange County. A good portion of the stay was spent with my family, but who wants to hear about that shit? Not me. On a solitary shopping excursion to the mall for some much needed jeans, I encountered the loveliest of families. A father and his three children were sitting at a table having a few laughs and devouring ice cream. The only thing wrong with this picture, however, was that the father was listening to an Ipod while his children just looked at him. I thought to myself that this Norman Rockwell-esque family sans mother (perhaps trying on a vest at JC Penney?) is such a sad sight. This father reminded me of a middle school bully who hoards all the best cupcakes for himself. The middle child, a rambunctious girl, asked her father if she could listen to THE Ipod. She was kindly rejected by the bullying father. My eyes widened at the fact that this man would not let one of his children hear a few tunes off of his precious piece of Apple technology. To my amazement once again, the man wearing a hunter green sweatshirt straight out of an LL Bean catalog, started spastically bobbing his head to the music. At this point, not only was the callous father ignoring his children, but was also finding satisfaction while doing it. The kids straight out of "Children of the Corn" just blankly stared at his incorrigible bobbing.

This display of bad parenting in the mall food court was only intensified by the youngest child, a boy, kindly asking to listen to the coveted Ipod. This time, the father did not respond so tactfully. He seemed to have to control his aggravation through deep breaths. He told his son that it was not yet his hour for listening. I was quite dumbfounded by this father's allocation of Ipod listening time to his children and even more dumbfounded by the fact that he alloted time for himself. I couldn't take anymore of this nonsense, so I left my table and stormed out of the food court to the solace of Banana Republic. For once, the snobs of Banana Republic, who debate cashmere against polyester blends, seemed comforting in a world of abusive, Ipod-loving fathers. I hate to say it, but the what the world needs now is more Ipods. There just aren't enough to go around. No longer does Oliver Twist need more porridge. He needs to be on the go and know that his milkshake just might bring all the boys to the yard.

Current Mood: relaxed

05:58 pm - I am Jean Grey

You scored as Jean Grey. Jean Grey is likely the most powerful X-Man. She loves Cyclops very much but she has a soft spot for Wolverine. She's psychic so she can sense how others are feeling and tries to help them. She also has to control her amazing powers or the malevolent Phoenix entity could take control of her and wreak havok. Powers: Telekinetic, Telepathic </td> Jean Grey 85% Emma Frost 70% Storm 70% Cyclops 65% Rogue 60% Iceman 40% Colossus 40% Wolverine 40% Gambit 40% Beast 30% Nightcrawler 25% Most Comprehensive X-Men Personality Quiz 2.0 created with QuizFarm.com

Current Mood: sick

10:54 am - My Favorite LJ Quotes From Each Month of the Year

As a side note, I began my livejournal in April, so the quotes begin there.

April
"I thought to myself I have gay pride but I fucking hate rainbows. Why can't we have a cool symbol like a lightning bolt or something?"

May
"I generally shun conforming to the public's taste in electronics, but conformity is creeping into my life faster than the hype spread for my future single 'Essay Girl.'"

June
"I'm pretty much all WASP myself and the term is a great way to describe a fairly uninteresting people that complain a lot despite being in control of the world."

July
"The only sad thing about our fantasy relationship though is that she just doesn't fit into my rules for dating/relations:
1. No divorced women
2. No women"

August
"Also, when he tried to force me to look at pictures of his Japanese mail-order bride, I ignored him and said that I need coffee. In the coffee room, I thought to myself, when that woman meets him, she's gonna go Kill Bill on his ass."

September
"With a name like Thrust, I knew that my chances of finding Mr. Right were pretty high."

October
"The eager student to my right during lecture basically lost his lunch over the -stan joke and I glanced toward his gaping mouth and thought to myself that he could use some cosmetic dentistry. I had to refrain from leaning over and calmy saying, 'You might want to cap that shit.'"

November
"This is the kind of woman who kills her husband in Romania, then flees to America with dreams of Cosmetology."

December
"Although these are two separate situations, my internal response is always the same, 'Well I feel the same way about bra-less women and vaginas that I feel about top hats made from baby seals.'"

Look out for my 40 Best Albums and 40 Best Singles (of 2005) lists to debut soon.

Current Mood: contemplative

11:23 pm - Nostalgia, kinda

With the onslaught of finals week upon me, I force myself to seek out bizarre situations outside of the madness. On a nice walk around the perimeter of UCLA with a couple friends, I escaped studying for my looming Globalization final with some brisk, fresh air. I mean nothing says globalization like walking down the oh-so bourgeois neighborhood of Westwood - bums a plenty. I walked down the ridiculously poor-lit sidewalk of Veteran Avenue with a giant grin on my face. This grin could not be seen, however - due to the lack of lighting and all. For all you know, I was (as usual) trodding down the road in a pool of misery. On the contrary, I was on the verge of skipping. Although despondency usually turns me on, I felt happy amongst everyone's finals pain. I enjoy watching people complain because it means I don't have to. During finals week, I find joy in people walking up to me looking shitty-esque in pajamas while shouting phrases like "finals are fucking me up the ass." My response is always, "Wow, that's awesome. You must have studied!" Well, that response depends on the political leanings of the person and whether or not they come from a blue state, but that's another discussion altogether.

Now, for the meat of this entry. Technically, you could've started reading at this point, but I find pleasure reeling you in with a nonsensical intro. As the walk veered around my former living quarters in Hedrick Hall, a brilliant plan swept over me like a fiery phoenix (X3 trailer, WOWEE). Constantly in search of the pinnacle of awkward, I decided to give my old room a visit and meet its new occupants.

I ventured up the stairs to the second floor where I used to reside. The floor looked particularly lifeless. I knocked on my old door (which was bolted open). Due to the fact that no one was answering my knocking queries, I decided to creepily nudge in. Of course, at this moment, the new occupants walked down the floor, looked at my questionable behavior, and shouted, "Hey you! We live there!" I immediately introduced myself to the baffled occupants. Once they realized that I lived there last year, I'd love to say that the awkwardness subsided, but it really just intensified from there on. I enthusiastically told them where my desk, lamp, and posters formerly had inhabited the small, rectangular room, and by the looks on their faces, I was Charles Manson in athletic attire and a semi-indie track jacket. As the new occupants warmed up to me and my two accompanying friends, the more awkward the situation became. We were invited into the room next door for a glance at what appeared to be a Christmas tree. Our compliment of their Christmas tree was quickly reprimanded with the quite spiteful, "It's a 'holiday' tree." I mean, as a non-believer in organized religion, I can understand their logic, but the statement just threw me off a little. Also, the statement was so spiteful, that it might have well have been "It's a holiday tree...bitch." Where's Rick James when you need him? The situation was only resolved by a girl on a bed reading a porno who asked me, "How do you feel about vaginas?" I could only think to myself of a situation of similar intrigue where a girl asked me "How do you feel about me not wearing a bra?" Although these are two separate situations, my internal response is always the same, "Well I feel the same way about bra-less women and vaginas that I feel about top hats made from baby seals."

Current Mood: chipper

12:05 am - Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow (as well as my dignity)

As my thick, curly locks of hair finally reached the dreaded awkward length before long, yet past short, I decided to drive down to one of Planet Earth's many hellholes: the generic hair salon. I emphasize generic because the place I generally get my hair "styled" (which is just a buzz with a quick maneuver of the scissors, really) is actually called "The Haircut Store." Whenever I mention that I'm going to "The Haircut Store" to someone, I am often rebuked with some smart ass comment along the lines of: "Well I'm off to the 'Take a Shit, Then Wipe My Ass Store'."

In the magazine nook of The Haircut Store, I was intellectually stimulated by enough "US Weekly" magazines to reconstruct New Orleans. After indulging in the latest Lohan scandals, I was escorted by Sophia to my specified haircut station. Sophia was quite a woman. Not only was she taller than me, but she had the face of someone's wicked stepmother. This is the kind of woman who kills her husband in Romania, then flees to America with dreams of Cosmetology. She quickly began trimming my frizzy mane, while I was serenaded by the store's Ace of Base CD. As a side note, I was thinking that Ace of Base's "Waiting For Magic" is basically an anthem for necrophiliacs. When the lyrics repeat the words "kissing" and "sleeping in a coffin" over and over, Houston, I think we have a problem.

However, the most ridiculous moment at The Haircut Store was when Sophia and I were approached by a middle-aged woman and her son. This middle-aged woman gestured toward my hair to another stylist and said, "I want Christopher's hair like his, but I want it to look good." What the fuck? Did this haggard woman just insult my hair straight to my face? I immediately gave her a dirty look and hoped Sophia would say something in response to what also directly insulted her artistic abilities. Nothing was said, but I did find consolation in seeing Christopher's so-so haircut that embarassingly revealed his countless farmer's tans. Take that, overly tanned Orange County surfer boy with a train wreck for a mother! Score: Nick 1, Christopher and haircut bitch 0.

Current Mood: good

03:26 pm - The Return of Neurotic Nick

Lately (as in the beginning of Fall Quarter) my life has been really good. One could even say that it's never been better. Perhaps the pinnacle of Nicholas Spencer Armstrong (I know what your thinking, I have the name of a golf pro; don't worry I've already crossed this career option off my aspirations list due to my abhorrence of sunlight). Although it seems that I've flooded my head with delusions of happiness, I truly am enjoying my life to the near-fullest. The fullest being my future threesome with David Bowie and Edward Norton. My new living situation is excellent and I love my floor. I've truly been happy, yet I always find the time for fake grins and courtesy laughs. Old Nick still lingers in what my neighbor (Alex, shameless plug) describes as "frivolously miserable." This is the Nick who likes to complain about why certain people/places/things are the bane of my existence.

Now that I am forced to once again attend lectures and indulge in the orgy of life-lesson learning that is public higher education, I am refreshed with material for observation. As a visibly unintelligent miscalculation, I enrolled in all geography courses for Fall Quarter. The material is slowly melting together. Also, I am forced to interact with my fellow bizarre geography majors. These people, as it turns out, should provide me with lj material for years. Whenever my professors have semi-geographically-related jokes, they all of a sudden burst into the most intriguing forms of laughter. Today, Professor Agnew made a wise crack about how there are a lot of countries ending with the suffix -stan. Now, how can anyone resist a good -stan joke? The eager student to my right during lecture basically lost his lunch over the -stan joke and I glanced toward his gaping mouth and thought to myself that he could use some cosmetic dentistry. I had to refrain from leaning over and calmy saying, "You might want to cap that shit."

As the lecture progressed, the girl to my left kept feeling the need to predict what the professor would say next. Fuck this girl! I hate it when people think they know everything, then feel the need to let everyone know that they watch CNN and start the reading over the summer. Now, I probably shouldn't have continuously gave her fake nods of astonishment, but I just couldn't be rude to her cocky, overly-freckled face. This poor girl's face makes me want to become a dermatologist real bad. After she asked a question regarding when a country is too large to govern, I approached after class and told her, "Honey, size always matters, and by the looks of your ego, you're going to be OK." Well I couldn't tell her to her face, so I told her with a good smug look when I opened the door for her (like the gentleman I am).

Current Mood: hopeful

11:35 pm - Politics Schmolitics

You are a Social Liberal (66% permissive) and an... Economic Liberal (28% permissive) You are best described as a: Democrat Link: The Politics Test on Ok Cupid

Current Mood: bored

08:51 pm - A Night on the Town: Thrust

As my summer drags on with countless hours of working and occassional friend interaction, I decided that I need some gay interaction. As quick background information, I will inform you that most (AKA basically 100%) of my friends at home in Orange County are heterosexual. Therefore, in an effort to go back to my "homosexual roots," I decided to embark on a trip with a few old acquaintances from high school to Orange County's renowned gay club, Thrust.

With a name like Thrust, I knew that my chances of finding Mr. Right were pretty high. Walking into Thrust (really Quan's Rockin' Sushi transformed into a mock set of Cher's farewell tour on Tuesday nights) was not like any other gay club I've been to before. There were no lines to speak of and there were fish tanks all around. Before I called up PETA for inhumane treatment of fish, I remembered that these exotic fish most likely of the Great Barrier Reef grew up with Kylie Minogue, so they were used to pulsating beats propelled by angelic voices.

While dancing, I felt out of place on many occasions. I don't have an immensely obese female friend to grind on and fondle. It's unfortunate that my female friends are too fit and/or too attractive to pull off being a gay man's clubbing companion. Also, my dance moves, though not quite holding a candle to the dance moves of the thrusting queenie twinks or the recently-outed-trying-to-fit-in-young-lads, have their roots with the all-time great sexy rock stars. Sexy rock stars [that know it] roll call: David Bowie, Jarvis Cocker, Michael Hutchence, Peter Murphy, Robert Plant, Jim Morrison, and Mick Jagger, to name a few. I don't emulate these fantastic crooners, but I do build upon their brilliant use of pout, stare, apathy, and shoulder movement. These moves simply move attention away from a person's inadequate, overly-slender frame to their true sexiness. Most of the music of Thrust made me cringe (especially the horrendous Black Eyed Peas song "My Humps") but I couldn't stop movin' to the groovin'. Sometimes I thought to myself, "I really shouldn't be gettin' down to songs by artists that I've panned in my reviews." Now for a quick poetic analysis of Thrust.

T = tolerance in the air
H = "Hi! how are ya?" said the desperate Hispanic boy
R = revolver that I needed during a drag queen performance of "Don't Cha?"
U = U as in "Since U Been Gone"
S = shower of sweat that I received dancing below the stage of the desperate Hispanic
T = tell me why I continue to even go clubbing

Current Mood: sleepy

09:35 pm - [Went]worth a thousand words

Wentworth Miller is my new obsession. Along with half black, half something else celebrities.

A name like Wentworth and a biracial heritage (he's mulatto, believe it or not) compelled me to post out of my livejournal comfort zone. This surprisingly good actor is stunning whenever I see him. Mariah Carey's "We Belong Together" video CHECK. Showing off his blueprint of the prison tattoo (corny I know) on his chest in Fox's new "Prison Break" CHECK. Looking nostalgic and hot in "The Human Stain" with Nicole Kidman CHECK. Where will Wentworth pop up next?





On a lighter note, right before I wrote this Livejournal I walked outside to my car and my Pakistani neighbor yelled to me, "Punja Yee!" This completely threw me off because I wasn't sure if he was saying "good evening," or assuming I spoke his native language. I mean, I can see why he would think I speak his language - me being the kind of liberal that would learn some random foreign language to seem worldly and diplomatic, but the truth is I just haven't found the time for Pakistani dialects. So, I continued the now incredibly awkward walk to my car with a nod back to the 80 year old man with a rambunctious "Good Evening Sir!" It was like Oliver Twist meets the Maharajah.

Current Mood: tired

10:10 am - I'll Take You To The Candy Shop

Recently, I entered my second decade of being alive. Luckily [for you readers], my life is still tacky, awkward, and oh so sardonic. I'm still at the same office and I still am sans love interest. On the bright side, I've come to the realization that as long as my life has me walking around town with a sour look on my face, the comedy keeps comin'.

Lately, my office has become a great environment to work in. I honestly enjoy many of the people and they even took the time to celebrate my birthday. However, there are days when I consider death by staple remover. Last week, on my birthday (?!), I was forced to train a young man (well, older than me) who left me at a loss for words on many occassions. Now this young man wasn't what you might call "the big man on campus." He was somewhat of a nerd who decided to take the plunge into the world of temping because it allows him to be paid while on a computer all day. I refused to let myself think of him as the "nerdy type" at first because I feel that as a good liberal mind, I should be accepting and not judgmental. However, this all changed when he suddenly stopped everything he was doing for his daily "Snack Attack." He then offered me some snack attack. Now his snack attack isn't like a granola bar or something of that sorts. No, he pulls a huge storage bag out of his mangled lime-colored backpack of loose, unwrapped candy. Imagine an assortment of loose Sweeties, Spree, and crushed candy necklaces in a sea of Pixie Stick powder. He reached in and yanked out enough sugar to sweeten the English Channel.

Training this guy was no walk in the park either. Take into account, I am not a good trainer, but sometimes even I am not to blame for lame circumstances. Whenever he would do something wrong and I would tell him the correct way to do it, he would get all slanty-eyed and say "YA I KNOW!" So, flustered by his sudden raging outbursts, I took off the kindness gloves. When asked where to find the tracking numbers for entering orders, I would reply in my most Valerie Cherish-esque patronizing tone, "You're gonna want to look where it says 'tracking number'." My lustful boss (see previous entries) came by to meet him and asked him what he was loudly chewing on. He proudly uttered "GOBSTOPPER" while pointing at his bag 'o' candy. It's professionalism at its finest at Verizon Wireless. Also, when he tried to force me to look at pictures of his Japanese mail-order bride, I ignored him and said that I need coffee. In the coffee room, I thought to myself, when that woman meets him, she's gonna go Kill Bill on his ass.

09:00 pm - Beachy Keen

Laziness and lack of degrading scenarios have prevented me from writing more entries. But have no fear, a new entry is here.

During the summer, people my age generally hang out with their friends at every opportunity - soaking in the sun's rays or drinking until the cool morning nips at their cheeks. However, there are those rare occassions when unrelenting guilt beckons reluctant youth into the dreaded "family activity."
In my world, my family decided on a "family-only" trip to the beach. Role call: Steve (58), Lora (50), Nick (19), Stephanie (17).

When going to the beach with friends, the trips tend to be spontaneous with few items along for the ride. This is not so true on family trips. Preparing for a family trip to the beach means preparing to stake out a not-so-hilly spot and then commence construction of our seaside accessories. I can sum this up by repeating what my Mom kept yelling at me, "Nick! Hurry up and set up the umbrella anchors!" Yes, it's true. We actually own an anchor-shaped piece of plastic fresh out of a Wal-Mart bargain bin specifically designed to hold down umbrellas. And yes, we actually own multiple anchors. These days, digging an umbrella hole in the sand is not enough. Plus, umbrella anchors really give people the impression that they're on the high seas. Anchors AWAY!

The beach we went to was more family-oriented (Crystal Cove for my MANY MANY geography buffs) compared to the many "eye-candy beaches" scattered along the coastlines of Orange County. Therefore, I am forced to interact with young kids - something I am not at all good at. To get away from my parents nagging me to apply sunscreen a fourth time, I meandered over to the nearby tidepools. I am like a little kid at heart, and I will touch every sea anemone in sight. At one tidepool, a little girl in a green bonnet was sitting down all cute-like when to my pseudo-environmentalist horror, I noticed her pulling off the mussels and scattering them across the sand. I immediately yelled "Hey you, stop that." However, this precocious toddler or whatever (my knowledge of little kiddie ages is crappy), flung a handful of mussels directly at my chest. AWWWW hell no. No daughter of Newport Coast yuppie scum flings sea fodder at me and lives to tell about it! Except of course when their dads are hot. Her dad, a yuppie, raven-haired adonis, scooped her up and took her by the hand into the sunset (minus the sunset, it was only like noon). And then everything was just beachy keen until I was continuously badgered into cleaning the umbrella anchors.

Current Mood: optimistic

06:09 pm - The Frisky Office

My days have become long and monotonous as I work 40-45 hour weeks surrounded by padded cubicle walls. A joyous occassion in my life has been reduced to getting out of my swivel chair and fetching myself some Motel 6-quality coffee. However, as I mentioned in a previous entry (ya my life is redundant), certain office quirks help me get through torturous hours of data entry.

Last week I was assigned to a new supervisor and she is definitely the cure to my data entry blues. This woman (I won't mention her name because of the novelty effect it will give her), is rather flirtatious with me and is constantly cracking jokes with other employees that come across as brilliant office banter. Well actually, her name is Carrie and I mention this because she tells people on the phone, "the name's Carrie, like the 1976 horror classic." The other day was truly golden when a man in a wheelchair went rummaging through her candy jars of sour apple Jolly Ranchers and she caught him in the act. She doesn't mind people going through her candy. She even sets it out for anyone to take, but if she catches you, then you are fair game for wise cracks. As she saw the wheelchair guy, she yelled, "That candy's gonna cost ya!" This of course was followed by her incessant laughter. She is the kind of woman that laughs after everything no matter what. Even when I tell her I'm going to lunch she starts cracking up. After the laughing, she jokingly added, "Jeez Pablo, you're so retarded!" This of course caught me off guard and I started half laughing-half sweating. He isn't retarded, but the common response for people like me is to associate anyone with a disability in the same category. Therefore, I found her comment oddly inappropriate, yet I was also strangely refreshed about her complete disregard for today's political correctness.

Additionally, when speaking to me over my shoulder, she sometimes will touch my shoulder which makes me awkwardly flinch, but then I feel comfortable. Although she's 45ish and married, I really hope that I'm somehow an integral part of some office fantasy. It's like that Belle and Sebastian song "Step Into My Office, Baby." I just love how she can confidently straddle the line of a sexual harassment lawsuit with me. Then again if this kind of thing is wrong, then I don't want to be right. I love being her sort of new-to-the-office, younger male secretary (even though I'm not even a secretary - my job's a lot lamer than that). The only sad thing about our fantasy relationship though is that she just doesn't fit into my rules for dating/relations:
1. No divorced women
2. No women

Current Mood: flirty

07:02 pm - Fantastic Bore

The other night I went with some friends to see Fantastic Four. Wowee zowee was that a bad film. Some of the movie actually surprised me by how bad it was. Interesting fact about F4: pretty much the whole cast is on some TV show on F/X.

-Michael Chiklis (the Thing) = "The Shield"

-Julian McMahon (Dr. Doom) = "Nip/Tuck"

-Jessica Alba (Invisible Woman) = "Dark Angel" probably has re-runs on F/X or will be getting them soon

-Chris Evans (Human Torch) = "Not Another Teen Movie" and yes they've shown this movie on F/X

What is this some sick advertisement for F/X? Well it is definitely working! ::rushes home to watch "The Shield"::

BEST MOMENT OF THE MOVIE: The Human Torch doing some dirt bike contest with Lloyd Banks' "On Fire" playing in the background. This movie invented the word "subtlety."

My personal observation: the Human Torch is one of the gayest comic book characters ever created. While constantly surrounded with beautiful (ho-ish really) women, he just flirts and never actually pursues any of them. His physique and constant well-fitted leather jackets only add to his narcissistic homo. But the kicker of course is that for his power to work, he must yell, "FLAME ON!"

Current Mood: contemplative

10:31 pm - He Works Hard For the Money, So Hard For It Honey

It's official, I'm a corporate whore. I work as a Data Entry Clerk for Verizon 8 hours a day, 5 days a week. Every day is long and tedious but who says that boring office jobs can't have adventures and antics along the way?

Entering thousands of orders and business transactions into the computer each day, I find myself mildly amused by lame aspects of my job. After I finish each document, I have to initial at the top. However, this proves to be a problem seeing as how my initials are NA (as in not applicable). Supervisors keep coming to me thinking that I am basically voiding each document. Every time though I just throw my arms into the air and say, "Those are just my initials." This is followed by a laugh from the supervisor and a WAAWAA in my head. The laugh is not a real laugh; it's one that is real enough to not seem rude, yet fake enough to make me turn around and get back to work.

I love meeting and encountering my other fellow TEMPs. Some of these people are just about as perky and chipper as Kelly Ripa after that morning sex of a talk show she does with Regis Philbin. But my favorite TEMPs are the really dumb ones that take 10 minutes to log-in to the main computer screen. I mean I'm no genius, but some of these people are borderline autistic.

I think my favorite time at the office is break time. During my break, I have 15 minutes to chow down on synthetic vending machine food while being entertained by the hanging television set. We don't watch quality television either. Hell, we don't even watch B or C list television. We watch UPN. Yesterday I had to sit through an episode of "The Parkers" completely surrounded by black women. Now I enjoy "Soul Food" and Roscoes Chicken and Waffles as much as the next guy, but I must say that "The Parkers" was horrendous. One notable scene had the entire break room laughing hysterically while I cynically cringed and looked back down at my elitist book on the New Left of the 1960s (ironically about Black Power). The "hysterical" scene has two black women counting money they mysteriously find in their car. When they are done counting, the token sassy, overweight lead actress reaches down the blouse of the other woman and finds a couple of dollars. [ahhh hell no glance by the sassy woman] Then the woman who had money amid her breasts utters the punchline that would launch a million laughs, "The wind must've done that."

Current Mood: chipper

08:59 pm - Porn Today, Skating Tomorrow

Now that I'm back at home, I have occassional time on my hands to do nothing. So, if it's late at night, I can always watch HBO because after about 10PM they show a lot of porn. Now, most of this porn is softcore and obviously aimed at straight men, but I am nonetheless intrigued. The storylines always pull me in. I mean Bikini Airlines was a brilliant execution. An heiress inherits a bankrupt airline that she turns into a high profit corporation by making it an escort service at 10,000 feet in the air. And yes they even have a zinger about how it's the real "Mile High Club." Ha! Didn't see that coming! The airline throws bachelor parties on the plane and the actual man getting married of course has sex with one of the women of the airline. However, I was glad to see that HBO justifies this infidelity by having his fiancee fuck some pizza delivery guy while they discuss wedding plans over the phone. Subtlety and morality are Bikini Airlines' strengths.

The other night I went to the slightly below wonderful town of Fountain Valley. By the way, for those in suspense, there is no fountain nor valley. I intended to go rollerskating at the roller rink, but as my group dwindled, the plans changed to miniature golfing instead. However, skating will commence sometime in the near future. I refuse to let my chance of skating in tight ass jeans in a circle while being serenaded to Peaches and Herb's "Shake Your Groove Thing" slip through the cracks. Believe me, I plan on shaking my groove thang and giving a wink and a gun to any flirtatious passers-by. At a place where the bright neon sign doesn't have any glitz or bullshit (all it says is "SKATING") and Wednesdays are cheapskates night, my money will be well spent. Wow, reduced rates and puns!

Current Mood: excited

06:29 pm - Business as usual

Today I finally landed a job. I got a temp job as a data entry clerk for Verizon. The hours are long, but the pay is excellent. I will just have to bear with it until they give me the boot.

To get the Verizon job, I had to go down to a temp agency in Irvine (Adecco) off of Jamboree and Michelson. Telling you the streets may seem irrelevant to many of you, but for all of my fellow geography connoisseurs, you're welcome. At the temp agency, I had to fill out mounds of paperwork then take a bunch of typing, data entry, and Microsoft program skill tests. Adecco's office was pretty empty except me and 3 Adecco employees. Therefore, it was extremely (and I emphasize extremely) awkward when the employees brought out a birthday cake for the general manager's birthday. I was sitting by myself filling out paperwork when all of a sudden they told me to join in the singing of some random woman's birthday. Feeling uncomfortable, yet not wanting to aggravate my employers, I chug through "Happy Birthday" with the other employees until the horrid moment in the song comes for me to say, "Happy Birthday dear_______, Happy Birthday to you." Of course, I have no idea what her name is so the song became noticeably quieter when they mentioned "Kristin." Why was I singing with them in the first place?

Then I ate cake with them while they ignored me and discussed a company get-together happening this weekend. I could have tried to sound interested, but I just didn't care about their foolish backyard barbeque. I loved when the guy hosting the barbeque said, "Bring along the kiddies. I bought a brand new football." Now it's been awhile since I was a "kiddie," but I don't remember being so easily entertained that a single football would attract me to go to some stranger's parade of undercooked meat.

Current Mood: amused

09:12 pm - Here Comes the Summer

This entry has been a long time coming. Not that I have anything meaningful to say, I've just been lazy and uninspired lately (well until now). Despite having a job or anything steady these days, my life has been strangely interesting. As always, I shall write this entry completely illogically and without any regard for chronology.

Every other Thursday, a group of cleaning ladies/maids come to my house and wipe around a little and expect some exorbitant amount of money. However, this time was the first time that someone was around (me) to witness their labors. I would have been watching them closely if one of them hadn't completely creeped me out by winking then smiling in my direction. I must say that I was a bit thrown off by attention from the opposite sex, but then I remembered to myself that I am quite sought after in the overweight female Hispanic demographic.

Also on Thursday I went camping with friends to O'neill Park. Sureel, Tim, Richard, and I go on these trips from time to time. Our idea of camping, though, is not exactly roughing it. The trips are basically an excuse to get drunk without our parents around. This trip ended up being fun despite a couple of bumps along the way. Sureel's car didn't start. Abbas and Tim left early. The ranger was an ass clown. There were huge frogs everywhere ready to pounce (ya they pounce). You know, the usual. My drink choice for the night was rum and coke. Rum and coke is a notorious drink that I adopted as my drink of choice because it is mentioned in Pulp's brilliant song "Common People." However, I realized that rum and coke starts to taste bad after the second sip. In rum and coke's favor, it did get me to a satisfying buzz. Enough to lead a great sex discussion with everyone at the campfire. By the way, "who would you rather do" is a great game to play. I plan on selling the concept to Milton Bradley quite soon.

I'm in the mood to do something crazy. I don't know what I want to do, but something completely out-of-the-ordinary and perhaps slightly illegal. Maybe some fish-out-of-water scenario. I've got time on my hands, yet all I do most of the time is wake up late and lounge around my house all day. I feel like the women on Desperate Housewives. The only contribution I'm making to society these days is the entertainment value of my presence and this value isn't exactly skyrocketing on the Dow Jones.

Words of Wisdom: "Corny guys are ok. Corny pays the bills." - Star Jones

If everyone could learn to be like Star Jones, then we could all be happy interrupting others, marrying people of the wrong sexuality, and using the word "baby" in every sentence. God bless you Star. BABY GIRRL, you know what's up.

Current Mood: blank

04:23 pm - Destination Unknown

Now that the schoolyear is over, my life slowly fades into summer laziness and an appease-the-parents job search. Moving out was one of the worst experiences of college - mentally, emotionally, and physically draining.

Mentally: The Political Science final on Game Theory I took right before packing pretty much raped me. And I'm not just saying back-alley rape either. We're talking a rape where my face is smashed-up against the porcelain of a small bathtub while the rapist has his way with me and simultaneously pounds my face with a shampoo bottle (this bottle is Herbal Essences and full too).

Emotionally: Having to say goodbye to my UCLA friends was quite difficult - especially when I had to see 10 friends in 15 min.  That's only 1 minute, 30 seconds per person. Also, I was limited to only my friends who live in Hedrick - with the exceptions of Sean, Sarah, and Ann who came to visit me.  Thanks guys.  Basically for the express Hedrick goodbyes, I had just enough time to say, "It's not the end, but if so, gimme a hug." As if a hug can substitute eternal separation.  AS IF! By the way, Clueless is an eternal movie.  In addition, upon returning home with all of my laundry in disarray or in the washing machine, I was forced to do the unthinkable.  With no good jeans available, I was forced to wear the dreaded BAGGY JEANS!  You know, the kind that make people question whether you have an ass.  They felt so awkwardly loose and I felt constantly self-conscious by the fact that everyone was definitely looking at me thinking, "Dang, look at those lame-ass, baggy jeans.  Is that guy too poor to buy nice jeans?  Is he a 909 thug from Riverside?" 

Physically: I spent 3 hours packing up my stuff without any help.  This was a nightmare.  Not only do I own too much stuff, I found tons of things that I've never even seen before.  I never wear 75% of the clothes I own.  This is because as I get older, my fashion sense becomes more focused and selective.  No longer can I wear many of the clothes I wore in junior high and high school.  What is sad is that my sizes basically haven't changed since junior high.  Hopefully this summer I will gain some weight - well muscle mass to be specific.  Also, with the continuous packing, I was forced to eat lunch at 4 PM on the way home.  I stopped at a place a pizza place called Jina's Pizza.  Yes, that's Jina's with a J.  It was pretty ghetto - in Inglewood I think.  That's just how I roll though so it was nothing new.  It reminded me of the ghetto pizza place in "Do the Right Thing."  However, instead of demanding some pictures of African Americans on the wall, I wanted to demand the restaurant to turn off the way-too-loud, Mexican dating show.  The show did have the rather amusing dynamic though of unattractive people vying for other unattractive people. 

Current Mood: mellow