OCD of Laziness
There are those that will occasionally snack on some cottage cheese with celery, and maybe some dried apricots. And then there are those who settle for the frozen burrito.
[Type A: The woman who feels imprisoned by her thighs. Type B: Everyone else, already liberated by the thunder down under.]
There are those who put the frozen burrito on a plate to microwave it, and then there are those who nuke it in its package or on a napkin, or hell, right on the microwave's base.
[Type A: The structured folk who wanted something to munch on while listening to NPR. Type B: Probably has some aiming issues when it comes to all things urinal, but it's not a problem for him.]
There are those who dispose of the wrapper immediately, and then there are those that leave the wrapper sitting on the kitchen counter.
[Type A: The burrito was actually his roomate's, so not only is the wrapper disposed of, it's also hidden in the trash can under a pile of wasted paper towels. Type B: Conceivably, it could be licked for remaining burrito residue later when he gets hungry again.]
And finally, there are those who don't really notice that the wrapper is sitting on the kitchen counter, and then there are those that are petrified by the implications of depravity that the wrapper represents, but simply can never muster up the energy to deal with it.
[Type A: The alpha male. Type B: Me.]
So, in the end, it doesn't matter if I try to come off as the guy who has no serious issues -- it's an OCD of laziness that would take years of analysis to fix. In reality, I'm always going to be stuck being the guy who cringes at his own (figurative) excrement. I'm always going to worry about the of the burrito wrapper, or at the five empty diet coke cans on my desk and the fact that there's another pepsi can that I shouldn't have drunk in the first place, or at the layer of dust that's currently growing on my car. Way I figure it, I'll save the washing of cars on lunchbreaks for the good people of the world.
Ah, in other news, the answers to the weekend's little game are as follows:
1-B, 2C-, 3-E, 4-F, 5-A, 6-D. Naming names is always too close to a lawsuit, and I'd rather build the wall of people up a little more so as to merit a real class action. If not famous, infamous works too. But just IM me if you'd like identities, and if you can't figure out my screenname, then clearly you don't know just how narcissistic I really am.
More later. For now, I've been told that I've been acting chipper. Damn right, I am. The weather in LA is in the 50's and suddenly, I'm feeding on collective misery.
[Type A: The woman who feels imprisoned by her thighs. Type B: Everyone else, already liberated by the thunder down under.]
There are those who put the frozen burrito on a plate to microwave it, and then there are those who nuke it in its package or on a napkin, or hell, right on the microwave's base.
[Type A: The structured folk who wanted something to munch on while listening to NPR. Type B: Probably has some aiming issues when it comes to all things urinal, but it's not a problem for him.]
There are those who dispose of the wrapper immediately, and then there are those that leave the wrapper sitting on the kitchen counter.
[Type A: The burrito was actually his roomate's, so not only is the wrapper disposed of, it's also hidden in the trash can under a pile of wasted paper towels. Type B: Conceivably, it could be licked for remaining burrito residue later when he gets hungry again.]
And finally, there are those who don't really notice that the wrapper is sitting on the kitchen counter, and then there are those that are petrified by the implications of depravity that the wrapper represents, but simply can never muster up the energy to deal with it.
[Type A: The alpha male. Type B: Me.]
So, in the end, it doesn't matter if I try to come off as the guy who has no serious issues -- it's an OCD of laziness that would take years of analysis to fix. In reality, I'm always going to be stuck being the guy who cringes at his own (figurative) excrement. I'm always going to worry about the of the burrito wrapper, or at the five empty diet coke cans on my desk and the fact that there's another pepsi can that I shouldn't have drunk in the first place, or at the layer of dust that's currently growing on my car. Way I figure it, I'll save the washing of cars on lunchbreaks for the good people of the world.
Ah, in other news, the answers to the weekend's little game are as follows:
1-B, 2C-, 3-E, 4-F, 5-A, 6-D. Naming names is always too close to a lawsuit, and I'd rather build the wall of people up a little more so as to merit a real class action. If not famous, infamous works too. But just IM me if you'd like identities, and if you can't figure out my screenname, then clearly you don't know just how narcissistic I really am.
More later. For now, I've been told that I've been acting chipper. Damn right, I am. The weather in LA is in the 50's and suddenly, I'm feeding on collective misery.
posted by devdoot majumdar at 2:23 AM
2 Comments:
so to comment on an earlier post, by being conscious of your attempt to be an alpha male, haven't you already negated the possibility? it's not the alpha male that controls the band of gorillas; it's the females. be happy with yourself and just prepare to be dominated when you get a girlfriend. :)
Fuck that. Accepting that your girlfriend is going to dominate you before the fact... thats just loser talk. Don't listen, Dev. Don't marry the first girl you go out with.
:) Happy Thanksgiving.
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