December 2003 Archives
December 31, 2003
Malicious Glee!
Not too long ago, I cried and whined to Lucy when I found out The Ex was in some band. A few months later, I found out that the band broke up, and I said, “Tee-hee,” but it never really resonated. I think this was because I still assumed that, even with the band broken up, she was still sleeping with all the former members (hehe…members).
Well, as it turns out, the information I received was somewhat inaccurate. As it happens, a site I read about local music indicated that the band is still in existence. It turns out that this band is missing one member: The Ex.
That’s right, the band didn’t break up; the Ex just got kicked out. This news fills me not only with an unhealthy amount of malicious glee but also the near physical sensation of pleasure. I thought this made me unhealthy, but quick consultation with people who are better at life than I am leads me to believe that this is a perfectly natural response.
I feel guilty for reveling in her utter failure, but the guilt doesn’t making my enjoyment go away. In fact, it makes me want to do really things like call her up and say I heard she was in a band and when are they playing next. And masturbate.
Posted by Stan on December 31, 2003 11:29 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | Fumbling Attempts at Relationships
December 27, 2003
The Girl Who Hates Me Strikes Again
Julie, the girl who hates me, talks to me now. She does it grudgingly and disdainfully, but she talks to me. Something weird happened a few days ago, though. I was working the front, and she was the only other student worker around, so she came up to me, looked right at me, and said, very slowly because I’m retarded, “I have to leave for a few minutes. If anyone calls the back looking for Julie or Leigh, that’s me. Tell them I had to run an errand and I’ll be right back. It’s very important.”
“Der…yeah,” I said stupidly, because at the exact moment she looked at me, I looked at her, and suddenly I’d fallen in love with her. She has these magical, beautiful eyes that apparently have some sort of hoodoo attached to them that makes people fall in love with her. Or maybe it’s just me.
So, even as I balance the crush on my attractive blonde friend with the potential legitimate asking-out of somebody who seems interested in me, I’ve added the love of a girl who utterly dislikes me. I’m an idiot.
I decided, after drinking in the sweet ambrosia of her magic eyes, that I needed to do as much as humanly possible to impress her. If nothing else, I had to convince her that I’m not fully mentally retarded. Borderline autistic, maybe; socially retarded, definitely; but I’m not some drooling idiot, though I am an idiot and I do tend to drool in my sleep.
Still, Julie must never know it. She must be bowled over by my minor intellect and my capacity for remembering shit nobody else on the planet cares about, such as the full name and rank of The Love Boat’s “Gopher.”*
So, on Tuesday, the last working day before the too-short holiday break, I received a phone call at the front desk.
“What room is this?” the caller asked.
I gave the number.
“Transfer me to 301,” she said.
“Uh, sure thing,” I said, reaching for the phone book in the middle drawer. I haven’t really been working there long enough to memorize, uh, anything, least of all the extension or office that’s in 301. I know where the room is, because I go there every other Monday to pick up my paycheck, but I didn’t know what office I was in.
At any rate, it took so long to look up this phone number that the hold line started to ring again, and I didn’t pick it up because I’m extremely lazy, and so the caller was disconnected.
“Phew,” I thought. “Maybe she, fed up with my incompetence, will look up the damn number herself.”
No such luck. The same number called back immediately.
“Sorry,” I said, “we got disconnected.”
“Is this Stan?” the caller asked.
“Uh,” I said.
“This is Julie,” she continued.
“Oh, hey,” I said, thinking, “FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!”
“What happened?” she asked.
“I was just looking up 301, but I can’t find it in the book,” I said. “Sorry about that.”
She sighed. “It’s the Dean of Students office.”
I started looking again.
“Can you transfer me over to Sally?” she asked while I looked.
“She’s not in today,” I responded.
“How about Shelli?” she asked irritably.
“She’s in, but she went to a meeting. She’ll be back in an hour,” I said.
“Great,” she muttered. “Do you know anything about the paychecks for today?”
“No,” I said.
“Of course not,” she muttered under her breath. Apparently, she didn’t realize that when your mouth is half an inch from a microphone, the person on the other end can generally hear it.
“We get paid today?” I asked.
“I don’t know. That’s why I want you to connect me to 301,” she said.
“Oh, right,” I said, and right about then I had found the number, so I told her to hold on and transferred her over.
I felt sort of humiliated and irritated by my complete and utter incompetence at my job. Truth be told, I do things like letting people on hold disconnect all the time when I don’t feel like dealing with it. I’m not the most responsible or diligent worker on the planet, but usually I don’t get called on it because the person on the other end of the phone has no clue who I am.
Usually, they don’t call back at all. If they do, as soon as they hear my voice, they sigh heavily and hang up. But not Julie, who knows me personally and now probably understands the full extent of my poor job skills. But she won’t perceive it as general laziness or my discompassionate attitude. She’ll see it as mental retardation causing complete incompetence.
I’ve failed at convincing her I’m even marginally intelligent. I think the harder I try, the more I’m sure to fail, and I’m such an idiot I’ll keep trying until I end up dead. Which is sure to make for some hilarious future entries.
Posted by Stan on December 27, 2003 12:16 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | “I’m a living joke!” - Horror Stories from the Workplace
December 15, 2003
Okay, One Li’l Anecdote…
I got on the train after work, as I always do, and as the train filled up, somebody was stuck sitting next to me. She sat there for a few minutes, then suddenly got up and switched to another available seat. And I can’t help going nuts wondering why.
Okay, I’m large. This is not news to the longtime reader of this blog. Actually, it probably is, because usually I use the word “fat” to describe my carriage. However, I have been forbidden from using this term by powers more formidable and sexually attractive than you could ever comprehend. Consequently, I’m going with “large,” and with that said, it’s not surprising that somebody might be irritated by my wideness and move to a seat next to a smaller person. However, this woman was quite petite, so I don’t think that was necessarily the problem.
I’ve been deeply concerned about what foul stench I may be emitting as a result of nine-to-fiving it, as I have been for a long time this semester. I’m no heathen; I shower at least once a day, and I use an inordinate amount of deodorant, et cetera. I’m generally cleanly, and I’m pretty anal (heh, heh) about it.
However, I’m large. Because of this, I find it difficult to perform such basic tasks as walking up a flight of stairs or sitting down without sweating profusely. Sweat doesn’t exactly smell good, and it clings to the body, dries up, and — I imagine — terrible smells ensue. Since I’ve been riding the train at rush-hour, when riders are able to get up close and personal with odors they’d generally live without smelling, I am very familiar with the fat-man stench. It’s that oily combination of sizzling pork and gaping, red assholes (note: not work safe, KURU) that damn near makes me throw up.
But wouldn’t I be able to smell it if I were producing such an odor? I’m not so sure. It’s like George Carlin says: “Your own farts don’t smell so bad, but if it’s someone else, you’d be running to Bensonhurst.” I have to believe this principle also applies to body odors. It’s all about chemistry, man, and my fat-man (er, large-man) chemistry says, “You smell like bacon no matter how much you wash.”
So what do I do about it?
Lose weight? Yeah, I’m trying, but the Sausage Egg McMuffins won’t cooperate.
Figure out a method of showering before getting on the train in the evening? Okay, that’s not going to happen. Shut up, me.
Perhaps I should just live with the curse of the large man, wedged into a seat next to another fat man whose odor makes me want to tear out my nose and tongue.
Posted by Stan on December 15, 2003 9:26 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | Stories of Pain and Humiliation
On Hiatus
I was just asked to blog, so I decided I’d take this opportunity to explain why I haven’t been over the past few days.
The short answer is that I have absolutely nothing to write here.
The somewhat longer answer is that I’ve got so much going on, it’d be nice to tear my hair out (seriously, I do need a haircut). It’s not that I don’t have time to blog; it’s just that the time I do have that I usually spend on blogging, I’d rather spend on more productive things, such as doing nothing at all.
Seriously, I love blogging, I love Stan Has Issues™, and I love the fact that I have a growing fan who adores me (seriously, though, you’ve been putting on weight, buddy); at this point, though, I’d rather do nothing than relate amusing life anecdotes or whiny emo piss-rants.
Once the holidays are over, things’ll cool down a bit, and I’m sure I’ll have at least one decent story that involves a psychotic outburst resulting from my paranoia. That’s the Stan Has Issues™ Guarantee!*
Posted by Stan on December 15, 2003 8:54 PM | Permalink | Comments (3) | Random Musings
December 9, 2003
Holy Shit!
They finally put Kanal on DVD. Everyone must buy it.
Posted by Stan on December 9, 2003 10:56 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | Reviews
Limit: 3 Per Day (3)
A guy came in today and immediately dunked his hand into the condom box, pulling out no less than 478 million condoms and shoved them into his pocket.
“Hey!” I shouted as he walked away. He froze. “That looks like more than three to me!”
He fidgeted, then jammed his hand into his pocket for about 30 seconds, feeling around. All I could hear were the weird plastic sounds of the zillions of condom wrappers rubbing against one another. Finally, he pulled his hand out with three condoms.
“No way, man!” he yelled. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!”
He turned around and kept walking.
Sigh. They don’t pay me enough to even bother.
Posted by Stan on December 9, 2003 9:06 PM | Permalink | Comments (3) | “I’m a living joke!” - Horror Stories from the Workplace
Accidental Narc
After my screenwriting class, I went to talk to my adaptation professor. I’m floundering in that class, and I’m extremely incompetent, and she’s cool enough to not let me slide my fat ass by because I’m a decent enough writer. I wanted to talk to her about several ideas I had and asked her if I could turn in the (pitiful) first draft I’d already finished, since I wouldn’t have time to write another draft with the newer stuff.*
The conversation then turned to my screenwriting class. I inadvertently mentioned we had watched Breaking Away in class. I was excited because I liked it a lot, but I had been going around forever thinking it was a totally different movie about a bunch of people who rode bikes (the movie I was thinking of was American Flyers, which was actually scripted by the same guy who did Breaking Away).
She popped an eyebrow and asked, “You watched Breaking Away in your screenwriting class?”
“Yeah, I liked it a lot better than My Bodyguard, which we watched last week,” I said, and when I looked at the stunned expression on her face, I added, “It’s possible that I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No, I think it’s good that you mentioned it,” she said, which confirmed my suspicion that I should have kept my mouth shut. “How many movies have you watched in that class?”
“I don’t feel comfortable answering that question,” I said, squirming a bit. She’s very intimidating, though, so I cracked almost immediately. “We watched part of The Godfather a few weeks ago, and next week we’re watching Chinatown.”
“And how do you suppose that will help you become a better writer?” she wondered.
“It won’t,” I said. “I can’t concentrate enough to concentrate on the screenwriting elements while I’m watching a movie. It’d be much easier to read the script.”
“Exactly,” she said. “I need to have a talk with him.”
“Don’t mention my name,” I said.
“This is strictly confidential,” my professor reminded me. I wondered how strictly confidential it could be when the door to her office was wide open, as were all the other offices in the hall. We both have voices that carry; some would describe them as “grating.” I thought about how many other professors were snickering at her reminder.
I felt bad for getting him in trouble on accident, but I didn’t feel that bad. I haven’t learned a thing in this class, as I’ve mentioned on occasion, and I don’t think it’s because he’s a bad person or a bad teacher; he’s just inexperienced, and I imagine she’ll just give him some pointers for this class, such as “Don’t show the class movies all the time because it teaches them nothing, especially when you don’t even discuss them afterward.”
In summary, I have to watch what I say around my adaptation professor.
*This is actually inaccurate. I managed to pound out a serviceable first draft at work this afternoon.
Posted by Stan on December 9, 2003 7:31 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | School Rants
December 6, 2003
25-416
It seems my favorite brand and style of left-handed, single-subject, college-ruled, wire-bound, spiral notebooks has been discontinued. This may not seem like a big deal, but it’s like the end of the world. I have to resort to top-open spirals by the same manufacturer.
“Why?” you may ask. “You know other companies sell left-handed notebooks. You can just get one of those.”
You, sir, are wrong. Call me obsessive-compulsive, but I couldn’t bring myself to buy a different type of left-handed notebook. It had to be top-open from the same brand. I don’t know why — it’s just the way it is.
Posted by Stan on December 6, 2003 2:18 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | Career-Based Rambling
December 4, 2003
Limit: 3 Per Day (2)
A girl came into the office today. She noticed the “Limit: 3 per day” condom display and said to me, “Jesus! Three per day? What the hell are these people doing?” Then she paused for a second, looked at me, and shrugged. “Oh, I guess we pretty much know the answer to that.”
Posted by Stan on December 4, 2003 9:35 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | “I’m a living joke!” - Horror Stories from the Workplace
December 2, 2003
Next Semester’s Schedule
I just registered for the spring. My schedule tentatively looks like this:
Monday: 6-9PM, Screen Treatment & Presentation
Tuesday: 10AM-1PM, Screenwriting Workshop (Experimental Screenwriting); 2-5PM, Topics in Literature (Spike Lee vs. August Wilson: Grudge-Match!)
Wednesday: 2-5PM, Genres in Screenwriting (Conspiracy and Paranoia); 6-9PM, Comparative Screenwriting (Chicago Screenwriters)
Thursday:10AM-1PM Producing I
After the spring semester, I’ll only be 12 credit hours away from graduating, and 6 of those 12 are meaningless gen eds. And here we all thought I’d be in school in 2017.
Posted by Stan on December 2, 2003 7:08 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | School Rants
December 1, 2003
Sick
No work today. I am sick.
No work tomorrow. I’m calling in to jump on the online registration bandwagon. One might say, “Gosh, Stan, why would you miss four hours of work to spend approximately seven minutes registering for your classes?” The simple answer is, “They don’t pay me enough to suffer through a shitty schedule next semester.”
Posted by Stan on December 1, 2003 5:26 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | Random Musings
