Minnesotan Interlopers

So we had a group of six law students come into the office from Minnesota for the week, meaning that for the first time in six months, there were other DUDES in the legal department my age (ish).

Don't get me wrong, I love and respect all my female coworkers as vibrant, complex human beings even though they're almost all somehow vegetarian and have way too many "feelings". But sometimes, it's nice to be surrounded by people who can appreciate things like Googling the phrase "Hmong princess" or burrito-eating contests.

(Just FYI...no one wins in a burrito-eating contest. Especially when the burritos are 18 inches long. There goes my "diet.")

The Baker told me not to get too attached, lest I end up like the kid who grows up on the farm and gets attached to the family pig, only to be disappointed when it comes time to brutally slaughter the pig to make bacon. (Unless he's some pig -- a terrific, radiant, humble pig.)

But when I left work today and said goodbye, I was surprisingly unsentimental. Probably because I'M DONE WITH VOLUNTEER WORK IN A WEEK! My foray into immigration law is coming to a close, as I have a tentative lead on a job. It's a shaky one, though. Worst case scenario, I go back to being "unemployed" for a couple of weeks, go to Waco and DFW, and then go back to volunteering so I don't look like a lazy bum even though I totally am one.

Soooo...

Had way too much "Christmas cheer" this weekend and got "Christmas sick." The maternal unit was "pissed." She tried to force-feed me menudo the next morning as soon as I woke up, but really, menudo is not appealing at all first thing in the morning. I think she did it as payback. Re-evaluating questionable decision-making patterns for the upcoming year.

In the meantime -- sleeeeep...

L'snob? C'est moi

Quote of the Day:

"Todavia estoy debating si quiero dejar cheeseburgers pa que yo sea ripped. En este momento, creo que no. Ese pinche payaso de McDonald's me hace gordo pero feliz..." -- Me to La Diosa, re: weight loss

Oh reality checks -- how unwelcome yet necessary you are. If only alcohol could make the impact of the following statement, which is apparently shared by many coworkers, less...impactful:

"Wow, I'm really glad we're talking! You're actually really cool and friendly and fun! I mean, honestly, at first when I met you, I thought you were, like, a snob. You were all quiet. I remember one time I tried to be social, and you said like a one-word answer, and I saw you were on Facebook, and I felt all sad..."

Fantastic. I am the office douchebag. I suppose the upside of this would be confirmation of the fact that I am *not* unfriendly, uncool, and unfunny, but still. I'm the only dude in an office full of women! That's intimidating. Plus I work at a law firm, I can't just stroll in and start talking about what debauchery my friends and I engage in on the weekends! It's not like it's *that* bad, but even if it weren't subject to Bro Code exemptions, it's still not usually office-appropriate.

Whatevz. I'll start going on the charm offensive. I'm really not a withdrawn, anti-social douche! Please love me...

Also, little ego boosts of the day: even at Mulligan's on a Thursday night, I still get recognized. "Hey, you played saxophone in high school, right? You did region stuff and you were really good?" Four years later, they still haven't forgotten about me. I think that tops the time a lady at my gym recognized me as being from the church choir and went off on how good we sound. Top Gun asked, "Dude, you go to church?" Combine this with the generally positive response to my latest Facebook profile picture -- based on the tittering of women worldwide and an uptick in unsolicited friend requests because Facebook usurped my privacy and opened my page up for anyone to see YOU HATERS CHOKE ON YOUR OWN BILE!!! -- and I think I'll be able to absorb the blow of knowing I'm an alleged snob.

Micro-celebrity, thou art sweet.

It's Really the Simple Things in Life

Short post.

The best times in life are not the ones spent slaving away behind a desk or the ones where you feel compelled to recite your resume in an attempt to have somebody judge you. They're the the ones you spend having Kitten Cannon wars and Bowman 2 deathmatches with your buddy on a Sunday night, with True Life, G.I. Jane, and Jackass alternating in the background.

Also, for future reference, speaking Arabic works well when trying to pick up Arab women, but other girls do not find it to be a turn-on. In fact, it scares them a little. Duly noted. Thanks to my man "Top Gun" for throwing it out in our attempt to pick up the hostess at Applebee's, though. He's a good wingman.

People come before all else in life. And youth really is the best time to be alive. It's finite, but I plan on enjoying it to its fullest.

That's all for tonight.

Deep Conversations and Hittin' Da Clubs

So I have two friends that I've known since middle school. One is my good friend "Jason." I will use his American name because it provides him with some semblance of anonymity on this blog. He is one of the few immigrants in El Paso who is not from Mexico. I will not disclose which country, but let's just say he hails from a far-off place Jack Sparrow visited in one of the Pirates of the Carribbean movies.

Yours truly is in the fetching hat

The second friend is a tall white guy, vaguely Viking-esque. After looking up "Vikings" on Wikipedia, I've decided I'll call him Ivar the Boneless, after the 9th century Danish Viking chieftain by the same name.

So the other day, Jason and I were at Whataburger, discussing the eminent extinction of the Thick 'n' Hearty Burger, a national tragedy to say the least. Earlier in the day, Ivar's sister had suggested I call him to check up on him, so as we ate, Jason and I decided to call Ivar in Austin and invite him to join our lament for a burger whose life was cut all too short. Unfortunately, Ivar didn't answer, but we left a 90-second message calling him a douchebag and telling him that he needed to head down to his nearest Whataburger before it was too late.

Flash forward to yesterday. I get a call from Ivar. Now the past few calls I've gotten from him have been along the lines of cryptically short, 30-second brag sessions updates on his life. This was no exception. He had called to tell me that he was at a conference in New York City, at a famous intersection, on an all expenses paid trip. He also proceeded to say that he'd been swamped with various all-nighters and other work.

I interrupted him. "Why didn't you take me and Jason's call?"
HIM: "Oh, well, I usually keep my phone off because I've just been so busy and..."
ME: "But Ivar, we were calling to let you know that the Thick 'n' Hearty burger was going away next month. It was urgent."
HIM: "..."
ME: "Have you ever had one?"
HIM: "Well, no. But you know what? I come into town on Tuesday evening, and I was thinking that it's been a while since I've seen the both of you, and..."
ME: "You need to have a Thick 'n' Hearty Burger, Ivar."

Long story short, we have tentative plans for a Thanksgiving Break Whataburger session. And full disclosure: I've never actually had the aforementioned burger. It looks disgusting.

On a random note, I went out clubbing/bar-hopping in the Union Plaza district twice this weekend, and I have to say, Escapade is awesome. I never knew a DJ could turn that annoying-ass Taylor Swift song about "short skirts and T-shirts and she's cheer captain and I'm on the bleachers" into something you could grind to. Kudos. The music selection was a total schizo assortment of reggaeton, dirty hip-hop, rock and roll, and old school Chicken Dance crap. It was fantastic.

Highlight of the night: drunk guy arguing with other guys in Spanish while waiting for parking garage elevator. Drunk guy gets in elevator, other guys stay behind. Drunk guy demands to know why other guys aren't getting into elevator. Guy shouts out "Culos pa'rriba!" Everyone laughs. Drunk guy looks like a jackass. Doors close. I love El Paso.