from October 25, 2007
Mr. Social went to lunch today.
“Who is Mr. Social?” you’re wondering, “and why do I give a fuck if he went to lunch?”
Mr. Social is me, so watch you language. And you care because the odds are you went to lunch with me. (This reflects very poorly on the size of my friends list. Especially since one of my friends is a fake-news organization and another of my friends is a fake me, which I will continue to deny even though we all know otherwise. So don’t shatter my illusion, OK)
STATISTICS- Length of time working at the HS- 7 ½ years. Percentage of coworkers whose name I know- 12% or less. Times I have gone to lunch with them- oh, three or four. (Tell me about the rabbits, George!)
I like my coworkers, at least those I bother with. I really do, especially this group. (At the risk of ripping off Sally Field at the Oscars, “I like them, I really like them!”) So it only took 7 ½ years to find a bunch of people I’d eat a meal with. (And I am neither Kosher nor too picky about my food.)
So I went to lunch with a group of very nice and attractive female coworkers, four of them and me. So what did we talk about? Gossip, silly! We talked girl talk! All the latest dish about Mr. X, the trash-collecting manslut, and Ms. Y, who is under the delusion that she looks like a movie star, and we talked all about what Z, D, E and did behind closed office doors and in what positions. We especially talked about whose closed and shuttered doors hid secret orgy rooms. This just brings up the point- why am I so oblivious to all of this? And why am I not invited to the fun? (And this brings up another point. Do people gossip about me? I sat back and pondered this, as well as why I did not start a new paragraph right here. Well, at the risk of making this paragraph long and unmanageable, like that ever stopped me, I had to figure that if anyone did gossip about me it would be pretty boring. As I said to someone or sometwo today, I don’t shit where I eat. Over the years I have been here I have gone one exactly one date with a colleague. And since it was while we doing summer school it doesn’t count. And she left the following semester and got married too- I drove her to marriage, ha ha- and that was as far as that went. Maybe people wondered if I was gay, that was about all I came up with. Ah well, I’m boring. There was a mini-flurry of tepid speculation last year, and that was it.)
But all of this isn’t to say that I wouldn’t [CENSORED FOR MR. BLOG’S OWN GOOD, AND CENSORED SOME MORE, JUST TO BE SURE THAT NO ONE GETS THE WRONG IDEA.] but I work with them.
Anyway, I fit right in with the girls. And that says a lot about me. I’m not sure what, but maybe I’m just the non-threatening brother type.
Well, ignoring that can of worms, there is the fact that when I am at work, I am Work Mr. B. Work Mr. B. is more serious than Not At Work Mr. B. NAWMB might not be the brightest star of the entertainment sky, but he gets to say what WBarry might think but not say. Too bad NAWMB was with work friends. But I have to say that it is rare that I get to spend time with four women and not worry about who brought the condoms. Just kidding! I am always a gentleman. (And I don’t kiss and tell. Remember that, my friends. I carry on only discreet affairs.)
But to get back on track and away from some dangerous territory, I liked hanging out with the girls. I am already planning our next lunch; a trip to Macy’s, some Hagen Das ice cream, and maybe a kicky new hairdo and getting our nails done at the place with the purple awning, or was it the blue awning, or was it the one that had the name on it? I don’t know, someone figure that out. All I know is I want the guy near the sink, right?
Mr. Blog's Tepid Ride 
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