Friday, January 07, 2005

2 Legit 2 Quit

Because I am now a grown-up and have the power to do this kind of thing, I declared yesterday a personal snow day. Using a complex algorithm involving air temperature, wind speed, millimeters of precipitation, units of encouragement from my boss to stay home if the roads were bad, and several quarts of "spending the day with Brad" bonus points, the decision seemed pretty clear at around eight in the morning when everything in sight was coated with ice.

Making your own snow day, while still enjoyable, is nowhere near as exciting as tuning in to the local Lite-FM station hoping to hear your school rattled off by the DJ with the kinda sleazy, Michael-Bolton-dedicating voice. He always made it sound like something he was whispering into a hooker's ear mid-coitus. "Uhhh...uhhhhh....Briarcliff has a two hour delay. Oh yeah. Yorktown's closed. Mmmm...who's got the power, baby? Ooooh yeah. That's right. Daddy does."

Anyway, I stayed home yesterday. The day was spent in perfect snow day fashion: on the couch, in the sweatshirt I slept in, watching movies until I thought my eyes would fall out, and eating Chinese food.

Actually now that I think about it, I may have earned the power to decide when I don't have to show up for work, but I am not a grown-up and may never fully achieve status as such. Case in point: my pants. Today I decided to make like a full-fledged adult and not wear jeans to work. I put on the classiest (read: least visibly stained) sweater I own and my nice pants, and for once felt pretty legit standing around at the train station. Of course an hour later I noticed that the reason I never wear my nice pants is because they have a big-ass rip in the hem from the time I tripped over my own heel.

My first thought after noting the unsightly rip? I've got a stapler on my desk. Problem solved.

As non-grown-up as slapping your foot up on top of your desk and trying to staple your pants back together may be, it is far less grown-up to find out that the stapler won't work and you actually have to rig up an elaborate system of paper clips to keep from tripping over the hem. The paper clips hit the ground every time you walk, but that's not too bad, because you are not a grown-up, and can therefore pretend that you are a tap dancer.

In closing, I would like to say that seeing my friend Asher's band (Adult Situations)the other night has cemented my suspicion that bass players are born and not made. A condition I shall refer to as "bass player neck" is written into the DNA of anyone destined to play that most integral of rock instruments. I'd like to thank Asher's neck (as well as Asher in totality and the rest of Adult Situations) for an evening of foot-tap-inducing music. I would also like to thank the folks at Pabst Blue Ribbon for finding a way to make good money on urine, that heretofore untapped natural resource.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

Stapled clothes are a way of life for me. I have actually (on more occasions than I care to admit) used the stapler to close the front of my shirt when when I realized that I was showing too much cleavage for the workplace.

11:39 AM  

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