Les Miserables: Le(a)s Miserables

Tickets have been purchased.  Can’t wait for March 6th.  Meanwhile: 

Say what again?

“Girl, you are soooo sexy!”

Says girl #1 to girl #2 who agrees while girl #3 listens and agrees.  I stifle a smile.

This after all is an exchange among 3 women who are all pushing the scale beyond the 200-pound mark.  Unity in obesity indeed.

Volume overload

The very single thing that impressed me about this society is its penchant to read.  Seldom do I see someone who is not absorbed deep in the pages of a book or paper, be it in a bus or the subway.  Everyone  reads, even the elderly -  a testament to a never-ending quest for knowledge.

I am no expert on how the brain works, but I’m pretty sure it can only process so much information.  So it baffles me no end to see students with the entire collection of the Library of Congress right in front of them.  Obviously, I’m exaggerating, but if you think about it ten books at one time is, well, exaggerated.

Nowhere is this scenario more pronounced than at the store-in-store Starbucks.  This pseudo-intellectualism is so pervasive it makes me want to choke on my coffee.  I pity the barista who gets to reshelf those volumes and gets no compensation for other people’s obvious disregard for undercompensated extra hard work.

Rainbow

Ew de toilet 3

“Dude, I like your head!”

My colleague was, of course, complimenting me for my head.

Realization TV

The wind was gusting up to 40 mph; the temperature down to 5 fuckinrenheit.   Not enough reason to forego the gym altogether.  I finally managed to drag myself out the door after debating with my own self the risk of an extra ounce of flesh in my middle  and the benefits of firmer buns.

So what better way to spend the rest of the day than sit in front of the tv. wrapped in warm, comfy cashmere throw?  Because really there’s no sense in driving in freezing weather for that second grande cinnamon dulce latte.

There was a dearth of good on-demand movies.  Watched two nonetheless:  The Object of My Affection  and The Opposite of Sex.   Not the kind that I would normally watch, being a sucker for classic movies and all, but I sat through it anyway.  Finished up at midnight.

Interestingly, both movies were released in 1998.  I won’t attempt a review because who cares about that now, but the manner with which the characters were portrayed leaves you with a sick sensation in the tummy. 

Is gay life really that dysfunctional? 
 

  

Conspiracy terrorists

There are many perils to working with women; this is especially true in an industry where men are outnumbered 4 to 1.   It’s just amazing how they never get tired of talking about mundane things like menses, pregnancies, deliveries and babies.   The baby stories I can deal with,  but the blood and gore – Eew! 

One thing that gets me everytime, however, is how these women seem to have taken upon themselves to baby everyone including me.    Talk about twisted maternal instinct rearing its ugly breasts,  everyone - and that includes my lady boss - seems to have conspired to match me with somebody. 

Okay, I do appreciate the gesture, but could you at least get someone who is less butch?  I mean the woman has worked in the military for Bush’s sakes!  And she likes the New York Yankees?  I’ve never hit a home run since elementary.

I thought they’d never get tired of this nonsense until one of the conspiracy terrorists sat me down.  Finally.

Do you like her? Because she likes you.  It’s okay if you don’t.  I just don’t wanna put you through all the trouble of setting you up with someone you’re not interested in. 

Whew.  Sweet Eros, thank you!

So tell me.  I hope you don’t mind.  Do you like girls or do you like men?

I spoke too soon.

Looking glass

Belatedly, a colleague greeted me Happy New Year and then asked what I did to usher in 2007.  In a self-deprecating manner I said, I stayed at home mulling my pathetic existence.  It was a joke, of course, because really I spent it with closest friends.

I don’t quite remember now how the conversation drifted to love life (ew)  and blogging, but she said something that has been ringing in my head since. 

 ”Is he gay?  Then you should stop reading him so you won’t feel miserable!”

Skin deep

In an institution that prides itself on and embraces ethnic and cultural  diversity, it’s baffling that issues regarding creed, color, religion and beliefs still permeate its august halls.  Granted that this disregard for propriety only happens  in day to day conversations among small group at the grassroots level and mostly uttered in a jest,  it is so pervasive however that someone couldn’t help but think there’s more than meets the eye.

—-

Jewish Woman: I’m not used to seeing  so many foreigners in one place.  Where are you from? 

Nigerian Woman: United States! 

My two cents worth:  Aren’t we all?  Some people are so blinded by the whiteness of their skin that they fail to see beyond the blackness of others and realize that everyone is a stranger in this strange land.  And unless you have a peculiar name that means Crouching Dragon or Hidden Tiger you have no right to call the US as your own.

—-

Spanish Man: This guy looks like Saddam!

Me: What?

He then goes inside the room where the Indian is doing his thing.

Spanish Man: Hey, you, turn around.  You look like Saddam Hussein!

My two cents worth:  Just because South Asia and the Middle East border each other and their citizens  share an almost identical physical characteristics, it doesn’t mean they are one and the same.   The poor guy must be turning in his grave.

—-

Young African American Woman:  I’m not coming to work on Monday because it’s Martin Luther King Day.  And who the hell is Martin Luther King anyways? He don’t mean an ass! What did he do?  And my son’s teacher want my son to write some damn essay about King, and I told my son I doesn’t care about him  because he never do a thing!

And the sharp-tongued woman goes on and on about how blacks are still considered second class citizens.  I was dumbfounded that a young woman could commit such sacrilege to the memory of one of her people.

Me: Do you even realize what you’re talking about?  You have what you have today because of your leader.

Her: I don’t give a shit.  We still sit at the back of the bus!  And why are we called African Americans! I’m not from Africa so why am I called African American? I’m American!

British Lady Co-worker: I sit at the back of the bus.

Me: Maybe he never got to enjoy the fruits of his dreams but you are benefiting from it.  Back in High School, we had to memorize and recite texts of  I Have A Dream.  I didn’t know why then.  And we’re not even Africans.

Elderly African American Woman:  I never give a shit about what you think, woman!  Whatever your opinion, you better keep it to yourself and tell your son what the Man did.  And who sits at the back of the bus anyway but the lowlifes and lazy asses who don’t wanna work.

My two cents worth:  If you don’t wanna sit at the back of the bus, get a car. 

—- 

I have a close-knit group of people I call friends whose views I respect.   When the verbal attack is directed at a single person I usually keep my opinion because it is the sensible thing to do.  I hold no moral ascendancy among my friends, but when the remarks get downright dirty and start to border on racism I give them the yellow signal.  It is one thing, thus acceptable, to criticize one indolent coworker; it is another thing and morally unacceptable lump people together and disparage an entire race.

Then I tell them to stop. 

Eew de toilet 2

I found myself behind a woman who, instead of placing her order, was yapping on and on about she had never dropped and I mean never dropped anybody but once in my lifetime, and hogging the attention of the barista who obviously was feigning interest in this woman’s hogwash.  

“What can I get you?”

Oh, thank goodness the staff noticed me.  I was beginning to get irritated.

She sat herself across the room.  I watched her unobtrusively.  Pale skin that would benefit from some UV rays.  Long blonde tresses that could use some shampooing and conditioning.  She was wearing a tight faux leather coat and jeans that left nothing to the imagination and accentuated her massive breasts and an even more massive rump.  All this squeezed in a 5-foot frame.

She stood up to go to the toilet.  Wait!  She stopped on her track, went back to her table, and did something I wish I didn’t see.

She entered the toilet with the grande iced drink in her hands.