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Sunday, December 17, 2006

unabashed navelgazing post below (suck it)

It's been a nice weekend, filled with just the right combination of socializing and not. The preceding few days however, were filled with some ill advised weeknight adventuring, which led me to go into work hung over and with about four hours of sleep on Friday. I was wearing a sweater with a large hole in the shoulder. It started out as a small one. All my life, I have been inept with/more or less indifferent toward what I'm wearing (isn't my not being naked fucking enough? Because I actually consider that something of a sacrifice that I deserve some goddamn credit for) but other people around me are not, so they always think they're being helpful when they point out things like the tear in my sweater. Since I was only wearing an old t-shirt underneath, I couldn't very well take it off. So as I walked around performing the frequently intense duties that an "office services clerk" i.e. everybody's monkey, must perform, all the while feeling nauseous and wanting nothing more badly than sweet, sweet sleep, several people decided to be helpful. They said "Oh Rory, there's a tear in the shoulder of your sweater" in a tone of concern that indicated that if I didn't get it checked out right away, the condition could easily develop into scurvy. By the time the third person "informed" me of this, I nearly vomited on her. What I really wanted to do though was grab her by the shoulders, shake her violently and say "Listen lady, I ASSURE you, that the hole in the sweater is NOT the problem right now!"

I finally got all the important stuff done, took off ninety minutes early and got a couple hours of sleep. When I woke up, I was happy. There was still a hole in that sweater, but it didn't affect my happiness in the tiniest degree.

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Replies: 7 comments

As it happens one of my best friends from high school recently met my roommate Reina and asked how her how often I "whip it out" in his words. The answer is never but I am occasionally topless. Reina theorizes that this is because I'm constantly being attacked by bears.

Since you've been fond of the "I'm clothed, aren't I?!" argument as long as I've known you (which includes several childhood memories of you doodling around in your underpants), I sincerely doubt that you have an article of clothing without some sort of blemish, hole, fray, etc - so that must've been one BIG hole.

Never let it be said that Rory Leahy is uncomfortable with nudity. He'd just like it if more attractive women joined in.

Well, according to my formula, you inflict fear and doubt and then that turns into fuel for mockery so it's kind of a roundabout way of doing the same thing, really.

I think I've finally found my mission in life. I shall go forth and instill doubt and fear in those around me, which is a definite improvement over inspiring them to mock me, which is pretty much what I've been doing up until this point. Thanks, Rory.

Actually, I should admit I was touchy about it at first, but now it's comic fodder. Doubts and fears = funny, which is really why I'd like to thank anyone who has ever instilled doubt or fear in me.

Dude, I smile when I type that, it's fodder for the comic value of the site, nothing more.

Please get over my characterization of your blog as a bit of a navel-gazer already - obviously, I find it interesting enough to read or I wouldn't still be mocking your Christmas masturbatory habits. In effect, I originally contradicted my own observation simply by making it, and yet it seems to have gotten under your skin. I'm like a sliver.

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