Moose in the Kitchen

Let’s abandon all hope that this will be a coherently-themed post, shall we? Are everyone’s expectations in proper alignment? Excellent.

Zen Masters in Tiny Packages

A friend’s 5-year-old son has become my new guru. He likes to walk up to his parents and say, “I flick you!” while demonstrating his index finger prowess. His parents think this is annoying. I think this is genius. So in my ongoing battle against the neuroses, I’ve lately taken to announcing “I FLICK YOU!” whenever some new or all-too-familiar worry pops up. Then I flick my fingers in the air. It totally works. Wondering if I was too harsh with the salesguy when  bending Comcast to my will? I FLICK YOU! Obsessing over dating issues? I FLICK YOU! Thinking that second ham and cheese croissant was an error of willpower? I FLICK YOU!

Related query: when did 5-year-olds get smarter than adults? Has it always been this way? Did I hit the peak of my powers in 1983 and completely miss it because I was too busy trying to scam bubblegum ice cream cones?

Onward Christian Soldiers

May, in her infinite wisdom, especially as relates to all things edible, introduced me to the ultimate cheap date. Go to the farmer’s market in the Metreon and buy spicy pulled pork piled on a corn pancake. Eat. Wend your way toward the glass display case of tiny cupcakes. Share one red velvet and one cookies and cream. Then head to the corner store to buy two tiny bottles of wine, snag two paper cups, and sneak your illicit beverage into the movie of your choice.

By the way, I’ve decided that I want to be Meryl Streep as Julia Child. She was so delightfully wacky and so loving and SO VERY FOND OF BUTTER. I also identified quite heavily with Julie as she worked her charmless bureaucratic job, answering the phone and hoping she can make it through the entire day without crying. Listening to some poor woman in a tiny cubicle plead with a caller not to yell at her is especially heart wrenching when you HAVE SAID THOSE EXACT WORDS IN THAT EXACT SITUATION.

But no more! Discussing your job is generally verboten, but I will bend the rules for a few minutes.

Because When I Haphazardly Toss Up Pictures Just To Have a New Post, I Always Get Annoyed and Pull Them Down Three Hours Later

Yes, these pictures may look familiar, but I NEED LOTS OF EXTRANEOUS WORDS OR I’M NOT SATISFIED.

My new desk:

Please note the existence of sunlight and what appears to be personality.

My new view:

Holy fleet of sail boats, Batman.

Dear Tourists,

Biking along the Sausalito waterfront certainly looks like fun and I hope you get to try some Blue Bottle coffee while you’re here. But just because you’re on vacation DOES NOT MEAN YOU’RE SUDDENLY IMMORTAL. I don’t want to clip you with my car on my way to work, but if you veer unexpectedly in front of my bumper, it might happen. And then we’ll both be sad.

Love, Moose

Possibly Hitting a Tourist and This Wine Story are Totally Unrelated, Promise

Wine is basically an office supply around here. Someone stopped by the office at 4 p.m. on a Thursday and, as they started to uncork a bottle of white,  asked if I’d like to join them. For reference, to anyone who might ever need this information: If you’re opening a bottle of wine at 4 p.m. on a Thursday, or really any other time, YOU DON’T EVEN NEED TO ASK. In fact, you will be hard pressed to keep me from grabbing a glass and helping myself.

One More New Job Story

From a friend at my old job, the one whose son is my newly appointed zen master: “People still ask me about you, and I’m getting a little tired of all the Amber questions. I may just start telling everyone that you lied about that job, and that you’re now a full-time pole dancer.”

NOTED.

Related posts:

1. This Weekend I…
2. No Swimsuit Issue. But, Given All the Butter, That’s Probably a Good Thing
3. Not Worried, I Said!
4. Mushroom Soup For Me
5. Things I Love Wednesday