Friday, June 29, 2007

Gentlemen Only Ladies Forbidden

Don't let anybody tell you golf is easy. Last Satty I went out with MD, Crookshanks, and the Limey to hit a few balls. Let me detail the ways that I went wrong.

1. It was the first time I had been to the driving range since sophomore year of college.

2. We hit the batting cages first.

3. It was about 110 degrees out there.

4. I went for the largest bucket of balls offered (~165).

5. I had up and running errands for the previous 12 hours and was little tired.

However, to mitigate my mistakes I did do some things right. I stretched, albeit briefly, before taking any swings. I had a couple of beers beforehand and drank plenty of water while there.

These things did not save me. I was shuffling around like a mummy at work for a few days, and it was Thor's Day before I free of true debilitating soreness. There are so many muscles that I don't use on a frequent basis that are important to swinging a golf club. Small muscles that still hurt like a motherfucker when maxed out and can make your life hellish for a few days.

I take away from this experience some driving range life lessons.

1. Never, NEVER take the largest bucket of balls.

2. Batting cages should be a separate trip.

3. Do not eat a QT cheeseburger after golfing as you will puke.

4. Jager, Jager, Jager.

5. I suck at golf.

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Last night I watched the series premier of Burn Notice. I was very pleasantly surprised with it. Some of the acting was forced but all in all it has promise. It has a good MacGyver type quality to it where he makes a lot of his own gadgets. My favorite line was "Duct tape makes you smart." There is a fair amount of action and general badassery.

If that wasn't enough it has Bruce Campbell. Bruce Fucking Campbell, do you hear me? How can I not watch a show with him? That's right, I can't (except for that Xena: Warrior Princess spinoff). Bruce Campbell as a "washout and a drunk" ex-spy. Ka-fucking-ching!

Shit, I'm considering buying that Old Spice body spray just because he does the goddamn commercials. Advertising doesn't normally work on me, but I have a weak spot for deodorant advertising (I use the gel with the micro-beads in it, not because I think they do anything but because I think micro-beads are cool). Combine that with Ash "good, bad, I'm the guy with the gun" and you might just get my discretionary underarm dollar.

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So I return from grabbing a slice for lunch today looking forward to my usual habit of relaxing in the conference room while reading only to find something waiting for me. As I badge my way onto my wing I notice it for the first time. I thought maybe somebody had some old burnt coffee that they let drip onto the hot plate.

I walk past the offices of the ladies who I have no idea what they do and the scent intensifies. The burnt coffee odor broadens into a general funk that I can't place. There is a fishy undertone plus a fishy overtone, but the burntosity is overwhelming. The smell is concentrating in the conference room and the locker area (the two places with comfy chair where I can put my feet up and read before chaining myself back to my desk).

I know now that the smell has to originate from the breakroom. This is even worse than when Marv put biscuits in the microwave for 6 minutes. I walk into the breakroom and see the source of the stench. The girl-on-the-fish-only-diet's lunch with her sitting calmly behind it, not noticing the palpable olfactory bane she has created. However, I notice an anomaly. It doesn't smell as bad in the break room.

Apparently, this stench is so foul that it is trying to get away from itself. I run out of the building gasping for air. The best warning I can give my other coworkers returning from lunch is that it "smells like burning ass in there. Smells like a burnt, hairy ass. Think about Dom Delouise and Ron Jeremy having not showered in three weeks having their asses lit on fire in a small room."

I stay outside in the heat until the end of my break. My nostrils are mostly recovered and I finished my book. I shuffle back inside muttering to my self "leathery, burnt bacon." I can only hope that next week I don't get my olfactory lobe burninated again.

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Thursday, June 14, 2007

I felt like a goblin made entirely out of wicked genitals

It has come to my attention that some people do not know about Super Deluxe. This is inexcusable. There is a lot of the funny out there to be enjoyed people. SD and Adult Swim are a few of the things that get me through long Saturdays as work. I have nothing to do but delve into the Internets (all of them) in search of amusement.

But the lack of knowledge is particularly egregious for the fans of George Washington. The artist in question has a lot of other work out there that is excellent. I recommend the Professor Brothers most highly.


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So I been having some trouble getting to sleep this week. It is a direct result of not drinking. Well, I broke down and had a beer last night, but that is the only alcohol to pass my lips this week and not near enough to self medicate me into Slumbertown. I will just lay on my couch reading and not muster the energy to launch myself into the bedroom for some shuteye. So my lack of sleep is a strange amalgamation of laziness and abstinence from alcohol.

So I'm up until 0600 this morn reading Dragonlance (yeah, once I started the series I just couldn't stop until it was done) and shuffle into the bedroom and kill the lights. The alarm goes off at 0930 and I hit the alarm. Second alarm goes off at 1030 so I reset it to 1100. Alarm goes off again and I roll into the bathroom.

So, as I'm starting my ablutionary regimen I'm mentally planning my pre-work morning. I am brushing my teeth while the shower comes up to the correct temp and making a post-shower checklist.

1. Put on a pot of coffee so I can have some coffee at work that isn't swill. I'm still going through the Kona coffee I brought back from Hawai'i.

2. Pack a lunch. Probably a sandwich, with some carrots and cherries for snacks.

3. Throw some rice cakes messbag to take into work to keep in my cubby for snacks.

4. Rummage through the bookcase for something decent to read during breaks.

5. Don't wear the uni as the Rents might be in town.

Hmm....now what did I forget? I really feel like I'm forge.....FUUUUUUCCKKK!! I'M FUCKING SUPPOSED TO BE IN AT 1130 AND IT HAS TO BE LIKE 1112 ALREADY! FUCKITY FUCK FUCK FUCK!

Into the shower I jump. Seven minutes later I'm leaving the house sans coffee or lunch. I chose my pair of pants because they were the pair that still had a belt in them. The shirt was the one in the front of the closet. Socks on top of drawer. Book ended up being another Dragonlance one. Shit.

Jump into drivers seat. Time check. 1121. Fuck. Ok, the second timeclock is 3 minutes slow, so if I catch all the lights and pay no attention to the safety of myself and others I will only be.....still. fucking. late. Still fucking late to my review. Great impression for the first review in the new department.

No parking in the covered deck, so I have to park on the top in the sun. Awesome. First person I see when I come in is my manager. Sweet. At least I don't smell like booze. "Sorry, forgot I was supposed to be in early," I say. "Don't worry, it's no big deal," she replies.

I clock in 1136 on the slow timeclock and drop my shit at my computer. I take the walk down L____ Lane for my review. The only category I do exceptionally well in is attendance and punctuality (heh). I've called in once in 7 years and this year I was only late once (and only by one minute, not that it matters because late is late). Today doesn't count as late because I wasn't "scheduled" to be in early. Whew!

Turns out my coworker was right and a good part of the interview is based on things out of my control. Eh, fuck it. I do alright overall with a 5.9 out of 7. I have yet to hear of anybody actually getting a 7 on their review. It is more likely to find a whole stadium full of polite New York baseball fans than to find somebody who got a 7. You could easier pass a temperance law in Las Vegas than get a 7.

Why a scale of 7, you ask? Why not 10? Here are a few of my favorite answers.

1. Our venerable founder once shoved 7 hotdogs up his nose.

2. Jesus farted exactly 7 times in his life. Not even he was perfect (he could not resist giving Mary Magdalene a "dutch oven").

3. Um......you know. Down there.

4. 7 angels can dance on the head of a pin.

5. Our venerable founder has 7 piercings.

6. What's in the box?

7. Then, shalt thou count to seven, no more, no less. Seven shalt be the number thou shalt count, and the number of the counting shall be Seven. Eight shalt thou not count, nor either count thou six, excepting that thou then proceed to seven. Nine is right out.

8. Well, I have six brothers so I need certain number of brides.

9. Just filling space to get to ten.

10. Cause metric is for douchetards.


Wow, I'm surprised at how many movie references ended up in there. Especially a movie from 28 years before I was born.

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Wednesday, June 13, 2007

Doug, this is for you....

From Overheard in the Office:

10AM Unless, of Course, You Don't Own a Dog


English teacher: Nice shirt.

Manager: Tell me about it... It's laundry day.

Italian teacher: Oh god, I hate laundry day. I always run out of underwear and have to wear nothing under my skirt. I'm terrified that the dog will stick his face up my vagina... You know, literally.

Manager: Yeah, I don't think there is a way to mean that in a non-literal sense.

434 Peixoto Gomide
São PauloBrazil

Overheard by: English Teacher #2


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In further relative-humor-of-movie-according-to-my-dumbass-coworkers news I was stuck in between three ladies arguing the merits of Soul Plane, Little Man, and You, Me, & Dupree. Apprently YM&D > LM > SP and the best compliment a comedy can receive is "that was stupid, yo." It is too bad this workstation cannot be replaced by a cube. On the plus side I do get to see some pretty interesting spellings and egregious crimes against grammar. Guess what this word is supposed to be: "cooprate". The answer will be at the bottom of the post.


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Congrats to MD for getting engaged a couple days ago. I'm sure you and CM (soon to be CD, I guess) will be very happy together. Once Owen fell to the clutches of matrimonial bliss (btw O, when can I expect news of a bundle of joy on its way? Your parents can't wait forever either) it was easy to pick you as the next victim. It has nothing to do with my fear of commitment or inability to form real emotional bonds that kept me out of the running. And Mark is still too involved in the white slave trade to take time out for a woman. Just staying a step ahead of Interpol is a full time endeavor.


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Corporate? NO!


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So I went out today to try and get a bike ride in (you know, the whole "don't be so fucking fat" thing again) and my front tire is flat. I go to the gas station to inflate the fucker, and after dropping a quarter in the machine it turns out the fucking tire is busted! I just wanted to maybe run over some stroller pushing bitches and now I can't! The damn inner tube is disconnected from the fucking valve. Well, it was almost time for my bike's annual checkup anyway. Bright side and all that shit.


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Cooperate? NO!


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I have to come in early tomorrow for my review. Since I didn't receive and exit review from my last position (one of the most admired companies does not equal one of the best run) it has come up early. One of my coworkers advised me that it would be the worst review I had ever received because it was based on metrics we couldn't control. I responded "I'm used to it. Fat people with glandular problems are used to be judged on things beyond our control. Like that ice cream tastes so fucking good and beer is the perfect beverage."

But really, my next raise is going to based in how my employees have performed. Many of said employees I have little or no contact with because we work different shifts. And I can't control if they do the right procedure while I'm sitting up in the District Office looking at a computer. Hell, I can't even officially discipline them, just advise that it takes place. The employees that I have the most interaction with do a pretty good job, but there are still bad apples. My AM counterpart is topped out so he doesn't really care about his review (he has been caught asleep at his desk a few times). Whatever, at least I'll get an hour of OT to come in for the review.


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The answer is culprit. Yeah, I know. She has three undergrad degrees and is working on her MBA. The only good thing is she took a leave of absence five years ago and that interrupts her continuous company service and makes her the only person in the department I get to bid ahead of for vacation.

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Friday, June 08, 2007

Outing the shout

Shout out to my boys Gnome and Kuro. Fuckers are in Vegas for the WSOP and the blogger gathering. Fuckers. Gnome, sorry to hear you busted out from the $1500 6-max (Event 12) without making the money. And to Kuro, go play some damn poker. Get that sand out of your vag and hit the tables.

Fuckers.

I'm not bitter or anything that I have to work and they get to have fun on vacation. I swear. Fuckers.

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If you prick me, do I not bleed (with a BAC of .17 or greater)?

Do I really come of that bad? Am I evil? Do I look like I don't respect basic human decency? I mean, it's not like I ever ran over an orphan in my SUV. I never called Mother Theresa a cunt (well, until now). Did I impugn Mom, Apple Pie, or the American Way?

So, this past Sunday it comes out that I participate in Project Overcoat. Da Bruiser is floored that I participate with a charity. What the fucking fuck? Yes, I don't like people. Yes, I hate the vast majority of the populace. Odds are I think you suck. If I have not been friendly to you I probably hate your fucking guts. If I don't already know you I probably want you dead.

But this doesn't mean I don't want to help others (this does not mean "disregard the I probably want you dead" thing, I'm just a wee bit fickle). Maybe I want to make them into people I'm not going to hate (forecast doesn't look good, but what the hell). Some people are put into untenable situations and I would like to help them out if I can. You know what? I can.

Every year when Project Overcoat comes around I participate. I help out with the March of Dimes. I do what I can with my local chapter of the MS Society. Every week I have money taken out of my check for the United Way (even more this year, even though I took a pay cut). It's not like I really give a lot, I just give what I can (again, I don't make dick so it's not that much). Hell, I don't even take the deduction on my taxes.

So, my sister has the same reaction as Da Bruiser and that drives me to post. It was her birthday yesterday (na-na, you over 30) so I went to hang out with her and our Moms (in town today) and she is amazed that I'm involved with charities. Really people, do I come off that bad? Sure, it took me two months after my sister moved to town to visit her, but at least I care about people I've never met (her dog is cool, but her cat has gotten fat as hell since we lived together).

Btw, I prefer strawberry rhubarb pie. Damn, that shit is good.

Oh, and the answer to "Am I evil?" is "Yes, I am."