Happy Halloween? and Jimmy

I’m only halfway through my day in this wonderful office and there has already been enough unintentional comedy to keep me laughing for a few months. For starters, there are about 200 grown adults dressed up in all sorts of childish costumes. We’ve got one actually wearing diapers (thankfully over his pants), others covered in aluminum foil and a few more cross dressing. Why is this ok in a business office? It’s not like we’re teachers working with kids, for God sakes, although I did see a few super sweet teacher sweaters. You know the kind, right? Those thick cotton sweaters with reindeer, pumpkins or some other holiday festive symbol that protrudes from the sweater. The really cool ones even light up or even say something, but only a select few are lucky enough to snag ‘em each year. I have one of my own to wear at my friend’s annual “Turtleneck and Sweater” party, but at the office?? When these people looked in the mirror this morning they really said “Yep, that’s the shit. I look sweet”, or something along those lines that would allow them to feel good about themselves while looking absolutely absurd in front of 300 co-workers? Really? Really? Wow, that’s so bold in so many wrong ways that I’m dumbfounded. I suppose I should be used to this by now with 31 years under my belt (6 or so in an office), but each year it catches me off guard. At least the costumes give me an excuse to actually laugh out loud at someone without them being offended. They just kind of look at me with a shit-eating, oblivious grin assuming that I’m stoked on their get-up. “No, pal, the people who aren’t dressed up in children’s clothing and things you can only buy in sex shops are laughing AT you, not with you.” I’d love to say that, pat the guy on the shoulder and just walk away, but I’m not a cruel person by nature. It does make me laugh just thinking about the sense of self-awareness that would probably come over them at that point, though. But you know what? The Costume Crew’s blissful ignorance is a good thing. If I looked that stupid I’d want to be completely oblivious too. So go get ‘em Super Mario, Paris Hilton and all the rest of you costumed freaks. Enjoy your one day of shameless self-promotion/idiocy, because when those company pictures start circulating and you don’t have that monster $20 costume contest reward, shame will come creeping up like a thief in the night and you will pray to God that the end of the day will come ASAP so you can go home and hide. And you can bet that the next time I see you in the hallway I'll remind you of your moment of glory.

Now before anyone takes too much offense to what I’m saying (that includes you, person reading this in the “Sexy Kitten” outfit - you just wanted an excuse to dress like a slut), let me be the first to admit that I’ve certainly worn enough ridiculous clothing in my life to crack my entire office up. Just not to work. Acid wash jeans topped off with a nice little turtleneck….check. Z Cavaricci….check. Big ‘ol Jackie O looking glasses with a red wife beater/tank top through the streets of San Francisco……aaaaaand, check (at least I can blame the last one on my party days when my head was a tad cloudy). Yes indeed, I’ve run the gamut of sartorial taste.

When I first left San Diego for San Francisco, which for those of you not familiar with both cities is like going from suburban sheltered to effing freak show, I needed to break free from past peer influence and explore myself. And explore myself I did. Odd clothes, piercings, tattoos (my last one made a baker’s dozen/13 - All easily hidden with most short sleeve shirts), you name it, I’ve tried it. Well, I should clarify. I have never “played for the other team.” Not that I look down on anyone that does, to each their own, but I thought my story was starting to trend down the wrong path. San Francisco, crazy clothes, lots of experimentation, “hmm” you must have been thinking, “where is this leading Mr. man? Do you have something you’d like to tell us?” Well, the answer is no. It’s not like that and it never was. ‘Nough said. Anyway, I left San Fran after almost two years and moved to England where my tastes toned down a touch and fell more in line with the rather “Vanilla” English culture. God bless the English, but they aren’t typically too worried about style. They all wear mostly conservative T’s and collared shirts with Jeans. I’m pretty sure the only rule is that they have to be able to get piss drunk in any given outfit. If a piece of clothing fits within that rather large parameter, it’s good enough for them. Yes indeed, the English love their drink, which makes for quite a Jekyll and Hyde country. Have you ever known someone that is very quiet and reserved until they get a little booze in them, at which point they are the life of the party, then a monster and then face first on the first open piece of floor they can find? That’s pretty much the whole country of England right there.

I had a flat mate named James who was the poster boy Brit. When I first met him he was the typical freshmen student living away from home for the first time; timid, clean cut, and unsure of his surroundings. After 1 night of drinking he had already established a crazed, booze hound of an alter ego that I named “Jimmy.” Not the zaniest of nicknames, but he insisted on being called James, and acted like a James as outlined above. When he was drinking, though, he morphed into Jimmy and went buck wild, so the moniker Jimmy was actually a great fit. I was 25 at the time, living with 18-year-old freshmen, and it was quite fun having someone like Jimmy to toy with. The guy would try anything.

On a more serious note, it was a real pleasure to see a quiet kid like that come into his own. His growth became more important when we (the flat mates) came to find out after a night of heroic drinking that Jimmy had lost his mom to cancer not two weeks before he came to university. It was so sad. His eyes starting tearing up, understandably, and he almost lost it. I like to think that the support of our group helped him through what a terribly difficult time that must have been. Had I not been older than most people in college I wouldn’t have really understood the importance of situations like that, but I was fortunate enough to be at a point in my life where I still wanted to have fun, but also knew a little bit about life. It was almost like getting to do college over again.

What a great time that was for me...if it weren’t for me meeting my wife on a summer visit back home, I would definitely still be living across the pond. I loved it that much. But such is life, right? No regrets. As one of my blog buddies alluded to recently via a shared poem and blog post, the universe moves just exactly as it should. We are where we are for a reason, so it’s best to enjoy the present and looks for lessons and teachers that will help take us forward. To quote Ferris Bueller “Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”

Well, I’d say that post could safely be described as wandering. Nothing like a nice, strong cup of coffee to get you on a rant. Anyway, here’s another random WWW link for your entertainment:


-This one is great. A guy that can’t stop laughing at the high pitch of the voice of someone he’s interviewing. Not sure if it’s real, but even if it’s not the thought of it actually happening is precious: http://vids.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=vids.individual&videoid=1760923 If that is real, I feel bad for everyone involved in that moment.