Pardon My Sobriety (That's What She Said!)

I've been inexplicably boring the past week. Or busy? I think busy is the word people use as a synonym for boring when they want to sound interesting. Expect better content as soon as I get drunk and make a regrettable decision.

Meanwhile, I've been cheating on the personal blog with... other websites. I'll be contributing pop culture and lifestyle articles to The Next Great Generation. Today I have a guest post on the popular Columbus-based website Gen-Y Journey.

The kids at work discovered the phrase "that's what she said." They have no idea what it means, so they use it out of context, which only makes it more hysterical.

"All right everybody line up for the gym."

THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID.

See what I mean? Hilarious.

Friday I locked my keys in my car. But luckily my brother, who has the spare set, just moved into an apartment two blocks from the new office I've been working in. I didn't even have to reschedule my two o' clock meeting.

Speaking of the new office, I've been interning at a local Columbus magazine. They keep me busy and out of trouble... so if anybody's to blame for the lack of prophylactics and spilled whiskey around here, it's them.

Wednesday night Columbus Entertainment (the other magazine I write for, I get around like that) held a special event to commemorate the release of the Spring issue. I shook hands with media personalities, football stars, and other wealthy, interesting people and attempted to pretend I was normal for a few hours.

In retrospect I guess the week was less "boring" and more "sober."

I really have to stop using those two words as synonyms.

Library Shout-Out

The other month I snatched up a guest spot on The Naked Redhead. A few days later I was talking about it with my supervisor at the health sciences library where I work (because if I'm talking about where I'm putting my junk on the Internet, my boss is going to hear about it. That's just part of hiring me).

"I noticed you mentioned some of your other jobs on your bio but not us," she said.

Since I spend twenty hours a week at the library, I guess it deserves some mention. After all, they do pay for my food and electricity and drinks.

I started at the library in the summer of 2009. I work at the front desk, helping visiting patrons, answering phones, and of course, attending to my Facebook homework.

My coworkers here quickly became some of my favorite people. Some of us even use the word "friend" and find ourselves out on the town together. We've attended concerts together, closed down bars together, hell, some of us have even ended up living together.

Together we handle an array of never-works-right equipment, drunk homeless men, and of course, masturbating patrons.

What? You thought working in a library involved books?

I've shared secrets here, been drunk here, made out in stairways here.

All library staff, except the photo-bomber in the back, that dude's just here to party.

I know this is supposed to be one of those temporary jobs, something to pass the time and pay the bills as I transition into the next part of my life, but I'm going to miss this place when I graduate. I like the smell of books and time spent with good people.

This is the part where I play a Sarah McLachlan ballad to capture the moment, right?

Fucked-Up Inbred Super Freaks

I grew up in a town called Miller City, whose founders lacked the foresight to consider that perhaps putting the word "city" in the title should wait until the town was actually, you know, a city (the nearby town of New Cleveland made a similar mistake). It consists of a few bars and a gas station, and is surrounded by similar (but if you ask the locals, totally different and not at all the same) towns that make up the little collective that is Putnam County.

Putnam County is the odd kind of place where people refer to the county as if it's a town. The towns will bicker and fight over petty issues and then rally together and forget past disputes (most of which are over high school sports, which is usually the worst of our problems). We're our own little fucked-up family.

We never have money, and even when we do we still get drunk on school buses and go to hole-in-the-wall bars because it's all we know.

And... now this is going to sound completely irrational, because it is, but there's a way to identify other Putnam County natives. There's something about the combination of facial features and mannerisms and behavior that just make you think this person is one of us. This person is a totally fucked-up redneck like me. There's an aura of sorts, and no matter how much we distance ourselves from the flat landscapes and constantly inebriated people of Putnam County, we just know when we see another one. It can be in Florida. It can be in New York. It can be in Illinois. Even when we try to hide it, wrap ourselves in city clothes and urban habits, that Putnam County aura still manages to unmask us.

This phenomenon is probably the result of generations of inbreeding.

After spring break a new teacher joined us at the youth program I work for. When I first met him I had a suspicion. When he started talking I knew.

He is one of us. He's experienced the isolation and social structure of Putnam County and it is permanently hardwired into his brain and will show itself in the tone of every word and every move of a muscle.

But I can't just say these things, because that would be weird. I can't just tell someone that something about the way they hold their head indicates where they were raised. I've been trying to be more socially acceptable lately, and it's difficult for me, but I'm pretty sure saying something like "You're from Putnam County right? I can tell because of your brow-structure and posture" isn't okay. Ever.

A week later we were talking about where we were from.

"A place called Miller City," I said, "South of Toledo, nobody's heard of it."

"I'm from Fort Jennings," he said with a laugh. Fort Jennings is part of the collective.

It's a small, fucked-up, inbred world.

Home is just part of the freak show.

Who Are You From 8-5?

Do you ever have one of those nights where an attractive person starts hitting on you in a bar? It was someone you’d met over the summer, but neither of you have been able to piece together just how you met. We were drunk… and talked about Sunglass Hut… right? Is that what happened? And every time you see each other you exchange some cheap small talk and that I know you but I don’t know you look of recognition.

But tonight is different. Tonight the two of you make an effort to solve the mystery of each other.

He asks, “Who are you from 8-5?”

As in, what do you do, but for you, the question should have been phrased, “Who are you from 6 AM – midnight?”

You start with the library. It’s what pays your bills, so get that part out of the way. Next mention the magazines. They’re interesting and cultured and oh-so-hip (never mind that they don’t pay you). And to close, talk about your job with the youth program, that “it pays the bills but really I just like hanging out with the kids” sort of thing to really get his ovaries swollen.

Gay men have ovaries right? Ovaries swell when excited, right? For working in a medical library your knowledge of interior anatomy is poor.

The youth program reference makes him smile.

“I used to be a latchkey kid,” he says.

Never mind that he’s an adult, or that he’s probably two or three years older than you.

Boner City, Population Zero.

Maybe it’s because he leaned in when he said it, maybe you caught a draft of his breath and didn’t like the taste. Taste is important. Science says so.

Maybe your head is wired poorly and now perceives this grown-ass man as a grimy fifth grader.

Or maybe it was his question, “Who are you from 8-5?” Maybe the person you are at the bar is compatible with him, but the person you are from 8-5 isn’t.

Whatever it is, you’re no longer interested in exchanging numbers.

You’ll still see him at the bar, and every time you’ll exchange smiles and small talk.

You’ll talk about what you do from 8-5 while sharing time from 10-midnight, because that's what feels right.

Because for now, your faces aren't meant to cross paths outside of the warm safety of the bar.

Comic Relief

I have a confession to make.

I like... no, I love... comic books. Ever since I was a kid they've appealed to me. It started with the X-Men animated series, and later I moved to print comics. Now I just pick up the occasional bound book at Half-Priced Books, partly because I can't afford to buy them regularly and partly because watching Hoarders has left me terrified to keep or buy anything that isn't absolutely necessary to my existence. I used to hide my interest in comics because it makes me a social pariah, but damn it, my name is Justin, and sometimes I read comic books. Deal with it.

X-Men continue to be my favorite, because they're fucked-up freaks and I'm totally into that, but lately my interest has turned towards the Avengers as well.

My roommate has been instructed to assassinate me if I ever purchase a Fantastic Four book.

Some of my most recent purchases include some books from the 90s, full of the colorful costumes and hip phrases that made the 90s great (yeah I remember the 90s I'm not that young).

Oh yeah, this is the good stuff.

The other day I started browsing my new purchases. One of my favorite parts about comics is how unintentionally hilarious they can be. Check out this sexy gem from the X-Men starring resident femme fatale Psylocke:

A mission? Let me change into my sexy lingerie.

I love this because in the moment of crisis she takes the time to explain why the artist drew her in a bikini. Honestly it'd be more believable if she was just like "Hey, I'm supposed to look sexy in this panel, I came as quickly as I could." Meanwhile Colossus (wearing the yellow and red) is sporting a leg-revealing, side-exposing costume because that's a totally normal thing to wear. This also makes me laugh because as a character, Psylocke started out like this:

You ain't getting lucky until Marvel gives your dumpy ass a makeover.

Furthermore, I don't really get the idea of comics being "sexy." They're illustrations... do people really get off on that? Apparently (and I guess I shouldn't be surprised by this) the answer is yes, because as I was looking for additional cheesy pictures, I found this:

Mmm... so deliciously distorted. Send those vein-covered arms this way Cage baby.

Where did I find that image? From a blog called, I'm not making this up, Shirtless Superheroes. Despite being a totally weird website, I have to admit that they live up to their name and have found their niche, so bravo? Further research uncovered dozens of similar sites, but then I started feeling gross and closed all my tabs.

Silliness of "sexy" comics aside, let's move on and take a glance at what I found in my Avengers book. "Earth's Mightiest Heroes" have a lot to bring to the table. They might not be the fucked-up freaks that the X-Men are, but damn it, they try.

In case you're wondering, yes, she's hammered.

Marvel's attempt at a serious story on alcoholism.

This is only one example of the multiple incidents of Warbird storming into a mission plastered out of her mind, each time more hysterical than the next. It's hard to take a drinking problem seriously when it's being presented by a woman in a leotard tossing trucks around.

And then there's panels like the one below, that are not only over-the-top and completely goofy, but almost acknowledge the ridiculousness of it all:

I'm pretty sure I've used this excuse.

I'm starting to feel like the drunk guy who's cornered you at a party and is talking your ears off about nerd stuff, so I'm just going to wrap this up. But not before I share one more picture from another recent purchase that features the Hulk's alter-ego Bruce Banner, and his on-again/off-again girlfriend, Betty:

I have nothing to add.

I've got to go now. For some reason I'm starving and really craving an early lunch. Could really go for something meaty, you know?

Tune in next time and we'll talk about the time Multiple Man got drunk, made a duplicate of himself, and had sex with two women in the same night.