MussoLOLen is Always Right! |

As I approach my third month as a member of the white-collar working class, I realized something very important: Yahoo Messenger has been an invaluable tool in keeping my soul and sanity together. My mom once chided me for being so un-hip in my devotion to YM. Apparently, anyone who’s l33t enough to know anything uses Google Talk these days and thinks that YM sucks. I don’t care what instant messaging system I use; if everyone I know uses it, I’ll use it. Okay, that very conformist statement just made me lose my street cred but come on. What’s the point of using a l33t IM system if you’re the only one you know who uses it? I don’t need to type out my thoughts to myself through a chat window; I can do that silently, in my head.

I feel so bad for my friends who for some ungodly reason don’t have YM in their workplace; I would die without it. I can only look at so many shemale tushies and strap-on lesbians without going completely nutters. I need people to bother on YM when my friends at work are too busy to take prolonged cigarette breaks with me. Aside from relieving the boredom and serving as live entertainment, YM also functions as an extension of my social life. That little yellow smiley helped me rediscover old friends and befriend a couple of oddballs. In the past two weeks alone, I’ve had a couple of rather curious conversations with all sorts of interesting characters. Here are some of them:

The High School Almost-Girlfriend

Every girl, if not almost every girl, who has gone to an all-girls high school has also probably developed an attraction or at least a curiosity about the members of their gender. After four years of no communication, I recently got in touch with a girl from high school who I had a rather deadly crush on. I won’t go into the details of who did what and why and when, but if things had gone differently I think she definitely would have been my first girlfriend.

She’s currently based on the East Coast and I let her know about my plans to take a long vacation in the States sometime next summer. As soon as I mentioned that, she immediately offered to let me crash at her house where she lives with her parents.

Almost-Girlfriend: I share a room with my sister. She won’t mind if you stay there. Or we could fix up the den and make it the guest room.
Me: I don’t really mind as long as I have a soft surface to sleep on, really.
Almost-Girlfriend: I’d rather have you in my room though.
Me: …

Is it just me or did that just come off as really wrong? Do I care if it does?

Ulrich the Invisible Boyfriend

Our invisible romance began when he added me up on Twitter and asked me for my YM. I don’t know who he is, where he lives, whether he trims his fingernails or not. I know nothing about him except that he graduated from the same university that I did and euthanizes old people with existential questions via the internet for a living. His refusal to divulge personal information gave me the creative license to make him whoever I want him to be. I have therefore decided that he is Ulrich the Invisible Boyfriend, a 48-year old obese Indian man who can make the most wicked curry and who has yet to take me to India and meet his invisible parents.

I gave him Kristel’s YM because he asked for it and because I figured she’d get a huge kick out of meeting my Invisible Boyfriend. Two minutes later he messages me saying that she’s more cuckoo than I am. He suggests that she should be on medication. Hourly. I informed him that he was already speaking to Kristel heavily medicated on painkillers.

The Emo Fanboy

Our exchanges actually happen through text instead of YM because he doesn’t have YM at work. Actually, it’s more of a one-sided thing; he texts me but I don’t text back because my thumb is too lazy to type down a response. I don’t really hate him or anything but there’s something about him that’s kind of off. For one thing, he told me that he slept with 120 women in the span of 8 years. Who the hell does that? Unless he’s a porn star, and he definitely does not look like a porn star to me. He also likes to brag about how he breaks girls’ hearts by breaking their hymens. Whatta guy.

When I really have nothing to do I usually play along with his game, whatever his game is. But there are times when he gets so mentally taxing that I’d rather sit still and veg out. Which usually happens more often than not.

Perhaps if I tell him to get a Twitter account he’ll stop texting just to say how bored he is at work.

The College Lecturer

I haven’t seen or spoken to this guy since we first met around this time last year. Last time I saw him, we were drinking Red Horse and having a really good conversation on books, writing, literature, and love that lasted til about 6 or 7 am. He recently messaged me to ask me how I’ve been doing and to give me an update on his life.

College Lecturer: Hey, have I told you the news already?
Me: No no what???
College Lecturer: I’m pregnant.
Me: Are you drunk?
College Lecturer: No. Just exhausted from a day of teaching.
Me: NO WAY!!!!
College Lecturer: YES WAY!!!!
Me: You teach in La Salle now? What do you teach?
College Lecturer: Yes. Industrial Electronics. And Digital Communications Lab.
Me: Woooow! Damn. Before I graduated I thought I’d become a teacher. My job now is soooo far from that.
College Lecturer: And you are?
Me: A writer. But it’s not what you think.
*silence*
Me: I write reviews for porn websites. And sleazy blurbs for porn galleries.
*silence*
College Lecturer: Oh.

After that conversation I started to see that maybe my job isn’t as cool as I first thought it was.

So how bored do YOU get at work? Feel free to poke and tell me all about it through YM (xlaurgyx). I’m probably zombifying in my cubicle just like you are. Besides, I’m a loser who does nothing but waste brain cells on the internet all day so I’ll probably talk to you if you’re not creepier than I am.