Nyan-Nyan

Recently, a website has emerged from obscurity to completely redefine the world of posing for photographs. The largest impact can be found in the realm of myspace and facebook self-portraiture. Of course, I am referring to the site known as asianposes.

Now everywhere, across the nation, young people at parties (especially asian parties) and in their dorms or bedrooms are abandoning the lookatthisfuckinghipster or the awkwardfamilyphoto for the okay, the heart, and the namesake of this blog post, the nyan-nyan. Even I could not resist.

I've been aware of this site for a number of weeks now, but I've held back from posting anything about it so that I could have ample time to prepare my own asianposes.

Hey, there!

I'm so confused,

and mad, ...

and oh-so-sad (zomg I'm so emo!)...

... because my tooth hurts.
(Asianposes.com actually calls this last pose "punch in the face", but I think that's a misnomer).

So uh, do you work out?

Last night I went to gym and after my workout I hit the showers. Everything was going smoothly, like my usual routine, until after I finished showering and started drying off. I noticed through the crack to the side of the shower curtain, there was a man standing around. He just standing around in the shower room. There were a million showers so there was no way he was looking for a shower. I thought that was weird but I ignored it and when I left to my locker he was gone.

When I got to my locker and started changing back into my normal clothes, this man suddenly came up to me and said, "Hey, I just wanted to say, you have a beautiful body! How often do you coem here? What do you do? Wow, it looks like its really paying off." I found that about 10% flattering and 90% creepy.

I tried to answer his questions as quickly and with as little interest in continuing the conversation as possible. To have somebody come up to me and comment about my body is uncomfortable enough, but we were both also completely naked, which made it super-duper uncomfortable. Mercifully, he left as quickly as he appeared.

Now to be honest, I do not by any means have a beautiful body. Its mediocre at best, but this guy was freakishly, serious health-risk obese. Honestly, I think he just hasn't seen a really beautiful body in a really long time so I really think he just wanted to talk to someone about what it takes to slim down and went about that in the most awkward way possible. Of course, everyone I've asked thinks he was hitting one me, but maybe he was just an awkward guy? I mean really how does one guy approach another guy, who is a complete stranger, to discuss the latter guy's muscles? No matter how you do that, you're at least 10% creepy.

For the first time in History

(Picture taken from New York Magazine)

This week is Fleet Week in New York, which is an event that I normally do not care for, but this year is a little different. My roommate cannot stop mentioning all the hot men in uniform she has seen all over the city and that just got "It's Raining Men" by The Weathergirls stuck deep (real deep) in my head. Honestly, when I think of a bunch of hot men coming all over a city, "Its Raining Men" is what I think of.

Today at work, with that song still stuck in my head, I knew I just had to listen to that song at work. On repeat. Which was fine (people listen to music here on headphones all the time) until I accidentally yanked my headphone out of my speakers and blasted the song across the office.

That was really embarassing.

Its been a long time since I last mumbled incoherently...

... but a lot has been changing in my life recently and I'm still taking the time to adjust. Graduating from college was a big deal, but it was also a long time ago and it's about time I moved on. No matter how much time passes at my desk in the office, miles away from my video games and PJ's, a part of me remains in denial of the relentless march of time. Especially the part of me that continues to partake in binge drinking on week nights.

It's ironic that the first night since graduating where I felt like I was back in college is the same as the first night I went drinking with coworkers. It's even more ironic that it happened to be a Thursday night, an epicurean evening for most undergrads, but just a slightly lubricated late afternoon for most mature adults. (Actually, that's not ironic at all, its just a coincidence, but using "ironic" incorrectly seems to be in vogue as of late so I intentionally used it incorrectly. Now isn't that ironic.)

Although another day of work was just looming over the horizon, it was rare for me to be in a casual setting with my coworkers so I decided to just drink without inhibitions, as I usually do when I'm not around coworkers. My plan to drink without inhibitions succeeded much too well. At one point in the night, I blacked out and the next thing I knew, I really had to throw up so I just opened the door and threw up.

How does that happen? How does one just open a door and throw up so conveniently? When is one ever placed beside a door so conveniently? Well, it just so happened that I was sitting in the back seat of a parked unlocked car so everything just sort of came together. But why was I in the back seat of a parked unlocked car? And why was I the only one in the car? Why was the car completely turned off?

I had no idea, but frankly I didn't care. I was freezing, the time was 6:00am, I felt like shit, and I had work the next day. I knew I just needed to get out of there and I figured I could probably figure out how I wound up there sometime later.

As I left the car, I turned back to look at the car. This car was not a cab, but rather some random white Toyota Camry (or something like that). I don't own a car, I don't really know anybody who owns a car in New York City and generally I take cabs home, not random white Toyota Camrys. Why the hell was I in some random car?

As I left to the nearest intersection to grab a cab and get home, I noticed my unconscious ass was parked on 75th and 2nd. I live in Astoria. My coworkers and I were drining in East Midtown. Why the hell was I in the Upper East Side?

Whatever. I grab a cab, get home, and wake up the next morning for work. Of course this morning I am hung-over out of my mind. In fact, I was still feeling sick. Even as I was walking to my office I felt the urge to throw up and that's exactly what I did, right on the steps to a boutique investment bank. At least for a moment I felt really good, one for expelling toxins from my body and two for fulfilling a nice moment of class vengence.

When I finally got to work, everybody in the office kept jabbing me in the ribs with classy old-timer lines like "Howya doin' champ?", "How ya feelin buddy?", etc. Needless to say, I felt pretty shitty, but I felt even worse when I learned that I was so drunk the night before that my direct boss had to toss me in a cab and send me home. Not only that, but as she was putting me in the cab I told her "No no no, wait wait wait, there's a couple ladies I gotta see tonight before I go home." Fantastic, so now my boss thinks I make booty calls. I'm so glad she's still in her twenties and somewhat more lenient for my kind of antics.

Unfortunately, that's the most my coworkers could tell me. I still have not found out how I wound up in that white Toyota Camry (or something like that) in Upper East Side. There have been many theories postulated as to how I could have wound up in such a position, but none of them hold much weight.

1. A kind samaritan found me and tried to take care of me... so rather than taking me to a hospital he or she leaves me in an unlocked parked car? That's a really half-assed way of taking care of somebody and it leaves your car interior really vulnerable to puke stains.
2. A driver bumps me and I fall down. I fall because of the alcohol, but from the driver's perspective, he or she just killed me, so they try to hide the evidence by putting me in the car... but then wouldn't I find myself in the trunk?
3. I got in a fight with the taxi driver and kicked out onto the curb. Then searching for another car, I just crawl into the closest one I can find... but who leaves their car unlocked in New York City?

Among those three theories, the last one seems to be the most reasonable. In which case, if you woke up one morning to find a pile of puke besides your white Toyota Camry, then I'm sorry.

Maybe I should post a craiglist missed connection to reconnect?

The recession is getting between us...

Today a friend linked me this delightful New York Times article. To summarize, the article discusses how the recent recession has torn apart relationships and even marriages between former Wall Street stars (BSD or big swinging dicks a la Michael Lewis) and their Gucci-studded former gold diggers. Perhaps the term gold digger is much too harsh. Undeniably, a bad at work will follow any Joe or Jane Doe home and financiers are currently enduring long continuous runs of bad days at work in a stressful industry, but I just can't shake off my cynicism when I hear about how these couples are "suffering" after living in irrational exuberance for the past few years. Nonetheless, the stories depicted in the article at least seemed understandable as they focused on how a turbulent workplace can ruin a relationship, a situation any body can relate to, even a big swinging dick.

The article was a little amusing and a little trite, but that was only scratching the surface. It linked a much larger blog known as Dabagirls: Dating A Banker Anonymous, which really reveals this world in their own words. Just a few brief examples of excellence:

Thanks to the recession, I now have a completely devoted BF, which is exactly what I wanted. So I should be happy, right? Wrong. I’m bored and can’t stop thinking about my perpetually unattainable Euro ex-boyfriend who is recession proof courtesy of an offshore trust account.

Michael Douglas once said that greed leads to evolution (yeah, that speech) and if all women were like this anonymous DABA, it certainly would!

One of the ugly truths about older successful men in finance is that despite having lavish homes, gorgeous wives, a few adorable kids and multi-million dollar bank accounts, they often yearn for more. “More” may be a distraction as innocuous as golf. It could also be a darker vice—gambling, drugs or prostitutes a la Spitzer. Unfortunately, it is rare man, rich or poor, that can withstand the temptation of forbidden fruit. That’s where I come in. My name is “Courtney” and I’m the other woman.

Wow, that's all I can say about that one...

Honestly, I doubt the authenticity or sincerity behind some of these posts (I suspect the first one was a somewhat misguided attempt at humor), but it still makes a really interesting read.

The best stuff on the internet

"For those who wanna know, i am getting my doctorate in human resource development Why Because im a people person"

-- THE_REAL_SHAQ

For those of you who haven't heard yet, (the real) Shaq has a twitter account, and its quite the resource for deep thoughts and sharp witticisms.

Flip FAIL, but almost!

This is actually a really amazing video, and the guy's okay!



Taken from none other than FAILBlog