Fat cats and asshats

This guy at work is being a total dick. He just swaggered over to our engineering group and he tries to nonchalantly start a conversation about how smart and great he is.

"I hope you guys didn't have any money in the stock market."

Of course we all did.

He smugly continues. "I'm not one for playing the market much, but this situation was entirely predictable."

Concentrating angrily on our computer screens and refusing to look at his self-satisfied, gloating face, the rest of us just nod wordlessly in acknowledgement.

"Yup yup yup," he continues to preen. "I got out three months ago."

Nobody says anything.

"Entirrrrrrrely predictable."

Then he saunters away without receiving a single reply from anyone in our group. What an asshat.

One step ahead.

It's always sad when I make a joke that is so witty and intelligent that it goes RIGHT over the head of my intended audience. I suppose my humor is too high-brow for the proletariat. Today I went to Nordstrom because I wanted a new pair of khaki pants. My body having the cartoonish proportions that it does, I of course need to have all my pants tailored. The tailor, awkwardly gripping my firm buttocks in her wrinkled hands, shook her head and said "Tsk, tsk."

Connor: What is it?
Fanny McPhee: Is this really the smallest waist size we have?
Connor: Yes. (Tries to swat her hand off my ass... unsuccessfully)
Fanny McPhee: What do you think about them?
Connor: They still look too big on me.
Fanny McPhee: We can take them in a bit, but not too much. Maybe you'll grow into them.
(She looks up at me, eyes narrowing.)
Fanny McPhee: How old are you?
Connor: Twenty-seven.
(This answer seems to satisfy her.)
Fanny McPhee: You still have time to fill out. My son used to be just your size. Not anymore though. They used to call him 'Stick'.
Connor: Now he's more like a 'Branch'?
(Internally, I am quite pleased at my witty wordplay. This was a funny comment! I seek approval from Mrs. Touchy Tailor. She cocks her head at me, confused.)
Fanny McPhee: 'Stick'. (Holds up a vertical finger as if I am a retard. Tries to mime a stick.) You know? Thin like a stick.
(There is an awkward pause consisting of unblinking eye contact.)
Connor: I must not have understood that initially.

Elaborate build-up, followed by disappointment (that's what she said?)

"Oh, why hello there Mr. President. I didn’t see you there in the corner. Yes, I’m doing quite well, thank you for asking. The project? Operation Rainbow is proceeding on schedule. That’s right, I’ve managed to overcome all the substantial technical hurdles. Why yes, as a matter of fact, I am aware of my prodigious intellect but I appreciate the compliment nonetheless.       

What’s that you say? You’re worried about the tree-huggers finding out about Operation Rainbow and raising objections? What could they object to?! All we’ve done is create a hybrid puma/rhinocerous, fed it nothing but human blood, then equip it with a 100kW laser and strap it to a rocket. Why would anyone object if we unleash an Abomination Unto the Lord against our enemies? Oh, poppycock. I think they’ll be proud of the scientific hurdles that we’ve blindly cleared to accomplish this goal.        

Well, I suppose you can always contact me if you have further concerns. But please not on Tuesday evenings. That’s when I karaoke. Hmm? Oh, you need a business card? Why of course. I would be happy to present you with this elegant symbol of my professionalism."

Head Over Hell

I have an important personal issue that I must vent to the internet, where it is sure to attract the attention it deserves. There are some quality radio stations here in Seattle, but only a few have funny morning DJs and play good music. To be honest, there are really only two and one of them is 101.5 KPLZ.

Every morning they have a special "7 at 7" segment where the DJs build a short seven-song playlist that they broadcast at 7am. Typically, I'm already at work by that time, but maybe once a week or so I get it a little later at like 7:15.

Here's the problem: every SINGLE time I've heard this playlist, they will ALWAYS include the Tears for Fears classic hit, "Head Over Heels". This used to be a great song. If I were writing a teenager "coming-of-age" movie about growing up in the early 90s (where John Cusack plays myself), "Head Over Heels" would definitely be on the soundtrack. But it's one of those awesome songs that you can only hear once a year for it to retain that special feeling. And this DJ has ruined it! For whatever reason, he keeps throwing it into his "7 at 7" playlist every week.

I was emotionally unprepared for a previously-loved mid-80s pop song to get overplayed. I'm getting to work now with feelings of unresolved rage and anxiety.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EMBbJ_l0Tb4

Like a Boss.

Now that I'm working at The Company, I've decided to step up my game a bit in the clothing department. I don't want to brag, but basically I make the cover models on GQ look like dirty hobos. Is this a bus, Jake Gyllenhaal? Because I just took you to school! Yesterday, I wore a nice pair of slacks and a dress shirt that I purchased at Nordstroms. Admiring my reflection in a pool of water, I realized that I required more of these outfits. I was crushed to find that the store had just recently been ravaged by a two week sale, and no longer had a full supply of shirts.

Sales Rep: We sent all our remaining inventory to the Nordstrom Rack.
Me: The what?
Sales Rep: The Nordstrom Rack. It's just around the corner.
Me: What is this "Nordstrom Rack" that you speak of?
Sales Rep: It's our clearance store.
Me: (aghast) Ew.

But desperate to flush out my wardrobe, I went to "the Rack" anyways. Once there, I was shocked to discover that my outfit seemed very similar to the apparel worn by the help. Apparently, other patrons felt the same way. A guy with a gelled fo-hawk and a gold chain asked me, "Hey, do you have any Hugo Boss socks here?" I was confused about why he was talking to me, because I wasn't wearing a gold chain and their kind tend to stick together. "Oh," he said, realization dawning on his face. "Sorry, I thought you worked here."

Two thoughts flashed through my mind in that instant. First, why would someone be looking EXPLICITLY for Hugo Boss socks? That seems weirdly specific. And the second thought was that Hugo Boss socks sounded amazing. What was so special about them?! I needed a pair.

No. I needed EVERY pair.

My eyes narrowed at Gold-Chain Douchebag. "Stay the fuck away from the Hugo Boss socks," I growled in a low voice. Douchbag backed up a step. "You hear me?!" I continued, a crazed look in my wild eyes. "They're mine! You're in MY HOUSE BITCH!"

59%: The Best Get Better

Does life get more exciting than this?! Probably not YOUR life!

Reach for the sky!

Oh sweet zombie Jesus, it's time for Performance Evaluations again! Being a new employee at a company, it's important to set realistic goals that also demonstrate your commitment and dedication to the new position. Here are a few examples from the performance goals I set for myself.

1. Limit wine consumption in office to one glass per day, and at least attempt to disguise it.
2. Develop office nickname. Preferred: ConnMan, C-Dawg, "Big Junk". Acceptable Alternative: Snowflake
3. Read two Lolcats per day, minimum.
4. Email hilarious partially nude photo of self to engineering group to promote interoffice camaraderie.
5. Have at least one person refer to me as a "snappy" dresser.
6. Show that bitch lunch lady in the cafeteria who's REALLY the boss.
7. Figure out if I have developed "Tyler Durden" alter ego. If confirmed, attempt to limit fatalities on company property.
8. Exude confidence and raw masculine sexuality.