Posts Tagged ‘work’

Dudes have been corner peeking for centuries

Dudes have been corner peeking for centuries

We’ve all had it, that moment at work where you think its appropriate to hit on the girl from work. I’m not saying its inappropriate, there’s just a 87% chance that it creates a wave of awkwardness that reverberates around the workplace. Even if it’s something simple like “Hey let’s grab some beers after work this week” or “Let’s bang”. Let’s set the scenarios


The best case scenario is “Yes” and she gives you the look like you’re not sleeping that night. For the 2% of guys out there this works for, congratulations. The rest of us have the same chance of this working as a snowman living after licking satan’s asshole.


The next best scenario is her telling you that she can’t make it this week and that next week makes more sense. That’s slang for ‘it’s never going to happen. After that she’ll probably turn around and leave which gives you at least one unassisted ass-look on the way out. Nice Freebie.


The scenarios get worse when there’s a witness.


Let’s pretend she starts telling you about how it’s inappropriate to ask a co-worker out in the workplace. If you think your dick is Turtling now, give it about five minutes. While she’s giving you her speech on why HR should be involved, gossip lady rolls over to grab a cup of Jo. Gossip lady is anywhere between two and three hundred pounds depending on what mumu she’s wearing that day. She purposefully makes herself two cups of coffee to catch the entire conversation and relay it to every other whale that patrols the office looking for gossip. She’s the type of lady who eats carrots by day and pork rinds by the bag at night. That’s her superpower.


On top of this, your boss comes over and asks you about how your weekend was in the middle of her filibuster. He realizes you aren’t listening and begins jumping in on the conversation. Now gossip woman and your immediate boss know that you’ve visibly made one of the women in the office grossly uncomfortable. Your career is now on the line for the next six months as both of these people have an ace-in-the-hole they can use at any moment. They’ve also told about 15 other people about what happened.

Six months later, this girl is at a happy hour and tells you how much courage it took for you to ask her out. Minutes later you’re back at her place and you’re both depantsing. About halfway through going at it you realize that she never asked about a condom and has about thirty stuffed animals in her room. You think to yourself, wow this makes perfect sense.


Most post college/pre-work clowns complain that they haven’t traveled  Other people ride  you about how they’ve know more about the world than you because they went to Africa for 5 days. Either way, it’s your turn. If you haven’t been, take whatever dough you have left over from college and head out.


The last thing you want to do is start a sub-par career that will inevitably begin with without going abroad. Take a flight with 3 of your friends and go anywhere in Europe. I’d say go to Asia or Africa but getting gunned down by the Triads or limping around with Malaria doesn’t really tickle my fancy.

This looks like a blast

This looks like a blast


Get to Europe, shack up in a hostel, have all your shit stolen, and sleep with some french girl who looks like the girl from precious and you’re off to a good start. You’ve spent the last 20-something years in the United States, you need the experience of acting like an ass is someone else’s backyard.


The main problem with going abroad is there’s a 50% chance that a country’s people hate you. I’ve been to Ireland, they loved me. I’ve been to France, they hated me. It’s a coin flip.

France was a little difficult for me because the guys and girls all dress the same. It’s like a huge game of hide-and-go-seek. You don’t know what you’re getting into until the pants are off and Margot is actually Martin.


The key is to find a nice medium. A medium between being the asshole that yells ‘Merica’ at every foreigner that walks by, and being the person who says every coffee shop they go to is the best coffee they’ve ever had. I tend to side more with the ‘Merica’ guy than the coffee shop hipster who pets himself at night over beans from Ethiopia.



Spend some time figuring out why ketchup packets are an extra 50 cents at McDonald’s. Find out why some 10% of foreign chicks don’t feel like shaving their legs. Realize that no one has an idea what the NFL is and no one gives two shits if they do.

Lastly, keep an eye out for the gypsies. They usually act alone, but if you piss one off, twenty more will appear. They’re more or less and underfunded gang that boycotted old spice and showering centuries ago.

Remember when he nailed Stiffler's mom in the third one?

Remember when he nailed Stiffler’s mom in the fourth one?

Most of the people reading this article will look around themselves and realize they’re either at work, or at home. If you’re at work, good for you, you’ve found a way to run away from the corporate bullshit for a minute. If you’re at home, and your roommates are your parents, it’s time to make a move.


You spent the last few years doing whatever the hell you wanted whenever the hell you wanted. But taking a girl back to your college palace was much easier. Maybe it was the half filled keg that’s been tapped sitting in the living room for the past 3 months, or maybe it’s the fact that you haven’t washed the sheets for the better half of college. Either way, the environment for getting girls was much better.


Living at home has one positive, you save rent. That’s it. Now it’s time to list out some reasons why you shouldn’t save any money and get your own place.


1. Having someone lurking around the house that constantly hounds you about when you’re moving out, or that drinking five beers before you go out on a Friday is for the ground-lings of the world isn’t helping your confidence. Being pelted with a Q&A session before you leave to go to the bar or whatever sub par house party you’re off too isn’t exactly a breeding ground for type of confidence that beds mares


2. Having your parents find balled up tissues under the bed and telling you that they didn’t notice you were sick is some sick subconscious way of them knowing what the tissues actually mean. And no, they’re not sad tissues.

It happens to the best of us

It happens to the best of us


3. You can knock your parents for being half naked on their couch. You can knock them for never going out, or them pestering you for your moderate alcoholism. You can taunt them by never flushing the toilet, or refusing to mow the lawn. It doesn’t matter. It’s their house.

At some point, they purchased the thing, raised a family, and now have to deal with your post-college self prancing around like a blind sperm.


They spent over 250K on this place. If you think telling them to go upstairs because you have some friends, or a girl, coming over is appropriate, then you’re the biggest ass in the room


When it’s your house, you’ll be running around naked making sure the bag of chips is never rolled up so it goes stale the day after you bought it. Once its your house, you can take a dump on the roof, and leave your blow up christmas snowman up for 12 months a year to piss off your neighbors. But right now, it’s not. Play by the rules, or stop ‘saving up’.


4. The next time you DVR’d Game of Thrones and you finally sit down to watch it and realize it was over-written by a 60 minutes DVR, you’ll be all over the ‘for-rent’ section of craigslist.


5. Anytime the fridge is left open even the slightest crack for an extended period of time, it’s your fault. I don’t care who did it. It never mattered. It’s your fault, and now everything in the fridge has gone bad. That’s like $200 in groceries that they can hold over your head for the next 2 to 15 years. Enjoy!


These are only five reasons why you should move out of mother hen’s nest ASAP. Saving six months of rent isn’t worth the rise in blood pressure and reduction in spreading seed. If you like 60 minutes though, by all means, shack up at the old homestead and get to work on the happy tissues.


(photo cr. metacarsblog)

The five things every dude needs to do after college

Part one of five


5. Lock down a job

You’ve been in college for the past 4 to 6 years and now it’s time to lock down a job. Your parents mortgaged their RonCo rotisserie machine wondering what you’re going to do after college. There are limited openings where you can smoke pot and watch Batman so it’s best to follow another route.


You’ve reached the point where interviewing seems like a reasonable obligation. Competing with the smartest girl isn’t though. This broad has been spending her senior year at the school library telling you how she has seven different job offers. I take solace knowing she’s only been with two guys in her life, her 6 year boyfriend who’s had glasses since he was 4, and her left hand.


Friends are telling you about how they’re failing drug tests. It’s okay. You’ll end up finding some second rate jockey firm who has no problem picking you up to fetch the secretary’s caramel macchiato from starbucks.


The next step is signing a letter quantifying exactly how much you’re worth a year. You spent the last four years eating pork rinds and finding out how to be really mediocre at sex. Now you’re worth $43,000 a year. It’s not a bad feeling, that’s just your worth in the free market.


The pain settles in when the biggest clown in your class is making close to 100K and he’s letting everyone know about it. He’s the type who still wears a one-sey to bed and knows his mom slept with all his high school friends.


Whatever your major was, you’ve now signed up for the next thirty years doing it, or at least making people think you’re going to do it. My first day at work I showed up sweating through my shirt, Any shot I had at nailing the intern chick I worked with went out the window. She gave me the, ‘this guy probably wears the same pants to work every day of the week’ look, which was true. She had that psychic vibe going and tits that would make a Ron Jeremy purr.


Getting a job also gives you something to falsely brag about. “I work at davidson and skidmark. Yea it’s on 53rd and anus. Oh, you’ve heard of it?” Say finance about 60 times, wear a tie, and you can limp into bed with the standard rate communication major chick.


We’re not saying any of this is bad, we’re just trying to add a little perspective. The alternative is being unemployed and making $25,000 a year. Part of your salary comes from your employed friends’ paychecks. You can walk around naked at your apartment during the day and watch repeats of boy meets world and stream the latest @bibiJones videos.


As a disclaimer, if you live at home and you’re unemployed, you run the risk of walking in on your parents plowing one another. Keep your head on a swivel.

Once the decisions been made to do one or the other, you’ve made it through the first of the five steps of graduating college.

Relax on the Emails

Posted: May 7, 2013 in Everything in Between
Tags: , , ,

Have you ever had one of those moments at work where you’re talking to someone and they decide to email you and CC everyone and their mother on the email back? At some point it has to be established that this is the adult version of ratting someone out. It’s grown ups telling on other grown ups. The best part is the recipient can actually see it’s happening. Even better,  there’s a chance that the person doing this to you is a 40 year old with their own kids. Doesn’t it make you wonder what they’re teaching their kids?


“Hey Mike did you finish up that project I told you to last week?” – Maybe I blew it off to go see Iron Man three or bullshit with some girls in the cafeteria. Either way, that doesn’t merit a ‘going over my head’ move and CC’ing the boss and their boss. A simple conversation letting me know how I’m a moderate slacker and that if I want to climb the corporate ladder I need to stop talking to the cafe girls and finish mindless projects on time would suffice.

We need these people to shift back to first gear when they get a chance.

I turn my laptop on at 8:30 and I’m on facebook by 8:35. I need to check in and see who had a better weekend than I did. It looks like everyone did, except that one chick posting instagram pictures of her parents when they were our age. No one gives a shit. I do the mandatory scan for promiscuous pictures, any relationship changes, and a quick check on the exes, it looks nothing too big over the weekend. Might be time for some coffee to get back to reality. I run into the first work bystander on my way to the flavia machine


“How was your weekend?”


Fuck your weekend. How many people can ask you that while the shitty coffee machine is spitting brown colored water into a recycled cup. I’m still working on an adequate response. But I’m usually a fan of the ‘too short!’ followed by about 10 seconds of fake douche laughing and clinching my asshole because I just relieved myself of my own manhood.


The only way you can get into more trouble is by asking about their weekend. Most people give the mandatory ‘okay’ which is fine. This keeps the conversation short and to the point.  I might even be able to catch wolf blitzer bitching about the weather in Iran from the TV five feet away. The problem arises with any additional conversation follow up –


“Well my kids had a soccer tournament…”


What kind of self respecting 22 year old who’s still yearning for kegs and 18 year old sirority girls is focused on some 8 year olds wearing shin pads. This is the perfect example of two people not being on the same page. One of us is clearly at another phase of their life, so let’s just agree to put a muffler on the end of the conversation. Let’s put it this way, this executive wouldn’t be too pleased if I told them I spent Friday night at the rub and tug on fourth street would they? So why should vice versa be appropriate.


“The weather was crappy”


If you think this is your in to tell me about how you stayed in and read books the whole weekend, I don’t give a shit. Librarians are quiet for a reason, no one brags about that. Two more quick follow ups, don’t recommend me any books unless they can be stored and read in the bathroom, and don’t tell me how you think ryan Reynolds was fantastic in whatever B- movie you saw this weekend. It’s not that I have a problem with books or movies, I’m just not a fan of the PC idea of sharing weekends as a superficial norm every Monday.


If you want to tell me that you stayed in with three girlfriends and went at it for 48 hours because the weather was crappy, I’ll put the coffee on hold.


“I was working the whole weekend”


Don’t do this. No one needs any of this. You may be doing it to make yourself feel better. You may be doing it to make me feel like shit, but no matter what, neither of us need this. We do this for 80 hours a week already, the fact that you’ve now taken what window of time we have to NOT talk about it, and talked about it, is slightly worse than having a leprechaun headbutt me in the balls.


“I went to my parents house for the weekend”


I’d rather get a papercut on my o-ring than have this conversation


“It was low key”


This is the one answer you can say at the workplace that everyone understands is the opposite of what you want to say. ‘Low key’ in weekend jargon at the workplace can mean anything from riding a rollercoaster with your tits hanging out to sitting by the fire wondering what I’m going to get asked at the coffee machine on Monday. It’s a coverall, and it’s genius. Never prod at it, and if you do, you’re breaking the unspoken code of the low key response. It’s essentially the don’t ask don’t tell rule.


But for one second I think about my weekend. Waking up at 2pm Sunday, ordering Chinese food, trying to figure out if general tsao exists, all while dominating his chicken. More facebook perusing until about six o’clock when I realize that work anxiety is setting in.


Maybe work anxiety settles in because I’m worried about how I’m going to respond to Lashondra at the coffee machine tomorrow at 9am. My weekend felt more like a 4 hour window of consciousness where there was too much talking, too much drinking, and not enough sex. If there was sex, is was very forgettable, I’m assuming for both parties..


It’s 9 AM and I’m debating pouring my coffee right on my lap and trying to collect some workers comp. How could I possibly go about a normal day’s business with over one hundred degrees of flavia coffee marinating into my chinos, through my boxers, and finally scathing my coin purse. Send that to HR and have them sign off on it. Just as I’m debating following through with my bullet proof plan, the first two sips of flavia hit me and it’s time to unleash a pre-noon blast on one of the local sanitary establishments throughout the building.