It’s been a couple of weeks since I’ve regaled the Internet with tales of my job among the frat boys. Today, I had the figurative shit scared out of me when one of the frat boyz’ phones rang and it was the exact ringtone Sax Guy (from this post) used to have (“Giant Steps,” by John Coltrane. Just to remind EVERYONE that he was a musician!! *jazz hands…middle finger*). I may or may not have formed the opinion that he was a pretentious ass because of that ringtone. And thought that maybe he had read the above post and come back to kick my ass. And considering the person whose phone scared me to death today, I’m beginning to think that all sax players are a waste of space and should be donated as polar bear food immediately. Because I care about global warming and the environment and such.
In the last couple of days, I’ve been subjected to some new delicious man-slang such as “So and so’s such a pillow biter,” and “Hey dood, I’m going to drop some Cosbys off and then we’ll get to work on this project”. Drop some Cosbys off. As in, short for “Dropping the Cosbys off at the pool.” Which equals “pooping,” apparently. Yes, I kid you not. Someone. Effing. Said. That. In real life and not at all trying to be funny. Like, it’s part of his daily vernacular. If you weren’t convinced by now that I am in fact surrounded by testes (and quite probably racist testes) all day at work, that should do it for ya.
I guess it can officially be said at this time that I’m a member of the Boyz Club. It started with the embarrassing nickname- Because of my habit of keeping a drawer of healthy, girl snacks (to avoid the vending machines), I became “Snacky McSnacksalot.” Probably the WORST nickname for a woman in her 20s. At first I protested. Then I grumbled. Now, I just answer to it.
Lately I’ve noticed that the guys have developed a lunch ritual. One of them goes out at least once weekly, and picks up ginormous taco salads from Taco Bell. (oh, the memories of college and late-night cheesy potatoes…) They always look yummy, and are greeted with much excitement when the designated delivery person returns.
The other day, I approached Genius Boy, and said “Hey. The next time that you guys do taco salads, I’m in. Don’t forget.” Sure enough, around noon today I get an IM- “We’re doing taco salad. You want in?”
*Triumphant fist pump!!*
“Sure,” I typed back, cool as a cucumber and not revealing that I knew I had in fact been accepted into their hallowed lunch fraternity. I walked over, relinquished my cash, and within half an hour had a monstrous taco salad sitting on my desk.
Beef, cheese, lettuce, tomato, refried beans, rice… You name it. I started to regret my decision when I realized that there was no way to cleanly eat this monstrousity. See, I have a slight case of OCD. Which extends to the mixing of food on my plate. In some cases, I can handle it-peanut butter and jelly, for example. But in others (Thanksgiving! ARGH! DO NOT LET THE POTATOES TOUCH THE CRANBERRY! MELT DOWN!) not so much. I realized that there was really no way to eat this thing in neat little layers, so I gritted my teeth and mixed it all up. The appearance began to freak me out (refried beans mixed with anything = POOP), but I didn’t want to let my own weirdness get me immediately ejected from the Frat. I started eating. Shock- it wasn’t half bad.
Less than 10 minutes later, I got up to get a paper towel, and Genius Boy and Yankees Guy were completely finished their salads. Mine took me about 30 minutes to work through. Not kidding, huge and filling. Really, it’s more like a burrito in the guise of a salad. Anything that contains so much “man food” should not be marketed as a “salad.”
Also- what is the deal with the hot sauce packets from Taco Bell? They all have suggestive little messages on them, such as “will you marry me?” and “ah…. We meet again…” One must assume that these are targeted to men, or more specifically, gamers. Who chug Mt Dew. And live in their mother’s basements. And get the majority of their personal interaction through their World of Warcraft Avatar. I’m just saying. Otherwise, I can’t wrap my mind around the fact that anyone would think it was cool to have condiments hitting on them.
I’ve seriously been craving Mexican lately- dinner last night with Army Boy was quesadillas. Honestly, I just really needed something spicy with the cool contrast of sour cream and shredded lettuce and tomato. To me, shredded lettuce is quite possibly one of the best vegetable forms EVER. Bizarre? Yes.
Last weekend I was hardcore craving a Wendy’s Frosty ™. Like, crazy craving. I tried to trick myself with a Burger king chocolate milkshake. It was completely subpar. The texture was all wrong, it was too chocolatey… I had to actually stop at Wendy’s at 10:00pm after a concert to get a real, true Frosty ™. WTF. I’m going to blame PMS for these cravings. Because otherwise… *mystified*
Living in the Frat House for about a month now, you’d think I’d have learned what would constitute ‘proper reading material’ to display on my desk. Apparently, the latest special issue of People ™, “Sexy Forever,” is guaranteed to get any and everything with a penis to stop by and flip through it for a couple of minutes, educating me on what is and is NOT Sexy.
Today during my session with Butchie (this is his nickname. I have NO CLUE why) (who, by the way, calls me not “Snackey McSnacksalot” but “Brokey,” deciding that the ‘e’ at the end of my name makes the vowels a long “oh” sound. Not “ooo”. “oh.” This is someone who has a doctorate, by the way.), I was mystified. I could not discern ANY apparent pattern between the “hots” and the “nots.” Nicole Kidman? No. Halle Berry? Yes. Eva Mendes? Yes. Hayden Panettiere? No. Alexis Bledel? Yes. Leona Lewis? No. Michelle Pfeiffer? Yes. Valerie Bertinelli? Dirty after Van Halen. January Jones? No. Even after being shown the topless leather jacket photo from Maxim, still no.
At first I thought, “Oh, ok. He likes women with darker skin tone and avoids blondes-“ which quickly turned to “wait what? How is Michelle Pfeiffer hotter than Nicole Kidman?!” which shifted to “OMG I give up. Men’s brains are dark scary places and I don’t even want to know how they rationalize.”
I’m convinced that was the right answer.
Update: Remember this post ? Well I finally have my flu shot scheduled. In two weeks. At 8am. After which I will go into work, even though I know full well that I generally get a slight fever and yuckiness the day of my flu shot. If I manage to escape the plague until then, I will consider myself to have superior dna and germ fighting skillz, and will probably quit my job to go do some serious Mother Theresa-style ministering. To people with diseases. Or to those people on “Jersey Shore” on MTV. They just look diseased.
Updated SOME MORE: About 12 hours after initially writing this post, I got nausea like you would NOT believe. No more Taco Bell for me, thanks!