Monday, February 23, 2009

I can be such a dick (and balls).

I was sipping a cup of tea while clicking around Facebook when I realized I hadn’t changed my status in quite some time. Something came to mind as I looked down at my mug. Well aware of the connotations, I typed up an update.

Andrew is tea bagging.

A couple of nights later I was on Facebook again when an instant message from one of my coworkers popped up from the bottom of my window.

Co-worker: Um.. you do know what your saying.. right?
Co-worker: Tea-bagging is the name of a sexual act.

I’m a guy. And I’ve been to high school. So, yes, I knew what I was saying. But I felt like playing along anyways.

Me: oh my!
Co-worker: Yeah.. uh
Me: i’m way too innocent to know that!!
Co-worker:Aw.. that is so insanely cute that I can’t stand it
Co-worker: I don’t mean that in a patronizing way
Co-worker: Seriously, you’re extremely good looking, and if you say you’re ‘tea-bagging” you’re going to get a lot of attention.. uh.. from guys.. taht you don’t want
Me: damn me and my inadvertant puns!
Co-worker: lol
Co-worker: yeah. tea-bagging is uh.. *blush* an oral sex thang in which uh.. the guy is uh.. *blush* standing over a girl and uh..
Me: okay, i better change it then

I went to the top of my profile and typed in a new status.

Andrew is cleveland steamering.

Friday, February 13, 2009

Stopping is essential.

$843. That’s how much it costs to keep my van from trying to kill me.

I was driving down 22nd and steered into the left turn lane to pull into Toys R’ Us. The arrow turned red, so pressed on the breaks.

And they broke.

The break pedal was to the floor, and I was still moving forwards. Into oncoming traffic. I whispered a “shit” as my still-functioning rear breaks screeched in an attempt to stop all 2 tons of my van. 50 feet later, I was a car-length into the intersection, and luckily not nose-deep in the rear of someone else’s vehicle.

Brought it in to the shop and got a bill for the aforementioned $843.

If I can recall correctly, I’ve had to get the breaks fixed three times and the coolant system four times. The suspension, breaks and windows have had to be fixed. And who could forget those three months in which the van kept turning off in the middle of the road for no reason at all. In the past year alone, I’ve paid over $2,000 on repairs to my van.

Kelly Blue Book lists my van’s value at $1,440.

Math says it’s time to get a new car.

Friday, February 6, 2009

Internet transmitted diseases.

Deanry: guess what i got yesterday
Me: herpes
Deanry: a twitter account
Me: same thing

Sunday, January 11, 2009

Love and lactose.

I don’t regularly shop at Trader Joe’s, but when my college friends are in town, I sometimes tag along while they stock up on groceries. I’d probably get pretty bored there if the store didn’t have a few new interesting selections to check out each time I visit. Tonight’s discoveries included sushi with carrot wrappers, chocolate-covered edamame, and a cute girl in the cheese aisle.

I caught a glimpse of her from behind. White iPod earbuds flowing along her black wavy hair. Fur-lined boots leading up her tight, blue pants. I figured she warranted a closer look. Grabbing a wedge of cranberry cheese next to her, I peered over as I gave it a whiff. Wasn’t too bad. The cheese or the girl.

If only picking up the girl was as easy as picking up the cheese. Talking to strangers at grocery stores has never been my thing, so I resigned myself to let standing two feet away from her be the closest our relationship could ever be.

I knew I could never get the girl. But I could still get the cheese. I told myself to remember to pick up a wedge before we left and walked back over to my friends.

A few minutes went by, and our group started heading in the direction of the cheese aisle. The girl was still there. I thought I’d get in a little more two-feet-away time, so I picked up the cranberry cheese and asked my friends what they thought of it.

As Gigi gave it her blessings, Lucas noticed a tub of cheddar pub cheese on the top shelf. He asked us if we thought he should get it.

“You should give it a try,” I heard from behind me. “It goes great with garlic pita chips.”

I turned around. It was the girl. She looked over at me with an awkward look on her face.

“Sorry, but is your name Jon?”

I was caught completely off guard. A bit puzzled, I looked back at her and replied, “No.”

“Oh,” she said back as she turned and quickly walked away.

As she disappeared around the canned food aisle, I couldn’t help but wonder what the hell just happened. I thought I’d at least get a, “Sorry, you look like an old friend of mine,” or a, “You look so familiar,” from her as a follow-up instead of instantaneous retreat. All I could figure was it was one of three things:

1. She really thought I was someone she knew named Jon and was embarrassed about the mistake.

2. She was attempting to find a way to talk to me and thought she failed miserably.

3. The smell of the clam chowder on my breath from the store sample I had earlier was overwhelming and she wanted to get away as soon as possible.

Whatever the reason, I’m sure I could have pulled off something better than, “No.”

“Maybe. What’s your name?”

“Sorry. My name’s Andrew.”

“Nope. But I have a puppy named Jon.”

Hell, even, “Yes, I’m Jon,” would have been better.

As long as it wasn’t Lucas’ suggestion of, “I can be anyone you want me to be!”

Unfortunately, you can’t return a line when you think it up ten minutes later.

So now I’m without a cheese girl.

And I forgot to buy the cheese.

Nothing ever works out for me.

Tuesday, December 9, 2008

A Good Samaritan, but not the best.

I can’t believe how paranoid I am.

I had just gotten lunch from the Corner Bakery in my building and was headed back up to the office when I heard, “Young man! Young man!” from behind me. I figured that the homeless had decided to start begging in the lobby, so I tried to ignore it and keep walking. But I began to feel guilty and turned to see an old woman staring at me, her hands stretched towards me, grasping a bottle of orange juice.

“Can you open this for me?” She asked. “I’m not strong enough to open it.”

“Uh, sure,” I replied as I reached over and twisted the cap off the bottle still clutched in her hands.

She smiled with gratitude. “Thank you so much! What’s your name?”

“Andrew.”

She smiled wider. “God bless you, Andrew.”

As I rode up the escalator back to my office, I should have been feeling pride and a sense of reward for helping a little, old lady in her time of need.

Unfortunately, the only thing I was feeling was my pockets to make sure she hadn’t stolen my wallet.

Monday, December 1, 2008

An ass over bass.

Why must I always be the antagonist?

I was eating out at some burger place with some co-workers and the new girl was going over the menu when she noticed they offered a fish sandwich. She started going off on how a burger place shouldn’t even give the option of a fish sandwich. As if it was against the very soul of a hamburger restaurant to serve fish and was only included to appease the prissy crowd that wasn’t man enough for real meat.

So I ordered the fish sandwich. I didn’t even want the fish sandwich. I just wanted to rub it in her face.

Eat that, bitch.