Because It's Better To Be Irrational With Me Than Rational With Someone Else ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- - Everything smells like rotten food. She smells of moldy apples. He smells of rotten meat... I use nasal spray not because it prevents congestion or runny nose, but it kills my sense of smell. At work Stan listens to music because I listen to music because if I didn't he would be talking to me and no work would be done. Not that any work is in progress when we listen to music... we just stare at each other with a soundtrack. We were talking about things with moderate sexual content (mostly referring to me than anything else), when suddenly the tent in his pants turned into a camping ground. Stan and I started the PhD program in physical chemistry a year and half ago. My first opinion of him was: what a hot elitist douche-bag fool from that state that is not on the mainland. His opinion of me: Hmm I've never met anyone from that country. I developed an empty superficial crush on the hot eccentric douchebag. Month later, he said something to me. Hard as I may try, I cannot recollect what it was but it was so completely off and strange that the next day I made my decision: at all costs, we will be friends. I approached him, poked him in the stomach (since that's on my eye level) and said: You and I are the same. You want it or not, we will be friends. And I walked away. This was among the first things I said to him. Confused, he stared at me as I was dramatically walking away. His thoughts of me at that time? She's crazy. No way she's right. Hmmm... I'm intrigued. Today, we recollected that moment and he said: You were right. I recorded it. I practice power yoga, pilates, and tai chi daily. Does it work? my friend asks. Have I eliminated anyone yet? No? Well, then obviously it works. I play squash and racquetball and tennis and other pretentious sports weekly. I hear that once you're wealthy and stuck up you have to be able to play one of these with your superiors in order to move up on the ladder of superiority. “You and I... we are on the top of the food chain. People look up at us, and we look down... they're all squashable ants.” Stan explains to me where we stand. I refuse to have a CT or MRI done. So don't ask. Don't call. Don't email. I will continue complaining but I will not humor your advices regarding the tests to be done. So shush. 12:22 a.m. - February 17, 2010 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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