A Picture that Freaks Me Out

'nuff said.

Fire in the HOLE!!!!!!!!!

So I wanted a snack at work. I did a race this past weekend, and the goodie bag contained something that you would expect in most half marathon race packs--microwave popcorn. Stupid? Yes. I mean, why put in Body Glide, band aids, Gatorade powder or Gu when you can give out microwave popcorn.

But I digress.

So I had this microwave popcorn in my desk drawer, and I wanted a snack, so I went to make my popcorn. Holy crow, I almost burned the building down. The stench of burnt popcorn is now stuck to my clothes.

Seriously, I was watching it the whole time. It was in there for less than 3 minutes, and the popping never stopped. I finally pulled the plug and decided to remove it from the microwave. The top part looked totally fine, but instead of steam coming out of the bag, there was smoke. Huh. What's up with that?

I waited about 2 minutes and the smoke didn't get any less. In fact, there were still random kernels popping. I ripped open the top of the bag and shook it a bit, and could see some burnt pieces. I then ripped the entire bag open, and below the pretty, fluffy popcorn on top was a ball of char that looks like what I imagine a burning meteor that hits the earth and lands in your yard would look like. A black, smoking ball, bumpy and scary. It was at least the size of a softball. I poured water on it, and it smoked and steamed like left over charcoal in your bbq.

Needless to say by now not only are my eyes watering, but burnt popcorn smoke has permeated the entire floor of my office building. I also have the smell of burnt popcorn on my hair, my clothes and my hands. Thank God there's no date tonight. I would hate be on someone else's blog as that burnt-popcorn-smelling girl. It's almost as bad as smelling like Doritos (like this girl I knew in the 6th grade).

Thanks to a Butthead

So, last night I cancelled my dentist appointment and went out for some bevvies with my SI. SI has an ex that has been the hugest Butthead in America, and he made a timely reappearance on her radar over the weekend, so we went out for drinks. Good excuse to catch up, and maybe do some boy watching at watering hole where the service stinks but the odds are good. I did me a little walk to get up there, which sucked in 90 degrees heat, 80 percent humidity, and 600,000 tourists on the same sidewalk as me. I lasted about 2.5 miles before I hit the subway (which, usually once you get past the general pee smell in the station, the cars are often delightfully cool). We had our drinks, some food, and miserable service, and decided to find another location--particularly because we were outside and couldn't take it anymore.

We go to bar two (very important on a Monday night, folks, gotta support the economy) and some random guy (forever known as Country Club) sits down next to me. After some prodding from SI, and some strategic bar menu placement while he went to the bathroom (put the menu closer to him so I have to ask him to look at it, therefore inviting conversation and fodder--I know, I am as slick as a fifth grader--ladies watch your men!), we strike up a conversation. SI graciously bows out after an hour (God love her, great wingman that she is) (oh, and it's also flipping Monday night and it's 10 PM) and I continue to chat it up with Country Club.

Our opening conversation involved dating horror stories. Now I clearly had my story with Fish Boy still fresh from Sunday, and happily shared it. But I have to say Country Club's may have been worse. See, CC is from Florida, and was spending time out on Long Island for vacation. He met this chick who lives out there when she was in Florida a few months back, and apparently they had been planning on meeting up and spending a few days together out on Block Island or Montauk or something like that--had done the phone/e-mail thing, made plans, blah blah blah. They meet up at a bar, and it turns out when she meets him, she made a mistake. The whole time they were talking long distance, she thought he was someone else. Not only does she admit this, but apparently stumbles all over it, and of course, CC is like WTF? He says she nice and hot, but just nothing going on upstairs. Needless to say they have dinner, have a nice time, and go their separate ways. Instead of staying out on the Island, CC decides to head into the city for a few days (hence us meeting him at the random bar). Apparently the chick has been calling all day apologizing and trying to get together, and CC is totally ignoring her.

What a sucky story! I mean, no matter how dumb you are, you can't fake it that this is the guy the whole time you were talking to, and then either fake an illness or an emergency? My guess would be that CC didn't come up here just for her, but it was probably a part of it. Anywho, clearly crappy dates can go both ways--I actually felt the need to apologize on behalf of all women to CC, because I thought that stunk. He was apologizing for Fish Boy, but I told him one guy not having a personality or the ability to hold a conversation was not indicitive of the entire male species, and therefore the apology was not necessary (but definitely appreciated).

Lesson? Someone's crappy date can make my already great evening turn into a fantastic one. I had a great time talking with CC for hours, and we exchanged contact info. So, shout out to the dumb lady on Long Island--thanks for being an idiot and letting me look good!

Oh, and I actually have something nice to say to Butthead. Thanks to you being an idiot, I had a great night.

There's race reports, so why not date reports?

OK, some highlights form last night's excursion into dating. I have to admit that I have a smoking intuition, and for the most part, can weed out people I am not compatible with over the phone. So I am not sure if I just decided to take a chance with this guy, or if the "even a blind squirrel will eventually get a nut" theory comes into play. Let's just say the guy was very nice, but definitely not for me. Plus I don't think he smiled once the whole night--except when talking about his car. THere's a lot more I could add to this date report, but I think this glimpse at our conversation may be all you need to know.

Anything in brackets is something I physically did. Anything in parenthesis is my inner monologue:

BG (Boring Guy): So, do you like what I did (points to his head)?
McFunski: Um, I am guessing you shave your head since it's bald, right?
BG: Yeah.
McFunski: Oh, it's nice.
BG: But do you think it looks good?
McFunski: Well, it looks fine, but you know, to be honest, I have no point of reference. I have never seen you with hair.
BG: Yeah.
McFunski: So that's new for you? How long have you been shaving it.
BG: About seven years now.
McFunski: Oh.
BG: But do you think it compliments the shape of my head?
McFunski: Um, it's very nice.

Long pause.

McFunski: So what's there to do on Staten Island?
BG: Nothing. I don't hang out there.
McFunski: So where do you hang out?
BG: I usually go to (insert random Jersey town name here) to hang out with my old friends.
McFunski: That's cool. You guys go to concerts and stuff? See any good shows lately?
BG: No.

Long pause.

McFunski: When you go to Florida to visit your family, have you ever seen that wakeboarding lake that have in Kissimmee?
BG: No.
McFunski: Oh, well it really looks like fun.
BG: Yeah, I'd like to try that.
McFunski: You say you go to Disney a lot, have you ever been to the Food and Wine Festival?
BG: No.
McFunski: Oh, it's cool, you should check it out. How about the Beer Festival at Universal? That's a great time!
BG: No
McFunski: Oh. Um. What exactly do you do when you go to Florida?
BG: Hang out with my niece and nephew.

Long pause.

BG: So we're about the same age, right?
McFunski: Yes, we're both 37.
BG: Yeah! Me too.
McFunski: [Insert blank stare] Yeah, right. I am guessing you graduated high school in 1990 like me, right?
BG: Yes.

Long pause.

McFunski: So you're from NJ, right?
BG: Yeah. And you're from NY?
McFunski: Well, technically, yes. But like I said I moved out when I was 10 (not to mention you just picked me up in Jersey, you fricking idiot), went to NW NJ, and then in high school went to Florida.
BG: Oh, so you graduated from high school in NY?
McFunski: Um, well, no. Unless I was Doogie Houser, and I graduated at 10. So that's cool, that would make me 29! Sweet!
BG: Huh?
McFunski: Never mind, no, I graduated high school in Florida.
BG: oh.

Long pause.

McFunski: So how long have you been a police officer?
BG: About 7 years and one month. I have 11 years and 11 months until retirement!
McFunski: Oh, that's cool (wait, maybe he's perking up! He strung together more than 5 words! )
BG: Yeah, and I already know what I want to do when I retire!
McFunski: How cool, what do you want to do?
BG: I want to move to Florida and work for Walt Disney World
McFunski: (feels the clouds of doom already surrounding this conversation) That sure sounds like it would be fun! Is there anything in particular you want to do for Disney?

[wait for it!]

BG: I want to either drive the monorail or one of the busses that take you to your car!
McFunski: [insert look of shock and horror] Oh. Wow. That sounds great. But where do you get experience as a monorail captain? I mean, even the one at the Orlando airport is automated, right?
BG: Yeah, that's a concern. What if they automate them in the next 12 years.
McFunski: Yeah, wow, that would be tough. [I seriously tried not to roll my eyes, I swear]

Long pause.

BG: So you're from NY?
McFunski: [not even trying to hold back the eye roll now] Yes. Fine. I am from NY.

Long pause.

Waiter: Would you like an appetizer.
BG: Yes, we'll take the (insert random food here) and I would like a bowl of the hot and sour soup.
Waiter: Coming right up [walks away]
BG: [looks at me] I should have ordered a cup, not a bowl.
McFunski: well, the waiter's right there, just grab him and change it.
BG: No. It's OK. But I should have ordered a cup.
McFunski: well, whatever you want.

Long pause.

Food runner: Here's your cup of hot and sour soup, sir!
BG: Is this a cup or a bowl?
Food runner: It's a cup.
BG: Well, I ordered a bowl.
Food runner (picks up soup): I'm sorry about that. The ticket said cup, I will get you the right size right away.
BG: You know what? Don't worry about it, I'll make due and just keep the cup.
Food runner: Are you sure? It's no problem to change it.
BG: No, I guess I'll take the cup.
McFunski: [eyes rolling, banging her head on table]

Long pause as McFunski resumes consciousness after knocking herself out on the table.

Need a job? Hate runners? Look no further!

So, after WAY too many run ins, nastiness, and all around attitudes from the majority of the NYRR employees I deal with, I have decided that it is a job requirement that you have an underlying resentment to all runners if you work for them. I have no idea if this stems from the fact that most people there want to run better and can't anymore, or if you take a bunch of people with a shared passion (running), check their resumes to ensure they have never had any customer service experience, and then severely underpay and overwork them to create this cauldron of negativity that is displayed at most of their events. Today, for example, I called to find out if the NYC Half Marathon (which I just found out is not being sponsored by Nike) will have technical or cotton t-shirts, and if there are medals. This info is not on their website (which I scoured for about 20 minutes). After calling twice, and waiting on hold for 10 minutes, the woman told me she would not know until the event. I asked her how they could possibly not know this? Don't you have to order these items in advance (mind you the event is next weekend)?

Seriously, folks, just try to be nice for once. I got it--you hate your job. But you choose to work there. I just want a little bit of common courtesy, or maybe just a little less hatred.

Thanks!