Office Estrogen Fest

So, as you may or may not know from my past work related rants, the office I work in is one open space that is divided between two companies. There is Diggit (my company) and there is H20, your stereotypical downtown NYC graphic design firm. And by stereotypical I mean it's thoroughly comprised of pink cardigan wearing gay dudes (well, just one, but he speaks for the masses) and a bunch of twenty and early thirty-something girls. They go about their day talking in their design-speak, most of which I am usually able to effectively block out as I spend my work day toiling over updating my MySpace profile.

While I am immune to daily chatter about Photoshop and color schemes, there is something in this office that even my strongest superpowers cannot withstand. It is an evil force that strikes early in the day, when I am at my weakest. Even the smallest exposure to it causes my ears to bleed and my testicles to retract far into my stomach. It threatens the very basis of my manhood. You see, these girls control the music that plays throughout the office. And when it comes to music, the soundtrack of choice among graphic design girls is acoustic folky lesbian alt pop. That's really the best way to describe. I know not the artists nor the names of the songs, but you know the type: Picture a young, mildly unattactive girl with her guitar singin' about what it's like to be a young, mildly unattactive girl with a guitar. Think of Jewel's first album before the public decided that Jewel was going to be the top 40 poster girl of 1996. Before her platinum successes, she was just another mildly unattractive (see: Snaggletooth) poor girl with her guitar singing obnoxious songs like "Who Will Save Your Soul".


The stereotypical graphic design firm girls live and die by it. It soothes them. They relate to it. They do not know the pain and suffering it causes me. I mean, I've barely started to check my email for the day and I feel like my dick is just going to fall off my body and fall on the floor for the mice to eat. Do I really need to listen to this shit? The more I listen to it the more I feel my new breasts budding underneath my diesel muscle shirt.

While writing this, I decided to take an undercover mission to the domain of evil- the office CD player. Located on their side of the office next to the communal fax machine. So under the guise of sending a fax (a blank sheet of paper), I infiltrated this ugly, wretched place. Here is what I found...

Jem "Finally Woken".

My analysis: Some whiny pretentious British woman who uses colorful metaphors to describe the angst in her soul and grand sweeping phrases like "Finally Woken" to convey some sort of deep theological meaning. Oh sorry, I just threw up all over my self.

Aimee Mann "The Forgotten Arm"

My analysis: I think the picture says it all. Think of every ugly piece of imagery from the "Lilith Fair" that you can (a sweaty Sarah Maclachlan, the fat chick from Heart and Wynonna Judd getting it on backstage) and picture the soundtrack of it playing in an office.

Also seen in short: Madonna's "Immaculate Collection" (because, you know, any self respecting 30 year old graphic design girl still has gotta give it up for old school Madonna...she was so...empowering to them in high school), Howie Day "Collide" (unexplainable), Bjork "Medulla" (typical), The Cranberries and Annie Lennox (both typical).

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go pick my balls up off the floor.