Last Monday my boss and I had a Come-To-Jesus chat regarding my complete lack of enthusiasm for my current position. While I informed him my lack of passion did not hinder me from going through the motions (just ask my ex-girlfriend She Who Will Not Be Named), I did acknowledge that I was completely burnt out. Many factors led to my burnout; frequent late paychecks, a complete lack of any tangible project process (i.e. massive undertakings were given one line explanations like “Client Center back-end development: 36 hours”), lack of established deadlines and milestones (other than early 2008 or late 2008), non-payment of contractors/vendors and a general malaise regarding client/vendor relationships. I was issued an ultimatum to decide by that Friday whether or not I wanted to stay with the company. When Friday rolled around, I quit, packed up all my shit and went over to DJ’s house to get drunk and play poker (in a rare Ex-Data Slaughterhouse Employees Game victory, I took home $60). After a tumultuous career path over the past three years, I am finally growing some balls and committing full-time to Broz Design. I have already nabbed two and a half retainer clients (the other half happening once I get off my ass and draw up a contract) that will pay me more all while working less and living the pants-free dream. My pregnant wife is thankfully awesome and supportive of my pursuits and deserves a new Lexus once I start rolling in the dough. It is either that or we will be selling our unborn child on the Mexican black market to make ends meet. Wish me luck either way.
I heard back from both companies I interviewed with last week. Company #1, located in Downtown Denver, gave me the “I just want to be friends” routine via email. Classy move. Maybe you should hire my ex-girlfriend She Who Will Not Be Named, Company #1. Like you, she is a cold-hearted bitch with no regard for social etiquette and would thrive within your corporate culture. Company #2, located near the Governors Mansion, offered me the position and I turned it down. Sure, it would be nice to start working again and sock away my severance booty towards a Mexican holiday with the wife, but something told me to stay away from that place. Perhaps it was the HR lady wearing sneakers, the invasive personal questions regarding my values or the “We do not use Macs” line that turned me off. All I know is that I ignored my instincts far too long while languishing at the data slaughterhouse and I refuse to ever do that again. In more interesting news, a neighboring town home burned down a few days ago. It appears as if the firewall did its job and kept the whole unit from succumbing to the flames. Good times.
Sorry about the previous post. After reading it over again, I now realize how depressing it is. It is indicative of what a late hockey game, two Newcastles and an ex-girlfriend’s rambling, feeling-laden telephone tirade can do to a man at two o’clock in the morning. Even more depressing is the fact that I cannot alleviate the pain of our breakup by tossing a toaster into her bubble bath. Fucking government and their mandated circuit-breakers.
I am tired but I cannot sleep. I had a tough hockey game tonight and battled a large Indian that liked to slash the white man. I tallied a hat trick and dropped Tonto like a sack of dirt in the final seconds of the game and we won 6-5.
This was the highlight of my evening.
Earlier tonight, my ex-girlfriend She Who Will Not Be Named and I engaged in the timeless post-relationship shit exchange. On her way home from work, She Who Will Not Be Named stopped by to return a set of house keys, a DMX CD and two shirts. I gave her back her some hair scrunchies and a fucked-up new age book about spirit guides she wanted me to read that I never did.
As she left, we hugged and she cried (apparently I am dead inside as the scenario moved me very little). I reflected on the happy memories of us watching shows about serial killers, playing video games and getting lap dances at strip clubs. I also recalled how difficult it was to argue with her, how emotionally demanding she was and how she infuriated me when she shut down and let the relationship crumble. Still, I wish her the best.
That being said, if there are any hot women that are down for some drunken, non-committal sex, I am your man.
I am currently embroiled in severe relationship and emotional strife. She Who Will Not Be Named and I have hit the proverbial wall. I am hoping we will pull out of this tailspin get back to happily watching G-String Divas and eating ice cream out of the carton once again. One can only hope. If things do not work out, I will probably be spending my free time trembling, naked and curled up in the fetal position on the kitchen floor with an empty bottle of whiskey in my hands.
The 2002 World Cup has popularized women in Asian countries stylizing their pubic hair into Mohawks in honor of David Beckham. When traveling to Osaka, She Who Will Not Be Named brought me back some authentic Japanese smut. The Japanese ladies tend to be quite hirsute in their nether regions. I guess you are not hip over there unless it looks like you got a midget in a scissors lock.
I am living in the waning hours of my vacation and getting woozy from the giant swig of NyQuil I just took. The only good thing about having a cold is drinking all the delicious NyQuil. Last night, after whacking down some of the green goodness, I blacked out and came too sometime this morning in the exact position I fell asleep in. NyQuil also has my two favorite preservatives in it: propylene glycol and green #3.
I do not want to go back to work tomorrow. There are two things I learned during my time off:
- I would much rather be on vacation then work.
- The new He-Man on Cartoon Network kicks ass. Teela has been transformed into a cock-teasing whore in a cod piece.
My time off was productive. I completed a giant painting (three 4 foot by 2 foot canvases), re-caulked my shower, wasted many hours with She Who Will Not Be Named playing Dynasty Warriors 3, read The Jungle by Upton Sinclair and I took numerous power naps.
I am now prepared to trudge back into fluorescent-lit cubicle hell a weakened, husk of a man. In actuality, my job is great, I feel refreshed and I am grateful to have work in a down economy. I am just bitching because I will miss the time off watching He-Man cartoons.
Christmas was nice and fattening. Between an amazing all-you-can-eat buffet at the Adams Mark Hotel, heaping platefuls of homemade raviolis and more cookies than I can count, I estimate I gained seven pounds over the holiday. Luckily I have the metabolism of a 16 year-old girl on cocaine. I received some decent booty: assorted hats, fleece sweatshirts, books, video games and various kitchen appliances.
I am on vacation until January 6. Yesterday, I awoke at 11:00am and met She Who Will Not Be Named for lunch. I came home and caulked my shower, played video games for six hours, made some dinner and read for a few hours before going to sleep. Today I awoke at 10:30am, ate a bowl of Peanut Butter Crunch, watched Heathers on cable, played video games for three hours, went to Home Depot to buy a plant and touch-up paint, applied said touch-up paint to various areas of my town home and, finally, shaved for the first time this week.
My oven and microwave died over the holiday weekend. It was the original appliance that came with my town home (circa 1983; an era renowned for flip-clock displays and record players). On Friday night, She Who Will Not Be Named and I rented a movie, made a few rum and Cokes and threw a bag of popcorn in the microwave. After attempting to cook the bag of popcorn for half an hour, I concluded that the microwave no longer worked. Last night, after my hockey game, I came home to grill a steak and attempted to make a baked potato in the oven. The oven door got stuck and would not open. Tonight I am heading over to Sears to purchase a new oven-range combo. It will be refreshing to have appliances with digital displays and timers that I do not have to wind.
She Who Will Not Be Named and I had an extraordinary time in Vegas. Many seven and sevens were consumed, fake breasts were flaunted and I broke even thanks to a good night playing Let It Ride and having enough sense to walk away when I was up. Highlights from the trip:
- On Sunday night we ate Mexican food and gambled at Caesers Palace. The casino is a dump and most of the dealers are older than dirt, but I did win $100 playing blackjack. Caesers is building a gigantic stadium for Celine Dion modeled after the Roman Coliseum. According to my friend, “They paid that bitch millions of dollars to sing there.”
- Monday during the day, we relaxed by the pool drinking Pina Coladas and sleeping. At night, we attended the La Femme show at the MGM Grand after a gorge fest on king crab legs at the Rio’s all you can eat seafood buffet.
- Tuesday we went shopping at the Venetian and toured Madame Tussaud’s Wax Museum. We also hung out at the pool and took a great two-hour nap. That night, we had an excellent Italian dinner and went to the Spearmint Rhino.
- Yesterday, I turned 27. My parents and She Who Will Not Be Named took me out for a delicious steak and numerous 24-ounce micro-brews. It was a nice evening and thankfully I was not tuned up on amphetamines and cutting off my own penis.
One thing being on vacation taught me is that work sucks. I do not look forward to going back on Monday.