Soy Sauce and a Socially Awkward Pre-Teen

There is a surprising amount of calories in a bag of LifeSavers Gummies.

Tomorrow marks the first day of the third week of a self-improvement initiative spurred in part by an awkward moment post-gutterball while bowling during which I fell to the ground in protest of said gutterball only to reveal a tiny sliver of...buttcrack.  "ENOUGH!" I said in a fit of humiliation and hypocrisy.  Refer to CheeseFriesRants blog post dated August 27th, 2009 for a full synopsis of my opinions about the uninvited buttcrack appearance.

I had become one of them.  My options were threefold:

1.  Buy larger pants, thus preventing further peekings.

2.  Surgically remove my buttcrack to prevent further accidental appearance.

3.  De-thunder my thighs to return them to their pre-grad school state, thus needing neither larger pants nor surgical alteration of crack length.

Results so far have been mixed.

Lets take it back to last Monday morning.  I stumbled out of bed at the wee hours of 5:30 AM to strap on my road shoes and climb into the saddle of my roadbike affixed upon a stationary trainer, a new years resolution purchase which lasted a whole two weeks.  I pedaled along to a podcast coached by a woman entirely too cheery to listen to before dawn.  As she prompted me to crank my resistance, I obliged, only to find myself toppling to the ground, hip bruised, rug-burned, and shocked.

It takes a special person to fall off a stationary bike.

It happened twice.  I took the next day off.

I tried running at the work gym, ignoring the fact that a tumble from a treadmill amongst a gaggle of coworkers could be deemed a form of social suicide.  (Although not as extreme a form as Mathletes).  My problem with the work gym, however, is the loss of anonymity.  My reputation at work does not need to be marred by the visual of me fist pumping to Lady Gaga.  

I took today off from spinning to go to Costco.  Please congratulate me for not indulging in what might be the world's greatest deal:  Polish Dog and Diet Coke for $1.25.  You may do so by leaving a comment at the bottom on this post.

Never again will I go to Costco on a Sunday afternoon without the accompaniment of some sort of cattle dog.  Quite literally, everybody and their second cousin Billy Bob was there.  To cite the words of a great Indian sage, whom I will dub "Dupli," "Maybe Costco is the new Wal Mart."

It would be a shame for me not to share some of my observations.

Odd Costco Shopper #1

Character Description:  Middle aged caucasian male, slightly rotund, burnt salmon t shirt, sweat stained visor, olive green zip off cargos and Tevas.

Location:  Condiments and sauces.

Oddity:  As I carefully calculated  how many ounces of ketchup necessary to saturate 500 burgers, Odd Costco Shopper #1 sauntered toward me muttering under his breath, "Kikkoman...Kikkoman...Kikkoman," each time changing his intonation as if he were trying to guess the correct pronunciation.  As he came closer, Costco Shopper #1 veered right as if to avoid my cart, then stopped right in front of it.  Absentmindedly, he grabbed the hem of his t shirt and proceeded to wipe his face with it.  Blinded by the pasty white hue of his fully exposed gut, I averted my eyes and pretended to text until he left, which he did, this time muttering "No....no...no," while pointing to which condiments he did not intend to purchase. 

Odd Costco Shopper #2

Character Description:  Adolescent female, lime green cami, navy blue sweats, rust orange dog collar.

Location:  Checkout

Oddity:  Um, it should be obvious.  The collar.  I'm not sure if it was a budget attempt to mimic the punked out fashion extremists of the 90s, or a vestigial remnant of being a leash-kid.  I wasn't aware that Petco had expanded its target demographic to include the troubled socially awkward adolescent.  Of course, I'm not one to talk, as I had my awkward fashion statements at that age.  As I remember, my favorite T shirt was an oversized, aged Crazy Shirts Maui relic sporting the phrase "DIG IT!"  On top of that, I occasionally wore hiking boots in an urban setting.

On that note, I'd like to state that I have zero qualms about children on leashes.  If your kid is going to run off and terrorize other shoppers, please do us all a favor and put it on a leash.  I do not know why it is illegal to walk down the street with a well behaved unleashed dog, yet it is perfectly legal to let disease spreading tiny humans roam free.  

Next time I need to go to Costco, I'm bringing a cattle dog to help me navigate through the crowd.  I'll use my child on a leash argument if anyone protests the herding.  

At least the Costco Oddities left me only one sample taste, which aligns with my de-thunder thigh attempts.

Which brings me back to my original point.  There are surprisingly a lot of calories in a bag of LifeSavers Gummies.  My nausea tells me that they're not meant for one person to inhale the entire bag in one afternoon.  But I couldn't help it, I had already sacrificed so much.  And by "sacrifice" I mean that putting the Snickers Squared back on the shelf was justification for eating the first half of the bag.  Second half justification came in the form of resisting the urge to have a glass of wine, knowing full well that another day in the fridge would further oxidize it.  All in the name of unintentional buttcrack appearance.

The Five Forces and Your Everyday Hobag

Today we take a page out of the Charlotte York Book of Life, circa season 3, episode 7, entitled “Drama Queens.”  In this Sex and the City chapter, Ms. York (now Goldenblatt) adopts a strategic plan to comb through New York City’s male population in search for the latest Prince Charming.  York approaches her objective primarily through leveraging her network, a concept practiced frequently among the career minded and employment deprived.  Despite Ms. York’s methodology, however, her attempts prove to be unsuccessful; leading her to be the recipient on an unwelcome declaration of love, and a literal stumble upon her soon to be first husband whose flaccid tendencies form roots in what will eventually become a pain-riddled divorce.

Ms. York’s strategy, while well intentioned, was misaligned from her desired acquisition.  Such misalignment as is found in Ms. York’s strategy is regarded among industry experts as a classic blunder in misinterpretation of environmental perceptions.  In an effort to analyze the effectiveness of Ms. York’s approach, we have performed a case study examining four twenty-something single women in the budding metropolis of Sacramento, California.  We uncover the true nature of the industry in which they compete – said industry being none other than the Sacramento Singles Scene (SSS).  Through critical analysis of the four women’s strategic positioning within the market, we have compiled a set of recommendations for creating a competitive advantage within the SSS and ultimately for achieving the chief goal for SSS competitors; acquisition of a male counterpart and departure from market competition.

Our four subjects have positioned themselves well within SSS and combined have over 40 years of industry experience.   We will henceforth refer to this harem as Jonah, Inc., a partnership established in September 2009 upon our subjects’ first mutual encounters within the daunting classroom walls of their first three of what would become hundreds of hours of graduate education.  Jonah, Inc.’s strategy is to acquire male counterparts whom fit each partner’s desired metrics through tactical leverage of her own competitive advantage.

A careful look at Michael Porter’s “Five Competitive Forces That Shape Strategy” most certainly could have improved York’s chances for success in her acquisition, and as such will be the primary framework for the examination of the SSS industry and Jonah, Inc’s strategic position within it.

Threat of Entrants

High industry turnover is of great concern for SSS.  Most threatening in particular to Jonah, Inc. is the small-brained-large-breasted-floozie-skankasaur about whom the typical male fantasizes.  Specific examples of small-brained-large-breasted-floozie-skankasaurs include Jessica Simpson pre-Nick Lachey, Paris Hilton post sex-tape, Lindsey Lohan pre-prison-term and this Kim Kardashian character, pre-Keeping Up.  (Reference here must be made to “keeping up,” for which I’m sure for some males, she’s certainly a big help).  Threat of entry of the small-brained-large-breasted-floozie-skankasaur (who will henceforth be referred to as a hobag) and similar types is significant primarily due to the lack of barriers to entry to which she faces.  Barriers are minimal, at best.  Hobags can enter the SSS industry with a quick breakup, a sign of a local lease, an eighteenth birthday, or myriad whims.  The insignificance of barriers to entry are of concern to Jonah, Inc. as its principal partners battle the foes of the latter twenties, some of which take the form of slowing metabolisms, crows feet, cynicism, and multiple feline attainment.  As skankasaurs continue to enter the market, Jonah will find itself forced to adopt the practices, strategies, and general hobagologies of its new competitors, in an “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em” style.  Such adaptation may necessitate resemblance to those practices perfected by Cougar, LLC., an aging company forced resort to liposuction, botox, and breast augmentation as levelers on a playing field designed for a younger competitor. 

Power of Buyers

Of all of Porter’s forces, this one definitely has the gravest effect on the achievement of Jonah’s strategic goals.  The buyer, here, is the aforementioned male counterpart (MC) whose acquisition is the company’s strategy in and of itself.   Male counterpart acquisitions come few and far between for Jonah, as MCs are frequently victimized by the freshly manicured claws of the small-brained-large-breasted-floozie-skankasaur mentioned previously.  It should be no surprise that if the MCs aren’t buying Jonah’s product, then its strategy, although well intentioned, is neither achieving the primary goals of the company, nor is it executing well.  As the graph below indicates, Jonah’s strategy execution has wavered throughout the last calendar year.

Power of Suppliers

The power of the supplier in the SSS industry is much debated.  The supplier in this industry is the firm’s own human capital.  Popular culture and industry experts’ analyses of human capital power are largely exaggerated, stating that it is in fact the supplier who holds the power in the business of MC acquisition.  If this is the case, then Jonah, Inc. is in need of a deliberate directional change in strategy, which may resort to taking the form of small-brained-large-breasted-floozie-skankasaur hobagology practice mimicry.  Other options include web-based matching services, relocation, strategic network diversity expansion, acquisition metric re-evaluation, and convent-entry. 

Threat of Substitutes

The threat of substitutes is negligible, as there are few legal substitutes to the product in discussion.  More threatening are both the MC’s departure from and inactivity within the market due to fear, laziness, pornography addiction, and preference to allocate more time chill with his bros with some beers and a lighter for igniting each of their respective flatulence.

Rivalry Among Existing Competitors

As previously discussed, the SSS industry is characterized by brutal competitors, many of which have little regard for neither ethics nor conventional methods of MC acquisition.  Beyond the concern of entry of the hobag is the static existence of the everyday serial-MC thieving slut-faced-walk-of-shame-sloretart.  Sloretart market presence threatens Jonah’s strategy, as they set their product offering prices at low rates with which Jonah refuses to compete.  Frequently influenced by a concoction containing three parts Vodka and one part low self esteem, the sloretart will lower her market price to an empty-compliment or a last-call Bud Light.  While Jonah’s starting rates remain much higher than those of the sloretart (generally floating at a unique combination of several dinners and prolonged textual and social media communication) , the quality and integrity of the product is significantly higher.  However, many buyers have high negotiating leverage due to their attitude toward discount market prices; which indicates that Jonah’s prices may in fact be the nail in the figurative coffin of spinsterdom. 

Key Takeaways

Critical evaluation of Jonah’s pricing policy and general strategy indicates that a lower price threshold is the easiest way to place itself within direct competition with both the hobag and the sloretart.  However, to do so would be to compromise the mission, vision, and values upon which the firm was founded.  It remains to be seen which strategy Jonah will adopt in the near future, but it is abundantly clear that such a change is necessary in order to improve success in MC Acquisition within the SSS.

Message from the author:  This post is dedicated to Partners 1, 2, and 3 of Jonah, Inc.  – Three fabulous women whose support, friendship, humor, generosity, and Dougie workshops are invaluable, yet worth their weight in gold.  Clap.

Bachelor #1, if you were an animal...

It's December 28th, which according to my calculations, means that I have 3 days to achieve my 2010 resolution of not spending another New Years single.

Crap.

Since apparently, the real world is not working out for me, I have decided to explore my options within the cartoon world. Perhaps my 2010 search for a male counterpart has been too narrow. I have performed a deep analysis of my standards and I have decided that the first requirement to go is the mandatory 3-dimensional state.

I have outlined below my list of suitors.

Bachelor #1: Mr. Opportunity

What's not to like? He's got a good job in marketing for one of the world's largest automobile manufacturers. He's a nice dresser and has a full head of hair. He appears to have a decent sense of humor, and my hope is that he likes good wine and sushi. I'm sure his connections could afford me with a 2011 CRV, and if I'm lucky, I could probably get butt warmers in the seats.

What can I say, the MBA has taught me to leverage my network.

Bachelor #2: Prince Eric

He has a boat, and a chef that specializes in seafood cuisine. He's a dog lover, and a philanthropist. He loves to fish and go out on the town. Did I mention that he's a prince and lives in a castle?

Bachelor #3: Clark Kent

He works two jobs, and still manages to maintain a pretty slammin' bod. He has a passion for crime reduction, and he knows the value of a tailored suit. Also, he can fly.

Bachelor #4: Buzz Lightyear

He's in aerospace and is revered among his peers. While he does have a slightly inflated ego, Mr. Lightyear has a good heart and will save the galaxy at all costs. He also flies.

Wish me luck as I narrow this list and choose this New Year's Eve winner. The lucky gentleman will receive a commemorative coin featuring my face beside a lovely scene of fireworks atop the vast Sacramento cityscape.

Perhaps next year I can count on meeting some eligible 3-dimensional options, but for now, I think I'll stick to an animated selection. Think of the benefits:

• Lack of body odor
• They literally have a mute button
• They don't fart

I think I've made my case.

It's the holidays, and I need an extra finger.

There is no better time than the holidays to be constantly reminded that there are certain tasks in life which require more than two hands. From Thanksgiving through New Years, not only does the single, able-bodied, two-handed individual get the pleasure of the constant reminder of singlehood with hand-in-hand couples blocking the mall corridors and invitations to the inevitable New Years Party alongside 25 enamored couples (the culmination of which will be spent awkwardly standing in the corner with a glass -- no, bottle -- of champagne, trying not to make eye contact with anyone), but also does he/she get anointed with the annual reminder that there are just some holiday things that require at least one more hand than the average homo sapien sapien is equipped.

Fear not, this is a problem I will solve. I will channel my bitter energy into something good.

Today, I introduce to you a line of products which will solve the three-hand-need-problem.

I give you: POCKET PHALANGES.

Are you tired of not being able to complete simple tasks while you're home alone in your high school gym shorts having a philosophical debate with your microwave?

If you've answered yes to this question, then Pocket Phalanges is right for you.

Our line of unique, innovative products will save you from an acute disorder called patheticandaloneapnia (PAA). Pocket Phalanges were developed by our team of researchers who share your condition, and who have used their expertise to refuse to bow down to this debilitating disease. Our line of products is designed with you in mind, and we guarantee you will find many of our products useful:

Cake Batter Bowl Holder

What do you do when you're baking a cake for Anna Howard Shaw Day, and you need that extra hand to hold the bowl while you spatula the batter into the pan? This three-handed task is the source of many frustration with PAA. The Pocket Phalanges Cake Batter Bowl Holder solves all your bowl handling problems with a height and angle adjustable bowl stand featuring an ALL NEW tilt feature so you can spatula with one hand while Facebook stalking your ex's new girlfriend with the other. An added plus is that the Cake Batter Bowl Holder doesn't judge you when you lick the bowl clean.

Bridget Jones "All By Myself" Ribbon Finger

How about all those times that you've been wrapping gifts, and you need that extra finger for tying the ribbon? Well, despite the fact that you're not wrapping any gifts for a cherished significant other, you still need that extra finder. The Pocket Phalanges Bridget Jones "All By Myself" Ribbon Finger comes to your rescue in the form of a perfectly manicured index-finger silicone wrist attachment. Choose from a Classic French Manicure, Seductive Red, and Playfully Pink. With "The Bridget," you'll never depend on a gift-wrapping buddy again!

Elizabeth Lemon Arm Extension Dress Zipper

How many times have you shown up at the office with your Jackie O Shift Dress zipped only half-way? The Elizabeth Lemon Arm Extension Dress Zipper will ensure that no longer will your cubicle-mate remind you to "zip-up!" before you head into your bi-weekly status update with your recently betrothed Department Intern. A life-like arm extender featuring a fully functional elbow and magnet-tipped fingers grabs a zipper-pull of any size with ease. "The Liz Lemon" is a must-have for the young, single professional wishing to avoid pairing each dress with a zipper-hiding coordinating cardigan sweater. One size fits all.

Miss Saigon Dominant Hand Nail Painter

Here at Pocket Phalanges Incorporated, we know that you don't enjoy the hassle of painting the nails on your non-dominant hand. Avoid the next smudge in your life with the Miss Saigon Dominant Hand Nail Painter. The battery-powered "Miss Saigon" uses genuine scrap-metal ball bearings to delicately paint your fingernails for your blind date with your mom's co-worker's son who graduated Magna Cum Laude from Refrigerator College. Compatible with all sizes of nail-polish brushes.

You can find any of these fabulous PAA cures at all of the following locations:

-Lean Cuisine Aisle, Walgreens

-All I'm Willing to Try Anything at this Point Speed Dating events
-Romantic Comedy Section, BlockBuster Video

-Granny Pants Section, Victoria's Secret

Give POCKET PHALANGES a try today! Call now and get a carry-all PAA Awareness tote, completely FREE!

POCKET PHALANGES. Take the hassle out of the single life.

Those beady little eyes haunt me in my sleep.

For the dedicated CheeseFriesRants reader, it is no secret that I have a low tolerance for annoying people. In fact, I have recently been diagnosed with a severe case of annoyose intolerance, caused by my body's inability to produce annoyase. Symptoms include desire to kick puppies upon annoyose exposure and uncontrollable rage against the stimuli.

My most recent flare-up occurred today in a location which will remain un-mentioned so to protect the identity of the subject, a male in the latter half of his twenties with beady little eyes, raised eyebrows, and a smirk that just oozes "brown nosing smart ass." There is no single person on earth that is more annoying than this individual. Indeed, the Guinness Book of World Records has scored him as "most toolest of all tools" in recorded history. Additionally, the Oxford English Dictionary 2011 edition will feature his picture alongside the definition for "snot nosed little bitch." In recent news, he just beat out Nancy Pelosi for "person I would most prefer to see step in a cow-who-had-Indian-food-for-lunch's manure with bare feet."

I think I've made my point.

Darwin must have been full of crap because this guy should have been weeded out of the evolution chain eons ago. What horrible combination sperm and egg came together to produce a genetic code that built such a horrendous case of annoyose overexposure? Some poor egg must have been quite intoxicated in order to permit fertilization from a sperm coded for such an atrocity. I sure hope she learned her lesson about tequila. (Honestly, what else could it have been? Surely, it was the tequila.)

Truthfully, if my kitten were as annoying as him, I would shave her tail, glue plastic craft googly eyes to her backside, make her walk backwards, and forbid her to ever meow. Ever.

Shouldn't they have some sort of spray-on repellent for this guy? Talk about a perfect recombinant innovation. Sell it right next to the OFF with extra deet. A few sprays will do the trick. I have taken the liberty of brainstorming a quick recipe for those of you that would like to try concocting the potion on your own:

1 cup "nobody gives a crap about what you just said"

3 TBSP "please stop talking now"

1/4 cup eyebrow lowering powder (generic brand will do)

Pinch of "how in the world was that a relevant point"

2 TSP "seriously?"

1/2 cup "are you still talking?"

Mix all ingredients together into a paste, being careful to break up any clumps. Add 2 cups water, bring to boil, constantly stirring. Let simmer for 2 minutes, then let cool to room temperature. Transfer mixture into a Super Soaker and aim directly for the head of your subject. Simultaneously pull trigger and yell Sparta-style the following phrase: "Take that, beady eyed brown nosing tool!" The more Sparta your battle cry the more effective your repellent will be.

Please report back to me with your results. Preliminary studies have shown extreme feelings of satisfaction and among 9 out of every 10 annoyose intolerant patients. FDA approval is only a matter of time.

Until then, be safe out there.

Welcome to the neighborhood.

Today commenced what could be a vicious series of satirical rants covering a single subject: my HOA. As a proponent for the downsizing of government, it is no thrill of mine that my Homeowner's Association bleeds me dry while offering in return alleged services that I have yet to see.

And so I commence.

This evening, while helping myself to a bowl of uterus preservation miso soup with extra tofu, I came across a plain white envelope with the return address to a PO Box located in who knows where. (Apparently, the menial task of creating a nuisance in the homeowner's daily life has been outsourced.) Reluctantly, I began to tear away at what must have been NASA approved adhesive expecting to see a charming $67 bill alongside a newsletter reminding residents to keep their dogs and children on leashes.

I was wrong.

Please examine the following. Some parts have been altered to protect the identity of the blogger. Because it's a "secret."

RE: Lot#XXX -- "Unfenced Area" Landscape/Bark Replacement

Dear Ms. CheeseFriesRants,

During a community inspection on October 19, 2010, it was noted that your yard was in need to maintenance, specifically, your bark needed to be replaced.

My first reaction: "WTF, I have bark?"

Immediately, I verbally compose my soon-to-be-written response:

RE: Lot#XXX -- "Unfenced Area" Landscape/Bark Replacement

Dear Ms. Scribe of all things HOA,

I do not know where my bark is. Please advise.

Instinctively, however, I decide to venture out into my front yard to investigate the alleged lack of bark presence.

Indeed, I have a plot in which bark resides. However, the HOA and I differ in opinion as to the appropriate ratio of bark to dirt per square inch.

The letter then proceeded to inform me that I am in violation of section B-4 f) of the Association's governing documents.

I guess I should have read those.

In my defense, my chihuahua hand was already shaking from signing the 800,000 other loan ad title documents, 60% of which described me as "an unmarried female." Well thanks for rubbing it in, Federal Housing Authority. It's agencies like you that have driven me to eat my daily dose of soy product so to preserve my reproductive system for the long haul.

Please replace your bark with the similar color and style no later than November 4, 2010.

Not only do I have to augment my bark to dirt ratio, but I also have to replace it according the exact color scheme which her Majesty's HOA has selected. And I have a deadline. Well at least they said please.

Can somebody tell me where my $67 a month is going? As I have learned through this emotionally taxing ordeal, it's not paying for bark. My bet is that it goes straight into a slush fund harbored by the HOA Workers Union to keep it in power. Backed by the Committee for Worthless Crap (CFWC), the Union is no doubt involved in back-room deals with corrupt, embezzling politicians.

My options for response are twofold:

1) Ignore the above letter, and wait to see if the HOA is all bark and no bite. Yes, that pun is intended.

2) Replace the bark, but continue to gripe. Upon completion of bark replacement, silently form a mutiny to overthrow the regime in the name of Patriotism.

I'll elect for the latter. Readers beware, the HOA lake may soon find itself tasting a hint of Lipton Chamomile.

My dating life is like the last piece of bread in the loaf.

I just learned a very valuable lesson: when you have a craving for pizza and beer, don't attempt to satisfy said craving with a Lean Cuisine Deluxe Pizza and an MGD 64. No amount of calorie cutting is worth such a flavor tease. As I wash down the rubbery imitation cheese atop a dry cracker with hops hinted water, my entire being is overwhelmed with regret. 64 calories, yes. But it's 64 calories of watered down crap.

The upside? I can drink all 6 of them and not feel guilty. That's the point right? Quantity over quality?

I am reluctant to say that I have come to that awkward age that all single girls in their mid-twenties fear most. The ring-check stage. As I age toward the impending doom of 25 and a half years old (at least it's not 26, thank God *cough*), I have become accustomed to this disappointing practice. See a handsome, potentially date-worthy young gentleman? Before you smile and bend over to show your 13 ounces of cleavage, you have to check the hand. And the older we get, the most sparkle we see on those left hands, am I right ladies? It catches our eye and as our heart drops into our bowels and our stomach tries to fall out of our butts, all that goes through our minds is "Another one bites the dust."

And even if you're lucky enough to meet a seemingly eligible male not sporting the ring of death, that's only the first hurdle of many. While he might not be betrothed, 9 times out of 10, he's on some other girl's leash. I strongly believe that all males in a committed relationship should wear some sort of beacon that will indicate he's unavailable. This would make the life of the single girl tremendously easier. Even better, those that are single should be searchable by a simple smartphone app. Walk in to a room, search the app, and all of a sudden you have half the pre-conversation research done.

I'm all about efficiency here. SingleFinder, coming to an App store, near you.

I'm beginning to see the advantage to the arranged marriage. It's just like having reservations for dinner. You're at least guaranteed a table. And you're sure to have some dinner. Or at the very least, and appetizer or two.

At the rate I'm going, I might as well be anorexic. At least then I wouldn't have to worry about calorie cutting my junk food craving for the ultimate protection of my girlish figure that society has told me I need to snare what very well may be Earth's last single guy.

Facebook continues to baffle me with the live updates of who just declared themselves "in a relationship," "it's complicated," or the ultimate "engaged." I swear, I don't know how some of these people find each other. The coldhearted, the mean, the obnoxious, and the clinically insane are shackin' up, while I -- perfectly sane, only obnoxious some times, warm, and friendly -- spend my Saturday nights putting together Ikea furniture to the sound of America's Country Countdown. There is something wrong with this picture.

Somebody, please tell me "when you least expect it" is going to occur. I need to know if I should freeze some eggs or not.