Mine will be up if these batteries ever charge.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Sunday, March 1, 2009
A Bloated Wallet in this Economy
It's inevitable. Pretty soon, I'll have to buckle down and get a murse.
No, it isn't that I'm making that much money in my new job. It's the influx of cards I've received because of said métier.
Each week I get a new card in the mail. It started slowly with the ID card for work and the health insurance cards, one for medical the other for dental. Pretty standard. The following week yet another letter came in the post. This time it was a prescription drug card. Clearly not finished commandeering control of my wallet, I received a card for my flex spending account from the greedy-for-wallet-space insurance company.
There are only so many slots in my wallet. Most were already snuggly filled before taking on this job and its accompanying legion of plastic.
You can learn a lot about someone based on what they keep in their wallet. Probably more so based on what someone keeps in their purse, especially so if it's a man with a purse.
My wallet is robustly filled, but not to the point of overflowing or not being able to close. There are the bank cards; four total--2 credit, 2 debit. It's all about balance. Then the requisite driver's license is shrouded behind plastic in a hole barely big enough to hold it or enable me to get it out with any level of ease. My car insurance card, flimsy but it still takes up space.
In the middle I keep some business cards in the event I run into a cute girl who has neither a phone nor a pen to take down my number. (A guy can dream.)
The plastic sleeves intended for pictures house a decade old picture of my sister, a ticket stub from a Cubs/Diamondbacks game I went to several years ago and the third picture slot holds dust. I'd like to think I'm saving this spot for a girlfriend's picture, but based on recent endeavors in online dating, it may continue to be my dust receptacle.
Attention identity thieves and muggers: Since I carry so many insurance cards and outdated crap, I don't have the strength to carry any tangible form of money. You'll be lucky to find more than three dollars in my wallet at a given time. Currently, there is $0 and a receipt from getting my hair cut. So, if you want a dollar off your next trim, by all means take my wallet. Otherwise, you just inherited back problems. Joke's on you sucker.
No, it isn't that I'm making that much money in my new job. It's the influx of cards I've received because of said métier.
Each week I get a new card in the mail. It started slowly with the ID card for work and the health insurance cards, one for medical the other for dental. Pretty standard. The following week yet another letter came in the post. This time it was a prescription drug card. Clearly not finished commandeering control of my wallet, I received a card for my flex spending account from the greedy-for-wallet-space insurance company.
There are only so many slots in my wallet. Most were already snuggly filled before taking on this job and its accompanying legion of plastic.
You can learn a lot about someone based on what they keep in their wallet. Probably more so based on what someone keeps in their purse, especially so if it's a man with a purse.
My wallet is robustly filled, but not to the point of overflowing or not being able to close. There are the bank cards; four total--2 credit, 2 debit. It's all about balance. Then the requisite driver's license is shrouded behind plastic in a hole barely big enough to hold it or enable me to get it out with any level of ease. My car insurance card, flimsy but it still takes up space.
In the middle I keep some business cards in the event I run into a cute girl who has neither a phone nor a pen to take down my number. (A guy can dream.)
The plastic sleeves intended for pictures house a decade old picture of my sister, a ticket stub from a Cubs/Diamondbacks game I went to several years ago and the third picture slot holds dust. I'd like to think I'm saving this spot for a girlfriend's picture, but based on recent endeavors in online dating, it may continue to be my dust receptacle.
Attention identity thieves and muggers: Since I carry so many insurance cards and outdated crap, I don't have the strength to carry any tangible form of money. You'll be lucky to find more than three dollars in my wallet at a given time. Currently, there is $0 and a receipt from getting my hair cut. So, if you want a dollar off your next trim, by all means take my wallet. Otherwise, you just inherited back problems. Joke's on you sucker.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Haikus for Online Love
Girls of match dot com:
Lascivious pics I sent,
Respond you did not.
I've winked. I've wooed. In the end I boohooed. Thirty emails have been sent, but only one response. The only interpretation is to take this personally. After a less than successful Valentine's night in Wrigleyville--the highlight being a young woman passing out while talking (more like slurring) to me, I swore off the bar scene and decided to try the online harem that is Match.
After being bombarded with emails that my love is waiting for me, I started a three day trial. I returned the favor to the "millions" of users on the site by sending snappy emails. The hours of day two are waning and I have not found my love nor an interested party. Viewing the profile and text boxes as chances to share who I am--I left out the part about living at home and only being on there for the trial--I've gone through three iterations of a bio. All riveting. All unique. None garnering admiration or beatnik snaps.
I've tried minimalism, humor and brutal honesty. Subsequently, I give up. I've always heard you find someone when you stop looking. After covert dating cessations, this break might be real.
Online love I sought
Unanswered prose in outbox
Back to junior high.
Lascivious pics I sent,
Respond you did not.
I've winked. I've wooed. In the end I boohooed. Thirty emails have been sent, but only one response. The only interpretation is to take this personally. After a less than successful Valentine's night in Wrigleyville--the highlight being a young woman passing out while talking (more like slurring) to me, I swore off the bar scene and decided to try the online harem that is Match.
After being bombarded with emails that my love is waiting for me, I started a three day trial. I returned the favor to the "millions" of users on the site by sending snappy emails. The hours of day two are waning and I have not found my love nor an interested party. Viewing the profile and text boxes as chances to share who I am--I left out the part about living at home and only being on there for the trial--I've gone through three iterations of a bio. All riveting. All unique. None garnering admiration or beatnik snaps.
I've tried minimalism, humor and brutal honesty. Subsequently, I give up. I've always heard you find someone when you stop looking. After covert dating cessations, this break might be real.
Online love I sought
Unanswered prose in outbox
Back to junior high.
I Don't Want an Office Ass
I'm fearful.
A cursory glance around this megalithic office and I am confronted with super-sized proportions. In terms of fruit, those waddling around in the lunch room resemble what some might endearingly call the pear shape.
Yes, I did watch the episode of Oprah where she discussed dressing for your shape.
Being a young male with the blessing of an Italian metabolism, my shape best resembles a zucchini, if the sides had all been run through a mandolin. Despite the incentive of a monetary discount to join the gym, I have yet to enroll. In my six weeks here, I’ve succumbed to peer pressure. I am militant about packing a lunch in the morning, but when asked if I want to go out to lunch, my stomach and mouth say yes. Already labeled “cheap” by my coworkers, I don’t want to appear anti-social or stingy, so I have gone out a bit more often than I budgeted. Despite claiming the frugality defense, I was deemed cheap after affirmatively answering a question about the reuse of plastic lunch bags. If the gym option weren’t enough to combat obesity, there’s also a Get Fit campaign for the next month trying to get people moving whether it’s walking, running or cycling. It’s a good start, but I think if they would just unchain me from my cubicle, it would prevent developing a monster pear ass.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Forgive Me Padre
As we prepare for the Lenten season, the Catholic Church released the results of a recent study.
Also mentioned in the article was the protocol for going to confession (you should go annually) and the 7 MODERN sins, opposed to the old, mortal sins that are a one-way ticket to the inferno.
The big shocker was that people have stopped going to confession. So, to recap, in addition to a drop in church attendance, congregants are increasingly ambivalent about not going. How does the Church combat this? By creating new sins. Brilliant.
TOP DEADLY SINS FOR MEN
Lust
Gluttony
Sloth
TOP DEADLY SINS FOR WOMEN
Pride
Envy
Anger
I'm not really sure what slothing is, but I'll look it up later.
A Catholic survey found that the most common sin for women was pride, while for men, the urge for food was only surpassed by the urge for sex.
The report was based on a study of confessions carried out by Fr Roberto Busa, a 95-year-old Jesuit scholar.
Also mentioned in the article was the protocol for going to confession (you should go annually) and the 7 MODERN sins, opposed to the old, mortal sins that are a one-way ticket to the inferno.
The big shocker was that people have stopped going to confession. So, to recap, in addition to a drop in church attendance, congregants are increasingly ambivalent about not going. How does the Church combat this? By creating new sins. Brilliant.
A recent survey of Catholics found nearly a third no longer considered confession necessary, while one in 10 considered the process an obstacle to their dialogue with God.
TOP DEADLY SINS FOR MEN
Lust
Gluttony
Sloth
TOP DEADLY SINS FOR WOMEN
Pride
Envy
Anger
I'm not really sure what slothing is, but I'll look it up later.
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