Friday, April 16, 2010

Like Goldilocks, but with toilets.

The men I work with on the 9th floor are not the most hygienic.

Often times, the deciding factor for which of the four bathroom stalls I use depends on which one has the least urine on the seat.

Today’s winner - three droplets.

God, I miss being on 10.

Wednesday, April 7, 2010

Diet and exercise.

I was so hungry after work today that I picked up a Beefy 5-Layer Burrito at the Taco Bell in my building before sprinting for my train. Unfortunately, in my rush, the burrito fell out of my bag and I didn’t even realize it was gone until I was already at the station.

And that’s how I lost 550 calories from just five minutes of running. 

Monday, February 22, 2010

Curry fresh.

I was on my computer in my room when I suddenly realized I could smell Indian food. I couldn’t figure where it was coming from. I hadn’t brought any leftovers to eat at my desk. I had just emptied out my trash the day before, so it couldn’t be coming from the garbage. After some sniffing around, I finally found where it was coming from.

My right armpit.

I was horrified. How could I have gotten such horrible B.O. without even realizing it? Did I forget to swipe my right pit with deodorant that morning? Was my choice in antiperspirant not as powerful as it should be? Was I simply an incredibly smelly person and was finally realizing my true funk?

Then after closer inspection, I found a thick brown streak on the underside of my upper sleeve.

I had somehow gotten some of the samosa I ate earlier in the day smeared in my own armpit.

Turns out it wasn’t an issue of terrible hygiene, just terrible eating skills.

Sunday, February 14, 2010

Raw fish is the gift for lovers.

I was shopping by myself this Valentines Day, as single people often do, when I came across this huge sushi roll at my local grocery store made special just for the holiday.

It made me feel really sad for the guy who would end up getting it for his girl thinking she might enjoy it more than the standard heart-shaped box of chocolates.

Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against the concept of heart-shaped sushi. It’s a cute idea. But it kind of loses it’s appeal when it’s so large you have to pick it up like a sandwich to eat it.

And what was most depressing was the label listing the expiration date as February 15, the day after Valentines Day.

Maybe every Valentines Day gift should come with that sticker.

Friday, February 5, 2010

Giving the finger.

Today I became a man. I finally fulfilled that right of passage that changes a guy from a young-adult into an actual adult.

Today I had my first prostate exam.

If there’s any way to strip away a man’s final shred of youth, that’s it.

I was pretty sure that prostate exams were something men started getting in their mid-thirties. Being 28, I thought nothing of it last month when my doctor scheduled me for my physical. That was until he said, “Be prepared. When I do your examination, I’ll be examining everything.”

Unfortunately, I don’t really know how you prepare for that kind of exam. Perhaps there are some special stretches, but I was a little wary to look it up online. That’s not exactly something I’d like to see pop up with a Google image result.

I arrived at my appointment this morning hoping to get it over with as soon as possible. The doctor’s assistant let me into a private examination room, but the doc was still busy with another patient. I waited playing Tetris on my iPhone to pass the time. I had to switch to Solitaire after realizing the unfortunate similarity between my upcoming predicament and trying to fit a four-long piece down a skinny one-column opening.

A half hour later, the doctor finally walked in and started asking me some medical questions. If I had any allergies. What was my family medical history. Was I on any medication. The standard stuff. Pretty much what I expected. He finished filling out his forms and had me sit down on the paper-covered examination table.

He put his stethoscope to my chest. As I breathed in deeply, he asked, “So, are you seeing anyone right now?”

Not quite the medical questions he was asking earlier. It seemed he was trying to make some smalltalk. I guess if barbers do it while cutting your hair, doctors can do it while examining your body.

“No,” I replied as I exhaled. “Not currently seeing anyone.”

He moved the stethoscope down to my abdomen. “How long has it been since you’ve been in a relationship?”

I continued my deep breathing. “It’s been awhile.”

“Did you break up with her or did she break up with you?” he asked as he shifted to my right side.

I was starting to feel a bit awkward. Who knew “examining everything” included a relationship probe?

“She broke up with me,” I answered.

“Don’t worry, you’re a catch,” the doctor said as he moved behind me and put his stethoscope on my back. “You just have to make yourself more appealing to the ladies.”

Things had suddenly shifted from hair stylist small-talk to what a mother says to her son when she’s worried he’s going to die alone.

He pressed his hands around my back and abdomen.

“You’re kind of a casual guy. But you dress too casually. You need to wear clothes that are more stylish.”

He started feeling under my neck.

“Your hair is too short. You need a more sophisticated hairstyle. That’s what girls like.”

He poked at my armpits.

“Don’t go running after the girls. That makes you look desperate. You have to let them chase you.”

All I could do was smile awkwardly and reply with an occasional, “Yeah,” to his out-of-place love life advice.

He had me stand up and pull my pants and underwear down.

“You’re a nice guy, maybe too nice.”

He clutched each of my testicles and examined them.

“The young ladies are more into the bad boys.”

He had me lean over.

“You have to be more confident. Then the women will want you.”

And he stuck his finger in my ass.

I’m sure he was just trying to get me to relax with what he considered harmless conversation, but even my mom doesn’t give me that bad of a relationship barrage. Instead of easing the discomfort, it ended up compounding the pain tenfold.

That finger might as well have been a fist.

When the examination was over and I was getting ready to leave, the doctor said to me, “If you just listen to what I say, I bet you’ll have found that special someone by the time you come back.”

That is of course, if I go back.

I wonder if there are any mute doctors out there.

Monday, January 4, 2010

My neck isn’t stylish.

I’d had my eye on a scarf at Target for quite some time. Whenever I’d walk by the mens’ section during one of my many visits to the store, I’d see it hanging from its hook in the accessories section - striped in silver and white with those little dangly things at the end.

I would have gotten it in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, it wasn’t one of those thick winter scarves. It was what I would call, for lacking of a better term, a fashion scarf. A thin piece of fabric you wear around your neck for no real purpose other than to look good - like a modern, trendy version of the necktie.

Too bad I’m not fashionable or gay enough to pull it off.

So I didn’t buy it. I’d never be brave enough to wear it, and it would have just ended up a waste of $14.99. On its hook it remained.

Then one day, the scarf wasn’t on its hook anymore. I figured someone had finally purchased it. I was slightly disappointed, but mostly glad the temptation to buy it was gone.

But I was wrong. It wasn’t sold. It had been moved to the clearance rack. 30% off. Only $10.49. And do I ever love deals.

I had to remind myself that the scarf just wasn’t me, and that even though it was on clearance, I had better things to spend $10.49 on.

A week later they had marked it down to $7.49. Half off.

But still I held strong. I would never be able to pull off the scarf and $7.49 was worth saving.

Then they marked it down to $3.49.

I said “fuck it” and tossed it in my shopping basket.

I picked up a few other items while I was at the store. Some candy. A bottle of soap. A couple of action figures. When I was done shopping, I brought them to checkout and tossed it all on the conveyor belt. The cashier ringed them up and finally came to the scarf. She swiped it over the scanner, looked up at me and said, “I can print out a gift receipt for this scarf if you need one.”

Not even the cashier thought it could be something I’d ever wear. The toys, those she thought someone like me would buy for himself. But the scarf, no way.

I replied, “Um, yeah, a gift receipt would be fine,” took my bags and embarrassedly walked out of the store.

So does anyone out there want a silver and white striped scarf?