tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143619902024-03-21T07:33:56.241-04:00paper beats rock<i>this is how my brain works. i apologize.</i>joey bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887522114763485323noreply@blogger.comBlogger116125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14361990.post-85244088964238169762011-10-15T10:36:00.000-04:002011-11-02T19:40:49.369-04:00Organizational Chaos Explained - Poorly<p>Many have expressed confusion, concern and apathy towards the events surrounding my <a href=http://paperbeatsrock.blogspot.com/2011/08/first-day-at-work-maybe.html>alleged first day of work</a>. I say "alleged" because I have done such a fine job of blocking out the emotional trauma that I now refuse to believe it actually happened.
<p>But in the days since, I have come to better understand the type of environment where such a clusterhug is possible. It doesn't explain why a situation would arise where I find myself asking three different people "Are you my boss?" and all respond "I don't think so... maybe?" Maybe I shouldn't ask it with tears in my eyes and pain in my heart as if I were asking "Are you my real Daddy?"
<p>Allow me to elaborate on what I have figured out so far. In my 10+ years of professional work experience, I have come to expect a certain organizational structure in professional settings. Typically, the lowest level employees are hired by and report to a manager. Managers, in turn, report to Directors. Often, Directors report to Vice Presidents or other "C level" officers. And at the top of the <strike>phallic overcompensation</strike> pyramid is the CEO. I made this simplified chart to explain the words I am using.
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<p>If you learn complex concepts better through visualization and/or you are illiterate, here is a pretty picture for you.
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<p>However, my new environment is something entirely different. You see, I was hired by the research group associated with the School of Medicine for a public university. But I don't work for any of those groups. I work for the IT department of the hospital that is affiliated with said educational institution. At this point you're probably thinking, "Wow. Healthcare and education are pretty disorganized. Way to go on finding a job that is at the epicenter of the two." But you're forgetting the "public" part of the university. That means this cloud of chaos sits comfortably in the black hole of government bureaucracy. For The Win!
<p>Essentially, I am being paid by the research group to not work for them. But they figured that as long as I would be hanging around, I might as well see if the hospital needs anything done. So far, that is the extent of my goal planning for this year.
<p>The hierarchy in these organizations is completely unintuitive in that there isn't one. The person who hires you isn't necessarily your boss. And the people on your team could all have a different boss because they may be a hospital employee. Or a university employee. Or a state employee. The guy that sits 6 feet away from you may do the same job, work on the same projects and go to the same meetings as you do. But you will most definitely have different managers, both of whom have little to no experience with the work you do as if it were merely the answer to a trivia question. Like how people only know two Pink Floyd albums by name. "You're asking me what you should be doing? Hmm... that's a good one. I feel like I used to know this. Something something data... server... connections? Oh well. Have a nice day."
<p>They give it a fancy buzz name like "matrix management." But really it just means that your boss is everyone and no one. Which begs the existential question, if you don't have a boss, are you really an employee? What is this place other than a collection of animated shells exerting common effort to a support a larger, yet equally vague entity in exchange for a piece of paper that represents other pieces of paper. Heavy stuff.
<p>At this point, here is my understanding of how everything works out. The only thing I know is what direction money is being thrown. And that it is all overseen by a shadowy puppet master whose unquestioned supremacy is sealed by a blood oath. Or so the legend goes.
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<p>Five Guys isn't part of the org structure. I just list it here because there is one about 75 yards from my desk, so I spend a lot of time there - which explains where a lot of my money is going and where these extra pounds are coming from.
<!---
<p>Since sports metaphors are all the rage in academia, let's try one to explain my current predicament:
<p>Say you have a baseball team. The first baseman reports to the left fielder and the shortstop's boss is some guy who sells soda in the stands. The actual team manager is merely a consultant who shows up once a month and has never played baseball before. The only thing anyone has in common is that they all wear the same color hats.
<p>Now imagine that the football team across the street hires a guy (me) that once played soccer and tell him to go do stuff for the baseball team. But the baseball team has no idea what to do with a football player, let alone one that only knows soccer.
<p>That is basically my life right now.
--->joey bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887522114763485323noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14361990.post-51129000686030374532011-09-11T20:40:00.000-04:002011-09-13T19:41:30.861-04:00Dodger Stadium<blockquote><i>Part of my cross-country tour of baseball stadiums. An experience I am calling '<a href=/p/baseball-diaries.html>The Baseball Diaries</a>'.</i></blockquote>
<p>The day started at 5am in San Francisco, finding us casually preparing for our 7am flight and thinking aloud,"How busy could a major airport be at this time of day?" It was meant to be a rhetorical question but Fate decided to amuse herself by giving us an answer. We learned that answer when we arrived at 6:30am to see a 60-75 minute line through security. <i>Merde</i>.
<p>With much shame and persuasion, we pleaded with multiple TSA agents to show us some undeserved special treatment and push us through the line. And it worked. Twice. By 6:40, we were one person away from the ID check and the metal detectors were within arm's reach.
<p>We didn't move for another 5 minutes because the couple in front of us decided this would be the ideal moment to share a dramatic, tear-soaked and drawn-out farewell scene, complete with emotional wailing and hyperventilated breathing. Is this what you humans call love?
<p>She wept like he was being shipped off to the front lines without a gun. But his appearance suggested he was just going to a video game convention for the weekend. Set him free, lady. This bird will return.
<p>It was romantic. It was touching. It was obnoxious and it had to stop. I went for a passive aggressive coughing fit. Ajay opted for the 'speak loud enough so they can overhear you talking about them' with his "Are you kidding me with this? Who cries at the airport?" Classic Philly.
<p>We made it through the metal detectors at 6:48, grabbed our belongings, threw on our shoes and took off on a sprint through the terminal. A bag on my back, belt in my left hand and sagging pants in my right, I was determined to make this plane.
<p>We arrived to find the terminal empty and no plane in sight. <i>Merde. De nouveau.</i>
<p>"The plane isn't here yet," a smirking gate agent informed us.
<p>"Oh."
<p>With a few spare moments, I was able to recognize what we had achieved in getting through security in miraculous fashion. Note that the aforementioned "we" who artfully navigated us through was really "Ajay only." I was too busy not throwing a tantrum, which took quite a bit of effort.
<p>With some time to spare, we grabbed a coffee and caught our breath. As we sat back, relaxed and sipped some hot java, I noticed a number of people pass by, staring at us with looks of hated recognition. No idea what that was about.
<p>Once we arrived in Los Angeles, we had a whole new set of obstacles. For weeks prior and the days during our trip, we scoured the Internet for the quickest and cheapest route from LAX airport to Dodger Stadium. According to the sites for LAX, La Metro, Google Transit and multiple iPhone apps, the most efficient route consists of no less than 2 buses and 3 trains. That's not "OR", it's "AND". Five different transport devices. To get from the major LA airport to the central public transit station to one of its most popular tourist destinations.
<p>What none of those websites mention is that the routes go through some of the worst neighborhoods in Los Angeles. I felt like we were living through every rap song that isn't about being rich.
<p>We arrived at the stadium two hours prior to game time and headed in after purchasing the cheapest tickets in the house: outfield bleachers. Here's the thing about the bleachers at Dodger Stadium: they are completely in the sun for the entire game with absolutely no shade; they are a separate structure from the rest of the stadium. In fact, you can't even go from left field to right field. For a trip whose sole purpose was to tour and explore baseball's great stadiums, this was not ideal.
<p>Ajay spotted Philly ace Doc Halladay warming up in right field - one of many sections we were not in. Well, rules be damned, we were moving to right field.
<p>We went back under the left field stands and made our way towards center, led by curiosity. Ajay spotted an open gate, a padlock dangling uselessly from it's handle. We poked our heads in and saw the stadium audio panels and scoreboard controls. Also, this area led directly onto the field, as the center field gate was wide open.
<p>Smarter men know a "Do Not Enter" situation when they see one. Smarter men turn back when they see "Authorized Personnel Only" signs. Smarter men also get stuck baking in the sun of the left field bleachers. F that.
<p>With no hesitation, we walked right through the gate, casually observed the inner workings of the stadium that fans are not supposed to see, unlatched the gate on the other side and headed up to the bleachers.
<p>Say what you will about the LAPD, but they have incredible response time. I had only a moment's rest for my weary legs and Ajay had barely managed a wave in Doc's direction by the time the fuzz put the heat on.
<p>Ajay: Hi, officer! (always good to take the initiative in this type of situation)<br>
Officer: What do you guys think you're doing?<br>
Joe: Waiting for batting practice?<br>
Officer: Uh-huh. That's interesting because the right field bleachers don't open for another half hour.<br>
Ajay & Joe: Oh...
<p>This guy was good. Unfortunately for him, this was not our first rodeo. Ajay and I have been bending trespassing rules since before this cat was in the academy. We knew that there was a good chance we would get ejected from the stadium. Our only chance at reprieve was to play dumb. To our credit, I don't think we've ever looked dumber. We played the part of the ignorant tourists perfectly. We stared open-mouthed and wide-eyed at every Dodger logo, fascinated by every support column we passed. I resisted the urge to pull out a pile of crumpled-up bills and ask, "How much is this in LA money"?
<p>As the police officer led us to the head of security waiting for us at the exit, Ajay went on the offensive and used a little verbal sleight of hand.
<p>"Hi, we were wondering if you could help us. We are clueless how to find our way around. We're trying to get over near home plate so we can get some pictures. See we're doing this baseball stadium tour - we're not doing all the stadiums, just the really great ones. So how do we get over by the infield? We got here extra early so we could check everything out. - Oh, you can't get over there with these tickets? Shoot, we messed that up, huh? Do you think it would be possible for us to trade out our tickets so we can sit over there? See, we didn't realize how the stadium is set up. It's really unique."
<p>It was a thing of genius. And it worked.
<p>Security: Oh, um, right. Let me see what I can do.
<p>And like that, we had tickets on the first base side. At least, I think that's where they were. We don't really go for that whole assigned seat thing.
<p>Keeping with our theme of needlessly doing the same thing multiple times, we mistakenly went through and then had to exit four different security checkpoints because even with the right tickets, the stadium makes no sense. Four times I had the following exchange:
<p>Security: Open the school bag, please. What's in the plastic bag?<br>
Me: Umm, dirty laundry.<br>
Security: Do I have your permission to inspect the bag, sir?<br>
Me: Permission? Sure. Recommendation? No way.<br>
(opens bag, looks in, quickly closes it)<br>
Security: Oh... yikes. Enjoy the game.
<p>Once we finally made into the real stadium, we headed to the most important location of any public venue: the concession stands.
<p>Joe: Double cheeseburger, a beer - no, the big one, and... another double cheeseburger.<br>
Food dude: That will be $7.
<p>We'd abused the system quite a bit today and in my cynical viewpoint, so many things going right is like daring Karma to F with your S.
<p>I didn't say anything to the guy but I also made no move to get my wallet. I just stared back awkwardly, trying to figure out what numerical system he was communicating in. Since I can't convert hexadecimal in my head, I innocently responded, "Uhh..."
<p>Food dude: It's Throwback Day today. Throwback uniforms, throwback prices.<br>
Joe: Oh! That would explain all the Sinatra.
<p>A blank, 20-year old face stared back at me as I realized that this kid had no clue what a Sinatra was. "$7, please," he repeated.
<p>Three hours later, the game was over and we were exhausted. We boarded the Dodger Express and headed back to Union Station. As we got off the bus, Ajay spotted a sign that read "LAX shuttle." That's right. There is a bus that goes directly between the airport and train station, with no intermediate stops. Also, it's route exclusively consists of the very safe and very scenic 110 highway. All those neighborhoods we traveled through and stopped at during the bus, train, train, train and bus rides? They are on the other side of a concrete divide blocking them from highway view like they never existed. Only in my nightmares from now on.
<p>We checked it. There is no mention of this shuttle on any of the websites we checked beforehand. The lesson? The Internet is full of shit. Don't believe anything you read on it. Err, except this.
<p>I can't imagine anyone is still reading at this point (even I have been skimming for the past 12 paragraphs) but if you are, then you are way too good of a friend. I will buy you dinner for making it this far. You name the time and place and it's on me. And yes, soup does count as a meal.
<p><br><p><br><center>---------------------</center>
<p>Okay, if you really want to know about the stadium I'll put in my two cents. If you've been in 3 or more baseball stadiums in your life, you would immediately get the feeling that Dodger Stadium is of a different era as soon as you walked in. Maybe it was the classic uniforms and 1940s music but the place just had a different feel to it. It's difficult to articulate other than by describing what it isn't.
<p>Opening in 1962, it looks nothing like Fenway (1911) or Wrigley (1914) which seem like buildings that traveled through time and were awkwardly placed in the middle urban neighborhoods. It predates the boring, uniform concrete bowls that came of out of the multi-purpose craze of the 70s (Veterans Stadium, Riverfront and Three Rivers were practically indistinguishable). But with Dodger Stadium, you can see that's where they were headed. The seats behind home plate and along the bases hint at those designs. But once you reach the foul polls, the three levels come to an abrupt stop. It's just plain bleachers like many of the stadiums around at the time it was built. You can see in the design itself, that it is a bridge between eras.
<p>Spoiled by modern stadiums, I found the seats uncomfortable and the layout completely confusing. There were no crazy distractions like most of the stadiums have today (ahem, <a href=/p/baseball-diaries.html#sanfran>AT&T Park</a>). It was the bare essentials to enjoy a game of baseball. Somewhere to sit. A beer, a hotdog and keeping score with an iPhone app. Just like in the old days.
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joey bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887522114763485323noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14361990.post-91715630342381594512011-08-16T17:30:00.000-04:002011-10-16T12:19:10.320-04:00First Day at Work (Maybe)<p><table align=right cellspacing=5><tr><td><img border="1" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV7EjZptBwOaAdhVFKQ0iKTZnrViDtjpt6ShPxDuNAHQGUmw00-CVOxOzGhqPru2FUU08sHei6fLZkl7wUhI4hsQsrOi2LElGeHI7haTU6PZyxmVv1u3ZVGJ3tXwu98F042E-m/s200/cubicles.jpg" /></td></tr></table>
Yesterday I started a new job. I think.
<p>The reason I say "I think" is because I received a job offer in verbal, electronic and written forms, accepted said offers and subsequently quit my previous job - and yet no one in my new organization seems to know why I am there.
<p>The job I think I have is working in the Information Services department for a university hospital. Actually, it's a bit more complicated than that, but I'll explain it later.
<p>My first day started out simple enough. A four hour orientation explaining the only things I really cared about: when I get paid, free health benefits and the added bonus of paid leave for federal holidays. Frickin sweet. I am going to love working for The Man.
<p>After the orientation, my first stop was to swing by the ID card office. As the human resources rep instructed during orientation, they call it the "OneCard" because it is the only card you'll ever need. Okay. Sounds good.
<p>All that was left was to go to my office, meet my coworkers and maybe be productive for a half hour. I arrived and greeted the receptionist. "I'm Joe. It's my first day," I beamed like it was some special achievement to accept a job offer.
<p>"Hi Joe. We've been expecting you. Here is your packet of information. You're going to meet with the office admin. Here she is now." Smooth sailing so far.
<p>"Joe, so good to see you again. Welcome. We're glad to have you here. First thing, I'm going to need your badge to get you access to the building."
<p>"Sure thing. Here you go. Hot off the press."
<p>"What is this?"
<p>"That's my OneCard. The only card I'll ever need?"
<p>"Oh. I've never seen one of these before."
<p>"..." (I may have actually said the word "ellipsis")
<p>"No, I don't think this is going to work. You need a badge."
<p>"That's not a badge?"
<p>"No. It's an ID. Well, just give me your employee number and I can put the request in."
<p>"Sure. I've got that somewhere in my folder. Ah, okay: 610... 19064."
<p>"That's not an employee number."
<p>"It's not?"
<p>"It's not. <b>That</b> is a personal identification number. Those are for University employees."
<p>"Right. I'm a University employee."
<p>"No, we're all hospital employees here."
<p>"Uh-huh. So how do I go about getting an employee number, and that - what did you call it - badges?"
<p>"Oh, I don't know. I guess we'll have your manager straighten that out. Who are you supposed to be meeting with today?"
<p>"I don't really know. My manager, I assume."
<p>"And who is that?"
<p>"Carl. Carl Lassnim."
<p>"No, no, no. I don't believe he is in this office."
<p>"Oh, okay. Which building is he in?"
<p>"I have no idea. I don't really know him."
<p>"Well... he told me to come here. Today. For work."
<p>"I see. Well, let's just get you to your desk." She smiled kindly but began walking with an anti-social pace. No conversation, just leading me to a destination.
<p>When we arrived, her smile returned. "Here you go. Name plate and everything. Here is your phone. And computer. You'll probably need to get a computer account to use it."
<p>"How do I get one of those?"
<p>"That's a good question. Who did you say you were supposed to meet with?"
<p>"I have no idea. Carl just said - "
<p>" - Well, you'll probably be working with Roger. Or Barry. Have a nice day." She was 15 feet away by the time "nice day" reached my ears.
<p>"Uh, hold up! I don't know either of those people. Can you show me where I can find them?"
<p>"Of course" she smiled, full of hate. I know, I'm being unreasonably difficult. I'm awful. "Let's go see Roger."
<p>Wouldn't you just know it, Roger had already gone to lunch.
<p>"Oh. It doesn't... look... like... he's... around. Now." Between each word, she swiveled her head around, as if Roger would magically appear and make everything okay. He didn't.
<p>"Well why don't you head back to your desk and I'm sure he'll be back soon." Awesome.
<p>Back at my desk, I met my cube mate. She doesn't know anything about my job, my team or any of the people I've mentioned. But she is very sweet. Though I admit the following exchange may not be the best example:
<p>Sally: So, do you have any plans for lunch?
<p>Joe: Nope. None at all.
<p>Sally: Well, we all pretty much just head out on our own around here. There are plenty of places nearby. Here are 17 menus. I'm sure you'll find something. See you later!
<p>I thought that this would be a good time to get in touch with my alleged supervisor, so I rang up the number I had for him. Without a single ring, it went straight to voicemail:
<p><i>"The cellular customer you are trying to reach is not availible. Please leave a message."</i>
<p>Funny, I don't remember Carl having a robotic female voice. But who am I to judge? I leave a panicked voicemail with lots of "uhs" and "errs", just to communicate an exaggerated level of urgency.
<p>With nothing to do but wait for Roger, I made up a new game. I call it "Sit at desk. Get up. Yawn. Ride elevator down. Ride up. Meander by Roger's office. Sit at desk. Get up. Yawn." Rinse and repeat.
<p>As I ventured around the office, I casually poked my head into cubes it didn't belong and noticed something unusual. Mirrors. Lots of them. Most people have an array of mirrors posted around their monitors, on their desks and hung on their walls. I've never seen anything like it. Do they all have an irrational fear of someone sneaking behind them and jacking them up? Maybe they are just incredibly vain. In either case, I'm glad to finally be working with people I can relate to.
<p>I also noticed that everyone in the office seems to have mastered use of their "inside voices." Everyone speaks in whispers as though they were discussing their role in a covert, Soviet conspiracy or that creepy new guy who keeps walking by. I'm not used to hearing hushed tones in the workplace unless some serious shit is about to go down. As an outside observer, I would think that this behavior could create a sense of paranoia - at least in the more anxiety-ridden, crazy person types in the office. Bless their hearts, whoever they may be.
<p>One thing they are not quiet about is throwing up. On one of my laps around the cube farm, I saw a guy, typing at his computer, pause, vomit loudly into the trash bin placed on his desk, and then resume typing. I grew up in Philly. So I have plenty of experience to know that one should never stop, ask questions or make eye contact when a stranger regurgitates like a newborn. Empathy is often misunderstood as a sign of aggression. So I just kept on strolling and pretended that my life wasn't as random as a David Lynch project.
<p>On the fourth round of my new game (S.A.D.G.U.Y.R.E.D.R.U.M.B.R.O.S.A.D.G.U.Y., in case you forgot) Roger was back. Yay! I win!
<p>Roger is an older gentleman, somewhere in his 60s. He's soft-spoken but very kind and has an arsenal of corny jokes that probably play very well in the toddler grandchild demographic. Early on in our conversation...
<p>Roger: It's okay if you don't know all the programs we use. I'm new here myself, so we'll be learning a lot together.
<p>Joe: Oh yeah? You're new too? How long have you been here?
<p>Roger: (awkward pause) About five years.
<center>(Silence)</center>
<p>I patiently waited for a "Gotcha!", a laugh, even a hinting smirk. But he changed the subject so quickly, I realized it was no joke.
<p>At the three hour mark, Roger had exhausted every piece of information he knew about the organization, the hospital, the university and outboard motors. Not sure what else to say, I just stared out his office door. It was at this moment that I spotted a familiar face. An Asian woman walked by carrying a large box stuffed with papers and picture frames and then quickly disappeared into the hall.
<p>"Wait! Her. That lady. She was in my interview. She's, uh... what's her name? Why is she carrying that box?"
<p>"That's Sunee. She just quit this morning. Nobody's really sure why. Who did you say you are working for?"
<p>"Supposedly Carl Lassnim."
<p>"Who? I've never heard of him. And you say he works in this building?"
<p>"I... don't think so."
<p>"Hmph. What team are you on?"
<p>"I have no idea."
<p>Roger furrows his brow, studies me for a few moments. Then says, "Well. Computers. Right? It's all about computers. Let's set you up with the HelpDesk so they can get you on that fangled doohickey of yours." Oh, Roger.
<p>He shuffles around some papers, finds a pen. Writes something on a piece of paper. "Here you go. Call these people. They'll be able to help you get started."
<p>"Started on what?"
<p>"Ha! I like you. I think we're going to get along just fine, Mr. Joe."
<p>I could have pressed harder, but hey - I'll take a laugh where I can get it. Best to go out on a high note. That's just good showmanship.
<p>Back at my desk, I call the number. Because at this point, this task is my only responsibility.
<p>"Help desk."
<p>"Hi. I'm Joe. I need to get a computer account, email. I just started today, so... I need... that."
<p>"Okay, sure. Let me just get to the right screen. And... okay. New employee. University. Next. Email. Network access. Who did you say is setting up your account?"
<p>"Oh. Well, no. I need it created. I'm new. No one."
<p>"Oh. That's not good. Well. Let's see if I can look you up. What's your employee number?"
<p>Five heads pop up from their cubes like curious gophers when they hear how loudly I smack my own face.
<p>An hour later, I had an account. Access. Awesome. Time to do stuff. Oh yeah, this might be a good time to get in touch with my HR facilitator like they told us in orientation. Let's just pull up the web page they gave us. Type in my last name. Hey! There I am. It worked! And there is my facilitator's name and email address. Easy. Just type up a quick email, ask for next steps.
<p>Within 5 minutes, I have a response that reads...
<blockquote style="font-style:italic">I'm not sure how you got my name, but I am not able to assist you with any of your questions. I believe you are mistaken. You should talk to your supervisor.</blockquote>
<p>Oh, but if it were only that easy. You see, my "supervisor" is a figment of my imagination. I was bored with my old job so I imagined an entire "interview" and a series of phone calls where the "hiring manager" offered me the position and even made a counter offer against other job prospects I had hallucinated. I was so dedicated to this charade that I even filled out the necessary requisitions and paperwork so that I had a desk. And a phone. And some questionable identification materials. Then I subsequently forgot everything I had done, so as not to ruin the surprise. Obviously, I missed a few steps because I don't understand the complexities of the state employment process. But I did a pretty good job for a first time schizophrenic.
<p>I'm going to fast forward past the part where I cry in the bathroom. But only because I'm ashamed to admit I hung out in the handicapped stall for a solid 30 minutes. Better left unsaid.
<p>It was then that a miracle happened.
<p>It was 5:30. Time to go home. Huzzah! It can wait until tomorrow!
<br><br><hr align=center width=50%><br>
<p>Despite the anxiety of this bizarre day, I had no trouble falling asleep that night. I don't normally remember my dreams, but the one I had that night is still clear in my memory because it so accurately summarizes my feelings from the day.
<p style="font-style:italic">It's World War II. I find myself in an underground bunker, explosions above rocking the ceiling, shaking dust particles to the floor. The walls are covered in maps; circles and lines scratched into them. The room is filled with people running around, shouting in phones, furiously handing stacks of paper to each other.<br><br>
"Um, excuse me? Hello?" I nervously try to get someone - anyone's attention. A man rushing past looks at me, confused. He is wearing fatigues and has dirt on his face.<br><br>
"Who are you?"<br><br>
"I, uh... I'm new."<br><br>
"Finally! We need some new blood in here. Okay, you're going to be working the phone. Ah, here's one. You'll need this rotary phone. Real simple. You see, it has numbers 0 through 9 on it." He starts walking away.<br><br>
"Oh. Okay. Great. But! Wait! What do I do with it?"<br><br>
"Press the triangle button."<br><br>
I look at the phone. There is no triangle button. I look up and he is gone. I grab the sleeve of the first person I can find. "Excuse me! I'm new here. And - and I have this phone..."<br><br>
"This is a GOD DAMN WAR, Mac! Can't you see?! People are dying all around and you're asking me about a GOD DAMN PHONE! FIGURE IT OUT!!"
</p>
<p>Yup. That about sums it up nicely.
<p><br><hr align=center width=50%><hr align=center width=50%>
<h2>EPILOGUE</h2>
The next morning, I had a voicemail on my office phone from my boss' cell number:
<blockquote style="font-style:italic">Hey! Just wanted to call and to tell you don't sweat the small stuff. Enjoy the honeymoon period!"</blockquote>
Or maybe it was "<i>Enjoy the honeymoon. Period.</i>" I don't know. I'm not sure he knows who I am. It nearly confirms my suspicion that my employment is the result of a clerical error and I'll be out of a job as soon as they fix the glitch.
<p> <p> <hr align=center width=80% height=4>
<p>And now, the highly anticipated continuation of our tale: <i><a href=/2011/10/organizational-chaos-explained-poorly.html>Part 2 - The Puppet Master</a></i><p> joey bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887522114763485323noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14361990.post-78165223155425545582011-06-08T21:00:00.000-04:002011-06-08T22:22:45.760-04:00This Used to Be My Playground<p>Everyone has a favorite place. A pub or a restaurant that you're always in the mood for. A place where you and your friends always have a good time. It's "your" place. The food isn't the best but it suits you just fine. You have sincere conversations with the wait staff and probably know a few of their family members' names. You're one of the regulars and even if you rarely talk to the other familiar faces, you share a wordless nod every time you see them.<br />
<br />
<p>But not all good things are meant to last. It happens slowly at first. You see a few new faces and your usual spot seems to be occupied every time you go. They start playing different music. You think it's just some minor changes that will eventually pass. But then they rearrange the seating, the menu changes and you see more of... Them.<br />
<br />
<p>You try ignoring the differences but every time you go, there are more changes and more... of Them. They've brought friends. You try to be tolerant, be polite, strike up a conversation. You see someone with one of those new drinks they started serving recently. "What'd you got there?" you say.<br />
<br />
<p>But They're having no part of it. "Shut up, nerd." Or "Get me some juice, bitch."<br />
<br />
<p>And now you can't not notice Them. They're loud and rowdy, stumbling around and bumping into you without an apology. By night's end they practically have to be carried out of the place. It's no longer the quiet, chill place you remember. <br />
<br />
<p>You're fine with their lifestyle but that doesn't mean you want it thrown in your face. You just like the way things used to be. If you wanted to hang out with people like that, you would. <br />
<br />
<p>The next time you walk in, no one shouts "Norm!" like you've secretly always wanted. They just shout "Juice Bitch!!"<br />
<br />
<p>Well who the hell do they think they are? This is your place. And it was just fine before They came in and changed everything. "Those" people. Always flaunting it. Using words I don't understand. You know none of them can hold a job, right? Barely educated, hardly capable of much beyond petty manual labor. And they're hands are always filthy.<br />
<br />
<p>But there's no use fighting it. You can only give in to change. "Your" place is gone. It's over. Now it's just a kiddie bar.<br />
<br />
<p>Hey DJ. Crank up that new Wiggles jam. The next round of milk is on me. The Juice Bitch.joey bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887522114763485323noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14361990.post-61974333444590684272011-05-22T00:00:00.003-04:002011-08-29T18:12:46.545-04:00Judgement Day<p>According to reputable source <a href=http://www.ebiblefellowship.com/outreach/tracts/may21/>The Internet</a>, the Christian Bible foretells that Judgement Day was to occur precisely on May 21, 2011, Earth. This is to be followed by the resurrection of the dead, destruction of the world, yada yada, the undoing of existence, etc.
<p>For those of you who don't recall, Judgement Day begins with The Rapture, the moment Jesus returns to pick out his favorites to join him in heaven for eternity. The damned, unwanted and red-headed remainders are to left wallow and wait out the end of the world which, according to said Internet, is to occur on October 21 of the same year.
<p>If my memory serves me correctly, Judgement Day is also supposed to involve some pretty badass robots chasing each other around in an epic battle with lots of high intensity, edge-of-your-seat action. One of the robots has the ability to turn into liquid mercury. Very cool.
<p>Due to the fact that it is - as of press time - May 22, 2011, I can only draw one conclusion: God didn't get my RSVP. Also, that chick I was supposed to hang out with must have been one of the Chosen Ones because why else isn't she answering her damn phone?
<p>So. October 21. Right before Halloween. Bummer. If ever there was a party made for the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, it would have been <b>The Last Halloween Ever</b> (Special Guest: David Bowie).
<p>The only thing left to do now is spend the next five months really kicking ass and pushing my sin limits to the max. For the soulless left-behinds who are currently reading this, I promise you: it won't be pretty. I plan to get into some real nasty stuff. You can bet your ass that there will be absolutely no exercising. I'm going to eat whatever the hell I want. I'm going to use crude language and fuckin cuss like no damn ass-bitch ever shat before. Balls! And I sure as hell ain't getting my ass up at 8am to go to work. I'm cruising in at least 10. Maybe even 10:30 if I was up late the night before.
<p>So... no real changes at all. I might try to learn French.joey bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887522114763485323noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14361990.post-57921279590275187852011-03-21T15:21:00.009-04:002011-03-28T21:59:17.877-04:00RIP TWSS<p>"That's What She Said" has got to go. I'm sick of it. Every time I hear it, I think "Really? We're still doing this?" It just won't go away.
<ol>In no particular order, my reasons being...
<li>This phrase can be applied to 78% of all statements. All you're saying is "What you just said may also be interpreted as having a sexual connotation. But I don't know the phrase 'double entendre' so I'm going with this." Bravo. Maybe people don't know this, but...
<li>The more often you tell the same joke, the less funny it is. We're currently at a rate of TWSS being legitimately funny 1 out if every 145 times uttered. I blame the fact that...
<li>Unfunny people think it makes them hilarious. It is the only catchphrase in history that people think makes them more clever the more they use it. As a result, it gets...
<li>Ridiculously overused. I'm not sure which is the chicken or which is the egg, but people don't even know why they are saying it anymore. It's gotten so bad that...
<li>People are using it when sex is the actual topic. So all they are saying is "Just so everybody knows, we're talking about sex things... heeheeheeheeheehee." What?!? Am I giving people too much credit? I must be because only that would explain...
<li>The failure of my own attempts to make "That's What He Said" catch on despite there being certain contexts where a feminine subject does not make sense. For example "You're standing on my wiener" or "Today at work..."
</ol>
<p>But those are only secondary reasons. The biggest grudge I have against TWSS is Steve Carrell. Don't get me wrong. I like Steve Carrell. He's hilarious. I don't have anything against him personally. But the biggest reason this damn thing won't die is because his character on <u>The Office</u> drove it into the ground. But even that's not what bothers me. He's the only person I'm actually okay with using it. As an episode of <u>30 Rock</u> proudly declared, "Steve Carell owns '<i>That's What She Said</i>!' Okay? He OWNS it!"
<p>What irks my jerk is how people ignore the fact that the whole point of his character saying it is because he is a guy that doesn't get when things aren't funny anymore. TWSS was well past funny in 2005 when the show started. You think I'm exaggerating? Seriously, it's been around since 1928 (kind of). Just ask <a href=http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/That%27s_what_she_said#History_and_background>The Oracle</a>.
<p>If the show had aired in the 90s, he would have been saying "Where's the beef?" or quoting <i>Animal House</i>. Oh that's right, he does both of things anyway. Point: Me.
<p>This may just be the biggest case of irony in the history of the world. Wait. I don't think I'm using that word correctly.joey bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887522114763485323noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14361990.post-43669635352347306492011-03-16T21:22:00.002-04:002011-03-25T23:06:20.365-04:00Doing Lines<p>It's not about drugs so keep on moving, Maynard G. Krebs.
<p>Any culture can be defined by how their citizens behaves while standing in lines.
<p>The English, not surprisingly, have a formal word for "queueing up" and their execution is just as ordered and civil as you would expect from any Brit.
<p>The French, as a rule, do not believe in lines. They see a number of people standing in a linear direction. They notice something they want located at the beginning of this linear mass. The French, after all, are quite well known for their standing by and watching shit go down. But they believe that the simultaneous presence of something they want and a line of people emanating from that object to be mere coincidence. So they do the sensible thing and squeeze themselves through every visible gap to get to the front as soon as possible. And thanks very much to you for allowing that 4 inch gap between you and your beloved for which Pierre and 6 of his amis are casually passing through.
<p>I am convinced the French developed this approach for no other reason than to piss off the English. The countries fought for centuries over French lands. The English were relentless in their pursuit to control both sides of the Channel. But as soon as the French started "rogering up the queues," the fight was abandoned and the English haven't returned since. I assume their reasoning involved the phrase "bloody savages." This feeling has changed little over the past 200 years.
<p>Americans, as always, have their own way of doing things. At the sight of 3 or more people gathered together, all Americans have the same initial thought: "What they hell are they waiting for? I bet it's pretty damn good. I'd better hurry up and get in on this too before whatever it is runs out."
<p>The most popular vacation destination for Americans is the theme park saturated city of Orlando, Florida. A place where 90% of time is spent standing in line and Americans lovingly refer to as "The Happiest Place on Earth."
<p>For the record, the entirety of this post was composed while waiting to get into <i>The Wizarding World of Harry Potter</i>. One hour down... two to go.joey bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887522114763485323noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14361990.post-3786851459744665672011-02-09T22:56:00.000-05:002011-02-09T22:56:20.556-05:00Is it Clever to Title Blog Posts as a Question?No.joey bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887522114763485323noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14361990.post-85682147419100902632011-01-07T04:15:00.042-05:002011-01-07T21:30:46.112-05:00The Great Date Experiment - The End / Random Quotes<p>And so we come to the final entry in this series. I thought I would end it by sharing some of the more bizarre quotes I've heard during this little experiment. Mostly because I'm lazy and couldn't figure out a way to stretch them into full length posts. Yes, I'm quite the catch.
<p>These are all excerpts from some of my recent dates. Quotes are always funnier when taken out of context. In the following cases, there was no context. They came out of nowhere and I still question the reality that would cause words to be uttered in this order.
<hr align=center width=75%>
<p>
<ul>
<p><li>"I try to do background checks on all the guys I meet. It's one of the perks of being a cop. Did you used to have a different name or something?"
<p><li>"I know I said we'd hang out tonight but I just realized that I'm going to be really busy this semester. So, thanks anyway. Yeah..."
<p><li>"You really shouldn't refer to us as 'girls'. It's condescending. We're mature adults, not little children. I think I've earned more respect than that."
<br> — Woman #1
<p><li>"Oh, don't call me a 'woman'! It makes me sound so OLD!!"
<br> — <del>Woman #2</del>
<br> — <del>Girl B</del>
<br> — a different female person
<p><li>"I didn't think it was a big deal that he asked for a picture with my resume. But during the interview he said I might have to, like, take care of him if he got drunk at the events, get him a hotel room. And he basically wanted me to... do stuff. Like... sexually or whatever. That's probably the last time I'll look for a job on Craigslist. Lesson learned."
<p><li>"Think about it. You're 4 years old and your 18 year old brother is jerking off in the next room."
</ul>
<!---
<hr align=center width=75%>
<p>Not to be outdone, I had a few hoof-in-mouth moments of my own...
<ul>
<li>"What's your favorite video game of all time?"
<li>"Do I want kids? It's a little early for a topic that serious. Let's decide on an appetizer first."
<li>"Wow. I'm not surprised your friend swore off online dating after a date like that. Her name isn't Eve is it? Yeah. That was me she went out with. I'm <a href=/2010/11/great-date-experiment-taking-dive.html>the guy who complemented Hitler</a>. How's she doing?"
<li>"My friends and I have silly inside jokes too. We have this thing where I nickname their boobs based on 1970s musical groups. Like 'Sonny & Cher,' 'Captain & Tenille' or 'Kool & the Gang.' In return, they call my junk 'Earth, Wind & Fire.' Uh... it's not as weird as it sounds."
</ul>
This one isn't so much an odd quote. More like my new catchphrase:
<ul>
<li>"Um. Sure. I will probably call you again... sometime."
</ul>
--->joey bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887522114763485323noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14361990.post-26339713915619486372010-12-31T04:15:00.176-05:002010-12-31T04:15:00.567-05:00The Great Date Experiment - A New Dysfunction<p>Oh Erica.
<p>Like many of my strongest relationships, we bonded over discussing awkward encounters we'd had during the day for insight on whether we acted in accordance with social norms. But somehow the cathartic venting would always turn into an intense make-out session. Upon brief analysis, it's slightly bizarre. But with the proper marketing spin, I can simply label the experience as my brief foray into "neurotica." It's probably just a phase.
<p>On second thought, the word <i>neurotica</i> sounds a little creepy (not that I'm any less proud). But it gives the impression that I routinely quote Richard Lewis during sex. So... if you're into that sort of thing... call me.joey bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887522114763485323noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14361990.post-77206740087259208442010-12-24T04:15:00.005-05:002010-12-24T04:15:00.505-05:00The Great Date Experiment - Ulterior Motives<p>My friends have often called me "cynical" or "pessimistic." But that's only because everyone is always out to get you all the time. Oh yeah - they also say I'm "paranoid."</p>
<p>But sometimes even I can make lemonade. When the whole serial dating process started to seem fruitless, I kept at it. If I couldn't find love, there were other benefits to enjoy. No, not those benefits. I'm talking about more practical stuff.</p>
<p>It's no coincidence that when I started thinking about buying a house, I was going on a lot of dates with realtors, brokers, loan officers and and women who worked at credit bureaus.</p>
<p>One time I went out with a doctor. I made up some anecdotes to disguise my true intentions...</p>
<blockquote>"A good friend of mine recently broke up with his girlfriend. So we took him out to cheer him up. He ends up going home with some girl and the next day finds out they have the same last name! It was hysterical! And when he told us about it, he was so nervous and he kept having heart palpitations, clammy hands, shortness of breath. He's also been having trouble staying asleep at night and focusing at work. Do you think he needs more Potassium in his diet? What does Riboflavin do?"</blockquote>joey bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887522114763485323noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14361990.post-66870334322350829272010-12-17T04:15:00.003-05:002010-12-19T21:13:17.849-05:00The Great Date Experiment - High Standards<p>I'm not sure why, but friends become fascinated with your dating life the minute they find out you're in the online dating racket. Especially the married friends. So get used to all of your friends circling round, eager with curiosity and questions every time you see them. In my experience, the conversations usually ends with someone declaring one of the following:
<ol>
<li>"Don't worry man. She sounds like a bitch. Not worth it."</li>
<li>"Your standards are way too high."</li>
</ol>
</p>
<p>The following conversation actually could have elicited either response. I'll leave it up to you as a kind of <i>Choose Your Own Adventure</i></p>
<p><b>Friend</b>: "What happened to that one girl? I thought things were going well.<br>
<b>Joe</b>: We disagreed on some key issues.<br>
<b>Friend</b>: Ninjas vs Pirates?<br>
<b>Joe</b>: I just can't be with someone who doesn't respect the <a href=http://www.realultimatepower.net/>awesome power of ninjas</a>.joey bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887522114763485323noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14361990.post-85506609123717311122010-12-10T04:15:00.001-05:002010-12-10T04:15:00.426-05:00The Great Date Experiment - Not A Compliment<p>Sometimes, a woman just knows how to cut to the core of you.</p>
Gina: This is good wine. Actually, you're a lot like wine.<br>
Joe: Because I'm sweet and one serving a day is good for you?<br>
Gina: No. I was thinking more like... a little bitter... takes a while to get used to... and too much gives me a headache.<br>
Joe: I think I love you.joey bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887522114763485323noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14361990.post-26299159115199160762010-12-03T04:15:00.001-05:002010-12-03T04:15:00.285-05:00The Great Date Experiment - Mistaken Identity<p>The first time we went out, it was over in less than an hour. So I was surprised when she texted me later that night, seemingly eager to go out for a second date.</p>
<p>Since she seemed pretty distant and uninterested the first time we met, I really wasn't sure what to expect.</p>
<p><b>Missy</b>: Oh. Hey... you? What are you doing here?<br>
<b>Joe</b>: Um... For us to hang out? Dinner?<br>
<b>Missy</b>: Oh Shit. Wrong Joe. I totally meant to text muscle guy Joe. I met up with him after you and I had drinks last week.<br>
<b>Joe</b>: Ooooookay...<br>
<b>Missy</b>: So... I guess he's not coming, huh?<br>
<b>Joe</b>: Probably not.
</p>joey bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887522114763485323noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14361990.post-40389610856094074872010-11-26T04:15:00.020-05:002010-12-04T22:48:35.733-05:00The Great Date Experiment - Early Termination<p><i>ring.... ring...</i></p>
<b><b>Billie Jean:</b></b> Oh hey! What's up?<br>
<b>Joe:</b> Oh not much...<br>
<b>Billie Jean:</b> So, are we hanging out this weekend?<br>
<b>Joe:</b> Um... yeah. No. I'm calling to let you know that I don't think it's going to work out. Like, us hanging out and stuff.<br>
<b>Billie Jean:</b> What.<br>
<b>Joe:</b> Well... you know. I had a good time and stuff but I just don't think... you know.<br>
<b>Billie Jean:</b> Why would you call me to tell me that?<br>
<b>Joe:</b> I mean... You kept texting me about when we would hang out next so I thought I would be honest and upfront.<br>
<b>Billie Jean:</b> No. You just went out of your way to make me feel shitty. Why couldn't you just ignore me like a normal person?<br>
<b>Joe:</b> Uh-huh.... Well, we've hung out like 5 or 6 times—<br>
<b>Billie Jean:</b> — Actually, it was 9. Plus the time you called me crying from the airport when your car broke down and I left my friend's birthday party to pick you up. That would make 10.<br>
<b>Joe:</b> Ten. Right. So. I was thinking that this would be the right thing to do - or something.<br>
<b>Billie Jean:</b> Whatever. It's your loss. Cause... I give great blowjobs.<br>
<b>Joe:</b> Okay. So... that's really something that should have been brought up when we first met. Because now I feel like I wasn't able to make an informed decision with all the, like, information. But really, I guess it kinda doesn't matter because I'm sure you've been told you give good blowjobs a lot of times but the truth is all that guys say that after every time they get a blowjob as sort of an encouragement. Like, to make sure girls keep giving blowjobs. It's not like an organized agreement. We just all know to do it.<br>
<b><b>Billie Jean:</b></b> ...<br>
<b>Joe:</b> Okay. Right. So I'm guessing you hung up. The thing is that cellphones don't make that click noise, you know? So it's not really as dramatic. It's just... ambiguous. But... I'm gonna go now.joey bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887522114763485323noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14361990.post-43206349432523341042010-11-19T04:15:00.016-05:002011-05-07T15:07:51.842-04:00The Great Date Experiment - Taking a Dive<p>At some point during a blind date, both parties will silently decide whether or not they ever want to see the other person again. But this is not a dating game show, there is no giant red button marked "Next!", nor is it socially acceptable to get up and walk away in the middle of conversation. So one must see the encounter through to its conclusion.</p>
<p>In order to accelerate toward that conclusion and bring the date to its merciful end, one must sometimes resort to what I call "taking a dive." That is, intentionally saying or doing things that will make the other person feel the same driving desire to evacuate as soon as possible.</p>
<p>First, start with body language. Do not make eye contact. Don't listen when the other person is talking. Occasionally interrupting them works, too. The truly brave are welcome to attempt faking Tourette's.</p>
<p><b>Eva</b>: ... and we came in 6th place in the entire state of Montana so we almost nearly practically won the championship but then I didn't really have the time to play it as a college sport since I didn't want to go to school. But I just like talking to people and listening so that's how I got into dental hygiene. How about you?<br>
<b>Joe</b>: Huh? Oh yeah. So... um. Did you play any sports growing up?<br>
<b>Eva</b>: I just told you - oh! I get it. Haha! You're funny.
<p>Damn. My charm is so potent even I can't turn it off. Phase 2: politics.</p>
<p><b>Joe</b>: I'll tell ya - this Obama guy is really messing things up. I don't give a shit about poor people or anyone who can't afford health insurance. Survival of the fittest, right?<br>
<b>Eva</b>: Wow.<br>
<b>Joe</b>: I'm just saying - I was perfectly fine with another 8 years of Bush, Jr. Now there is a smart cookie.<br>
<b>Eva</b>: You... are... so... right! Can I just say? I LOVE the Bush family. They're just good people, you know?<br>
<b>Joe</b>: Uhh... yeah...</p>
<p>So that's how you want to do this? Fine.</p>
<p><b>Joe</b>: ... totally. I mean, so what if they had some Nazi ties? Lots of people did. And not for nothing, but say what you want about Hitler, the guy knew how to hold a room. Just a hell of a public speaker.<br>
<b>Eva</b>: See? That's what I've been saying. I know he was evil and Satan incarnate and whatnot. But it takes more than one guy to kill 6 million people. If no one had listened to him, he just would have been some crazy asshole on the street. But no, there were thousands of people who heard his bullshit and were like, "Yeah. That sounds alright to me." That's the really scary part.</p>
<p>Shit. She's right. This dame is starting to get pretty interesting. Let's focus. We're moving to Phase 3: offend.</p>
<p><b>Joe</b>: Nancy Grace is a loudmouth ass.<br>
<b>Eva</b>: I once saw her in an airport. I wanted to spit on her.</p>
<p>I have no choice but to proceed to Phase 4: insult and bore. Simultaneously.</p>
<p><b>Joe</b>: So I know chicks like to read about celebrities or whatever but I gotta tell you about this video game I was playing the other day.<br>
<b>Eva</b>: XBox or PS3?<br>
<b>Joe</b>: Umm, PS3.<br>
<b>Eva</b>: Awesome. Me too. Okay, shoot.<br>
<b>Joe</b>: Right. Uh, so I was playing Madden - its a football game - with a buddy of mine and it was a pretty tight match-up. I was the '04 Eagles and he was the Patriots.<br>
<b>Eva</b>: Super Bowl 39. Very nice. I hope you didn't keep McNabb in the pocket and you let him scramble like hell.<br>
<b>Joe</b>: Exactly! He was so fast back then. It's just ridiculous that he was so paranoid about being labled a "passing quarterback." Who cares? Pay me millions of dollars to play a sport and you can label me whatever the hell you want!<br>
<b>Eva</b>: Absolutely. That would have been an entirely different game if the Pats were forced to sit back and keep an eye on him.</p>
<p>Okay. So maybe I was wrong to try for a premature evacuation. I think we can give this another shot.</p>
<p><b>Joe</b>: So I was thinking, we should get together some time this weekend.<br>
<b>Eva</b>: Nah. I don't think it's going to work out. But it was nice meeting you.</p>
<p>In hindsight, I realize that the mature thing to do in this situation would have been to be honest. But clearly "mature" is not my default setting because otherwise I would have an easier time finding a girlfriend.</p>
<p>Recap: I tried to fail, but I was unsuccessful. So I gave up and tried to succeed, which I also failed at. And that's how you get a negative batting average.</p>joey bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887522114763485323noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14361990.post-7429998218611354902010-11-12T04:15:00.000-05:002010-11-12T04:15:00.609-05:00The Great Date Experiment - The Trick Question<p>"So... are you looking for a serious relationship or just trying to have some fun?"</p>
<p>Shit. Point of no return. The honest answer is "Yes." My experience is that one will inevitably lead to the other. But what is the right answer today? She didn't seem too judgmental on the sleeping around option. But the word "just" is a little dismissive. Let's try ambiguity.</p>
<p>"Look, I can tell by now that we're both looking for the same thing."</p>
<p>"Well that's a relief."</p>
<p>Okay... so what did I just agree to?</p>
<p>It turns out she is looking for a spiritual equal ready to populate the earth as if the Great Flood just happened. "One child every 15 months and no less than 7 total - because 7 is a holy number. I just don't see the point in having sex for anything other than procreation. That's disrespectful to God."</p>
<p>So I was right. She was looking for both a serious relationship AND sex on a regular basis. But I failed to take into account the motivation and frequency. In this case, all Dealbreaker thresholds have been exceeded. Abort mission. Return to base.</p>
<p>"Check please. Separate".</p>joey bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887522114763485323noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14361990.post-84984524034113576522010-11-05T04:15:00.003-04:002010-11-05T04:15:00.389-04:00The Great Date Experiment - The Distraction<p>There are so many variables that play into how a date will turn out. It's even harder when other people interfere.</p>
<p>Throughout the dinner, I noticed a very attractive girl from another table. She was constantly staring at me and whispering to her friends. She was gorgeous, which it made it pretty difficult to focus on my date.</p>
<p>Later in the evening, I excused myself to use the restroom and as I got up noticed that my voyeurous vixen got up as well - her eyes fixed on me. I tensed. She caught up to me as soon as I rounded the corner. She put her hand on my shoulder. Why doesn't this sort of thing happen when I'm out with friends so I can actually brag about it?</p>
<p>Bashfully, she asked, "Hey. Umm... This is kind of embarrassing, but... are you on a date with that girl?"</p>
<p>I quickly gauged whether my date would notice if I spent the rest of the night at a different table. "Well... yeah. I am. Why, are you interested?" If I could pull this off, even Seinfield would have to admire a Switch of this magnitude.</p>
<p>"Ha! Yeah. No. I have a boyfriend. Me and my friends have a bet."</p>
<p>"You're friends had a bet on whether a guy and a girl out to dinner were on a date? That sounds like a pretty lame bet."</p>
<p>"Oh no. The bet was which website you met on. My friend thinks it was one of those sex buddy sites. I say it was that Apple dating site for dorks."</p>
<p>"Actually it was Match. And I hope your boyfriend suffocates on your large breasts."</p>joey bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887522114763485323noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14361990.post-74401257448081942542010-10-29T04:15:00.002-04:002010-10-29T04:15:00.802-04:00The Great Date Experiment - "What Else?"<p>Elsa wasn't very good at conversation. Not that she was shy or quiet or reserved. She was actually pretty interesting. But I felt like I wasn't part of the conversation. She never asked me about myself or gave me a chance to respond to what she'd said. Whenever she was done talking she would immediately say, "What else?"</p>
<p>About 20 minutes in, she asks me, "Do you have any plans tonight?"</p>
<p>"Tonight? Other than the date we are currently on? No."</p>
<p>"Do you want to go back to my place and mess around now?"</p>
<p>"Uhh... What? I mean. Yeah. Yes. But... Huh? Is this a trick question? I'm confused. I feel like I'm being set up. Are you with one of those 'Catch a Predator' shows?"</p>
<p>The truth is, I'm a gentleman and not the kind of guy to have sex with a woman 20 minutes after meeting her. Fortunately, her house was 10 minutes away.</p>joey bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887522114763485323noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14361990.post-39901506451724445252010-10-25T20:50:00.001-04:002010-10-25T20:50:00.377-04:00High School ReunionThe 7 Stages of Reunion Fever
<ol>
<li>Ignorance - "Another reunion? Didn't we just have one of those like 4 or 5 years ago?"
<li>Apathy - "What do I care what those people have done with their lives?"
<li>Curiosity - "I wonder what those people have done with their lives..."
<li>Panic - "Shit. I haven't done anything with my life."
<li>Optimism - "It's an open bar."
<li>Denial - "I have no interest in trying to impress people I don't even talk to anymore. I outgrew that 3 years ago."
<li>Acceptance - "Fuck it. Let's just go to the damn thing."
</ol>joey bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887522114763485323noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14361990.post-60453773579536434242010-10-22T04:15:00.018-04:002010-10-22T04:15:00.529-04:00The Great Date Experiment - The Handoff<p>First dates are awkward by definition. But there are always a few surprises along the way...</p>
<p>Girl: "... That is so funny. My friend Janice loves weird stuff like that. You two would totally get along. I should give you her number."</p>
<p>Wait. Is this girl setting me up with her friend? At the start of the night I would have said that the worst thing that could happen on a first date is that it wouldn't work out. But now I know. The worst thing that can come from a first date... is another first date.</p>
<p>Oh, and in case your wondering, Janice lives in Michigan and is "not really looking to date right now," but she's flattered* and thanks for asking.</p>
<p><br><br>------DATING DEFINITIONS----------<br>
*flattered - girl code for "haha! seriously?"joey bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887522114763485323noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14361990.post-2020469308471555382010-10-15T04:15:00.022-04:002010-10-15T04:15:01.399-04:00The Great Date Experiment - The Redirect<p>Making plans can be frustrating and confusing. Especially when someone initiates with an effortless "Wanna hang?" and then redirects every decision back to me so I end up making all the plans. That's supposed to be my trick!</p>
<p>The following conversation took place via text message. As always, the part of Clueless Male will be played by yours truly.</p>
<b>Girl</b>: Hey. Want to get together this weekend?<br>
<b>Joe</b>: Sure. What did you have in mind?<br>
<b>Girl</b>: Not sure. What do you want to do?<br>
<b>Joe</b>: Dinner?<br>
Girl. Sure. What kind?<br>
<b>Joe</b>: How about Sushi?<br>
<b>Girl</b>: I love Sushi! Where?<br>
<b>Joe</b>: Shiki Sushi is really good.<br>
<b>Girl</b>: I love it there! But I want to get out of Durham. Someplace else.<br>
<b>Joe</b>: Okay. There's Sushi Blues downtown.<br>
<b>Girl</b>: Not really in a downtown mood.<br>
<b>Joe</b>: The only other Sushi place I know is Tasu.<br>
<b>Girl</b>: Perfect. That's where I wanted to go. But I always get lost over there. Can we meet up somewhere so I can follow you?<br>
<b>Joe</b>: Sure. No problem.<br>
<b>Girl</b>: Where should we meet?<br>
<b>Joe</b>: Do you know where the Ale House is?<br>
<b>Girl</b>: Oh yeah. That sounds good. Which night.<br>
<b>Joe</b>: How about Saturday?<br>
<b>Girl</b>: Great. What time.<br>
<b>Joe</b>: 7?<br>
<b>Girl</b>: Darn. Can't make it. Maybe another time. Have a good weekend!<br>
<p>I especially liked where she stopped using question marks so her requests turned into demands.</p>joey bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887522114763485323noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14361990.post-15260010223938820542010-10-08T04:15:00.019-04:002010-10-08T18:47:00.140-04:00The Great Date Experiment - No Answer<p>Online dating has confusion built in to the process. You contact someone. She writes back. You write back. You never hear from her again. Was it something I said? Is she on vacation? Did she witness an especially heinous crime and is now in the witness relocation program? I usually assume that one.</p>
<p>I'd gone back and forth about 5 times with one girl and things were progressing pretty well. And then, the eerie silence. It had been over a week since I'd gotten a response. That's usually not a big deal except that this girl tended to reply within hours of every message I'd sent. I couldn't understand. Where did I go wrong? I went back to review what I had written. I can't be sure, but I think I pinpointed what it was that cooled her off.</p>
<p>When trying to describe my ability to take a joke or even laugh at my own mistakes, I accidentally typed: "I'm not afraid of a little self defecation. Actually, I'm really good at it ;-)"</p>
<p>Funking spell checker.</p>joey bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887522114763485323noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14361990.post-11237422431698746692010-10-01T04:15:00.003-04:002010-10-17T21:50:09.833-04:00The Great Date Experiment - Too Late For Indecision<p>If you've never done online dating - even if you're currently seeing someone - I suggest signing up. The website itself provides plenty of entertainment without ever going on a single date.</p>
<p>Here is an excerpt from an actual profile:
<blockquote>
Married: No<br>
Have kids: Yes, they live at home.<br>
Want kids: Not sure
</blockquote>
<p>Isn't it a little late to still be indecisive about that?</p>
<hr align=center width=75%>
<p>Here is one of the emails I received. It terrifies me. Just reading it makes me feel like an accessory to gang-related crime. And grammar homicide.
<blockquote>
funniest thing ive ever seen was last wknd. 4 girls outside their car shoes off and when we stopped to chat they said " r u ready to see a murder up in here cause we about to beat the living shit out of this girl" lol.
</blockquote>joey bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887522114763485323noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14361990.post-5580034143224257172010-04-15T02:30:00.019-04:002010-04-15T02:30:00.293-04:00Itsa Me Berfday<p>I did it. I've done what Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, Kurt Cobain and the first Paul McCartney could not. I made it to 28. Does this make me more successful than these very accomplished artists? Yes it does.
<p>In celebration of me, The Ting Tings personally sent me birthday wishes last year - cleverly disguised as a kid's TV show performance. Hidden message received. Love you guys, too.
<p>And yes, they do call me Brobee. But you can't.
<center><a href=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=veN2gyCEj8s>The Ting Tings - Happy Birthday, <strike>Brobee</strike> Joey</a></center>joey bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887522114763485323noreply@blogger.com0