Welcome to the CJC, Bitch
Since I last wrote, not much has happened. Had to go to the hospital for stuff, lost a Pope and a Terri, managed to win more quizzo. My new job is downtown, so all I have to do is shower, shave, throw on sexy business attire and hustle six or seven blocks to my office. Sometimes, I don’t even shave; it helps me look less like one of the high school interns (whom I was mistaken for just the other day). I meet people for lunch, and we talk about very serious matters (e.g. last night's reality tv or accidental sexual encounters). It’s definitely a grownup life with a big boy job. For example, on the way to pick up my paycheck the other day, I was stopped by a squat little bald man with J.Lo glasses named Enrique. He asked me for my number, and foolishly, natch, I gave it to him. Within five minutes he called and left me an obscene message on my voice mail. I was at once horrified and amazed. I accidentally deleted it, but only after laughing out loud at my desk. C’est la vie. But, Enrique, if you’re out there, you’re a filthy pig. Call me!
Tonight I will eat dinner with my brother and sister, both of whom have grown up jobs and had them before me). My sister just got engaged to her boyfriend, and I actually think I might like him. He has been nothing but nice to me, to my face, since we met. That is, he totally kisses my ass. And that is all I require from people, really. That and a sense of humor, which he seems to have. She was squealing on the phone to me on Sunday morning, telling me the good news. What I have gleaned from the one-sided conversation was that: 1. He proposed to her in some house in New Jersey (Klassy! Who says chivalry is dead!); 2. Three dozen roses were involved in some capacity; 3. He let her pee before he asked her; and 4. I am probably going to be alone forever. But it’s nice that he let her pee.
I ran into someone I used to date (AL) when he was clearly out on another date last night. It wasn’t too awkward as they were both sitting outside at Cosi, having a boring hot drink or dry flatbread sandwich. Luckily, I found a way to make it more awkward (as I always do) by stopping and saying hello. I happened to know the guy with whom he was having the date. I was on the way to the gym and obviously dressed for it. Or maybe they think I always dress in mesh shorts? Part of the conversation went a little something like this:
Date: Hey Zach.
AL: You’re on your way to the gym?
Me: Yes, yes I am.
Date: I never go to the gym. Maybe I should.
Me: Yeah, you really should.
(silence and glances back and forth)
Me: You guys enjoy your night!
What?! It kind of seemed like I told this guy he should be getting to the gym more often. Granted, he should, quite frankly. But I really didn’t mean it that way in retrospect. I tend to turn into Woody Allen when I get nervous. I gathered what little composure or credibility I had and left and eventually got to the gym where I suffered my way through an Abs class. I laughed out loud a couple times about how out of shape I am. Because I really am. Damn you, mono!
This is all for now. I will be writing with greater frequency if for no other reason than to document the crazy things the secretary in this office says. She calls me Zachy the Cracker and loves to talk shit. For those reasons and many more, I love her.
And I love you, too.