December 2003 Archives
December 4, 2003
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.”
December 9, 2003
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.*
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.
December 27, 2003
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.”
December 31, 2003
Not too long ago, I cried and whined to Sara 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).
December 15, 2003
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 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.
December 17, 2003
Title: Gus Stanton, Cowboy of Malevolence!
Length: 6 pages
Synopsis: During a difficult cattle drive, one cowboy tells his companions the story of killing an English sheriff in the boomtown of Gold Town, Arizona.
Click the image to download.
Title: Giant Cockroach
Length: 6 pages
Synopsis: Awake and uncomfortable in his latest sexual conquest’s filthy apartment, a young man decides to masturbate while leering at her naked body.
Click the image to download.