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Nipple Neuroses
Written on 05.23.03, at 1:37 am

dizboy's disturbing daily diet...

1 Bottle Grapefruit Juice

1 Breakfast Platter - Eggs, Bacon, Sausage, French Toast Sticks, Syrup

1 Cobb Salad

1 Lemonade ICEE

3 Fun-Sized Snickers 

1 Grey Goose Martini - Dirty, Three Olives

1 Large Sweet Tea

1 12oz. Ribeye

John Live*

*Not at all live...

I love my job, really...I do.

Quite possibly one of the reasons that I like it so much is the fact that they pay me to, well...be at parties. 

And while that's all well and good, the actual office part of the job is a party in itself.

A sick, twisted, party. 

Just after lunch today, they broke out the Uno cards. 

This is something that has become a sort of ritual in the department, with the true rules of Uno being chucked out the window to make way for some terrifying hybrid of Uno, and kickboxing.

I never partake, but I do sit at the end of the table with my stage manager, and together make occasional acerbic remarks about the participants. 

Sort of like Waldorf and Statler, from The Muppet Show.

Only younger.

And gay.

And with considerably less felt.

Just to give you a clear indication as to the insanity that is our department...while people were busy playing full-contact Uno, our Senior Director walks in to get some coffee, and while doing that stands behind certain players mouthing to the others which numbers they have...then innocently denying it all with a guiltless sip of his coffee when someone called him out. 

I was wearing a fairly tight shirt today, made of a shiny cotton/polyester blend. Usually, I'll wear an undershirt, as I'm self-conscious about my ANV* in tight shirts.

*Area of Nipple Visibility.

However today, as it was sunny and warm, and I knew I'd be in the office the whole time, I didn't think too much of it. 

But...Entertainment folk, you know...they're observant.

After the third person told me my nipples were fully visible, I was ready to do something about it. 

Well, I wanted to do something about it, but instead I found myself cornered by two co-workers, trying to hold me down so they could sneak a peek at my chilly aureoles.

Oooh, what a great band name...

"The Chilly Aureoles"

Two co-workers, one a gay male, one a straight female, physically restraining you in an attempt to get your shirt off?

Quite grounds for sexual harassment, right?

As I called out for help from the Human Resources representative, the response was...

"Not unless I can see them too..."

HR...they're always the dirtiest, aren't they?

They are in our offices.

Breaking free, I attempted to alleviate my arctic aureoles...

Ladies and gentlemen...alliteration.

...by taping them down.

Being cornered near a supply cabinet, the only suitable adhesive device I could locate were document flags.

You know...those little pieces of tape with a colored tab on them to mark parts of documents.

Within seconds, my nipples had been red flagged, successfully drawing focus away from the circular peaks on my shirt, and shifting it to the unnaturally square outlines which had replaced them.

When something in the office happens, everyone becomes in on it...there's no way of keeping information from the rest of the group.

Go on a date...they know.

Come in hung over...they know.

Try to conceal hickeys...they know, and they'll send out memos to all departments informing them of the fact.

So of course, when someone flags their nipples, it's across the office instantly.

But I cared not, I stood proud with my adhesive arctic aureoles.

Now, in our office, 2pm is the witching hour.

It's just after lunch, so no one is motivated, and it's still too far away from quitting time to look forward to the day being over.

About this time is when Mike, my stage manager, starts to roam.

Like the Nomads of ancient times, he knows not where he is going...only that he is seeking something other than the walls of his cubicle.

Speaking of cubicles....this is mine...

Right side.

Left side.

You'll notice that the majority of the space is laden with toys and posters.

These are cleverly used to take up room, therefore validating the need for such a large workspace, and minimizing the area where actual "productivity" can take place.

I think I have a lovely cubicle...but you're free to comment otherwise, of course.

Oh, right...Mike.

So today in Mike's wanderings, he turns a corner, facing me with a giant rubber band drawn back, ready to fire.

I yelped, and went to duck out of the line of fire, but he just followed me with it, shouting...

"Dance, peasant...DANCE!"

All the while laughing.

How many bosses do that?


I finally conceded that the tape looked worse than my nipples, and removed it. At that time, I was in the copy room, and was once again cornered by the aforementioned co-workers in another effort to exploit my man-boobies.

One of them grabbed me and yelled, "Get them hard!"

Apparently, the only way that she could think of to do this was to open up the freezer to pull out a Michelina's Frozen Entree (Swedish Meatballs), and force it upon my chest, thereby increasing nipple conality.

So in the end, they got to see my pointy peaks...

...and some unlucky diner got a meal full o' nip.

Be well...


Your Host and Emcee...dizboy.

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