Player Haters Anonymous

We have a temp in the finance department. I normally wouldn't take notice, but this one's different: He's young. And hot.

I saw him preening himself in front of the admin assistant whom I've privately taken to calling "The Burlesque Dancer." Her wardrobe consists of low-cut blouses and Moulin Rouge-style miniskirts, and she talks in this deep, throaty pornstar stage whisper. The fact that she's 300+ lbs only adds to the allure, because it gives her that much more cleavage.

But enough about her.

The Temp watched me walk past the reception desk. I looked up to admire such a fine piece of work, flipped my hair over my shoulder as I sauntered to the elevator, then silently asked myself why I must always flip my hair around hot guys. I chalked it up to nervous energy and a bit of my own preening, and kept walking.

As The Temp bid goodbye to The Burlesque Dancer and joined me at the elevator, he introduced himself and engaged in casual conversation.

Aside from appreciating his exterior beauty, I was quite taken by his charmingly secure level of self-confidence. I could tell without a doubt, however, that he is most definitely a Player.

I know that Players are inherently no good. I was taken in a big way when it came to my ex. And yet, still, like a moth to the flame I'm all over them when they cross my path.

My guess is: it's the exterior. They have this inpenetrable self-esteem that sucks you in like, well, some kind of sci-fi alien analogy. More often than not, they don't even have a real job or net worth, but act like they own the world. (Ahem... Temp in the finance dept.)

I want to like the underdog. Guys like The Doctor whom, for all he lacked in the self-confidence department, more than made up for in roses and treating me well.

I don't like Players... and yet... at the same time; love them.

Funny things and baby barf

My daughter cracks me up.

She sucks her thumb when she's tired, but not in a normal way. She dangles her thumb from the corner of her mouth like a cigar, and sticks all four fingers up in the air like a rooster.

The best part? She often sticks it too far in and gags herself. Imagine a six month old in pajamas, yawning, sucking her thumb, and dry-heaving in my arms. It's hilarious.

Now that she's eating solids (a deliciously boring array of rice cereal or Okinawan sweet potatoes), she likes to illustrate the phrase, "Gag me with a spoon." She grabs it from me and as I'm wrestling with her, she jams it down her throat and gags.

The thing is--she doesn't seem to mind because she keeps doing it until I take it away.

Then she got the idea that she could chew on her Johnny Jump-Up like a horse bit. I can't help but laugh listening her bounce-bounce-bounce, pause to chew, loudly retch, then start over again.

She took it a little far the other morning. After the 10th or 15th, "Stop gagging yourself," she puked. I took her out of the seat after that.

Let her find something else to induce vomiting for a while.

As much as it makes me laugh, I can't help but wonder if my little bulimic started internalizing all the fat jokes we make about her.