Greatest Hits I

I don't write here as much as I should or write long posts like I did. So indulge me as we take a trip down memory lane and I repost some of the better (read: unsucky) posts from my old blog. I may add a prologue or a post script, but probably not because I am lazy.

We begin this trip with a story from the summer after my first year of law school. I did not get a law related job, and other than going on some OCI's I did not really try. Live and learn right? Instead, my philosophy was to live with my parents for the summer and live off my tax refund (which was about $3,800). Well, that plan worked great for a month. I went out, drank a lot, saw the Cubs, drank some more, went to concerts, drank a lot more, and then suddenly, I was running out of money. I had to get some sort of job, so I took the first one that came along. I spent a month and a half after my first semester of law school putting garbage bags into boxes. But it gave me drinking money.

I cannot honestly say that I was having a good time at this point. I was seriously second guessing my decision to go to law school (major justification for it: It beat actually working). So I did what I did and wandered through life (and shockingly did not do anything that was character and fitness application worthy (though there was the night of the five mile walk)). So without further ado, I present to you A Normal Thursday (originally written in two parts, so it will be long):


I have already mentioned in this space that my summer job decided to make overtime mandatory. You can explore my entries to see the exact specs of my job (except for what I do of course). The company's idea of mandatory overtime is to come in for an entire extra 12 hour shift. This particular week, my normal schedule was to be off on Thursday and Friday, and work Saturday, Sunday and Monday. With mandatory OT in effect, I was forced to work on Friday. This did not please me. This did not please me at all.

Thursday became my favorite day of the week during Undergrad. Going out on a Thursday was infinitely better than going out on the weekend for several reasons. First, Freshman do not learn until Sophomore year that you can get away with going out on Thursdays. They do it occasionally, but they are still naive and do not want to make a habit of it. Thus, the 18+ bars are not packed with a bunch of idiots, sober idiots. Secondly, once you turn 21 you reach the point where you know where you stand. By this I mean you know how much effort and how many classes you have to attend to get the grade you want. At this point, the guys with the 2.0 GPA know that there is not much they can do to improve it, so they just want to have a good time. These are the guys you want to hang out with. They fucking know how to party, and when you go out with them, you never know where the hell you are going to end up.

However, major reason that Thursday became my favorite day of the week is because I could go out. At this time, I had no idea that I would end up going to Law School. This was before the downfall of Enron and Arthur Anderson, and I had every confidence in myself and society, that I could half A's and half B's and get a job as an auditor with one of the Big Five. I had no need to go to class on Friday, and even if I could haul my usually still drunk ass out of bed, all I had to do was take some notes. Easy Peasy, Japanesey.

I should mention, that I tried to change myself. After suffering through the worst grades of my life Sophomore year, I decided I had to curb the partying during the week. My feeble minded solution to this was to schedule a class that met only on Wednesdays and Fridays at 8 a.m., and lasted two hours. The rationale was, it only meets twice per week, so I have to go on Fridays, so I cannot go out on Thursdays. It was a good plan, for about a week. The lure of the best night to go out was too much for me. Halfway through the semester I had used up my six absence allowance. Yet, I continued to go out on Thursdays, I just tried to make sure that when the bars closed at 2 a.m., I went home. It worked, I got a B, probably because of the pounding headaches while trying to take notes. For two fucking hours.

This summer, Thursday still holds a special place in my heart. I bowl on Thursdays (you cannot beat dollar games and $3 Bud Lights). This particular Thursday contained a twist. Before going to the bowling alley, my friend (this guy really needs a nickname. From now on, I dub he EagleMan (and if you live in Chicago, it is ten times funnier)), his girl of the week, and I went to see the local minor league baseball team.

As you know, I love my baseball. As you know, I love my beer. Combining the two, well that is my Field of Dreams. However, the evil specter of Friday work was the thunderstorm on my field. I took it easy. I was sober enough to realize that I would be getting home three hours after my bedtime. I had to take it easy. I had maybe four beers during the game, a new record. It should have been five, which would have tied the old record, but that was not to be.

After the top of the eighth, I went to the concession stand to pick up two beers for the last inning and a half. The transaction was completed without a hitch, and when I returned to my seat, I handed one of the beers to the girl of the week, saying, "Hey, I bought you a beer." Up to this point, she had not had one beer. In fact, the two other times I saw her, she did not drink. In my head, I was making a joke. She, however, readily accepted the beer, and took a sip. Ahh, well, it's not like I needed it anyway. After she finished half the beer, it became apparent that she does not drink too often. Half a beer, and she was slurring her words. Whoops. EagleMan is my full time designated driver, he does not drink at all, for the poor guy is allergic to wheat and such things. Drinking may kill him. It actually almost killed him. He used to drink more than me, then one day, Bam!, his throat swells up and he cannot drink anymore. But, he is a good guy, and is more than happy (well, maybe not happy, willing is a better word) to put up with my drunkass. I was not sure if he was willing to put up with his new girl's drunk ass though.

The Mudville 9 lost that day, but our spirits were high as we headed off to a night of bowling. Dollar bowling starts at 9 p.m., and we arrived at 9:30. Plenty of time. After picking up my shoes, I headed to the bar. The bartender knows me, in the customer sense of the phrase. She looked at me, and said, "Bud?" I had been staring at a lovely honey across the bar, and that snapped me back to attention. "Uhh, Yeah," I replied, and went back to my ogling.

Then, the lovely honey calls out to me, "You went to [Undergrad]?" For a second, I was horribly confused. I have no idea who this is, should I know who she is? I am terrible with faces. Even worse with faces when I am thirsty. Then I realized I was wearing a hat with my Undergrad's name emblazoned upon it. "Yeah," I said. I am smoother than sandpaper. "I graduated two years ago, did you go there?" I asked. "Yeah, but I just graduated," she replied. "That's cool." No, I am smoother than silk. The bartender suddenly appeared, blocking my line of sight to the lovely honey. The lovely honey was there with a bunch of guys, so I probably had no shot with her, and I was thirsty and wanted to bowl, so I took my beer and skedaddled. It's ok. You can tell me, I know. I am a social retard.

I returned to my lane, and put on my shoes. I took a sip of my beer. Immediately, I knew something was wrong. Fuck. It was a Budweiser, not a Bud Light. That bitch of a bartender fucked up my order. No wait, I fucked up my order, thinking with the wrong head, and not paying attention to what was going on around me. Whatever, it is time to fucking bowl.

The girl of the week sat down, beer in hand, and we began to bowl. We were in the fifth frame when the GOTW jumped out of her seat like she had been shocked with a cattle prod, and ran up to an older woman who had just entered the alley. EagleMan was bowling, leaving me to think to myself, who the fuck is that?

****************


It is a little harsh to describe her as the GOTW. EagleMan just ended a long relationship, and is getting back into the dating scene (as I described before). He is a romantic at heart, and falls pretty quickly. This was no exception. GOTW was an affable enough girl, more outgoing than the last one, but she fell pretty hard too. He had been seeing this girl for about a week, and at one point during the ball game, while EagleMan was away, she asked me what I thought she should do for his birthday. His birthday was over two months away. I hemmed and hawed as much as I could, but I was pretty uncomfortable, even though I knew he liked her. However, in a moment, I was about to be much more uncomfortable.

With GOTW talking to the older woman, I took my turn to bowl, focusing on not falling down. Throwing it down the right arrow was secondary. This scene would repeat itself 70 more times (I got no strikes that night). I was getting a little buzzed. I am not a fan of Budweiser. I managed to avoid the gutter with both rolls, and returned to the table, seeing the older woman putting on shoes.

"This is my mother," GOTW cheerily slurred. Her fucking mother? After a week? Holy hell. EagleMan did not look shocked, so he must have known that this coming. He neglected to give me a heads up. I have enough trouble interacting in social situations with my best friends, and now, out of the blue, the GOTW's mother shows up. The least I could have gotten was a heads up from EagleMan. I am very regimented, routine oriented, and I do not like things happening unexpectedly. Unless I am hammered. I was not there yet.

I quickly excused myself to go get another beer. Head still spinning, I walked up to the bar. However, I had enough sense to see if lovely honey was still around, but alas, she was gone. "Bud?" the bartender asked. "Uhmm, no, Bud Light actually." A look of confusion briefly wafted across the bartender's face, then dissipated. "I knew there was someone that ordered Bud Light's on Thursdays. Why did you let me give you a Bud last time?" Because I am a sadist. I grabbed my beer and returned to the table.

"You know, I setup a tab, just put your beers on that," GOTW's mother greeted me. Oh great, now I have her offering to pay for my bad habits. Could this get any worse?

"You know mom, he is in law school," GOTW said. "You should check out environmental law," the mother rapidly replied.

It just got worse. Now I am bowling with a hippie. "It is interesting, but I think I am going to have make more than $30,000 a year to pay off my hundred grand in student loans." "Well just think about it." Sure, no problem, I will think about it. When I get rejected by the public defenders office.

I was able to maintain a modicum of socialability with the GOTW and her mother. EagleMan is a social fiend. He can talk to anyone, anywhere, about anything. He was having no such problems. But, then GOTW and the mother got up for another round, and EagleMan turns to me and says, "I have been talking to the Ex."

And I am down for the count.

I am not Superman. Now I have to talk to the GOTW and her mother, while knowing that EagleMan has been talking to his Ex, and wants to get back together with her. I was not built to deal with such things. It of course is complicated by the fact that I liked GOTW more after a week than I ever like the Ex after a year. And I am not receptive to meeting new people.

Whatever, I decided to put all this shit out of my mind and focus on bowling and drinking. No more talking for me. I really don't have anything interesting to say anyway (but plenty of interesting things to write, I hope). This caused a chorus of "What's wrong?" from the GOTW. I replied that I was fine, as I do have a tendency to seriously introvert myself. I eventually relaxed (read: was drunk) around 11, and was able to be my slightly sociable self for the rest of the night. The beer flowed freely, in and out, and when the alley closed at midnight, my pump had been primed enough that I could have bowled for another three hours. Unfortunately, it was time to go home.

EagleMan dropped me off at my place at 12:30. At this point, I was faced with two decisions, go to bed or drink a beer and check my e-mail. My alarm clock was poised to go off in four and half hours, and I had to be out of bed in five and half. But going to bed meant that my next conscious thought would be the realization that I had to go to work for 12 hours. I turned on the computer and cracked a beer.

For the next three hours I was lost in the world of cyberspace and alcohol. I kept drinking, proclaiming each beer to be my last, and always finding a new webpage to look at, where I would be halfway through reading an article when my beer went empty, causing me to go grab another. Or, finding that I had to write some irrelevant comment on someone's blog. This could have gone on in perpetuity, but by the time 3:30 am rolled around, I realized that I was fucked.

I am not exactly sure what I did in those three hours on the worldwide web. I know I did a couple stupid things, but I do not think I spent any money, which is always good. Regardless, I absolve myself of responsibility for anything I did. I was in another world. A world fueled by hatred of work, alcohol, and the knowledge that I am who I am. I was able to break my bond with that hell, and reconnect with reality, and stagger to bed and pass out. An hour and a half before my alarm would start going off.

The sounds of staticky country music suddenly filled my ears. I was shocked awake, ripped from my drunken slumber. I looked at the clock. 30 past the hour. Fuck. It takes about 25 minutes to get to work. I hauled myself out of bed. Thankfully, in my drunken stupor I had the sense to pass out fully clothed, so all I had to do was grab all the change in my ashtray (vending machine lunch), and head out the door. Yes, I was still a little (a lot) drunk. I do not advocate drunk driving, and personally have only done it a couple times (and not in a long, long time), but at this time of the morning, with it being the only way for me to get to work, the rules are bent. In short, I was fine to drive. I had to be.

I turned on the car, and was immediately shocked by the radio. I expected Mike & Mike, the morning drive show on ESPNRadio, to come blaring through the speakers. But I heard two guys I never heard. Fuck it, I am drunk and I have to get work. I put the car in gear, and headed out. About five minutes into the drive, the two dumbfucks on the radio mentioned that they were filling in for Mike & Mike. Thank God, I thought, I have not gone crazy. But, five minutes later I looked at the clock.

5:45. The motherfucking clock said 5:45. I was a fucking hour early. Fuck. The only thing I could think was Fuck. I turned around and came home, made a lunch, and went back to bed. And woke up at 6:35. For the second time that day, I hauled my drunk ass out of bed, and left home. I started my car again, and for the second time that day, heard two guys I had never heard before. What the fuck is going on. The local affiliate had pulled the national fill-ins and put in some local fill ins. I figured this out later, but I was horribly confused at the time. On the second drive to work I checked the clock every ten seconds to reassure myself that I was leaving when I was supposed to. I safely got to work at 7 am and began my 12 hour workday.

That is my life. Want to trade?

I like my job

So there I was, just after lunch, my feet up on my desk, diet dr. Pepper just to my right, leaning all the way back in my chair, headphones on, listening to some rocking tunes, a highlighter in my mouth, with the code in my lap opened to some random section that I was reading for some background, when my boss walked in. To talk about a fantasy baseball trade we made over the weekend. Life is good.

Sidenote: texting while walking down stairs is not the best idea in the world.

Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile

Sent to me by the Girlfriend

Being Honest About Myself

I used to forget things all the time; but not exactly. I spent a lot of time convincing people that I was the most forgetful person of all time. Not all people, mostly just people who asked me to do things, but did not pay me to do them. Take the chicken out of the fridge at five, mow the lawn before it rains, pick up grandma from the train, I forgot to do all those things. But sometimes, I was asked to do something, and I did not actually forget, I just did not do it.

Today, I got yelled at by one the administrative people I work with. Well, yelled at in a motherly, secretarial kind of way. I had been putting off taking care of some administrative bullshit that I kind of needed to take care of but not really. Back in March I first found out that some action was needed on my part. May came around, and I finally got around to doing it, but tried to do it on my own, without going through her. I failed utterly and miserably, and when she found out I tried to go it alone, she was not happy. So today, when I finally tried to fix it again, I went straight to her, hoping she might have forgotten how annoyed she was with me a month and half ago. Which she had, but still "yelled" at me and extracted a promise from me that I would go to her first for this type of thing in the future.

As I have gotten older, and then even older, I have decided to forgo convincing people of my absent-mindedness because I usually have quite a sharp memory, and be honest with them. I am just very very lazy. Extremely lazy.

So today, I did not make excuses. After all, this stupid form I had to fill out could only benefit me. Not really in an economic way (I never pass up money), but make my life a little bit easier. But I just did not care enough to take care of it. So I put it off and put it off, until finally today, I was so bored, I figured I would just get it done (it took all of two minutes plus a lecture). I am just that lazy.

My hair, more than anything, helps to define my laziness. In the past, I never really cared much about hair. In high school I would comb it, but I never really had a hairstyle or anything. In college and law school, I pretty much wore a hat all the time. This was because I was too lazy to get out of bed long enough before class to shower. On the days that I did (like a 3 pm class), i usually forewent combing or anything like that.

After all, by law school, male pattern baldness had pretty much set in. If I did not give a shit about my hair when I had a decent hairline, fat chance of me caring about it now. But now I have a job, and I assume I am supposed to look respectable (no one has actually said anything, so I figure I am good for now).

So for work, I comb my hair, put gel in it (because I still have a damn cowlick), and try to look presentable. But the thing is, I hate long hair. I much prefer my hair to be nice and short so that after I shower in the morning, I do not have to do anything to it. Yet, I always let it grow real long (and not just because my girlfriend hates when hair is short). So every four months or so, I cut it off. But usually at the three month mark, I start thinking every morning that I need to cut it. I am just too lazy to ever get around to it.

So when I go a week or month without posting, just know, it is because I am lazy. Unless you pay me. Then I will post whenever you want.

Now that is not something you see everyday

I was driving to the Target today, and I passed something I usually only see in Indiana:

Call me naive, but I did not realize fireworks were legal in VA. They just passed smoking bans a month or so ago!

I did spend a July Fourth in DC once and witnessed quite the amazing spectacle. From the house where I lived (about a mile north of the Capitol Building) I was able to mostly witness the "official" DC fireworks (damn washington monument kept getting in the way). But then, oh, that is when the real party started.

Fireworks came in from all over the district. "Light the Night!" as Electro would say. It was quite the sight. Except for when one malfunctioned and almost hit a guy across the street from me. And then another one burned out right before hitting the roof I was on. But, good times all around.

Still, having grown up in IL, I was quite shocked to see a fireworks shed erected in the middle of a parking lot. Course, a little research indicates why it was just erected and not a mainstay like Krazy Kaplan's just over the IL-IN border.

VA does not allow any cool fireworks. Ah well. Maybe I will just head into the district for the Fourth.

Late Night TV

I was watching some TV late last night and as per usual on a saturday night, there was nothing good on. But it was taking to a new level last night as I stumbled across this movie:





When I first turned it on, it looked like it might be that old TV show on Fox about dinosaurs. But it wasn't. This was something much more disturbing. And THEN Whoopi showed up in spandex. Tired as I was, I had to do some more research into this disaster of a movie. The pertinent facts: Made in 1995 for $35 million. Intended for a theatrical release but went straight to VHS (Most expensive direct to video movie at the time). Whoopi decided she wanted out before filming started, but had signed a contract and eventually settled for $7 million to star in the film.

Watching this movie was just god awful. I cannot begin to explain my thoughts on it. Instead, I direct you to the comments on IMDB and Amazon. My favorite review, a Five Star from amazon:

"Watching this film sober - and even under the influence - is like giving birth out of your ear while simultaneously having a stroke, getting a root canal, and walking in on your parents having sex. In your bed. And as you walk in on them, you step on a rake and it hits you in the face and drives a splinter into your eye. Yet at the same time it triggers a visceral, masochistic response somewhere deep inside, and you can't help but take pleasure in every mind-numbing attempt at a joke, every sudden idiotic plot twist, and every glimpse of Whoopi's gross spandexed rumpus. A real treat."

It is quite accurate, except for that last part.

It would be accurate to call this a career killer, at least for the writer/director. The lucky guy was given the reigns to a $35 million dollar picture and produced a horrible piece of trash. And amazingly, he could not find work in Hollywood again. At least until this year. He wrote a new movie. But I wonder what he did for the last fifteen years.

********

The only thing worse than this movie, was a commercial that ran during it. It was for this thing called Big Top Cupcakes.

The selling point? It is 25x bigger than a regular Cupcake!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Can you believe that? You know what is 25x bigger than a cupcake? A Regular Fucking Cake! It is called a cupcake because it is a cake that fits in a goddamn cup! It is a fucking cake you eat with your fingers! Why the hell do you need a cupcake on steriods when you can just make a fucking cake!





God, what an atrocious night of TV. I don't even want to get into the nightmares this shit gave me.

Thoughts Whilest I Await Conan's 11:30 Debut

My balls are burning right now. It is because I have officially become old, yet do not have the experience of being old to know how to cope with it right now. I twisted my knee thursday night playing hockey. I was tough, played the rest of the game (and with a busted toe to boot). So after a weekend of rest and icing, it feels much better, but occasionally I will make a a quick turn or stop and it gets weak. So, I went out and got a Ben-Gay sleeve. Slid it on to my knee and let the alternating cooling and burning take effect. Course, then I read the instructions and realized I had it on backwards. So I fiddled with it, and got it on correctly. Then I went to adjust my balls, and hence, now they burn. I am sure I will get it figured out soon enough. Still though, my balls dont hurt as much as the first time my girlfriend spent the weekend at my place.

***************

Speaking of the woman, since she left she has told me a couple times that I have been acting oddly. I, for one, think that I am acting the same as I usually do. So this is not an explaination for me acting odd, but something I realized today.

There are oodles of ways for my girlfriend and I to interact with each other while she is in Chicago and I am in DC. Let us count the ways:

1. Phone. This is pretty standard. I am sure it needs little explaination.
2. Text messaging. Because of her, I have spent too much money on excess text messages. Once I bought my Blackberry, I went with unlimited texts. It was a good idea.
3. Twitter. She recently signed up for twitter, so I was forced into it (yes it was a choice, but come on, I had to). I guess the point of twitter is for text messages we don't mind sharing with the public. Of course, I get text message updates when she twits (thats the term right?), so it is essentially a public text message. Granted, I have 1 follower that is not her or some random person, so its not that public (because I have a lot to hide).
4. Blogging. She has a blog. I have a blog. I would not say we use our blogs as a roundabout way of making a point to the other, but I do. Her, not so much. To be fair though, I only do it when it is funny. Or I can make a cool list.
5. G-Chat. Again self explanatory. Of course, this comes with the added advantage of video chat, so I can see her beautiful smile and gorgeous eyes from 1,000 miles away.
6. AIM. I have not downloaded AIM onto my computer, but through the magic of Google, I can log into AIM as though it is gchat. My woman has AIM on her phone, so this is essentially another method of text messaging, but with the added bonus of me being able to type faster.
7. E-Mail. Yup, this is down so low because I almost forgot it. We will call this regular, personal email, where she can talk to me about about her friends foibles with butt-sex (not that she would, but she could)
8. Work E-Mail. I do not get phone service where I work, so during the day we often e-mail each other back and forth. At least until I realize that I have sent fifteen e-mails in the last ten minutes and take a break so the IT folks think that I am actually doing work.
9. Google Reader. We both use the reader supplied by our overlord Google. On there, you can share stories and comment. We use that sparingly, mostly because we rarely read what the other person shared. I am working on it babe, promise! (I dont really understand what google wave is, but I am sure we will use that too when it launches.)
10. Facebook. I log into facebook about once a month, but when I do, I am sure to leave a comment on her wall.
11. Letters (in theory). She has sent me letters. I have yet to do the same. I am working on it, but hey, my handwriting sucks.

I think that is it. We are not to the point yet where we have ESP. Once she gets a Wii at her place in Chicago we might have Smash Bros. brawls online. Still, I get the feeling I am missing something.

But still, look at that list. Ten years ago, when she was 12, the only communique I had was through phone and post (note: this was 1999, when most you probably had AOL. I did not. I did not have internet access until I went to college in the fall. And even then, I think I was in the only dorm room that did not have a computer). Things have certainly evolved since then. And I am very much apprecaitive of the fact that I could go at least a day without contacting her through one of these mediums and she would not go nuts. I love you babe.

***************

They say bad things come in threes, but come on. In the last two weeks, one of the senior managers where I work suffered a major stroke and passed away. Shortly thereafter, one of my colleagues wife had a mild stroke (he received the call during a teleconference I was invovled in (in that I was there listening), and took off as he should, the odd part was, the rest of us were in his office). Then, my smoking buddy's mother was admitted to the hospital with what may be a mild stroke. Seriously, enough already.

**************

To end this on an upbeat note, I spent $212 at the grocery store tonight. I suppose that is what happens when you go five months without grocery shopping.