Week of Repressed Frustration

Dear g-Style table of contents lovers,

More on the title in a bit. Without little ado, here are the posts from this past week in review:

Tue, Feb 2 - The Writing Bit
An update on my memoirs. It hasn't been going too terribly well, but hopefully the changes will help.
'But as a narcissist of the nth degree, I must insist that I should be the thing that matters most in a story of my own life.'

Wed, Feb 3 - The Wise Man
A bad joke opens an entry about a lesson from a wise man: always look for the hardware; don't assume that a girl is married.
'The elderly gentleman paid for his prescription and then let a coy grin slide to the left-most edge of his lips from the expertly hidden, sex-filled part of the brain that all males possess, no matter how old.'

Thu, Feb 4 - Tri, Try Harder
The blonde comes back, and what ensues is one of the most awkward interactions I've ever had with a woman.
'She continued her coy smile, as pretty girls are wont to do when they’re teasing you. She wasn’t really sorry.'

Fri, Feb 5 - Night at Ra, Pt. 1
Guys say some stupid things when they're wasted.
'You know I like that dark meat, right?'

Sat, Feb 6 - Brotherly Love Amongst Ourselves
A reflection on the relationship of the Winchester brothers of Supernatural and my relationship with my own brother.
'He is probably the coolest guy I know and became my role model when I lost faith in my father.'

Sun, Feb 7 - SPIDER: Would you like some fresh breh-ade?
A short re-release about Sam's Restaurant located in Fairfield, exit 197.
'Beans so soaked in butter that it's questionable whether the main ingredient is butter or beans.'
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The Week in Review + random thoughts that are like American Idol rejects: good, but not quite good enough.

There is an understanding in the retail pharmacy sector that customers can hassle us all they want at the beginning of the week, but in return they give us some rest at the end of the week to recover. No dice. I'm still decompressing with my bottle of Tylenol (generic, of course) and Shiner Black. Hepatitis is overrated. Besides, I'm already yellow.

Pharmacies should be provided with caller ID with the option to label certain phone numbers with ‘troublemaker’. Pharmacists should also have the option to screen their calls.

A relief pharmacist commented on my style of wearing a hoodie over my dress shirt and tie: ‘It’s odd you have on a shirt with a nicely matched tie and then throw on that.’ I said I was going for the I-wear-a-dress-shirt-and-nicely-matched-tie-because-I-have-to look. I also cited that the manikins at ExpressMen seem to blend the preppy with the caszh* all the time. Of note, I thought about unbuttoning the top 2 buttons of my shirt (like at the club), but reconsidered since it would look a bit silly with a tie.

I had outdone myself that day with a blue shirt and green checked tie that had a hint of blue at the criss-cross junctions (that’s how it matched). If you were wondering why I didn’t objectify the relief pharmacist, it was because she broke out the ‘my husband’** routine within 5 minutes of meeting me.

The old lady in the apartment downstairs moved to a senior independent living center. She couldn’t stand the noise from the guys in the apartment adjacent to mine (they insist on making a raucous running up the stairs) and the poor insulation. She had complimented me a few months ago on my quietness (‘It’s like there’s hardly anyone living up there!’), so I felt obligated to tip-toe around in my apartment. But now that she’s gone, I’m free to break out a home theater system and get my groove on (in more ways than one).

The bank of one of my savings accounts charged a ‘statement printing fee’ of $10, which is more than I ever got from them in interest. Sneaky, spoony bards!

I couldn’t stop humming INXS’s Not Enough Time. There’s something classy and dirty about serenading a woman with a line like, I want to be inside you.

I kept on typing 01 instead of 02 for the month when filling prescriptions. I can’t believe it's February already! Time flies by when you’re not stressing over tests. I’m starting understand Ponce de Leon’s mad search for the Fountain of Youth.

Making Magic Mouthwash makes me feel like a bartender. Equal parts lidocaine, benadryl, and Maalox. Layer benadryl, then lidocaine, then Maalox in prescription bottle (you put the benadryl in first so that the lidocaine doesn’t stick to the bottom of the bottle). Shake well, label, and garnish with a sprig of mint and lemon peel.

Justin Bieber has probably gotten more action at 15 than most men will have in their lifetime. It’s pretty sad.

Conan O’Brien must be pretty confident in his manhood to wear the nickname ‘Coco’ proudly.

It’s awkward addressing people in their 20’s with the terms ‘sir’ or ‘m’am’. I still do it anyway to unnerve them.

I saw the first woman who I would label as a ‘plain Jane’: neither attractive nor ugly, neither petite nor overweight, neither pleasant nor rude--just wholly unremarkable. Her insurance card wouldn’t work = troublemaker.

Many comedians link subsequent jokes to a beginning one. I refuse to admit that I do anything as tacky as that technique. Don't you dare do CTRL+F for 'troublemaker'!

A woman in her 50s asked where the condoms were. I refrained from asking why since I didn’t want to know.

You know you’re in the boonies when you hear ‘Mr. En-guy-yen’, or ‘New-gen’, or ‘Nu-gent’, or ‘Na-goo-yen’. Hooked-on-phonics doesn’t work on ‘Nguyen’. If you don’t know how to pronounce it, ask.

The Game has some amazing stories. It would be awesome to meet some of the master PUAs and learn in-person.

Congrats to the Saints on their Super Bowl win. According to Wikipedia, you can tote around a plastic cup filled with your favorite beverage (sans absinthe) on the streets of New Orleans. Glass bottles are no bueno. I’m really looking forward to Bourbon Street in a few weeks. Laissez Les Bon Temps Roulez.

This past week, I saw two women who did the black skirt with black, opaque stockings and black boot heels thing. I swooned. A co-worker caught me looking, but I wasn’t that embarrassed, surprisingly.

Lastly, I asked my dad when I was younger, ‘Why do women wear heels if they hurt so much and are so uncomfortable?’ He responded, ‘You’ll understand when you’re older.’ If I have sons, I’ll be sure to tell them the exact same thing.

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*my way of shortening ‘casual’
**when women consciously (or subconsciously, but this is highly unlikely) mention their significant other for no identifiable reason but to say, ‘Don’t bother hitting on me. I’m taken.’ Like we can’t spot that huge (or sometimes miniscule, given this economy) rock on their finger.