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Point Break of the Speed Matrix

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Tag Archives: Awkwards

Do not be fooled by his "ahh boo boo boo who's a cutie cute?  who's the best boy?!" appearance.  He's an evil genius.

Do not be fooled by his "ahh boo boo boo who's a cutie cute? who's the best boy?!" appearance. He's an evil genius.

It’s true.  Brian is my very adorable, very young, very calculating arch nemesis.  He’s the Goblin to my Spidey, the Joker to my Batman… the Bobby to my Whitney.  BOBBY!!

Yesterday I arrived home at 6:30 which only gave me a short time to walk Brian and change before my 7pm improv class.  It was misting a little outside but I thought it was nothing serious.   I was rushing but also confident that Brian would be quick to do “his business” as he has been in the past.   Need I remind you of the lightening fast crapola he took in my lady space when I wasn’t looking?  So yes, I did not grab an um-ber-ella… ella ella ella.

I take Brian outside and for the first time he is just taking his sweet ole time.  He sniffs everything and it disgusted by everything.  No patch is good enough for his rear.  Before I know it we have travelled two blocks out of the way and are now a little too far from the apartment to make it home dry if it really does start to rain.

I swear to God the little villain looked up at me, the sky rumbled, he peed and then instant downpour!  Like bad, you can hide form this rain.   I believe  Forrest Gump would have described it as “big ole fat” rain.

I panic.  I flail.  I scoop up Lex Luthor and I cling fiercely to a little wet dog as I run two blocks back towards the apartment.  We get back to the apartment with 5 minutes to spare for me to crate Brian and get changed for class.  Thanks to Brian’s unrulyness in the apartment and an adorable factor that makes me give him excessive belly rubs… I do not change and end up getting to class soaked and smelling of wet dog. 

This round goes to you, Yoko, but I am ready for tonight’s rematch.

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"Hello, I'm Helen.  I'd love to do your nails for you and nothing else.  I will not recommend any other beauty treaments for you today because you are perfect."

"Hello, I'm Helen. I'd love to do your nails for you and nothing else. I will not recommend any other beauty treaments for you today because you are perfect." This is my fantasy manicurist, Helen.

Every time, man.  Every time! 

I got a manicure today.  I love them and I hate them.  I hate the process.  I love the end result.  For me, walking into a nail salon is probably what it feels like for scheevy  whorebags when they are taken into the doctor’s private office for a “chat”.  I share the same amount of dread and the same defensiveness.   “Don’t look at me that way!  You don’t know me!  I take care of MY kids,” we scream in our heads or something close.   Of course, in the end all they get is a pitch for safer sex methods, told to incorporate more folic acid in their diet and are sent along their scheevy way.   When I leave the nail salon, I imagine that we share the same overwhelming relief and happiness in leaving an awful cold, sterile place of judgment and… touching.

I’ve been getting my nails done on the rare occasion for years.  This is how it goes down EVERY time.

I walk in skiddish to a very bustling salon with at leat 10 Korean women working on other patrons.  They can smell my fear and hate my dawdling.   Receptionist yells aloud “Manicure!”

Me:  Yes.

Manicurist [has just appeared by my side out of nowhere]:  Pick color!

Me: [walking to the wall slowly as if I’d never seen so many versions of pink]

Manicurist [realizes I will not be making a quick decision]:  Ok! Ok, you like natural.

Me:  Yes.  Thank you.

[Manicuring Manicuring Manicuring – me silent]

Manicurist [bends three of my rigid fingers down]:  Relax!

[Manicuring manicuring manicuring…and it’s DONE!]

Me [Happy; relaxed]:  It looks great.  Thank you. 

Manicurist:  Now maybe eyebrow or uppa lip?

Me [Rigid; now touching my lip and eyebrow to check]:  No, thank you.

Manicurist [smiles]: Ok!  We see you.  Thank you!

Me [walking out the door happy & relaxed… touching upper lip occasionally for the next 3 hours]

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A leg lamp would have been less embarassing than my thank you tanking.

A leg lamp would have been less embarassing than my thank you tanking.

Today at work I got an award.  I didn’t realize it was a big deal.    The news of this was circulated companywide and I’ve been receiving nice congrats emails from people I don’t know all day.  I’ve never worked in a place that gives out awards.  I suppose corporations do this to boost morale and provide incentives to be more efficient and whatever.  This is not the kind of attention I enjoy, so in response to said emails I replied back to the team that gave it  to me (including the CFO and General Counsel) with the following “thank you” speech: 

“Thank you very much.  I’d like to thank my parents for, back in the day, taking a chance on a 10 lb wonder, my parochial school for letting me wear sweatpants during midterms so I could focus in comfort, the 22A bus driver on Wednesdays who speeds…
Thank you for the kind words.   I like it here.”
I think it is fair to say that I have labeled myself as, henceforth, a weirdo.

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Last night Cleveland cleveland and I met up at a new sushi place that openned this week next to the pub we usually grab pints at after improv shows.  In my opinion, these establishments are located in the only tolerable location within the Ballston Mall.  They are tucked away in a little cul de sac away from the crazy bizarro world of useless shops and keyosks of crap that populate the mall

I don’t really know how to get into this other than to say that the Ballston Mall is the weirdest place I find myself in more often than I’d like.   If you haven’t been there it will be hard for me to describe without turning this post into a novella.  I will say these two things.  I spend a lot of time in this mall because of work and improv.  As soon as I walk through the doors, I feel weird and dirty.  Part of it comes from being a Manhattan snob and not liking poorness (blech!)  and the other part comes from being a person.  That was more than two things.  Let’s just say, if the Ballston Mall was a woman it would be Woody Harrelson’s landlady from “Kingpin“.

So Cleve and I meet in front of the sushi place.  There are balloons and a hostess outside the door at a podium.  There is also a sign that says “Dinner 50% off Feb. 2 -4th” and “Free Tasting Tonight!”.  Great.  Grand.  We walk up and ask the young woman for a table for two.   Now the following is going to sound very uncharitable but I do believe Tom Colicchio would agree with me when I say that this woman should not have been put at the “front of the house”.  She responds with what can only be described as a SEVERE speech impediment coupled with broken English.  It was as if her lips and tongue were in a battle for territory over her teeth.  We gather that she has asked us to wait and sign the guestbook with our email addresses.  Without conferring amongst each other Cleve and I both immediately smile and sign using our dead aol and hotmail accounts. 

We then decipher that the hostess has just said, “Just another minute.”  If  we only had audio to rely on it would have sounded like a clip from “The Miracle Worker“.  Cleve and I look and nod in compliance.  We figure there must be reservations or something because it’s the openning week and tonights the night for the half priced dinner and free tasting.  It started at 5pm and it is  now 6:15pm.  After more suspense, we believe she has just told us we can go in because she lifted her arm in the direction of the doorway. 

We walk into a completely empty restaurant.   (TO BE CONTINUED…)

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Grand.  Today’s work day was yet another one for the ole blog.  I had another embarassing run in with my boss.  I think it’s equal parts his fault as well as mine.  I debated about sharing this because it’s pretty embarassing.  Actually, there is nothing pretty about it, just the opposite in fact.

Maybe it's not this bad, but I've looked better.

Maybe it's not this bad, but I've looked better.

I don’t know what the junk is up with my face this week but I have two new little friends hanging out on my chin and my neck.  Wait, did I say little?  Actually, that’s a lie.  Let me put it this way, if most zits could be compared to lithe waiffish Eastern Europeans then these two abominations are their husky cornfed middle American cousins.  I am UG to the LY today.

Anyway, there is really nothing I can do about Captain Acne on my chin.  Trying to cover it up would be like covering up a murder scene with a doily.  It’s just pointless.  I have to be patient and ride this one out.  The other guy found a lovely home dead center on my neck.   I thought a turtleneck might do the trick but of course it’s just above the the fabric line.  So I decided to wear a scarf all day in a pathetic attempt to lessen the humiliation of having blemishes well beyond my teen years.

I should have known better.  In hindsight, I realize that wearing a scarf indoors only draws more attention to me, my face, my neck, and of course what lies beneath.  I now think disguising them with little baby moustaches might have been less conspicuous.

Here is what transpired:

Boss:  The scarf?  Are you really cold or are you trying to cover up hickeys from the weekend?  

Me:  (so thrown by the comment I wasn’t quick enough to lie, instead full verbal diarrhea)  I don’t know what’s going on with my face this week but see?[points to chin]  Well, I got another doozie right here.  See?   [pulls away scarf and points at  neck] I think maybe it’s from all the rich food my mother cooked, or stress or this new make-up I tried.  I am just not used to this and I am really not ok with it.

Boss:  [laughing at me] I realize how inappropriate the question was.  You didn’t have to answer.  You know I was just kidding, right?  

Me:  Yes.  But I couldn’t think fast enough to lie and then I thought that if I didn’t show you my shame that you would think it’s hickeys… especially since I plan to wear it again tomorrow.  

Boss: It’s probably stress.

We then dial into our conference call.

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Superman is not quite himself on Kryptonite.
Superman is not quite himself on Kryptonite.

My attempts to “keep it healthy” are not working out for me so much. 

Yesterday at around 2pm I took my multi-vitamin, a B-50 complex and a niacin tablet.  I had taken these only a couple of times before and never all at once.  It only took 10 minutes before  my face, ears, chest and arms were completely crimson and en fuego.  I looked and felt like I fell asleep in a tanning bed for a week.
I’ve never experienced anything like that.  I thought at first that I had been bitten by something.  I tell my boss that I think I need to go to the hospital.   He took one look at me and just said, “Yeah, let’s get you to a hospital.”
I spent the rest of the afternoon in the ER waiting room looking like an ad for Coppertone SPF (“Don’t let this happen to you on vacation”).
According to Dewey Finn,  you’re not hardcore unless you live hardcore.  So Amy Winehouse can be jealous because the diagnosis was that I OD’d on niacin.  Try to make me go to rehab, and I will say, “NO NO NO.”
I am back to paleness today but still feeling weird.  They gave me some Benadryll and I went to sleep at 8pm last night, which I don’t think I’ve done since the 6th grade.  I am off the niacin until the next time I want to get out of work early.

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If he talks, I will destroy him.

If he talks, I will destroy him.

I try to keep a low profile at work.  I don’t talk about religion, politics, or even the shows I watch with my co-workers.   There really is no need.  Aside from pleasantries in the pantry and elevator, I’m all business.  I am like one of those annoying reality show contestants that says, “I’m not here to make friends.”    Friends: I got plenty.  Jobs:  I only got one. 

This rule applies to everyone but my boss.  He is the only person I have to interact with on a daily basis.   The rest of our team is split between California and New York.  I have a good rapport with him and we b.s. about comedy and being from New York on our down time.  He’s even come to one of my shows.  I usually can make him laugh out loud with a comment or a sneer during our meetings.  I think it’s safe to say we both appreciate each other at the office.   No, it’s not like that.  He’s only a few years older than me but he’s been married for a long time and I don’t have the hots for him.

Last week on a conference call all five of the men on the phone were talking politics.  I just put my speaker on mute and listened.  One of them point blank said, “You’re being very quiet, Tara.  Who are you voting for?”  I just said, “I don’t think I’ll vote.  I have a hair appointment.”  My boss laughed and chimed in that I don’t give up a lot of personal information and that I always seem to give a sideways answer or comment when pressed.  When the call was done he came over to my desk and said, “You’re voting for who I think you’re voting for, right?”  I said, “Yes.  Jesus.”  He and his wife are Obama supporters and he had been telling me about their canvasing efforts the previous day.

I knew he would be elated today and I was excited to chat with him about the results when I got in today.   I am a little shocked by my reaction to Obama’s win myself.  I guess I really cared after all.   I honestly didn’t expect to feel like I do, as I am not a politics junkie like so many people here in DC.   Since moving down here I’ve become much more knowledgable on certain issues but I am not nearly as well versed as I’d like to be.   So I try to stick with the jokey jokes. 

My boss comes over to my desk when everyone in my area was gone and he has this huge grin on his face.  He had just sent an email scolding some of our associates (his favorite thing to do) for dropping the ball and to not dump their job on me.  I mistake his personal happiness and satisfaction for post election joy.  He opens his arms out wide as if to say, “Am I a great boss or what?” and I again mistake it for “Can you believe Obama won?!”  Not even thinking,  I jumped up and HUGGED HIM.  And I have NO IDEA what possessed me!  

I think that this moment officially tops the list as all time awkward-bad-wanna-kill-myself-where’s-the-time-machine-I-want-a-do-over moments of my life.  It hit me like a ton of bricks what an idiot I looked like, how inappropriate it was and that, of course, I had just put my boobs on him.  I honestly forget I have them sometimes which, if you know me, seems impossible.

He handled it well and made a joke.  He said, “Was the email that good?”  I just replied while hugging, “Yes.  Thank you.”

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