Tonight, Russell Brand, comedian extraordinaire,  love of my life, verbal genius, is filming his new Comedy Central Special in NYC and it turns out there are extra seats. I could cope with the disappointment of not being able to go to a sold out show, but to know that at this moment there are tickets for Russell Brand’s stand up out there in the universe, and not be able to go because of poverty and living 2 hours away….this is the cruelest kind of suffering.

This will probably be a continuously updated post, but first things first.

1) Yesterday I was walking back to my building from lunch and saw a homeless man sitting in a wheelchair. He was sitting in the chair eating a bag of potato chips. But he wasn’t just sitting, not moving eating. Because he was using both of his arms he opted instead to propel himself, in the wheelchair, with his legs.

I was going to title this post “Polite Musings from a Timid Observer”. I thought ‘wow, that’s a great title, it really has a certain something to it!’ and I was quite proud of myself for thinking of it. Then I remembered, it’s the tagline on Bill Maher’s book “New Rules”. Obviously I am a genius. 

A miracle happened yesterday. I finally made a coworker laugh. The sound that proceeded my joke sounded like a mule being killed, I guess it’s ambitious to assume that it was a ‘laugh’. I immediately regretted my efforts to try and be funny. If that is the sound I’m going to hear every time I tell a joke, I may never speak again. I’ve been known to be a bit of a laugh whore [especially in photography] where I will talk constantly, trying to make people laugh. I think I’ve grown a little and have gained some restraint and, basically realized how fucking obnoxious it is when I’m like that. And it is important for me to distinguish that I’m not whoring for laughs at work. I’m trying to make it slightly easier to get through these tedious days, and the only way I know how to make something more endurable is to laugh. It’s an important distinction, and I feel like a slightly better person, realizing that I’m not the equivalent of the crazy uncle walking around saying ‘pull my finger!’ anymore.

I have my first official shift at Torrid today. I’m quite excited and a little nervous. I love the store and always have a great time when I shop there so I imagine working there will be just as enjoyable. To commemorate the occasion, I have acquired [bought - ‘acquired’ is not a euphemism for ‘stole’] a pair of ridiculously trendy gladiator sandals. Russell Brand has this bit about a pair of boots that he got and it goes something like this: “There was a moment before I had these boots and I was looking at them, through a shop window and thought ‘I want them boots.’ and like this is the nature of consumerism, how it succeeds, I thought ‘If I get them boots, I will be truly happy. That is what missing from my life, them fucking boots’” That is more or less exactly how I feel about my gladiator sandals. Ever since the movie “Gladiator” came out, I have longed for the day when I too might strut the streets of my hometown in bronze, strappy, magnificence without fearing the ridicule of those around me. Well my friends, that day is finally here. Although I probably will get made fun of because so far everyone I’ve talked to is not a fan of the ‘gladiator sandal trend’ but they can shove it because I love them.

I hate bars. Other than actually horrible places [e.g. war zones] it is the worst place I could think to be….in a bar. Ugh. Not only do you see everyone who you never wanted to see again, but you also are forced to meet people who in your life, you’d never want to speak too, ever. As a 21(ish) person, facing at least a decade of hanging out in bars, I am not excited. There must be a better place to go with friends to hang out and have fun, without running the risk of being harassed by 50+ balding men in suits learing at idiot college girls. And then there is the whole subject of the ‘idiot college girl’ and her date ‘frat boy asshole, who wants to suffocate everyone in his A&F cologne’.

My mission, is to think of an alternative place for friendly group gatherings that would repel ‘idiot college girl’, ‘frat boy asshole’, and creepy old man alike. Probably someplace with books. The books repel ‘idiot college girl’ and subsequently her date. And if ‘idiot college girl’s aren’t there, surely there would be no draw for creepy old man. I think I’m on to something here.

1) Stupid emo/punk twats who make out on crowded buses. Yes it is reassuring to see that even fucking pricks like you can find love, it doesn’t mean we want to watch you swallow each others faces on the way home from work.

2) Coworkers who don’t laugh at my funny jokes and then make me feel like an ass for trying to make the work day bearable with humor.

3) Stupid nobodies who carry BRIEFCASES. I’m sorry, there is no point and everyone knows you are a cunt. If you didn’t have a briefcase, it would probably take people a little longer to figure it out, but in the end we would still know you are a cunt and using a briefcase just expedites the process of discovering just how big a cunt you are.

4) WordPress spell check that says I’m spelling ‘cunt’ wrong.

5) Homeless people who carry sofa cushions on buses. 

6) People who have more hairspray on their heads than brains in their head.

7) People (specifically coworkers) who do not make eye contact. Please do not stare at my shoulder or chest when I am trying to speak to you. It is awkward and rude. On top of which, this offense is compounded by the fact that you look whistfully into the distance mid sentence. FINISH A THOUGHT FOR CRYING OUT LOUD.

Went to the doctors today. Some basic tests to allay my irrational fears of illnesses that I probably don’t have. In any event, whilst sitting in the waiting room, I came to a painful realization. I don’t know why, but doctors insist on having fish tanks in the waiting room. I suppose its supposed to be relaxing, the gentle bubbling of the water, watching the fish swim serenely around the tank and what not. However in this office’s case, the well intended tank of fish had the exact opposite effect on me. This tank, like cities around the world suffered from serious overcrowding. This problem was only exacerbated by the amount of large fish in the tank. They hardly had room to wave a little fin at annoying children tapping on the tank. Due to the overpopulation of the tank, some vicious tank politics seemed to have emerged, with two dictatorial fish leaders ruling half the tank. One fool hardy fish wandered into another gangs side and had to pretend to be a rock to prevent being attacked by two larger fish from the rival gang. This was very upsetting to witness and made me wonder who I could call to help save these fish. Then I realized…NO ONE. In those annoying ASPCA commercials with montages of suffering puppies and kittens set to Sarah McLachlin songs the plight of the tropical and domesticated fish is never addressed. There is no help in sight for these poor fish trapped in a slum and so they will continue to suffer in overcrowded tanks being gawked at by idiots hypnotized by the bubble streams that take up half the tank but clearly only aggravate the poor fish trapped inside. Such injustice.

The city that I live is not that big. Maybe 100,000 people. It is not unusual to see someone you know when you are out and about, especially downtown where the “fun” things usually happen. But somehow, the one person you want to see, the only person you ever want to see, still manages to escape you. You know he’s here, you know places where he has been. And so you plan to go out with friends. You get ready, put in a little extra effort, and the second you step out your door you imagine a million serendipitous occurrences that would finally have you run into him. Your eyes constantly search crowds of people, scanning the faces of passersby’s, staring into the eyes of strangers, hoping they’ll turn into the eyes you long to see. Until eventually it’s time to go home, defeated, disappointed, lonely and more than a little pathetic. Why can’t he need to see me the same way I need to see him?

Ever since I began working again (about two weeks ago) I’ve been listening nonstop to British comedians. My two favorites [well they are probably almost everybodys favorites] are Russell Brand and Ricky Gervais. I downloaded the first season of The Ricky Gervais Show and have been reading and watching anything with Russell Brand. They are both incredibly smart and make everything funny. However, a nasty side effect of this overdose on outstanding comedy is that it seems to have jumbled my brain. I think all of the violent laughter and shaking of my head have dislodged some crucial brain-circuitry. Admittedly there was not a whole lot to mess with before, but now, trying to utter a single coherent sentence at work is impossible. I may have actually uttered the following sentence “It’s okay, you saved John* a lot of headaches from me.” Imagine an awkward chuckle and me shamefully walking away. That could be the most nonsensical sentence I’ve ever spoken. A proud day for me. I can only imagine how confidence inspiring that was for my boss. Clearly, I have everything under control.

Today was my second day at my “new” job. I was bored, because there wasn’t any work for me to do. So to pass the time, I was rummaging through my desk drawers, painting a lively picture of the person who occupied this space before me based on what they had left in the drawers. All of these speculations were based on pens and paper clips [they were obviously a heavy drug user] so I’m pretty sure I was hitting the nail on the head. I opened another drawer and saw a Ziploc bag with an unused glow stick and a whistle among some other items. Clearly this bag contained the remnants of a rave that this person had attended. The party had gone so late that they went right to work, stored the treasure chest in the drawer and forgot all about it. I could not believe my luck, finding such priceless relics. I continued examining the bag and its contents, when a small pamphlet fell out. Turns out this goody bag was not what was salvaged from an all night rave, but an Emergency Evacuation kit. It’s contents are as follows: 1 particle mask, 1 twelve hour glow stick, 1 four ounce liquid super hydrating water substitute, 1 emergency whistle. I was so disappointed because I wanted to open the glow stick and wear it. And maybe test out that whistle. Talk about perspective–I love how advanced the post 9/11 security measures are: a child’s glow stick, a plastic whistle and a paper mask. I felt better immediately. 

Tomorrow is the big day. By big day, I obviously mean probably a pretty boring day. I start a new office job. It will be exciting to have a source of income again. I haven’t not had a job since I was 16, so the last few months (while enjoyable) have been a challenge when it comes to funds. At this point all I can hope for is that the work isn’t too soul numbing. I think the only work I would enjoy is detective work- in the 1940’s with one Detective Chief Superintendent Christopher Foyle. So, if anyone has anything along the lines of time-machines please let me know. All I have so far is a Calvin and Hobbes-esque cardboard box with “Time Machine” written on it. While I admit it is very grand, Sharpie and cardboard doesn’t exactly encourage confidence when it comes to scientific attempts at time travel. [Clearly I can use all the help I can get]