You should not smell like a department store
This probably makes me sound odd, but I absolutely hate going out on the weekend. Being crowded into some crappy bar by a bunch of weekday working jerkoffs letting off steam is not how I like to spend my time. I'd say part of the problem is that I'm limited to doing that with my successful (and I do mean successful with their double degrees and Very Important Positions in life, fuckwits) or being with the scroungy hipster bums and their equally cool acquaintances.
These aren't bad people, far from it. I'm just a picky arsehole.
So we're down near the quay with all the pretty people. The women in their godamn skinny jeans and impossibly expensive stilettos and those bloody highlights. What is it with women and highlights? They almost always look like you've taken that nasty hair mascara that was totally fashionable about five years ago and really gone to town with it. Seriously, it looks awful, especially when your hair is blowdryed straight so the striped effect is really clear. And the men with their... fuck. What is wrong with men? They're all primped and preened and spend as much effort and money on their appearance as women. Metrosexuals were funny at first, very funny. Now they're just gross. Please stop hitting on me, I'm not attractive or well groomed enough to warrant your attention.
That's what cracks me up - these guys have gone to all the effort involved in making for themselves a sophisticated city look and personality and they're the same sleazy bastards they always were, but with a $300 shirt and a copy of The Idiot's Guide to Sinatra and Co tucked away on the bookshelf behind the requisite collection of classics and trendy recent authors. The smells! I'm strange in that I need to smell people. I cannot be with someone for more than a few minutes without trying to smell them. This has gotten me in trouble before. But who cares if you're being sniffed at midnight when you're half pissed anyway? So I sniff. Why is it that I can smell ten different smells when I sniff you? Why can I detect Pantene, sandalwood soap, a deodorant with some sort of "fresh" smell to it, hair sculpting crap with the nauseating odour of overripe peaches and whatever the hell you sprayed on yourself before walking out the door? I think it may have been something by Tommy Hillfigger. You look like the sort of guy to wear Tommy Hillfigger cologne.
Do not call me. I gave you my number because I was swayed by the pretty cocktail you bought me or the three that followed. I realise that I am a significant (drunken) investment in terms of time, and perhaps in money. But you told me you worked as an analyst with a fairly well known institution. You emphasised how well your career was going, you wanted me to know you were rolling in it. I was tempted to introduce you to my friend who is already plotting to take over the HR outsourcing place she works in. You two would have really hit it off.
Friend: I like money. I have lots of money and my tits are still perky. I spend my money on expensive shoes. I want to be Carrie Bradshaw.
Guy: I like money too. I spend mine on my expensive city apartment and going out. I also like to invest aggressively. Do you swalow?
Friend: Only if there's something in it for me. Tell me, how much are you worth? Can you get reservations at a restaurant of my choice? Will you pick up the tab?
Guy: Yes. Let me tell you about Frank Sinatra's greatest work. I spent a long time reading about this in order to impress the women. I must share with you my smooth moves and knowledge of music that will make me look cool.
Friend: My $18 drink is finished. Buy me another one.
I'm tired. And I think I've drunk enough water to negate the effects of a hangover so off to bed.
These aren't bad people, far from it. I'm just a picky arsehole.
So we're down near the quay with all the pretty people. The women in their godamn skinny jeans and impossibly expensive stilettos and those bloody highlights. What is it with women and highlights? They almost always look like you've taken that nasty hair mascara that was totally fashionable about five years ago and really gone to town with it. Seriously, it looks awful, especially when your hair is blowdryed straight so the striped effect is really clear. And the men with their... fuck. What is wrong with men? They're all primped and preened and spend as much effort and money on their appearance as women. Metrosexuals were funny at first, very funny. Now they're just gross. Please stop hitting on me, I'm not attractive or well groomed enough to warrant your attention.
That's what cracks me up - these guys have gone to all the effort involved in making for themselves a sophisticated city look and personality and they're the same sleazy bastards they always were, but with a $300 shirt and a copy of The Idiot's Guide to Sinatra and Co tucked away on the bookshelf behind the requisite collection of classics and trendy recent authors. The smells! I'm strange in that I need to smell people. I cannot be with someone for more than a few minutes without trying to smell them. This has gotten me in trouble before. But who cares if you're being sniffed at midnight when you're half pissed anyway? So I sniff. Why is it that I can smell ten different smells when I sniff you? Why can I detect Pantene, sandalwood soap, a deodorant with some sort of "fresh" smell to it, hair sculpting crap with the nauseating odour of overripe peaches and whatever the hell you sprayed on yourself before walking out the door? I think it may have been something by Tommy Hillfigger. You look like the sort of guy to wear Tommy Hillfigger cologne.
Do not call me. I gave you my number because I was swayed by the pretty cocktail you bought me or the three that followed. I realise that I am a significant (drunken) investment in terms of time, and perhaps in money. But you told me you worked as an analyst with a fairly well known institution. You emphasised how well your career was going, you wanted me to know you were rolling in it. I was tempted to introduce you to my friend who is already plotting to take over the HR outsourcing place she works in. You two would have really hit it off.
Friend: I like money. I have lots of money and my tits are still perky. I spend my money on expensive shoes. I want to be Carrie Bradshaw.
Guy: I like money too. I spend mine on my expensive city apartment and going out. I also like to invest aggressively. Do you swalow?
Friend: Only if there's something in it for me. Tell me, how much are you worth? Can you get reservations at a restaurant of my choice? Will you pick up the tab?
Guy: Yes. Let me tell you about Frank Sinatra's greatest work. I spent a long time reading about this in order to impress the women. I must share with you my smooth moves and knowledge of music that will make me look cool.
Friend: My $18 drink is finished. Buy me another one.
I'm tired. And I think I've drunk enough water to negate the effects of a hangover so off to bed.
posted by Today Tonight at 12:59 PM
11 Comments:
Dude, you sniff people? I accept that you have come to acknowledge such behaviour, but huh?
Agree with everything else, well almost, going out on the weekend is my friend.
I can't help myself. I'm sensitive to smell. I figure I can either not sniff and get the occasional hint of whatever the hell they smell like annoying me or I can just sniff, smell the smell and not worry about what it is the person smells like.
Put like that, I sound crazy.
But you work, don't you? I don't. When I worked I couldn't wait for the weekend. It was like the only time I had to be a drunken fuckwit. Now when I go anywhere all I cop is people asking me when I'm going to grow up. Blah. I'd rather watch tv.
Haha, nice, well why tease yourself when you can just take a sniff and move on. In my experience perfumes and colognes basically all smell the same.
I hate it when someone sprays their new cologne/perfume and expect you to smell it and give a rousing response of how nice it smells.
Yeah I work, the weight of the world came crashing down on my shoulders when I bailed from uni. I don't care for people trying to tell me how to live my life either.
It is much better without the comment restrictions.
You dropped out of uni too? Man, was that ever a a sweet day. The first, second, third and fourth times were all as good. Mind you, I'm a fee paying student, so it's not just me who celebrates; the first time I told my dad I was leaving he dropped to his knees and started thanking the Gods.
I kicked him.
I decided to moderate the comments to prevent spam and fuckwits but then two thoughts struck me 1. It's not like I'm important enough to warrant loads of spam or fuckwit commenters and 2. I don't check the comments to actually moderate them. Nothing like laziness!
I most certainly did, mainly through my own laziness and arrogance.
I'm back now though (2nd edition), but only part-time by corro. Much better this way, I found lectures/tuts a waste of time.
My parents reaction was, umm, not good, but we have all moved on. Well I have.
Us quitters are an elite posse.
Ah, laziness and arrogance, where would I be today without them? I was such an annoying bastard my first semester; while my friends were all struggling and crying to mummy about how horrible it all was I sailed through with credits and distinctions. After I realised that I could get far without much work I reasonsed that I could be mediocre with no work.
Turns out my calculations were a bit off. I so want to take a year off and travel, but I already played that card. I'm thinking about a year off on a working holiday, but the working part of it makes me feel a little queasy. At least I can't be compelled to move back in with my parents - their house is being renovated and is missing a bunch of walls.
I'm praying the builder stalls them for a few more years. Is there anything more depressing than being in your 20s and living at home?
Ha, I still live at home with the parents and I'm in my 20s.
On the plus side I have saved up enough to buy my own place (Ya inner city pad and I work as an analyst, please refer to original post).
I just need to find a place worthy of my money. Then to buy a plasma, foxtel and an overly comfortable couch. Oh and a bean bag. Oh and a suitable coffee table so I can put my feet up. None of this glass crap.
One of my friends from schools parents started renovations when we were in year 7, they still haven't finished. I think it is like cosmetic surgery, there is just no satisfaction.
Spooky! Are you sure that wasn't you I was talking to the other night? Because you only sent an sms, and, if you're going to spend a couple of hours sharing with me the joys of investing, inner city living, Dean Martin, tailored suits vs. off the rack and whatever (sorry, I zoned out halfway through), then I think I'm at least worth a call.
I'm with you on the no glass coffee table. And none of this modern shit where there's no place to put your feet because there's metal and oddly shaped pieces of wood in the way. Also, no pretentious coffee table books. My coffee table has a bunch of condom balloon animals (I know, I know, that is so sad), empty wine bottles and trashy novels I normally read in the can.
Also, lots of dirty plates. I live the sweet life.
What you didn't remember our conversation about how I don't respect people who don't wear cufflinks?
Sorry about the sms thing, I thought I gave you my business card. Just call that number you'll go through to Julie, the company executive assistant, she will check my calender and we can arrange a time to have a coffee. The derivaties market opens at 10am so it will have to be before then, if I miss when the market opens then I will fall behind.
Did I offer you coke at some point? Because that is the usual routine.
Blow-up condoms are gold, to an extent. As in condoms are obviously the work of the devil. Unless they are shaped like dinosaurs.
I'm guessing you've never made condom balloon animals. It's like making regular balloon animals, except with condoms. I was moving furniture around sunday arvo and came across a whole stack of my ex's stuff, including all these condoms. Like, there were about a dozen different brands, at least five of each. What the fuck's that about? With anyone else I would have assumed cheating and spent the rest of the arvo going "oh no, was it when we were together, for how long, am I not good enough, oh nooooooooo" but his trips to the supermarket were legendary: once he came home with 38 carrots. 38 freakin carrots. Not in a bag either, they were the kind you get loose so he had to pick out 38 carrots.
So I called up a girlfriend to come over and drink lots of wine and make condom balloon animals with me, since I was fucked if I was moving anymore furniture. Condom balloon animals never look like animals, and they deflate quickly, but they're hella cool to make. Could I be anymore sophisticated?
I'd totally go on at you for calling condoms evil (safe sex, safe sex!) but there are some things that should not be discussed in mixed company.
Any mention of condoms makes me think of fundy christians (and their outrage at the concept), hence the work of the devil. In other words, I was just joking.
However, one of my friends is scared fo them, basically because in his younger years he lived near a park. In this park there were used condoms and syringes, his mum would tell him not to touch them otherwise he would die.
It would be rad if the animals didn't deflate.
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