The intellectual equivalent of a ham sandwich.

Posts tagged ‘Houston’

Attn: Ellen (11/10/10)

Front


Back (apologies for my handwriting!)

As an FYI, the postcard is from some hip shop in downtown Houston.

The text of the postcard is:

Dear Ellen,

What do you think is the worst pick-up line ever used on me?

TRICK QUESTION!

No one has ever used a pick-up line on me.

(Hint, Hint!)

Sincerely,

GetBradStanleyPublished.com

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Attn: Ellen

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Weekly Wacko (42)

I thought of Brenda and Mike today (they’re explained below) because my work ‘situation’ right now reminds me of them. I am enjoying the extra odd, somewhat dark, humor that comes out of these stressful situations.

My friend J – who I work with now – made a somewhat dark joke. At work you can ‘self-nominate,’ that is choose to be one of the ones to get fired. A group of us walked over to McDonald’s and Jake said he could jump in front of a car and yell, “self-nominated!!!” Another friend joked that we should do a roast of our software product if we do get canned. Pretty geeky joke but it cracked me up.


Worst-Case Friendship

I worked with a small team for about a year and a half. It was my first job right out of college, and this was not the case for them. I was junior to each of them by about twenty years – this varied person to person, but that’s a good amount to say for the average age difference.

I took a while to get comfortable working with them for two big reasons: I was their junior in age, which meant also in experience. Secondly, I don’t know what to do with my sense of humor in a work-environment, so I clam up even more than usual. Which, between you, me, and anyone willing to read this, that’s a lot of clamming up.

Eventually I was able to crack jokes and be myself somewhat. This was especially true with two of the co-workers: Brenda and Mike.

Budget cuts forced our part of the large program we were working on to end. Two senior developers (that is, software engineers, or programmers, or coders, or code monkeys, or socially tactless buffoons, or whatever you want to call them) left pretty quickly after we found out we’d be ending. This left a strain on the rest of the team to close out our product. During this time I got to be much more comfortable and jokes-y with Brenda and Mike. I’d say it was one of those bonding under harsh situations kinds of things.

That is, harsh according to corporate America standards. Not really harsh in the grand scheme of things, just frustrating with job uncertainty and working overtime. Yes, that’s right, working overtime to make sure we do a good job to end our work. Ironic in a corporate-humor-cynical-guy kind of way.

Brenda and I moved to a new location and were sitting pretty close to each other. During this time our main job was to find a new job within a certain time limit. Job searching doesn’t take that much time, though, so every day we’d chat a bit about nothing. I was a big fan of hearing about her son, a senior in high school, and her daughter, a freshman in high school. It was like getting the inside scoop from a mom’s perspective – something I can’t really do with my mom since she’s my mom.

One day we were talking about visits to the eye doctor (I had just gotten a new pair of glasses), and earthquakes (I have no idea). Then this thought came to me, “can you imagine if you were having one of those eye surgeries and an earthquake happened?”

Brenda was amazed. She had not thought of that. She told me that she tends to say things like that to her family and their response is always along the lines of, ‘geez, why’d you go there?’ They didn’t think of the worst-case scenarios like she did.

That moment, after working with Brenda for a year and a half, where I thought of a bizarre worst-case scenario, was probably when Brenda thought the most of me.

And, possibly worst, I’m pretty proud of that.

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Weekly Wacko

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Weekly Wacko (20)

Adventures in Studly-ness!

Recently, for the first time I went to a bar and got a girls number. And I did it with jazz hands.

I work with a group of guys who are around my age and have also just started here. This has provided us with good reason to chat at work, and we grab lunch once a week or so.

On February 5th we decided to paint the town red. Another co-worker recommended we go to a bar in downtown Houston – Rocbar. Girls who work there dress in a lovely way (read: slutty), and they have, apparently, rock music.

The three other new guys came over and we played XBOX and three of us had two beers a piece. Then we piled into a car and picked up the fifth guy (the bar recommendation guy). The five of us, piled into a sedan, were ready for an adventure.

Before we had left my apartment I used the bathroom because when I drink any liquid I get a mean case of what doctors call ‘grandpa bladder.’ It’s a burden I bear.

The bar was maybe 35 minutes away and oh my Lord you’ve got to be kidding I have to pee again. I make a comment. The driver, D, looks at me in a – ‘you’re f-ing kidding me?’ way. I’m afraid not.

In my defense we drove from my apartment to get the fifth guy, so really it’d been a good 40 minutes since I’d last peed. That’s some bladder!

*

Once at the bar we started drinking. Gulp, gulp, gulp, down goes the liquid confidence.

We went to an outside patio type area and they had big swings, like you’d have on a big front porch. I sat down and start swinging around side-to-side, because that’s fun. I got the feeling I was ‘cramping the fellas style’ so I calmed down my five year old desire to play on a swing set.

Eventually two of the five guys went off and started chatting with girls. What a concept. Myself and the remaining two stood around, talked, and did laps around the bar like it was a middle school dance (‘hahahha! oh man look J’s talking with that girl!!! Duuuude, I wonder if he’ll get her number!!!’).

The two guys would re-join us periodically and we’d talk nonsense.

*

The liquid confidence finally entered my bloodstream and my mind went from ‘well she’s very pretty and aw shucks’ to ‘ehhh why not.’ Yeah, that’s right, the charm was on full blast.

I walked up to a group of girls and basically shouted at them (I’d been drinking, it was loud in the bar, but still I feel a bit awkward about my starting this conversation by yelling in their faces). I told them I was new to Houston, I’d just moved there, and what’s the best place to eat. I said this because it was true, and I love a good place to eat.

They weren’t having it. One of the girls semi-answered me so I looped around to hear her better. She told me a boring chain restaurant recommendation (seriously, that’s boring). I could tell they weren’t enjoying me, so I moved on.

Surprisingly, I didn’t care at all.

*

I headed outside and sat down on a swing, talking to two of my friends. I noticed that across the patio a girl was sitting on a swing, doing basically what I’d been doing when I first sat down. That was all the green light I needed.

(I actually met up with the girl one time, and since then nada – so this story comes from her since I was too boozy to remember. And I’m writing this now because had I written it when she and I were still talking, I would’ve felt like this was a bit odd. I don’t know dating etiquette, but I feel like blogging about a girl you’ve just met is not kosher.)

Apparently, I walked up, hands spread out like I’m semi going for a hug, semi doing jazz hands. I said ‘hey!!!’ very happily and then bam started talking. I didn’t introduce myself. I told her I’d just moved to Houston and what’s the best part about Houston. It turned out she was from northern California (where I’d moved from).

Within five minutes of meeting her I told her about my grandpa bladder.

I also talked to her about my job (which is probably fairly boring to most people).

All in all, I was a real charmer.

I ended the conversation by telling her that my grandpa bladder was acting up, and a fella’s gotta do what a fella’s gotta do. I said let me give you my number, she said no let me give you my number. Tricky.

*

Wish me luck tomorrow night. Hopefully there will be less jazz hands.

I mean, really – who starts a conversation with jazz hands?

Copyright 2010 Brad Stanley

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