2005-04-21 - 11:53 a.m.

A recent string of events has brought forth this entry... an entry dedicated to the things in life that make me feel genuinely uncomfortable.

1) A couple of days ago I walked into the office and before I could even put my ass in the chair, a co-worker looked up and said in a genuine tone, "I really like your shirt."

Ahhh, normally I'd be flattered and offer up some kind of comment back ("Thanks, ummm... I like your filing system...it's efficient as all get-out..."), but in this case, I was slightly mortified and to be honest, a little concerned. The co-worker who donated the comment is a consistently bad...no, fucking terrible, dresser. She often wears loud print blouses that are as far across the spectrum from her pants as could be. Not only is she getting dressed in the dark, she must be shit-faced drunk, blind as a bat, and most likely semi-retarded. That day I was wearing a simple, button-up long sleeve from the gap. The pattern was vertical, tight white and blue stripes. Rob owns a shirt very similar and I think it looks terrific on him.

So there I was, stuck in place, with what must have been a "Whaaaaa happened?!?!" look on my face. Did my shirt really suck balls? Or was this woman only incapable of discerning tasteful shirts of her own? I made a "Thank you" nod and scurried to my cube. Truth be told, when lunch time rolled around, I almost changed shirts.

2) Bees. Fuck you bees. I'm fairly certain the government could invest a little money to develop a synthetic honey. Or maybe come up with a bio-dome-ish community strictly for bees. Then we could scoop them all up and put them in the dome, never to trouble us again. I was mowing the backyard the other afternoon when, much to my surprise, I spotted a bee about 5 feet away, travelling in a straight line, hell bent on stinging me in the fucking eye. In a Matrix-esque moment, I was able to shut my eyelid, protecting my baby blue from the messenger of Satan and his stinger. Still, the muthafucka stung me right in the eyelid. IN THE EYELID! FUCK YOU BEES! The thing was stuck in my eyelid and I had to reach up and squish his body in between my fingers. Thinking back, I wish I'd thought better and devised a more painful, drawn out death for the little shit. UGH! FUCK BEES! I WANT TO PUNCH THEM IN THE FACE!

I then had to twist and yank on the body to get the barbed stinger to release it's grip on my lid. Thank Jehova I didn't swell up like Matthew Broderick in Election. Oh man, speaking of Election. I love me some Reese Witherspoon in that movie. Yep. Sure do.

3) That guy who checks me out (not like that you perv) at Gerbes. I'm doing my bi-weekly shopping (hey, did you know that bi-weekly can technically mean twice a week, or once every two weeks? Both definitons are correct according to the ole dictionary. In this case, I mean once every two-weeks), and I arrive at the bank of check-out counters.

Since it's well past 11pm, only one aisle light is illuminated so I steer my cart into the corridor of candy bars and tabloids and wait for the check-out person to appear. The employees only door opens and out bounds a short, bald guy. Before his mouth opens I recognize him as the muthafucka who engaged Rob and I in a pointless conversation about alien lifeforms while we were trying to enjoy a quiet meal at Panera a while back. And sure enough, without any prompting or cue from me, he launches into some reatarded monologue about his 57 year old Thai woman he's dating and her affection for spicy foods that tear his "You' know what" up. Do you know how long it takes a bald, egomaniacal, loud mouth to scan and bag $96.34 worth of groceries? I wasn't keeping track but I'd say it was a lifetime and a half. I tried my best to show disinterest by mumbling one word replies to his occsional questions, and by not laughing at the jokes he made... but it was no use. This guy was gung-ho on subjecting me to the dumbest shit ever. Part of me believes he recognized me from our last encounter and this was just a sadisitc follow-up to the first round of pain and suffering. In fact I think I'd rather go another round with the eye-lid stinging bee than sit through 5 more minutes of this jack-asses idea of a "conversation."

Whew. I feel a lot better getting that junk off my chest.

Last night was our final match of the indoor sessions. We took on the always difficult Mizzou Men's Club team. Somehow, without substitutes to boot, we managed to earn an 8-8 tie. The game was high scoring thanks in part to the tiring play of the second half. Defenses were caught too far forward and the small, speedy guys on both sides took advatage. I scored a sweet assist on a "flying dutchman"-esque maneuver. Look up the term, it's worth it if you can find footage of a goal scored in this manner, it's fucking terrific. There's actually a fairly popular soccer video on a lot of those "cool movies" webpages like Ebaumsworld and whatnot that features a goalie saving a goal using the Flying Dutchman maneuver.

But anyway, the week has been long. Tonight will hopefully be a nice escape, spent quietly in a corner booth at a bar or something. Thursdays and Sundays seem to be my only nights to unwind lately...and who goes out on a Sunday? Blah, I'm ramblin. Enough.

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