Ice cream cake tastes better with beefcake (or damn I wish I had a tuxedo)

My day started with yet another company lunch. I'm beginning to feel that all companies do is schedule lunch and dinner meetings and never actually do anything related to being a business.

I have this vivid image of resumes all over the world being reduced to:

1. Really good at chewing.
2. Well versed in all styles of dining (especially buffet).
3. Can use silverware.
4. Takes water WITH lemon, thank you.
5. Prefer work schedule to be 12-1 pm and 5-7 pm (Mon-Fri).
6. Will provide own tip-calculator.
7. Received advanced training as a Brunch Specialist.

I, of course, could never work that kind of job. Too many salads.

Unfortunately, this weekend I get the king of all dinner meetings when I'm whisked off to a black-tie optional Gala on Saturday (this one is a really big deal. Gala is capitalized)

The idea of hob-nobbing with state representatives, senators and other really important people actually appeals to me, but only because I've taken to not wearing underwear lately.

Anyway, I arrived early for the lunch and settled down with a nice selection from the gift shop.




I really do have trouble with adults so it was good to find out the Berenstain Bears were there for me.

I hate the idea of being a grownup (hence the blog, I think, where I can basically pick my nose in public). But unfortunately these days I'm being paid to act my age (kind of).




In this one, the little ones get in trouble for playing with food. The story of my life. It was so moving, I forgot I hated salads and accidentally made one at the buffet. Damn.

If you're wondering, looking down at the plate during lunch and blurting, "Oh, man, this is a salad," does nothing for your career, even if you've cultivated the, "He's a bit strange," tag as carefully as I have.*

After lunch got awkward I went to the gym.

I did the mandatory beefcake (you have to grunt a lot no matter what weight you're lifting) workout so that I could maintain my newly purchased tan exotic dancer body as required in the sales agreement, and then looked for an open treadmill in order to more quickly rid my body of greens.**

In a miracle of chance, all 8 treadmills were open! I grabbed one the farthest away from all the others and went to town (high incline, high speed. I was taking no chances. I had spotted iceberg lettuce in one of my forkfuls).

Of course, the minute I got on, an older lady picked the treadmill right next to me and joined. There is nothing that drives me crazier than people needlessly invading my personal space. There were 6 other treadmills far away from me, but no.

She threw her three People magazines up on the stand and preceded to not read a single fucking word while her head darted from side-to-side, glancing at everyone in the room in a snake-like manner.

Not content with that, she began to flip through the pages forwards and backwards while she stared at me openly. I assume this is because I'm working in a small town and not known yet.***

Could be the beefcake, though. The combination of my tan and that damn Desperate Housewives might have everyone thinking I'm a Mexican landscaper.




Personally, I think I might wear this to the Gala just to see what happens. I hope it's not drafty.

Please, no counting of the nipples.

Anywho, the lady finally left and the other treadmills emptied out. Just as I started to relax some 20 minutes later (I was pretty fired up) she returned. Same deal. All the other treadmills empty = pick the one next to me.

A couple of my co-workers who go to the gym as well**** have noticed this happens to me a lot. I'm beginning to suspect I am at the center of a giant psychology experiment where people invade my personal space***** as part of some secret university research project.

It's probably funded by Pitt.

I got out of the gym, for once, with no naked, wrinkly, grizzled old men dancing the Macarena around me in the locker room.******

I finally got to the office and what did I find?



That's right. Get to work.




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*Especially if everyone watched you make your own plate.

**Although an ex-lax probably would have worked fine, too.

***I forgot to fill out the 25 page questionaire detailing my life history for town gossip when I was hired.

****In between lunches and dinners.

*****And never the people I want to invade my personal space, either.

******Hell, that's probably another Pitt experiment gone terribly wrong. Movie Voice: In a secret lab, a bizarre experiment went terribly wrong. They trained them to dance. They trained them to get close to you. They made them forget how to use a towel. They made them so horribly wrinkly you want to barf. Then, one day, they escaped.