That News Man

I could very well fix the layout of this blog. I could. But that would require slightly more brain power than I'm willing to expend right now. Instead, let me enthrall you all with the tale of The News Man.

The News Man is a very attractive 30something. He has a winning smile and everyone loves him because he reminds them of all their shattered dreams and aspirations.

When the News Man talks, he holds the microphone close to his lips, as though he were whispering sweet nothings into its ears.

The News Man is everywhere, all at once. Whenever anything happens, he is there.

Wait For It...

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A Day in the Life

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Craig T. Nelson Made Today Worth Waking Up For

I work at a local TV station. We broadcast news, some religious programming, and some foreign dramas. An elderly woman called the station today and asked me the following question:

Her: "Can you help me? I'm looking for the name of an actor."

Me: "Can you give me a little more information than that, ma'am?"

Her: "Yes, this show aired about 6-8 years ago. It took place in Washington, DC. The commissioner who wore the fancy suits, do you know his name?"

Me: "..."

Her: "This isn't a stupid question, I'm not trying to mess with you. My friends and I are house-ridden, we're all on oxygen and none of us have computers. We play this game every day, you know the one with the actors names? Anyway, we can't figure out his name and it's been driving us crazy. Can you please help?"

Me: "One moment, please." *I Google 'TV show commissioner Washington, DC' and by some miracle I find the answer.

Me: "Was the show called The District?"

Her: "YES!"

Me: "Craig T. Nelson."

Her: "Oh my goodness, thank you so much, dear. You're wonderful!"

She called a random TV station to find an actor's name. It was so odd and so precious. 

Colloquially Candi: Part One

It's A T-Shirt

It's My Draenai on CafePress.com

Isn't she cute? ^__________________^

I know, I know. It's old news.

Sip Sip BURN

I should have seen this coming. I walked into the break room and grabbed a Styrofoam cup. It felt light and cheerful in my hand. The pot of coffee was fresh and full, little wispy whirls of steam rising up as if to say "good morning, Candi. It's java time!" I poured the congenial liquid into my cup, grabbed a stirrer and plopped it in the glass. And it sizzled. The little white plastic straw sizzled and slumped against the rim of my cup. Somehow, this did not clue me in. In went the French Vanilla creamer and the half-teaspoon of sugar. I carried my coffee, gingerly, to my desk and waited a few minutes for it to cool down.

If only I'd waited just a little longer...


ANYWAY. Despite the third degree burns on my tongue, I'm in a pretty good mood this morning. I've just discovered that the maximum number of followers a Blogger blog can have is 50,000. That being said, I'd like to set a goal, of sorts. What say you? What's a reasonable number? 10 a month? More? Less?

Let's get the word out, people!

Way Too Much Time...

The Many Perks of Being A Secretary

The Hazards of Free Food

Every Monday morning our news director buys everyone bagels and donuts for breakfast. Yes, it's a lovely gesture, and yes I enjoy hoarding free bagels in my desk drawer like a squirrel storing nuts for winter, but before you start griping about how lucky I have it, keep in mind that I would gladly trade my bagels for a dental plan any day.

Anyway, this morning I was particularly excited about my bagel, having forgotten to eat dinner last night. I skipped, oblivious and joyfully, into the break room. I grabbed the only plain bagel in the bag, swiped a handful of mini cream cheese containers, and went on a short-lived search for a knife. We have a drawer full of plastic cutlery. I grabbed an innocuous-looking plastic butter knife and went to town on my bagel. No one could have predicted the tragedy about to befall me...

I flailed around the room for a few minutes, sucking desperately on my injured thumb until a coworker pointed out that a bandaid would be a much more effective solution.

Seriously, who cuts themselves with a piece of plastic notorious for not being sharp enough to cut through toast bread?

I Am A Warrior

I walked into my bedroom earlier and my spidey senses began tingling. Sure enough, hanging inconspicuously in the corner, was an eight-legged creepy-crawly from HELL. I grabbed my trusty Swiffer and, armed to the teeth, I launched my assault on its smug little face.

Scum of The Earth

One day, I will find him. And he will pay...

The Stages of Candi

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Candi ureshi -> Candi happy -> Candi ok -> Candi eh.. -> Candi uh oh -> Candi angry -> Candi EATYOURFACE

When Your Eyeballs Start Dribbling Down Your Cheeks, You Should Shut Down The Computer

I spent 7 hours on this. 7 hours. Try to figure that one out as you gaze upon the spectacular mediocrity!

I intended to do a bunch of the races from WoW... until I realized I'd be staring at Photoshop for three days straight. Seriously. Screw that. 

In a half-hearted attempt to make it worth my while, I made different colors. How, you might ask? I messed around with the hue. Shortcuts kick ass.

You know, it occurs to me now, 7 hours later, that she looks like she really has to pee. Also, her fingers are not malformed stumps, they're supposed to be balled-up fists. 

STOP JUDGING ME!

ObamaCare

I apologize for the atrociously squiggly image. Photoshop was misbehaving.

Bad Puns

Don't stop loving me...

Fighting Fire With... COWS!

This is the greatest photograph in the history of ever.

Courtesy of Cracked.com's The 8 Most Ridiculously Badass Protesters Ever Photographed

I Am Like Make-Up: AH MAKE YOU BOOTIFUL!

As a hilariously appropriate follow up to my post about bad resumes yesterday, I received this today (keep in mind that I do not work for Sephora... in any capacity):

"My Name is _________. I am a student at _____________. I am very interested in working with sephora. I will do the best I can to try to get a position with the company.I love make-up and Cosmotology. If given the oppurtunity I will not disappoint. Please take my application and resume in to consideration. I have applied to many different locations.I would love to work in Manhattan or New Jersey. I am interested in starting my own business. I am also interested in travelig. Working with Sephora would help in accomplishing that goal. Please keep the hope Alive. I have many goals and plans set aside and with the help of Sephora and the government that is possible. Please help in graduating college, becoming a successful career woman, starting my own business, Helping the government, and eventually becoming a mother. Entertainment, Fashion, Traveling, Money and babies are my goal. Thank you."

The natural progression of life:

Mickey D's is Hardcore

My gym membership is about to expire. This knowledge is relatively meaningless to me as I haven't gone in months. Still, it brings up a very interesting subject that I hold dear to my heart: fat people. On some level, everyone's fat (at least everyone named Claire), but some people take it to spectacular levels.

Now, I don't kid myself. I'm a chunky monkey, a few scoops short of a banana split (I just made that up, but run with it ok?). But I don't panic when I approach a door. I'm relatively sure I fit in normal-people-places. 

Where am I going with this? You might ask. Absolutely nowhere. I just wanted an excuse to post this:

Pictured above: morbid obesity. Enjoy!

Google Thinks I Don't Have A Functioning Colon

I sent myself an email with the word poop in it. The next thing I know, all the ads on my homepage are for colostomy bags...

Drama Llama

Have you ever noticed how onigiri always look like they've just walked in on their best friend having sex with a water buffalo?

Your Face.

Part of my job includes sifting through resumes to weed out the completely lame or inappropriate. You'd think that the average person would realize that, when looking for a job, it's generally a good idea to try to impress your prospective employer. Perhaps you use a few words that have more than one syllable? Or opt out of the text message lingo (I'd wager most established employers will not understand or appreciate a cover letter that begins: wot up Dawg! I herd u r hiring?).  But it seems that today's unemployed college graduates are too busy picking lint out of the dimples in their beer-bellies to put much effort into their first impressions. When they're inexplicably invited to the office for an interview, more often than not they react as though this was the inevitable outcome of their awe-inspiring existence and that I should be honored to be the one to usher them into this next stage of their lives.

Then there are the women. Oh, the women. Perhaps they assume that since short skirts and pony tails worked so well on their portly, balding, cuckolded professors that their bubbly cuteness precludes them from having to have any substance to their personalities. They gush about their excitement over the possibility of working at this company as though the building were made of gingersnaps and soy lattes. At first these applications seem appealing, based solely on the level of passion they display towards the position. That is, until you realize that between those ribbon-encased pigtails and behind that industrial sized rainbow lollipop, there's a great, vacuous bubble where a brain should be. Also, smileys have no place on a resume unless your face looks like this:

Avast Ye Mateys!

Sneezing with a broken rib is kind of like being punched in the side by Captain Hook.

New Superhero: Apathea!

With the power to not care about all your problems! Need help crossing the street? That's what anti-lock brakes are for. Kitten stuck in a tree? That's why man invented the can of tuna! Someone murder your family then defecate on their graves? Eye-for-an-eye that shit man (pun completely intended). You bring someone else into the equation and it just fucks with the natural balance of things.

Have you ever noticed how disappointing gummies are? I'm not talking about the established kind. Sour Bright Crawlers and Sour Patch Kids are exempt from this observation. But when some unwitting candy company forays into the realm of obscurely formed giggly abortions, the resulting disappointment makes unicorns cry. This weekend I was introduced to Super Mario Gummies. I felt a distinct tingling in my loins over the idea of eating Yoshi's face. The gummies themselves were somewhat impressive. They were larger than the average gummy bear, coming in at about the length of my thumb. Their bodies were relatively well formed, you could easily distinguish Mario's gummy face from Koopa Troopa's, but the material from which they were made... It appeared to be in a constant state of flux between competing dimensions. The jelly was too clear, too colorful, too squishy. When bitten into, instead of providing a nice show of resistance before finally submitting to the mastery of my teeth, they simply collapsed into squiggly, horrific pieces that bounced and jiggled sinisterly on my tongue. Like a foreshadowing of the coming apocalypse, these slimy monstrosities tantalized with their overly exaggerated expressions of innocent exuberance, lulling you into a false sense of security before going in for the grisly, gelatinous kill. Every lobe of my reasoning brain shouted for me to spit it out and I would have, had I not been in public and did not feel like giving two dozen strangers the impression that I had just gone into epileptic shock.

In short: beware of Nintendo characters in candy form, they are harbingers of death and desolation. And ickies. Don't forget the ickies.