Back in the D for the week teaching rookies how to consult. The newbies are pretty quick to pick things up and eager beavers to get their first assignments. My memories of those times, the end of the salad days, are vague - nearly lost after about a million frequent flier miles and lots of shitty fried vittles.
Still, one can't help but get jazzed up about work when you're talking about it all the time. The war stories - both good and bad - are the most vivid memories. 'Member that time I flattened the tire of my Avis car while doing donuts in the middle of the icy street in Bartlesville? That was the same project on which Jake and I drank all the Diet Mountain Dew from all seven Coke machines in the building about three days after they were stocked. "Chip, I'm all jacked up on Mountain Dew." Those were both good times. Fuck you's to the grill from Mary in front of the training team qualifies as bad.
What doesn't kill you makes you stronger. I lived. Suck it, Mary.
Thank you eight pound six ounce newborn Baby Jesus.
20070306
At least I got the Singles
Someone needs to write to the American Heart Association, the Surgeon General and the Drug Enforcement Agency regarding the possibility of narcotics having been added to Kraft Singles. In case you were deprived as a child because your parents cared a lot about proper nutrition, Kraft Singles are delectable slices of processed cheese food trapped in a cellophane case of protection. Contrary to the branding scheme, they are not actually food; rather, they are slices of yellow crack.
A recent trip to Kroger (pronounced KRO-jzay for those of who aren't blessed) resulted in the acquisition of 16 slices of heaven. Numbers quickly dwindled upon arrival at the home base.
Forget Lay's. I challenge any lover of
20070303
Weekend of decadence leads to week of blah
I hate it when killer weekends give way to PITA weeks. Friday night Houstonist hosted the Light Rail Pub Crawl to celebrate Texas Independence Day. Saturday night was H-town's bachelor party at Lauberge du Lac casino. Sunday afternoon I shot my mouth off as the emcee for an ultimate tourney at Kick's Indoor. Monday was blah, and today I just about had an aneurysm.
SMC floated the idea for a light rail pub crawl past me years ago. I finally acted on the advice Friday. We had about 40 crawlers and roughly 10 staff ride the rails to bars and get a bit drizzunk. The night ended at Warren's with bourbons, drinking games, beer, chicks, slobbering, pizza and a ride home from El Boliviano.
I woke up way to early with a dehydration hangover and a Frank's Pizza tummy ache. I still had to pick up a pimp shirt from the cleaners, finish the road trip mix for the limo ride to Lake Chuck and grab a bite to eat to lay the base for more cocktails. Fortunately everything was finished in time to rush off and lose money.
Fast forwarding past losing one fifty (which would have bought at least 8 gallons of paint that I need to apply to the inside of the crib) to the end of the night brings us to the ride home. Eddie, the driver (not chauffering as none was done), was screaming back to Houston at 200 mph in a 12 foot stretch job containing six highly intoxicated individuals cackling like hyenas at Spies Like Us.
The car fire on I-10 brought that caravan to a screeching halt behind a convoy of parked cars. The traffic jam was horrible; I've seen more movement in glaciers. Seriously, who lights their car on fire on the highway? Didn't your folks teach you that you should only light things on fire in your own backyard or at someone's house after you have a disagreement with them about who's fondue is better?
The delay set us back by about an hour and afforded us the opportunity to squeeze in The Wedding Singer before we got home. El Boliviano didn't have time to stock the limo with water so I drank a Coke during the layover. That was a great choice. Drinking that Coke was like drinking OJ after tripping. I finally conked out at 6 AM.
AJ Mo Betta woke me up at the crack of Noon with a text message informing me that my bullshitting skills were required as early as 1:15 PM for the start of the 2nd Annual Houston Co-ed Indoor Ultimate tourney. I'd done this last year and had a blast calling the action and lighting up people on the field for bad outfits, crappy throws and pretty much anything else that I thought needed lambasting. Thus, I'd agreed to do it before I was fully aware of the hangover lag.
The tourney went well. SMC's team won just like the bookies thought. The MCing went well, but wasn't nearly as funny as last year. I went home and dined with Los Pedros before passing out which brings us to the current week of blah.
Monday was Monday, but not a super duper PITA Monday. It was just Monday, the day that everyone in a nine-to-five job hates because it means you have to go back to work and can't get a haircut at a real barbershop. Don't worry, Monday. I'm pushing for a four day work week to start on Tuesday so that she can feel some of your pain. You need a break today.
Ah, today is Tuesday. Work may have started yesterday but Tuesday is now the new Monday. I just figured out that my furnace was connected to the same breaker as the 220 wall socket that I disconnected, which means that I froze my ass off again last night. My hippo-pot-a-MOOSE has been lost somewhere in Africa since KLM lost the Dr. & Mrs. DFT's luggage.
And, the two ton cherry on top of this shit sundae was getting lit up on IM by our office manager for leaving meeting notes on a whiteboard for which I was not responsible. Yeah, I wrote them. But, the big boss was to have erased it. Instead he wrote "Do not erase. JB" Oh, yeah. It's semi-confidential stuff about a client who happens to be in the office today.
See what happens when you yell at me and I can't punch you in the mouth? I get pissed and have to vent which leads to me rambling and sounding like a whiny bitch.
Now REO Speedwagon is blasting "Keep on Loving You" on my iTunes. Great. I'm going to jump in front of a steamroller and hope that it's faster than the one in Austin Powers.
SMC floated the idea for a light rail pub crawl past me years ago. I finally acted on the advice Friday. We had about 40 crawlers and roughly 10 staff ride the rails to bars and get a bit drizzunk. The night ended at Warren's with bourbons, drinking games, beer, chicks, slobbering, pizza and a ride home from El Boliviano.
I woke up way to early with a dehydration hangover and a Frank's Pizza tummy ache. I still had to pick up a pimp shirt from the cleaners, finish the road trip mix for the limo ride to Lake Chuck and grab a bite to eat to lay the base for more cocktails. Fortunately everything was finished in time to rush off and lose money.
Fast forwarding past losing one fifty (which would have bought at least 8 gallons of paint that I need to apply to the inside of the crib) to the end of the night brings us to the ride home. Eddie, the driver (not chauffering as none was done), was screaming back to Houston at 200 mph in a 12 foot stretch job containing six highly intoxicated individuals cackling like hyenas at Spies Like Us.
The car fire on I-10 brought that caravan to a screeching halt behind a convoy of parked cars. The traffic jam was horrible; I've seen more movement in glaciers. Seriously, who lights their car on fire on the highway? Didn't your folks teach you that you should only light things on fire in your own backyard or at someone's house after you have a disagreement with them about who's fondue is better?
The delay set us back by about an hour and afforded us the opportunity to squeeze in The Wedding Singer before we got home. El Boliviano didn't have time to stock the limo with water so I drank a Coke during the layover. That was a great choice. Drinking that Coke was like drinking OJ after tripping. I finally conked out at 6 AM.
AJ Mo Betta woke me up at the crack of Noon with a text message informing me that my bullshitting skills were required as early as 1:15 PM for the start of the 2nd Annual Houston Co-ed Indoor Ultimate tourney. I'd done this last year and had a blast calling the action and lighting up people on the field for bad outfits, crappy throws and pretty much anything else that I thought needed lambasting. Thus, I'd agreed to do it before I was fully aware of the hangover lag.
The tourney went well. SMC's team won just like the bookies thought. The MCing went well, but wasn't nearly as funny as last year. I went home and dined with Los Pedros before passing out which brings us to the current week of blah.
Monday was Monday, but not a super duper PITA Monday. It was just Monday, the day that everyone in a nine-to-five job hates because it means you have to go back to work and can't get a haircut at a real barbershop. Don't worry, Monday. I'm pushing for a four day work week to start on Tuesday so that she can feel some of your pain. You need a break today.
Ah, today is Tuesday. Work may have started yesterday but Tuesday is now the new Monday. I just figured out that my furnace was connected to the same breaker as the 220 wall socket that I disconnected, which means that I froze my ass off again last night. My hippo-pot-a-MOOSE has been lost somewhere in Africa since KLM lost the Dr. & Mrs. DFT's luggage.
And, the two ton cherry on top of this shit sundae was getting lit up on IM by our office manager for leaving meeting notes on a whiteboard for which I was not responsible. Yeah, I wrote them. But, the big boss was to have erased it. Instead he wrote "Do not erase. JB" Oh, yeah. It's semi-confidential stuff about a client who happens to be in the office today.
See what happens when you yell at me and I can't punch you in the mouth? I get pissed and have to vent which leads to me rambling and sounding like a whiny bitch.
Now REO Speedwagon is blasting "Keep on Loving You" on my iTunes. Great. I'm going to jump in front of a steamroller and hope that it's faster than the one in Austin Powers.
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