Holocaust Fears

"Did you know that the president has his own private military?" Steve questioned in lieu of his normal morning greeting. "No, I had no idea," I replied. "Go ahead and Google it. Google 'President Obama private military'."

After I had eaten my lunch, Steve and I cordially met in the bathroom. I hoped he had forgotten his suggestion of that particular search topic and continue relieving myself at the urinal. He intentionally waited at the sink for me to wash my hands, and at the sight of my blue shirt remembered his greeting. "Did you Google what I told you?" "Yeah," I said. Waiting for a response, Steve pushed, "Well...?" "Oh, that doesn't really surprise me. It's not like he has them sitting around the White House and Camp David playing capture the flag. I think they are stationed in high tension areas all over the world." Infuriated, Steve raised his voice, "What is this Nazi Germany? Hitler had troops throughout Europe. Obama is Hitler." Simply shocked I stated, "I wouldn't go that far, Steve." Steve walked away disgusted, mumbling things to himself under his breath, completely aware that I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction he was so desperately seeking. I cannot understand his reaction. It was as if someone had told him that Santa Clause doesn't exist.

This is why I hate discussing politics. Compound the topic of politics with the Holocaust and mix that with the work environment and you've got yourself an explosive HR Bomb. How about them Yankees?

Currently Reading

I am currently reading The Elements of Style, by William Shrunk Jr and E.B. White, which confirms my defeated libido.

Less Tired

"TIRED OF BEING TIRED?" is the slogan that Lance Armstrong endorsed in an add that was adjacent to the Bill Simmons article I was reading. The truth is, I can't remember the last time I wasn't tired. Tired of work. Tired of my routine. Tired of not sleeping soundly at night. Tired of my future. Sometimes I feel like this constant state of "tired" hamstrings me. I could probably be one of those famous people that gets profiled in that famous magazine that you read, if I wasn't always tired. Recently the spectrum has ranged from tired to the point of fatigued and borderline exhaustion and less tired at best. I no longer wake up feeling refreshed and eager to tackle the day. I now wake up and try to determine whether today should be a green tea or coffee day and which crutch would be more appropriate. I'm guessing this is partly attributed to the fact that I haven't exercised in a long time, but you know how that can be, so tiring. In addition to the lack of physical exertion, I haven't necessarily been eating well, but then again there's the point that I'm too tired to make anything other than pb&j. At a quarter century I'm starting to accept that maybe the best I'll ever be is less tired.

Fashion Accessory

For the life of me, I cannot understand why any male or person other than a 13 year old girl would wear a cell phone, on a belt in a pleather case, around his waist as if it was a fashion accessory. Maybe it compliments his spectacular khaki, button-down, and Sketchers ensemble that he has perfected in the name of "business casual."

Proposed Legislation

The following is a suggestion for the proverbial suggestions box: if an employee, dwelling in NYC, earns a salary of $55k or less per annum [regardless of profession] he/she is subject to "Summer Fridays."

Study Habits

Confession: In approximately two weeks I will commence studying for the GMAT. I realize this is a complete 180 degree turn from my prior stance on the merits of business school in this type of economic climate. I also realize that my life will become unavoidably depressing in upcoming days, but maybe I like that. Maybe I take comfort in sulking. Maybe I'm just masochistic, or more accurately find pleasure in the torture.

I keep telling myself that I need to hit the reset on this Nintendo game that is my life, and studying for this test appears to be a logical first step. There is only one problem. I have no idea how to go about studying. I haven't formulated a plan, and as you well know, without a plan there can be no attack. I didn't exactly own the SATs, and I'm positive that scoring above 700 will take nothing short of an act of God. So in preparation of my, well, preparation, I've been obsessing over GMAT blogs and forums, which only adds to this nauseating feeling that is festering in the pit of my stomach. Surprised aren't you? My obsessive and neurotic behavior rules the day, yet again.

At least after this 3-4 month process I'll be able to rule some options out. If I score over a 700, I will continue the process of applying to business school. If I don't score quite as well, I'll just scrap the whole idea and start again from scratch. What can I say? I'm a slave to futility.

Serendipity & Apartments

I cannot conjure up anything more irritating than searching for an apartment in NYC. To add insult to injury you always hear tales of these lucky floozies, who magically procure an "amazing" space either rent free or close to paying nothing. It seems to always be women that experience these serendipitous events or people that need least to have such fortune bestowed upon them. We minions are left to sorting through the tedious craigslist postings as if we were shopping at TJ Maxx for that item that our friends will never believe we have found among the rubble (read, racks of pilled sweaters and irregular-sized pants). I remember living in my grandparents' basement and drowning my brain in beer describing my "NYC apartment hunting" experience. I tossed out phrases like rentdirect.com, urbansherpa.com, individual management companies, and the hours spent scouring the dreaded CL. With a smile the girl would say something annoying, as she sipped her cosmo, like, "Oh, I was so lucky. I just got this job at a hedge fund and moved into my parents friend's loft in TriBeCa. He's a traveling musician and said I can stay there as long as I want, rent free." Excuse me while I go spit up blood because that smile may as well have been a swift kick to my almond shaped reproductive organs. Am I jealous and bitter? Absolutely. If it wasn't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all.