-The other day I found myself sitting on the couch watching reruns of Lizzie McGuire on the Disney Channel (and feeling sort of guilty because I was kinda getting turned on).  And as I stuffed another piece of my roommate’s girlfriend’s leftover Valentine’s Day candy into my mouth, I realized something – I haven’t worked in a full year.  Furthermore, I realized that the past year since I left Wall Street to pursue comedy has been one of the best years of my life.  Now don’t get me wrong, I’ve worked many a job in my day – from investment banks in New York to consulting firms in London, from tiny dot.com start-ups to huge, multinational corporations.  And they all had one thing in common: I hated every second of it.  Look around you.  I bet every unemployed twentysomething you know is desperately looking for a job while everyone with a job is desperately looking to get the hell out.  We’ve entered an era of job insecurity.

-Getting up at the crack of dawn for work is sort of like doing the New York Times crossword puzzle – it gets harder and harder as the week goes on until it’s almost impossible on Friday.  And when your alarm goes off and you sit up in bed with one eye open, you always do that silent “reverse acceptance speech” where you curse every person of authority in your life.  You think to yourself, “I’d like to say that I hate everyone who brought here me to his moment at 5:45am.  I hate my parents, my boss and, of course, my co-workers who come out every single day to support me.  I hate you all.  And now I’m going to snooze for seven more minutes.  Goodnight.  Assholes.”

-Why do girls carry that extra bag to work?  Everyone’s got their laptop bag and maybe their gym bag, but girls always have that extra, brown Bath & Body Works shopping bag piled high with crap.  I’m baffled.

-I love the people that proudly wear their employee ID cards around their necks all day long and refuse to take it off.  Its OK buddy, we’re at lunch now, and that’s a terrible picture of you anyway.

-In the past eight years, there have only been two times when I shaved my sideburns completely off.  One was after my first night of pledging when my pledgemaster told me that if I didn’t shave them off, he would.  The other was after my first day of work, when I was told that facial hair was “frowned upon” in the office.  In both cases, I grew them back without anyone noticing, was summarily shit upon for months on end for no apparent reason, and when it was all over, had learned nothing more than a few bizarre and mundane skills not applicable anywhere else.

-On the subject of bizarre and mundane skills, to all the investment bankers out there reading this, if you’ve ever found yourself arguing with someone about who is more skilled at using keyboard shortcuts, it’s all over for you.  You’ve had a nice run, but it’s time to get out.  Slowly make your way to the door without making any sudden movements.  Oh and leave that Bath & Body Works bag, someone else might need it.

-I love corporate America’s futile attempts at boosting employee morale.  For instance, the Friday afternoon beer bash.  Have you participated in one of these?  You get to stop work early on Friday and hang out in a drafty conference room sipping lukewarm Heinekens with a bunch of co-workers you already spend twelve hours a day with.  Um…yeah…could I, uh, just go home early instead?  Because that would really make me a lot happier.

-For me, the moment I knew I was spending too much time in the office was when I caught myself using buzzwords with my family.  I was like, “Hey Mom, I just touched base with Dad.  Yeah, he’s out of pocket right now but we’re gonna circle back in about an hour.  I really think it’s critical that he gives us the view from 50,000 feet because there seems to be some disconnect between…wait a minute, what the fuck am I talking about?”

-Quote of the Month.  This month’s quote comes from my friend Adam R., a disgruntled banker.  He was going out to lunch one day with a few co-workers, all wearing the standard blue Banana Republic shirt, gray J.Crew pants, and black Kenneth Cole shoes.  A cheerful secretary passed the weary group in the hall and said, “Hey, you guys all look the same!”  To which Adam replied, “You mean miserable?”

-You know who I hate?  People want to go back to business formal attire.  There’s always that one asshole in the office who for some reason needs to make it known to everyone that he would rather wear a tie and a dark suit in the middle of the summer.  Shut the fuck up and stop trying to ruin this for the rest of us.  And will you take that goddamn employee ID off already?

-There are few things worse than attempting to make it through a day of work with a massive hangover.  You know, you’re perspiring slightly, you have a huge glass of ice water, you’re trying to stay very, very still, you tell everyone you have food poisoning, it’s horrible.  I actually threw up in the office once.  I came back from the bathroom and everyone was giving me a dirty look.  I told them that I had some bad sushi and they all shook their heads in disbelief and went back to work.  The funny thing is that I really did have some bad sushi the night before.  Plus twenty sake bombs.

-Right up there with trying to survive when you’re hungover in the office is trying to stay awake at your desk after you come back from lunch.  It should really be an Olympic sport.  It’s a beautiful day out, you just went out to eat and had a nice turkey sandwich, then you get back to your desk and all of a sudden you become narcoleptic.  Phones are ringing off the hook, people are yelling, but your Herman Miller chair is the most comfortable bed in the world.  I once fell asleep for so long on my computer that when I woke up I had impressions from the F and J keys in my forehead.

-I think the most important skill that any twentysomething working in an office must learn is how to look busy when you’re really not.  The easiest way to do this of course is to throw a bunch of paper around your desk to make it look really messy and keep a complicated looking document up on your computer screen.  You can see this charade in action in other professions as well.  That trainer at the gym who’s constantly arranging the dumbbells in weight order?  He’s got nothing to do.  The doorman who’s triple-checking his list of dry cleaning deliveries?  Nothing as well.  And how do you know when you’ve been pretending to look busy in the office for too long?  When you reach that moment, and I know you have, when you decide that you’ve officially surfed every web site on the entire Internet, and have been reduced to searching your own name on Google.  At that point, you should make sure you’re still actually employed.

-Ever notice that as soon as someone above you in the office curses in front of you, you feel like you should curse in every conversation with them from then on?

-Ever get an email from a friend at work who is trying to outwit the system that scans all of his outgoing messages?  It’s always something like: “Hey Karo, what the f@ck happened with that b_tch last night?  Her t*its were huge!  I want all the details you m%ther f@cker!”  I’m like, are you sure your company won’t be able to figure this out?

-Ever try to explain to your grandmother what you do for a living?  No matter what you do, it’s always way too complicated to explain.  You’re like, “Well, you see, our clients are looking to raise additional capital and we provide a liquid market for…uh, yeah, you’re not following this.  How about this?  I’m a stockbroker.  Yup, just like on TV.”

-I think the people with the most warped outlook are those working on Wall Street.  It’s amazing the kinds of hours that people will work in exchange for a tote bag and a hat with the company logo on it that they’ll never wear.  And the expense account, that’s where the real brainwashing comes in.  My roommate will come home from work and start bragging like, “Karo, I expensed the sickest sushi dinner tonight!”  I’ll be like, “Dude, wouldn’t you have rather paid for your own dinner and not come home at 2am?”

-How come when you quit a job you have to give two weeks notice but when they lay you off you have to leave immediately?

-For those of you reading this at work right now, I want you to know that I feel your pain.  I know what you’re going through.  If you’re a summer intern, right now you’re watching the clock, waiting for it to hit five so you can bolt out the door and hit happy hour.  If you’re in your late twenties, right now you’re wishing you went to law school.  If you’re a guy, the office is way too hot and the other window open on your computer is Bill Simmons’ column on ESPN.com.  If you’re a girl, the office is way too cold and the other window open on your computer is the new arrivals section of Bluefly.com.  As for me, well, I know that living off of book royalties and stand-up gigs can’t last forever.  Maybe one day I will return to the working world.  But this time, I’m keeping the sideburns.

-As always, here are some random things I’ve been ruminating about lately…

-I think the lamest excuse anyone can ever give is “I didn’t get your message.”  How did you not get the message?  I know I left you one on your cell phone.  It’s impossible to not get messages.  You’re so lying.

-Nothing kills good news like having to tell the same story over the phone to your dad and then your mom consecutively.  Because once you get to your mom, you’re already pissed that she didn’t pick up the other phone and listen to the story the first time so you give her the abridged version, which she can’t follow.  Then you have to go all the way back to the beginning and remind her who each person in the story is.  And by the time you’re through, you hope you never have good news again.

-The other day I passed a diner that had a sign out front advertising a special on soup plus a half sandwich.  And I couldn’t help but wonder, what happens to the other half of the sandwich?

-For some reason, my roommate Brian thinks that food is healthy just because it comes in a pita or a wrap.  Of course this is the same kid that pours the salt onto his hand and then onto his food because he says it gives him “better control.”

-I always find it amusing when I’m talking to a chick in a bar and it turns out that she’s there with a guy she’s hooking up with.  And the guy wants to make it very obvious that he’s with the girl so he marks his territory – he’s putting his arm around her, he’s holding her hand, all while I’m still trying to have a conversation.  I’m like, take it easy dude, why don’t you just lift your leg and piss on her shoes while you’re at it.

-There’s just something about smelling your ex-girlfriend’s perfume.  When I meet a girl and she’s wearing the perfume my ex-girlfriend used to wear, it always involuntarily brings back a flood of memories – the laughter, the joy, the screaming matches, the name-calling.  Of course, I still have no idea what the name of the perfume she wears is…wait a minute, is that something a boyfriend is supposed to know?

-I’ll admit, I’m single, so I may be out of the loop, but I don’t think couples my age should be going away for weekend trips with other couples like a bunch of my friends did this weekend.  That’s what my parents do.  And they’re like…old.  I’m just afraid that one of my buddies is going come back from the trip wearing loafers or something.  And then there’s no going back.

-What the hell is treble?  Treble is just one of those things that we all take for granted but no one knows exactly what it is.  Ask the person next to you what treble is.  They definitely don’t have a clue.  And no, “Sort of like the opposite of bass” doesn’t count.

-I think my dry cleaner has some sort of hold over me.  I mean, every time I get my dry cleaning back I say to myself, man, these guys really suck, they’re horrible.  Yet I keep going back.  I won’t switch.  I’m hooked.  You think maybe they’re somehow brainwashing me?  Or maybe it’s because they have my credit card on file.

-Sitting outside to eat is never as good an idea as you think it will be.  You’re always like, it’s such a nice day, let’s get a table outside!  Next thing you know your napkins are blowing away, one person is sitting in the sun so he’s too hot, you’re freezing, there are mosquitoes everywhere, and you’re just praying that the booth inside is still available.

-You want to hear something crazy?  I’ve never been to the Hamptons.  I know, I know, how can I consider myself a connoisseur of New York nightlife without ever going to the hottest summer spot?  Well, the fact is that the scene in the Hamptons is the same scene I try to avoid in the city except it’s two hours farther away.  I also hate the beach.  I just don’t like getting sand in my crotch.  And I burn easily.  Oh my God.  I sound like I should be wearing loafers.

-I love how every ridiculous model who is featured in a racy spread in Maxim always has that quote next to her picture that says something like, “I was a total flat-chested dork in high school and no guys would talk to me.”  Where the fuck is this high school?

-We all try to do it, but let’s be honest, it’s really awkward trying to walk in flip-flops.  I know it’s the summer and we’re trying to be all casual, but it’s just not working.  Our feet are dirty, our calves ache, that space between the big toe and the toe next to it is all cut up, and we look like fools when one sandal flies off and we’re forced to do the one-legged hop to retrieve it.  Lets face it, it’s time to give up.

-In the past decade, we’ve witnessed the creation of the Internet, the proliferation of the cell phone, and unheralded advances in medicine.  Fireworks, however, have remained exactly the same.  Why has there has been no progress in this field?  The fireworks I saw this weekend are the same ones I saw ten years ago.  Except there’s that new smiley face one.  But it always comes out upside down.

-And when watching fireworks, is it really necessary to say, “Hey look at that one!” every time a particularly bright one goes off?  The fireworks are exploding in the middle of the clear sky above the East River.  And we’re standing on the roof of a thirty-story apartment building.  I can fucking see them all.

-I’m convinced that time travel does exist.  How else can you explain Demi Moore’s ass?

-If you don’t live in New York but have a friend that does, you’ve undoubtedly heard about the madness that has been going on this summer.  It started with a period of six weeks where it rained every single day.  Then we had about a month where it was nice during the week until Thursday at 5pm when a vicious monsoon would descend upon the city and not abate until Sunday morning.  That was followed by the two straight weeks of 95-degree balls-stuck-to-the-inside-of-your-thigh heat that we are currently experiencing.  Let me try to put this all in perspective for you.  It has actually become fashionable to talk about the weather in New York.  No longer is the weather relegated to first-date icebreakers and elevator small talk.  People are actually interested in the weather.  Weather is in!  Weather is the new black!

-Have you noticed that they are starting to show about two-dozen previews before the movie starts these days?  To be honest, I actually like the previews.  It’s the people in the theatre who feel the need to comment on the previews that piss me off.  There are usually two types.  The first type try to be the first to call out the name of the movie that is being previewed.  Great, that’s really helpful, I couldn’t wait 90 seconds for that.  The second type like to tell the person next to them whether or not they think are going to see the movie when it comes out, usually with witty remarks like, “There’s no way I’m gonna see that.” or “Total chick flick man.” or “I liked it the first time when it was called Die Hard.”  Hey, are you the same guy I was watching fireworks with?

-I don’t understand people who leave their cell phone on when they take naps then act surprised when I call and wake them up.

-This weekend I ran into one of my least favorite types of girls: the boyfriend-mentioner.  The boyfriend-mentioner finds a way to bring up her boyfriend in just about every sentence she utters, even if you’re not hitting on her.  My boyfriend thinks this, my boyfriend did this, my boyfriend said this.  And I’m thinking, no wonder your boyfriend isn’t here, you’re really fucking annoying!

-I love when someone at the pizza place tries to pay with a fifty-dollar bill and the cashier holds it up to the light and studies it closely like he’s some kind of counterfeiting expert.  Stick to slicing pepperoni, chief.

-And, finally, one of the benefits of living in New York, the financial and media capital of the world, is that it is also the summer intern capital of the world.  As I write this, the NYU dorms in Union Square are swelled with girls from across the country, not to mention all the chicks taking the train in from Jersey and Long Island just for the weekend.  The skirts are short, the IDs are fake, the IQs are low, but the chicks are hot!  A few weeks ago I was at a bar talking to this really cute girl.  We were definitely hitting it off.  I bought her a few drinks but she seemed kind of nervous that the bartender would card her.  I told her to relax because there are always underage college chicks there and no one cares.  She said, “But I’m only a junior.”  “So what?” I said.  “In high school.”  Fuck me.

HOME