Wednesday, November 08, 2006

The Girl Of My Dreams vs. The Girl Of My Nightmares

Kathleen joined us for the second day of the Project training today, and at one point, in reference to the news about Britney getting divorced, Scott asked her, “Did you hear that Jon’s dream girl is on the market again?”I said that Britney is not my dream girl, and Scott said, “Oh, right, Jessica Simpson is.”
That’s not really true either.
I don’t think I have a dream girl, actually.
Okay, in one sense I have nothing but dream girls, seeing as how I don’t have any real girls, but what I mean is that there isn’t any one woman out there that I’ve seen, celebrity or otherwise, who can be called “it.”
I mean, there’s no one woman who seems to have all of the qualities, physical and non-physical, that my ideal woman would have.
Jessica Simpson does come in pretty close on the physical front, but I still don’t consider her my dream girl.
Certainly she doesn’t appear to have many of the non-physical traits I’d look for (though the physical traits would go a long way towards making up for those deficiencies).
Still, I’ve come to realize we would need to go the Dr. Frankenstein route to construct my dream girl, which can be kind of a disturbing, semi-misogynistic and serial killer-y imaginative trip, but it is only imaginative, so there’s no real harm done.
So let’s build Jon’s dream girl.
The first order of business would be to take the brain of comic book writer/hairdresser Gail Simone and place it in the head of Rachael Leigh Cook.
Next up, attach RLC’s head to Jessica Simpson’s body, throw in a dash of Michelle Collins’s sense of humor to supplement Gail’s, add in Sasha Cohen’s flexibility,  and then add in some kind of cognitive dissonance that would make it possible for her to be interested in me, and voila!  My dream girl.
Overall, though, despite the fact that she’s not quite so voluptuous as I might like, RLC probably comes closest in the dream girl race, with just a slight margin on her pop singer competition (Carla Gugino might be slightly ahead of the others as well).
I’m sure she’s thrilled and that Jessica and Britney are crushed.
On the topic of dream girls, or rather the exact opposite, the phlegm box was back for a second round in class today, giving Kathleen the opportunity see and hear it for herself.
Kathleen’s conclusion?  “She’s totally disgusting.”
The worst part of it all, I think, was that there was this sound she continually made, in addition to the coughing and sniffling, that was like she was blowing her nose.
The thing is, this wasn’t something she was doing to clear out her sinuses or the result of whatever was wrong with her, this was the sound of her laughing.
I can’t imagine a human being who, in order to express amusement, or joy, or contentment, makes a sound like the snorting of a wart hog.
And yet, there she was.
I told Scott that perhaps the worst thing, now that I’m free from having to be near her, is just knowing that she’s out there, in much the way that knowing that Hannibal Lecter was now out there made the end of Silence of the Lambs so horrifying.
(And no, I did not give a spoiler warning:  the movie is over 15 year’s old for god’s sake!  The book is even older.  If you haven’t seen/read it by now, all I can say is that in Citizen Kane, “Rosebud” was the name of the sled he had as a child.)
Anyway, the Project class, McSnotbag aside, was pretty good.  I’ll pretty much never use it in my current job, but I could see how knowing how to use it would come in handy in the sort of job in which you would use a program like Project.
Or something.
The cute girl sitting to my right proved to be even more clueless today.  At one point she actually had to ask me to help her find Project on the Start Menu so that she could open it.
It was a matter of me pointing to it and saying, “Microsoft Office Project 2003, right there.”
Later, some other (male) good Samaritan had to step in and help her find a file, as she wasn’t able to handle discrepancy created by the fact that the book was operating on the assumption that we’d saved all of the practice files in My Documents when in reality, at the instructor’s urging, we had saved them into a different directory.
I can’t help but wonder what was going on in her head.  Didn’t she wonder why, not even a half an hour earlier, we’d unzipped all of the files into a specific folder if we were supposed to be looking in the My Documents folder?
I guess part of the problem is that guys like me and the other guy are all too eager to help her out because she’s cute.
The thing is, though, she wasn’t that cute.  At least she wasn’t quite cute enough to justify that level of helplessness.
After all, the cuter you are, the more helpless you can be.  In fact, at some level of cuteness the helplessness actually makes you seem even cuter.
The point is, in the Darwinian world of natural selection and Survival of the Cutest, I can’t see how she’s managed to make it this far in life.
Of course, maybe she was just adapting to her environment.  After all, she was the cutest chick in the class by a wide, wide margin (no offense Kathleen; you don’t get entered into consideration in this), though said margin was not quite so wide as the wart hog’s ass, and so she adjusted her behavior to best take advantage of her environment.
Or something.
Anyway, it’s getting close to the end of my day, as work looms heavily in the pre-dawn future, and so I will bring this entry to a close.

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