Saturday, February 01, 2003
Best reply ever...
TMJ (pops head into office): "Guess what I did today?"
M (while walking by and without even a moment's hesitation): "Learned how to pee standing up."
Jim Parisi
Things that irritate: Women who use their car like a purse. It is not a junk drawer. It's not a receptacle for all the shit you think you might need but aren't sure. It's not a vanity. It's not where you dump six month's worth of gum wrappers and coupons and Nordstrom bags and gym clothes and half the files from the Peterson case. You don't need three years worth of parking stubs or the receipt from that jacket you bought in 97. And for crissake, throw out those sixteen empty Diet Coke cans and stained latte cups. And clean your purse out while you're at it. How can I find anything when I'm rifling for your wallet?
Jim Parisi
Friday, January 31, 2003
Does casual Friday mean I can go to work two hours late, without shaving and in the same clothing I wore last night? Too many hours with too many colleagues after too many drinks is having serious impact on my judgment. I need to go home soon. I have been at this conference too long.
On a side note, you never realize just how well you can dance until you witness a room of half-drunk Ph.D.s getting down to "Play That Funky Music."
Jim Parisi
Thursday, January 30, 2003
I need an editor. Although I have some reasonable writing skills, I am too scatter-brained to catch all my many spelling, style, grammar and composition errors. I should have a contest. See which one of my loyal readers can catch the most screw-ups over the next thirty days. There are only about six of you, so your odds of winning are pretty good. My old college advisor used to give extra credit for this kind of thing. I'll have to think about a prize. A loaf of my mother's banana bread? Free use of my house when you are in SoCal? I live on the beach, so that's actually not a bad offer. My old iPod once I upgrade to the 20 gig version? Nah. My brother will kill me if I offer that one up. I'm negotiable. What's a good prize to equal the value of my eternal gratitude? I figure that's gotta be worth at least $5.
Jim Parisi
Isn't it about time for Michael Jackson to start playing gigs in Vegas? Come on man. It's over. Don't resist the light.
Jim Parisi
Wednesday, January 29, 2003
From Heather #2:
"Fuck the war. Support Dooce.com."
Right on sister. Right on. I would so put that on my car if I was one of those tacky people who put stuff on their car. And anyone reading this: Send Dooce some money, dammit. She deserves it if only because she is the best form of procrastination since Tetris. And porn.
Jim Parisi
I haven't worked out in a week. I've been in Arizona since Friday, and I was so wrapped up with random personal/professional/social stuff last week that the last visit I made to the gym was on Tuesday. I'm typically the kinda person who works out 4 - 6 days a week religiously. I've been doing this since I was 18. Call it a compulsion. Call it an obsession. Call it freakish, narcissistic, vanity-fueled stupidity. But washboard stomachs don't happen by accident. And you just try to drag yourself up El Capitan hauling an extra few pounds of cheeseburger around your waist. But this week has been grim. To make matters worse, I have been going out to eat nightly; Mexican food, Italian food, deserts, alcohol (lots and lots of alcohol). It's been a holiday of sloth and vice. Yeah, baby, yeah. But I'm starting to feel like a slug. I can feel my muscles actually beginning to atrophy. I think my ass is migrating to my ankles, my biceps are in hiding, and my resting heart rate has moved from 55 to 95 - but only when I'm not tossing back red wine and vodka gimlets. Can't forget those three Patron shots from Saturday, though my head wishes I could. And all those deserts, they are all just going right to my hips.
Jim Parisi
Tuesday, January 28, 2003
She met my father last night.
And my boss.
And my boss' boss.
And my boss' boss' boss.
And my boss' boss' boss' boss.
And most of my colleagues.
And she didn't once mention that story about me, the diaper, the sheep, the midget, and the big bottle of tequila.
She is such a trooper.
Of course, after she mentioned to everyone that I was impotent she had to hold back. (credit to K for that last line. She really is such a trooper.)
Jim Parisi
Monday, January 27, 2003
Maybe it's the dry air. Maybe is the popularity of 98 KUPD. Maybe it's the all the El Caminos, Marlboro Lights, and jean shorts. But I'm beginning to wonder why I never noticed the genius that is Angus Young before. I had better get back to SoCal soon.
Jim Parisi
We were staying at a quaint little (read I'm too cheap to spring for the Westin) hotel in East Tucson, about five miles from where I grew up. I was telling K about the post I made here referencing zip around jeans, their immense popularity in the era of Vaurnets and Spuds McKenzie, and the girl whose zipper broke during English, causing her to bolt embarrassed for the door from Ms. Carrol's class in 1986. That afternoon while checking out of our hotel I got a strange feeling of familiarity from the woman who was managing the desk at the hotel. I asked her where she was from, looked at her name tag, and it clicked. Same girl. Different jeans thank God. We hadn't seen each other since graduation in 1989. Helluva coincidence. It was very nice to see you B.
Jim Parisi
