Thursday, July 03, 2008
Nuclear Cool via ScubaSteve
Wednesday, July 02, 2008
"You can't be king of the world if you're a slave to the grind."The original quote I was going to use at the beginning of the last post announcing my big move but everyone would think I'm the biggest hammerhead in the world if I went through my life using random Sebastian Bach lines to guide my life. The daily grind of coming into an office designed for maximum depression is quickly coming to an end. I've spent the week settling my corporate affairs as I prepare to start a life meant for a degenerates.
Skid Row - Slave to the Grind
It's been a long time since I've really put anything down on the site about what's going on around me and some of the shit I've been through. Contrary to popular impression, I did not spend the last two months sitting in the corner of my room assuming the fetal position. There were just certain things that needed to stay local for a while.
Here are just some of the things that popped up in my world while I was trying to fight my way out of the rat maze.
In the post where I made my announcement there was a throw away line about not missing any stripper parties in Key West. I wasn't blowing smoke.
In May I received notice that my friend Nikki was having a big birthday bash at Cowboy Bills and could I please make it down. I had to politely decline then spent the next week slamming my head against the wall wondering why I didn't make this job move two weeks earlier.
Instead I at the pub all evening getting dial-a-shot calls from women in various states of dress. I know this because they were calling me while standing in front of the webcam at Cowboy Bills. (and next to the very same bull that nearly destroyed poor Drizz and his manhood). It was pure torture not being there and something I will not repeat. The next time I get a call telling me there would be strippers out of their confines, wondering in public, barely clothed and chasing down a bar lined with shot glasses from one end to the other, you damn well better believe I'll be on the next plane out of whatever shit town I happen to be inhabiting.
Drunk strippers > Social Responsibility
For the record, Dr. Pauly's writeup from the Key West trip is one of my all time favorites. It also makes me seem a lot more insane than I really am. That writeup turned into an article in Bluff Magazine. Me ma is so proud.
I made the decision to expand my horizons a bit this spring. I actually went to the psuedo-hippyfest otherwise known as a Dave Matthews concert. My mistake. It rained all afternoon on the dirty smelly fake frat boy wannabe hippies who were picking fights with other tailgaters playing beer pong with fancy tubs of margaritas. The only upside to the rain was catching the impromptu wet t-shirt show with the sorority girls in our lot. The rest of my time was spent observing behavior that wouldn't be acceptable at an Eagles tailgate party. Savages.
I'm actually proud that I made it through 4 songs of the show. There were fights all over the place, one looped up chick spewing than passing out and 4 meat heads pissing uphill from my spot on the lawn. That sure as shit got my ass in gear looking for the nearest bar but $15 watered down shots and running into my ex-girlfriend ended my night. Decided it would be better to hang out by myself in the war torn parking lot chugging near beer and watch the guys checking for unlocked car doors.
I put up with all of this just to chase a little tail. A girl who decided to tell me that very day she was bringing along her new boyfriend. Lemons all around.
I found a new friend, lost a new friend, despise a new friend. I sometimes can fit an entire life in a few months. Wish I could say I learned my lesson but I know I didn't.
Next! The Bank of Al is open.
If there was a World Series of Minesweeper I would be king. I've had nothing but time on my hands kids.
Sometime Thursday afternoon I will walk into my managers office with my arms stacked full of company swag. I'll put everything down, shake his hand and move onto the next step in my life. That first step means going straight to the Boathouse for lubrication while waiting for Riggs to gather up my drunk ass and head off to that shiny jewel in the desert.
Today it's corporate America. Tomorrow, Vegas and beyond.
Tuesday, July 01, 2008
Nothing says "I'm out of the program" like showing up to your HR exit interview smelling like you were dowsed in Southern Comfort and slept on a bed of burned out Marlboros.|