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Stats & Data

October 29, 2010

Harry Connick Jr. needs to knock it off with the little pants and shiny hair. Drives me nuts. I usually buy clothes a few sizes too large in case I get fat rapidly. Lately, I started buying clothes a few sizes too small to motivate my myself down to a more reasonable figure through forced visual and physical agony. I recently tried on a pair of size 32 x 30 jeans in a Nordstrom Rack fitting room just to see how far outside of the lines I'm currently coloring. I creeped just outside of my fitting booth to the full-body mirror in the main fitting room area, and within seconds, a little female employee carrying a pile of rejected apparel draped over her left shoulder and a ball point pen perched behind her right ear, slowly shook her head side-to-side, and said with a soft Spanish accent, "ohhhhh... doze no fit right". At first, she seemed like a sweet lady that was just being unknowingly honest, but when I responded playfully by saying, "Wishful thinking I guess, right?", and she repeated with an appearance of complete disappointment, "...ohhh... ...noh... doze just no fit right", she convinced me otherwise and is now on my Anger List...

I've got my concerns about where my physique is headed, but my deteriorating general appearance is beginning to raise a few red flags throughout the community. I just had my picture taken for a security badge at my new job. Looking at it makes me realize that I'm two forehead wrinkles and a rotten front tooth away from being featured on a "No Admittance" security poster on the wall of every employee lounge at Disneyland. It's getting really bad. During a recent unemployment stint I decided to take a vacation from my daily shaving routine. Now it just looks like I lack the financial and cognitive ability to shave. My sleeping patterns are apparent in the loose implants under my eyes, and you already know about the
Second Chin. Two weeks ago, a pedestrian standing next to me on the corner of East Pike and 13th street, wearing a Party Supply employee polo shirt, sprinkled eighty-seven cents into an empty paper cup that I was holding while waiting for the light to change at the intersection.

It has to be rare that a strongly compensated manager at a considerably profitable tech startup downtown is unexpectedly receiving cash donations on the street, in an empty seven dollar latte cup, from a minimum-wage retail sales associate, while carrying a two-thousand dollar laptop in a two-hundred dollar leather side-satchel that also holds a pair of headphones and a charger to a four-hundred dollar iPhone, and a mortgage statement for a new-construction condominium reflecting a low interest rate and twenty-percent equity. No horn-tooting here, it's the reality of the situation, and it is why I'm concerned.

I clean up well for the occasional wedding, and Christmas dinner at my Aunt and Uncle's house, but the time between has become self-image anarchy. No one is keeping track of what's going on, and it is becoming a problem.

For me, it really depends on who I am comparing myself to based upon my surroundings at the time. In college, I compared myself to athletes that worked out 2-4 hours a day, showered regularly, and were competing for the attention of the most desirable women around, because, naturally, I surrounded myself with that environment. The bar was set reasonably high.

Now, I'm naturally comparing myself to Peter Griffin, Zach Galifianakis, and my chubby hell-raiser next door neighbor Keith, because it's what's going on in my life right now, so it is a perfectly natural bar to be set. Unfortunately for me, that particular bar is laying on the ground in a generous puddle of urine.

My niece is eventually going to start wondering why mommy and daddy allow the scotch-scented bearded homeless man to bring her stuffed animals and pat her belly. She doesn't seem to mind having my face in front of hers yet because I closely resemble a Caucasian version of Grover, but that can't last forever.

But, you know what? Hold on for a second. She doesn't have to stress out about stuff like changing her undergarments and eating, someone else always does that stuff for her. If she wants to start comparing my general hygiene to hers, she needs to recognize that fundamental difference prior to being so judgmental. The same thing goes for my parent's stupid toy poodle, Coco. Sometimes he looks at me like like he wants to punch me in the face because of my appearance or smell. But, again, you know what? My dad bathes you, you stupid little dog. You don't have to deal with bathing yourself. And you can just go poop and pee outside and eat your own barf if you're hungry. But no, if I attempt to enjoy that kind of convenience, I get a stern warning from my home owner's association and a $175 fine from the Auburn police department. I thought this was America.

Until next time: If your look looks homeless, and your cup is empty, you might pass the test, and get donations a plenty.