Sunday, September 12, 2010

Working on Sunday is Hazardous

So, I'm at work on a Sunday. Why? Well because...I just am.

My friends texting me to say, "What? Why aren't you *insert more fun activity here*?" you are not helping the situation.

So, I drank a lot last night, and the night before because it's my birthday week in which I manage to guilt random friends into taking me out to dinner every night until I've drilled a fresh hole in my liver from the free drinks and eaten at least 10 lbs of red meat. I refuse to feel guilty for all the calories...or the drunk texts. But as a result of such gluttony, my digestive system is making itself a little difficult to get along with today, if you know what I mean.

I headed into the ladies room thankful that I'm the only idiot stupid enough to work on a Sunday when I encountered a spider. And I don't mean a small but terrifying sort, I mean the kind that has a body the size of my big toe with furry legs and shit and is big enough for you to see the malice in his eyes kind of terrifying spider. And it was between me and the stall in the bathroom. In a panic fit I grabbed the air freshener off the sink and sprayed the beast as it ran and I did my "ew, spider" dance (which looks oddly like a cross between the chicken dance and Irish step dancing) and squealed.

I then dropped the air freshener and ran out of the ladies room because I was both terrified to continue my showdown with the spider and because of the overwhelming perfume-y "Springtime Fresh" smell of the air freshener was about to suffocate me.

Unfortunately, my "fight or flight" reflex is no match for the amount of alcohol and red meat I've consumed in the past 48 hours so I was forced to use the men's room because I'm pretty sure that the spider is waiting behind the ladies room door to eat me alive and because I'm pretty sure I'd asphyxiate in there after emptying most of the bottle of air freshener. This is okay because I'm the only one in the office...or so I thought.

As I got back to my desk, one of the men that works here comes into my office and asks, "do you know who else is here?" and I'm all, "Nope." And he goes, "Well, some one's definitely here, the men's room toilet is clogged and I just used it an hour ago and it worked fine." I tried to look innocent as I said, "Weird. Maybe they already left."

For the record, it appeared to flush just fine when I used it so I have no idea how it's suddenly clogged. Maybe that spider followed my trail and fell into it? That's probably it.

Thursday, September 9, 2010

Fruit Flies are Perverts

I have to tell you, things didn't work out with Mr. Melty-Pants. I know, you're thinking, "Wow, that was super quick." You're right. I knew he was still dating other girls and given that we had yet to consummate our growing lust, that was okay with me. However, when I started to feel more like the "backup plan" and less like the "go-to girl" I realized it was time to bow out of the race. After all, I have other guys asking me out and so there's no reason to play pinch hitter when Mr. Melty-Pants' priority girl is washing her hair or something.

But today I'm here to tell you about how I've discovered the perversion of fruit flies. I mean, really perverted.

It all started on which is obviously where most stories about perverts originate, at least since Craigslist has now eliminated the "find a hooker" section of its site. So, this guy that thinks I'm compatible with has a profile including the story of how he ended his medical school career because he was thwarted by the triple recessive genes of the Drosophila Melanogaster.

I am far too much of a geek to just presume that this is a trivial part of the story and so of course I Googled it and learned that it's Greek for "dark-bellied dew lover" (I am not making this shit up). Also, it's the name that really dorky people use for fruit flies. I was quickly becoming bored with the Wikipedia entry for fruit flies when I spotted this picture (helpfully embellished by moi):

Moral of the story: Fruit flies are obviously perverts. I mean, I think it's pretty obvious from the above picture that the next thing that third fruit fly will do is try to turn this into a threesome.

Secondary moral of the story: WTF kind of medical school is teaching you about the triple recessive genes of perverted fruit flies? I know I'm not a doctor but how is this helpful when I'm having ha heart attack or some poor guy is having one of those dangerous four-hour erections all of those prescription impotence pill commercials are constantly warning about?

Tertiary moral of the story: If you have a dangerous four hour erection, you could just call me because I've now read all about fruit flies on Wikipedia and apparently it's the same stuff they're teaching doctors these days and frankly, since things didn't work out with Mr. Melty-Pants I could use a...I mean, I could probably save you the cost of an emergency room visit.

Whatever-comes-after-tertiary moral of the story: It's probably best to avoid any insect references in your online dating profile but if you have to reference one, pick one that's less perverted than fruit flies. I mean, I'm not responding to you because now I'm convinced that you're into voyeurism and threesomes.

My Zimbio
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