Monday.
(Liar)Part I:
He's back.
Suna. My office-mate. I used to call him "dumbass" but Suna is a lot more fun.
He was gone most of last week, so I had some peace and quiet. I could hear myself think. I wasn't interrupted every ten minutes with a whiny story about bullshit nobody cares about.
Suna isn't really his name.
Suna is "anus" spelled backwards.
Technically, he's Suna B, because Suna A was this football player in college who roomed with one of my friends and had the same brain-mouth rot disease.
Imagine a guy with the ego and social skills of a ten-year-old, and put them in a grown man.
There are millions of Sunas around the world, but that's really nothing compared to the 6+ billion people walking around the place. It's less than one percent. Still, I've lucked out because I have one sitting right here in this room as I write this.
Suna B is back.
Suna B is back with manly tales of his weekend marathon training.
Before I get into this, here are some basic facts about Suna that you should know:
1. Suna speaks through his teeth. Kind of like 50-Cents, but about ten times worse. he just grins and kind of moves his lips a little, but his big ass teeth never part. It's annoying as shit.
2. Suna has two engineering degrees and an MBA. Don't worry if you forget it, because he'll be sure to remind you every chance he gets.
3. Suna may have gotten laid once.
4. Suna used to be a Marine. Big bad Marine. Badass motherfucker.
5. Suna is training for his first marathon. It's in three weeks, but his longest run so far has been 14 miles.
The first thing you should know about marathons is that they are always 26.2 miles long.
The second thing you should know about marathons is that the only way to train for one is to teach your body to run longer and longer distances until you reach 20+ miles. This takes time. To be safe, it takes a few years of running to build up the right tissues, and then months and months and months of preparation to get your body acclimated to the distance.
Training for a marathon is as much about mileage as it is about nutrition, hydration, discipline, and mental toughness.
It isn't something you can just pull out of your ass at the last minute.
But Suna, the badass marine, the engineering juggernaut, the smart-as-shit MBA, my office-mate, he's going to prove us all wrong.
After five months of training, his longest run until this weekend was 14 miles. His marathon is in 3 weeks.
And this morning, he decided to tell me all about his manly adventures this weekend.
Like I give a shit.
As always, he announces the start of the tale with his patented hyena-like giggle. Three huhs. Huh huh huh. Then a stammer. Then an "um". Then a stupid question.
"You know I'm like... training for a marathon later this month, right?"
It's a rhetorical question. He's already out of his chair, walking around the partition to come into my little world. I say yes.
"Dude," he says. He stops. Rests his hands on his hips. Stares down at his feet and shakes his head. "I'm hurting."
Tell me about it.
"I ran twenty miles this weekend. It was horrible. Did it rain here? Mindy said it rained all weekend."
_ Just Saturday.
"It rained up there. I was at my sister's, you know? It rained the whole time. But I ran twenty miles Saturday, and it was horrible. My brother-in-law was the driving force behind the whole thing. He's doing the same marathon I am, so we went for a run. Puddles up over our ankles. It was a bike trail, you know? The puddles were like, THIS high! Huhuhuhuh. And I think I strained my calf muscle Friday at the track, doing speedwork. It was tough, man. TOUGH. I had to walk some. It took me like, four hours. I'm all sore. It's terrible. But I finally ran twenty, so I'm kind of mentally prepared now. I think I'm good. I can do this. I'm ready."
Pause. Repeat. Stretch to twenty minutes.
Sure you are, you twat.
A guy I work with who's also doing this marathon begged me Friday to convince Suna to defer to next year. He can do that. They'll save him a spot if he does it now.
He begged me to convince Suna to forego this year's race so he won't get injured.
For a second there, maybe two, I actually considered it. But you know what? He's an adult. He's 33 years old. He has two engineering degrees and an MBA. He's a badass marine. He's the shit. He can make his own damn judgement calls.
And I don't give a fuck.
The last thing I'm going to do is get in his business. he might get the wrong idea and start thinking I'm his friend. He might start asking me even more advice about this stuff.
I just laughed. I don't give a shit if he gets injured. He's an adult. If he doesn't have enough sense to defer on his own, that's his problem.
I'm sure I'll be hearing all about it. We all will. The entire office.
Just like we'll hear about his stocks and his house search and his latest dating fiasco. The three other topics of conversation he can handle without embarrassing himself beyond normal Sunaness.
This is a guy who asks me if the French know what a hamburger is.
Coca Cola.
Will he have to eat snails when he goes there?
Three degrees, and he has no idea who Hiro Hito was. Mussolini. Stalin.
He thinks Winston Churchill is the Budweiser dog.
This is the guy who walks into my office first thing Monday morning to tell me about the twenty-miles he endured this weekend, because he thinks it makes him cool.
Hell of a way to start the week. Man, I lurve this place.
Suna. My office-mate. I used to call him "dumbass" but Suna is a lot more fun.
He was gone most of last week, so I had some peace and quiet. I could hear myself think. I wasn't interrupted every ten minutes with a whiny story about bullshit nobody cares about.
Suna isn't really his name.
Suna is "anus" spelled backwards.
Technically, he's Suna B, because Suna A was this football player in college who roomed with one of my friends and had the same brain-mouth rot disease.
Imagine a guy with the ego and social skills of a ten-year-old, and put them in a grown man.
There are millions of Sunas around the world, but that's really nothing compared to the 6+ billion people walking around the place. It's less than one percent. Still, I've lucked out because I have one sitting right here in this room as I write this.
Suna B is back.
Suna B is back with manly tales of his weekend marathon training.
Before I get into this, here are some basic facts about Suna that you should know:
1. Suna speaks through his teeth. Kind of like 50-Cents, but about ten times worse. he just grins and kind of moves his lips a little, but his big ass teeth never part. It's annoying as shit.
2. Suna has two engineering degrees and an MBA. Don't worry if you forget it, because he'll be sure to remind you every chance he gets.
3. Suna may have gotten laid once.
4. Suna used to be a Marine. Big bad Marine. Badass motherfucker.
5. Suna is training for his first marathon. It's in three weeks, but his longest run so far has been 14 miles.
The first thing you should know about marathons is that they are always 26.2 miles long.
The second thing you should know about marathons is that the only way to train for one is to teach your body to run longer and longer distances until you reach 20+ miles. This takes time. To be safe, it takes a few years of running to build up the right tissues, and then months and months and months of preparation to get your body acclimated to the distance.
Training for a marathon is as much about mileage as it is about nutrition, hydration, discipline, and mental toughness.
It isn't something you can just pull out of your ass at the last minute.
But Suna, the badass marine, the engineering juggernaut, the smart-as-shit MBA, my office-mate, he's going to prove us all wrong.
After five months of training, his longest run until this weekend was 14 miles. His marathon is in 3 weeks.
And this morning, he decided to tell me all about his manly adventures this weekend.
Like I give a shit.
As always, he announces the start of the tale with his patented hyena-like giggle. Three huhs. Huh huh huh. Then a stammer. Then an "um". Then a stupid question.
"You know I'm like... training for a marathon later this month, right?"
It's a rhetorical question. He's already out of his chair, walking around the partition to come into my little world. I say yes.
"Dude," he says. He stops. Rests his hands on his hips. Stares down at his feet and shakes his head. "I'm hurting."
Tell me about it.
"I ran twenty miles this weekend. It was horrible. Did it rain here? Mindy said it rained all weekend."
_ Just Saturday.
"It rained up there. I was at my sister's, you know? It rained the whole time. But I ran twenty miles Saturday, and it was horrible. My brother-in-law was the driving force behind the whole thing. He's doing the same marathon I am, so we went for a run. Puddles up over our ankles. It was a bike trail, you know? The puddles were like, THIS high! Huhuhuhuh. And I think I strained my calf muscle Friday at the track, doing speedwork. It was tough, man. TOUGH. I had to walk some. It took me like, four hours. I'm all sore. It's terrible. But I finally ran twenty, so I'm kind of mentally prepared now. I think I'm good. I can do this. I'm ready."
Pause. Repeat. Stretch to twenty minutes.
Sure you are, you twat.
A guy I work with who's also doing this marathon begged me Friday to convince Suna to defer to next year. He can do that. They'll save him a spot if he does it now.
He begged me to convince Suna to forego this year's race so he won't get injured.
For a second there, maybe two, I actually considered it. But you know what? He's an adult. He's 33 years old. He has two engineering degrees and an MBA. He's a badass marine. He's the shit. He can make his own damn judgement calls.
And I don't give a fuck.
The last thing I'm going to do is get in his business. he might get the wrong idea and start thinking I'm his friend. He might start asking me even more advice about this stuff.
I just laughed. I don't give a shit if he gets injured. He's an adult. If he doesn't have enough sense to defer on his own, that's his problem.
I'm sure I'll be hearing all about it. We all will. The entire office.
Just like we'll hear about his stocks and his house search and his latest dating fiasco. The three other topics of conversation he can handle without embarrassing himself beyond normal Sunaness.
This is a guy who asks me if the French know what a hamburger is.
Coca Cola.
Will he have to eat snails when he goes there?
Three degrees, and he has no idea who Hiro Hito was. Mussolini. Stalin.
He thinks Winston Churchill is the Budweiser dog.
This is the guy who walks into my office first thing Monday morning to tell me about the twenty-miles he endured this weekend, because he thinks it makes him cool.
Hell of a way to start the week. Man, I lurve this place.
Part II:
Cool. Just got a call from Frank. a.k.a. Partyboy.
Frank and I had a falling out exactly a year ago. Kind of stupid, really. Anyway, we've been polite since then, but no more. No training, no beers, no nada. I'd kind of gotten used to it, but occasionally, yeah, I still thought to myself that it kind of sucked that a four-year friendship would end on such a silly note.
But French to the end, I figured screw it. If he isn't man enough to swallow his pride and call, then I can be a bratty little kid too. We're stubborn that way.
So anyway, he called this morning, and he admitted that this shit had gone on long enough.
We're having lunch next week. Eh. Cool.
And he wants me to shoot some stuff for his website, so that's cool. Ever the trader, he'll probably want to pay me in trade... which... doesn't fly for me. But whatever. We'll work something out.
It doesn't seem like a big deal, but it kind of is. I'm glad he called. :)
Part III:
So... next door, Suna is explaing to our best quality engineer the difference between force calculated in inches/pounds vs. ft-lbs. Because, like, you know, he's wicked cool that way.
I'm finally done with the wedding photos. I'll be posting them tonight on the photo blog (finally!!!!!). I'm giving Roberto the DVDs after work with the proof sheets and the jacket cover. Good stuff.
I've looked at those photos so much already that I don't see how cool they are anymore, but I'm pretty happy about the way they turned out. Some of them are really, really good. (At least I think so.)
Mission accomplished.
Tomorrow is my big monthly meeting. This is usually where I get kicked in the balls by one of the honchos who's trying to impress the bib boss. It never works, but it's always unpleasant. Eh. It's only an hour. I think I'm ready. I'll put something together at the last minute and wing it, as always.
Half of that shit is just presenting stuff with confidence, and projecting enthusiastic honesty. (No, really, think about what that actually looks and sounds like.)
Okay. Time to make the ass-kissing rounds before I blow this joint for the day and head out to have a quick coffee with Robby.
Incidentally (no relation to the rest of this post), is there a reason why nobody ever approached me about being the third wheel in a threesome back when I was single, but now that I'm married it happens on a regular basis? (And the couples are always surprisingly hot too.)
Is this a cruel fucking joke someone's playing on me?
*sigh*
posted by oOo @ 12:31
3 Comments:
yeah... Suna sounds like a winner! Comedy would be impossible without him, but then drama would also be hurting...
This is a great story. Are you familiar with Ricky Gervais' The Office? He sounds like a combination of Gareth and Brent. Ug..how terrible.
suna is so great. I'm using it...that and the picture of the classy broads. you're too clever.
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