The sniffles

A day after the first "Day without a Gay" protest, which people call in gay for work, the advertising agency I work for had massive layoffs.

Those are the facts. We report it. You decide.

In my industry calling in gay for work is no big deal because chances are your boss would have his OOTO message set too.

I just feel bad for people in other industries who aren't so understanding.

T: Hey Frankie, this is Tony.
F: Hey Tony, how's it goin' buddy?
T: Listen, I'm not coming in today.
F: You mother fucker. OK my man. What's up? We have a big day today. What do you have the shits or something?
T: Nope.
F: A cold? Can you suck it up? We're short and we're gonna need everyone on today.
T: Nope. I feel fine.
F: What the fuck Tony? Get your ass in here.
T: Nah, I'm heading over to the outlets. Then over to Daltile.
F: WHAT?!
T: Yeah, then we're going to meet up with some friends at the Cheesecake Factory for some appetizers and sangria.

I hate long weekends

They are having layoffs at my agency right now. Every time my phone rings or my email chimes my heart skips a beat. So my plan of attack is to man-up and treat this like any other major crisis in my life—ignore it.

Right now I am going to hide. They can't break up with me if they can't find me. The conference rooms on the 20th floor are pretty sweet.

Wish me luck everyone. This is bad.

Back to my mantra:

I don't make enough money to make a dent in the bottom line, I don't make enough money to make a dent in the bottom line, I don't make enough money to make a dent in the bottom line, I don't make enough money to make a dent in the bottom line, I don't make enough money to make a dent in the bottom line.

But then, I sprinkle in a little:

I'm such an overpaid hack, I'm such an overpaid hack,I'm such an overpaid hack, I'm such an overpaid hack, I'm such an overpaid hack, I'm such an overpaid hack.

Movember into Mocember

I was growing a mustache in November to raise money for prostate cancer. But then I ran into my filthy friends from Dorchester who said they would give me money if I wore it straight through December. So I made the whiskey-fueled Thanksgiving Eve promise to keep the dirty upper lip into 2009. You can see the status of the mustache below:

I'm the fat one. On the right.
I'm the creep. On the left.

You can donate here

Cat litter

A couple of months ago a colleague came into my cubi…corner office, and asked me to shoot a quick video to seed a contest they were promoting.

Meow!

They handed me a toothpaste package, told me to come up with a new catchphrase for Emeril's BAM! Oh, and be weird.

That's it.

It was Monday morning. I was miserable. The last thing I wanted to do was get on camera and "be weird." But with this economy if someone at work led me to a gloryhole, and it somehow helped me stay off "the list," I would probably put it in my mouth. Not my bum though. I need to draw the line somewhere.

So there I was standing in front of the fake graffiti (because we're so fucking hip, man) and before I knew it the red light went on and BAM! I was meowing into the camera.

I nailed it on one take. That's it. It was a wrap. It was in the can. I felt so demoralized. Like a whore I made the walk of shame back to my corner office and just felt dirty. Abused. Violated.

Thankfully I forgot about this terrific experience, but today I logged onto the site and was astonished to learn that 1,637 intelligent people took the time out of their incredibly busy and productive day to watch me meoww. I felt sick to my stomach. I was praying I didn't win this fucking contest. God almighty.

Then I saw all of the comments and realized, phew, that they hated me. They REALLY hated me.

My favorite is from NoveltyMop:

Learn to jump

then practice

off of a cliff, that is