I Love How You Accented Your Tumor

People feel really comfortable talking honestly with me.

I hate that about me.

More to the point, people feel very comfortable ruthlessly commenting on my appearance, whether it be a new outfit or haircut. �Did you mean to do that?� is a common enough phrase piercing my fragile ego in the office. I often get, �Are you trying to grow stubble?� to which I can only reply, �Well, no. I was just too damn lazy to shave this morning, but thanks for pointing it out.�

Actuaries have no social skills what so ever.

I�ve been feeling rather fragile about my appearance ever since George decided to take over. He�s the big red tumor growing on my chin. I thought he was a zit, but he won�t pop and every time I look at my face in the mirror, he�s taken over more territory, so I�ve diagnosed him as a tumor for now. George the tumor. This picture doesn�t do him justice, but you can get the idea. He�s got a little friend living by my Adam�s apple which showed up nicely in the photo, I call him (you guessed it) Adam.

I thought this might be a good time to take a cue from Jaycrew2882 and try a new look. So I decided to wear one of my new turtleneck sweaters today to try and hide George and Adam or at least sweat them out, but I have a problem with turtlenecks. They tend to draw attention to my face, which clearly wasn�t meant for having attention called upon, but thanks to a healthy dose of the new antidepressant I�m on, I was willing to give it a shot.

I walked in the office and Robin (I�m Batman, he�s Robin � I�ll explain it another time) saw me out of the corner of his eye as I walked past his cubicle and he exclaimed, �Woah! Look at you!� I have never met a straight man more concerned with hair and clothes than Robin. I once mentioned to him that I liked the sweaters he is always wearing, and ever since he�s been sending me a barrage of emails with links to clothing stores and bringing in mail order catalogs with ideas on how I can spice up my wardrobe. Apparently, he thought the gay guy in the office needed a little help picking out clothes. Jesus, I�ve let the clan down. Sorry fellas.

I knew I had Robin�s full approval when he christened me with my new nickname. Henceforth, I am to be known as Rico Suave.

A few other people gave me some compliments, and I was feeling dead sexy, until I went into Checker�s office to drop off some paperwork. He was talking to his secretary so I thought I was safe doing the quick-drop-off-and-run-outta-the-office-before-he-talks-to-me thing, but as soon as he saw me he cut off his secretary with a hearty laugh and exclaimed with his hands on his belly, �You look like a Norwegan in that sweater!!�

Is that supposed to be some sort of a compliment? What in the hell do Norwegans look like? I stood there not having any idea the answer to that question. I tried but could only think of Chilly Willy the penguin, for whatever reason. Should I smile? Should I be offended? If only he�d said something normal, like �You look like an idiot in that,� I would have felt so much more comfortable engaging him in the conversation. Given our previous conversations, if he�d said what I know was really on his mind, �You look kinda faggy today,� I would have understood completely. As it was, all I could muster up was an awkward string of words as I tried desperately to be neither defensive nor engaging, �Well � it certainly � is � warm.�

There�s another nice article of clothing I�ll be far too self-conscious ever to wear in public again. It�s a shame too, it�s supposed to get cold again later this week, and I was on a turtleneck buying fit when we were in Philadelphia last week.

Celexa, the antidepressant strong enough to let you make bad purchasing decisions with full confidence and wild abandonment of reason.