The night life...that's the life for me...

After a less than eventful Saturday afternoon of actual work in the sun, I found myself heading off in search of air conditioning, dark lighting, and a cold beverage in front of a baseball game. What better place to find all 3 of these things at the same time, you ask? Why, of course, silly....a BAR! But, alas, my peace was shortlived as I soon realized I was sitting across the way from 2 of the most annoying people Ever. Seriously, ever. Here's a helpful hint for anyone that wants to go out on a Saturday afternoon and not be annoying. Don't sit at the bar and brag about your "business" or talk about all the influential "boys" you have all over the place. Chances are if your friends are that important and/or influential, you wouldn't refer to them as "my boy so and so (insert stupid ass nickname here)." You fucking dolt. I didn't think I would even be able to finish my first beer; they made me that sick to my stomach. It was like a pissing contest of losers. But, since I'm no quitter, I stuck it out and they all eventually packed up and left. Thank God. 3 big beers later, and I headed out to meet my dad for his birthday dinner. Hey, at least I didn't get smashed and go!

After we had a very pleasant and comical dinner, I decided to make a trek an hour or so up the road to see my best friend and some other people for another birthday celebration. At the point of my arrival, it was 8:00. This is usually the time I'm either a) winding down for the night, or b) drunk to the point of not wanting to do anything. I'm an early riser and therefore my day starts a lot earlier than most. The people that start earlier than me? I think they call them unemployed and/or homeless. Or, in the case of my grandfather, retired. Anyway.....I roll in to his house and find him and his new bride watching a movie and getting ready to eat dinner. Enjoying my new role as Show Up Out Of the Blue and Demand Entertainment Friend, I provoke them to go out with me to meet everyone else. By 9:15, we were on the way downtown listening to the worst music ever drowned out only by The Loudest Talking Girl I've Ever Met. I had a headache within 10 minutes of meeting her. 10:30 rolls around to find us walking to yet another bar to see Jimmie's Chicken Shack (yes, the 90s band). They put on a hell of a show and it was really a good time. We're making laps back and forth to the bar and I'm chatting with an interesting girl inbetween making fun of people with my friend and the next thing I know, they flip the lights on. 2:30...and we didn't have to go home, but we had to get out of there. Fast forward to walking all the way back to the car to try to find someone to drive home and with it being too late to stop and buy beer, we're forced to go back to my friend's place and raid his fridge. We stayed up and talked and laughed and told stupid stories and played the stereo too loudly and when I heard the first birds of the morning start chirping, I politely informed them that I was going the hell to bed. 5:15 am is late enough for me. Of course, then morning J. kicked in and I was up at 8:30 and pacing the apartment wondering when they were going to get up and fix breakfast. By 10:30, I was back on the road to my house and ready to get on with the day. But, by Sunday evening....I. Felt. Old. I mean, drained, man.....

The moral of this story? Apparently if I'm going to go out and live it up on the weekends and experience how "normal" people go out and do things, I'm gonna have to get a job on the graveyard shift......

partly sunny with a chance of beer....

You know that Seinfeld episode where George equates sitting in his boxers and eating a block of cheese as big as his head with the pinnacle of single life? Yeah, um, apparently I'm now Costanza. I woke up this morning on my couch to the old Star Trek theme music blasting from the television and saw a block of cheese on the end table. Fuck me. I believe my internal monologue went something like this: Jesus. Christ. It's. 5. a. m. I. Have. To. gotoworknow! Ah, Shatner, you acting genius.

Yesterday, you see, was one of those days where the evening was just perfect...not too hot, breezy, and Thursday. I was sitting on the porch having a beverage or 12 text messaging with my long distance friend and lost track of time. The next thing I knew it was 10:00 and I was looking for something to have for dinner. Well, in my fridge right now there are condiments and beer and a bottle of wine. Oh, and obviously, a block of cheese. I gotta go to the store tonight.

Earlier in the evening, the ex stopped by to "pick something up" which oddly she neglected to take with her. Instead, I was subjected to an hour or so of inane ramblings about Things I Could Give a Shit About. Looking back, this probably led to me being stuck drunk and without dinner. But, I digress. I'm all about being friends, being nice, being whatever...but I don't want to hang out. Really. Sometimes I wish it were all business and she hated me. I wonder if it wouldn't be easier....well, at least for me. And that's all we're really concerned with anyway.



In conclusion, I'm now George Costanza. Let My Summer commence!

If this is reality, I'm revoking my subscription

I'm laying on the couch last night trying to coax as much air as I can from the ceiling fan and the a/c and come across a reality show on the television. I don't watch reality shows. Period. I don't care what the premise is. It could be a show about me getting to beat the hell out of all the annoying people that sign up for them and I still wouldn't watch it....although I would gladly participate. Anyway....America's Got Talent was on. If that's talent, holy shit, we're screwed. And no wonder people hate us. Hell, I hate us. There was a man dressed as Shakira, a skinny gender non-descript boy that flailed about and called it dancing and a hot girl that was a ventriloquist. Guess which one didn't make the cut for the next show? Yeah, the hot girl. Hoff or no Hoff, they just lost one more viewer. I mean, seriously, what in the hell is wrong with people that Man-kira has more "talent" than the hot chick? At least she was pleasing to look at. I doubt even a blind gay man/transsexual/desperate housewife with odd fetishes found Man-kira appealing. Christ.

Next up was some show with a title so ultimately crappy that I can't even remember it. But, it starred Joey Fat-One of NSync "fame." The point of this show was to sing the correct lyrics to a song that the "band" would start and then quit, leaving the contestant to finish it. Hey, it's a good concept. I used to like Name That Tune as a kid. To be little, I knew and learned a lot of music from that show. Yeah, I'm a dork from way back. If that tidbit excited you, feel free to email me. I'll clear my inbox now. Oh, back to the show. They're going through these songs and I'm a lyric geek, so I knew most of them. At the end, however, I was appalled at the winner who had to finish 5 songs for $50,000. 50. Thousand. Dollars. 50. 5 fucking 0. Yeah, he did it, but one of them was "Do You Love Me." Whatever. Even people that don't listen to the radio have been inundated with that song through Dirty Dancing and commercials and everything. It's hardly worth 50 thou. So, in my disgust at being smarter than him and still broke as all hell, I flipped back over to watch some stand-up comedy, because watching a fat guy make fun of himself is REAL talent, bitches.

And, thus ends my foray into network/reality television. I think I'll stick with Andy Griffith reruns from now on.

Home, home on the range

So I go over to my friend's house Friday after work to help him babysit (i.e., drink his beer) because hey, it's Friday and I don't have a damn thing else to do. He was on "vacation" all week. Let me detail this and then I think you'll see why I would rather work (and he would too, apparently). His week entailed a delivery of 2 tons of landscaping gravel, digging out drainage ditches from his gutters (that should've already been done) and various other miscellaneous homeowner duties. Add to the equation the fact that he was babysitting his two kids for the last 2 days and you have a recipe for insanity. His and mine. And, this funk that I'm suffering from that makes me feel like I constantly have my head submerged in a pool? Yeah, I'm pretty sure I caught it over there last weekend. His house is a $500K house. And it's not that old. You'd think it wouldn't need landscaping already, a new roof, or drainage put in. And you'd be wrong. And I'd be livid. I'm 3 weeks from getting the hell out of Americana and home ownership and all the middle class, Pink Houses bullshit and I can't wait. If this is being a "grown-up" then I want no part of it. At all. None. And, you know what? I don't even want to hear about yours because it just makes me tired. Although I can go home and crash on my couch in my absolutely spotless and quiet living room and enjoy the evening in peace, so maybe it does help foster an appreciation of the simpler, finer things in life. Who knows? Whatever. Anyway, he comes over Saturday to help me haul big trash items from my house to the landfill because I don't have a truck anymore. It's 85 degrees at 9:00 a.m. I can't hear myself think. Swallowing sounds like an explosion in my head. And if I move any faster than a snail on pot, I get sick. He then says, "if you get bored later, ride on over. If you help me spread some gravel, I'll make you dinner." As much as I didn't want a frozen pizza or a salad Saturday, somehow I managed to pass. Instead, I chose to spend the day high on Benadryl and watching the worst movies ever on the Sci-Fi Channel: Movies You Can Pass Out To! Needless to say, there was no physical labor in this boy's weekend. Although I did manage to pack some stuff up in the kitchen that I'm sure I'll never use again. That turkey roasting pan? Like I'm ever cooking a big bird again....well, maybe next 4th of July.

Every day is the first day....

Ok, I said I wasn't going to talk about work, but damn. I can't help it. There's this punk working here that can barely string a coherent sentence together, but then when he tries to do math or sort more than one order at a time to put on the printing press, it totally fries him out. And then you have to take him by the hand and literally put his hand on each plate for each run. I have never in my life seen a 20 something person so retarded. I'm waiting to have to spoon feed him his lunch one day. Ah, the corporate world. I seriously feel myself getting dumber some days around these idiots.

Speaking of Imbeciles On Parade, next week is the local Lawn Party/Carnival...it's a small town occurence all over the place around here every summer with rides and games and whatnot, but man does it bring the freaks out from under their rocks. People that haven't been to town in a year come out and it really is a sight to see. And, the food kicks ass. I used to be a carnie once upon a time (and stop picturing Joe Dirt....although I knew guys that looked like that) and the best part was the eating! Well, that and being able to work while you were drinking.....

Also in the works is a trip to Baltimore to see the Orioles and the Yanks play. Normally I wouldn't go because I don't like either of them, but, you see, a girl invited me. A girl. Getting tickets all on her own and fired up to go...invited ME. So, um, yeah...I can't turn that shit down. I mean, I don't know any girls that will watch baseball on television...much less drive 2 hours to see a game live and then want to go out to bars that night. I'm in HEAVEN. I can't wait til college football starts up. Hopefully most of my Saturdays will be booked. It's been a long time since I could say that I was looking forward to spending the weekend in front of the tv with a girl. ha! But, that's very far in the future at this point and I don't want to make plans nor do I want to get excited about something like that. But, we are both English majors and have a lot in common. See? There I go again. The next thing you know, I'll be planning the next year around her and will be screwed again. And not in a good way. Easy, boy. Easy.

In the meantime, however, I have to start packing my house up as it's supposed to be sold on August 1st. This is a scary thought. Not so much getting rid of the house because I never really liked it anyway, but the whole starting over thing again. Scarier yet is that I have no idea where I'm going after it's sold. Luckily, I can crash at my dad's for a month til I find a place. How sickening is that, though? 33 years old and moving home again. But, hey, the food's good and it's free, so it can't be all bad. And, it's only for a month, so I can hang in there that long. Or, rather, he can tolerate me for that long. Now I just need to get up off of my ass and start packing stuff and taking trash away so I don't look like my neighbors, the Beverley Hillbillies. I grew up in the country, but man am I sick of these backwoods bastards. Being from the country is one thing, but being ignorant is a whole other ball of wax, ear wax that is...(cue BH theme music here).

If I soon don't get over this sinus thingummy I have going on this week, they're going to find me with my ears cut off like Van Gogh trying to release the pressure in my head.

The 4th and all that jazz.....

Somewhere along the line, it's gotten to be July. Specifically, the 4th of July (well, it WILL be). You know, the big holiday where people pile the whole damn family into a mini van and head out for overpriced vacations on overcrowded beaches and just pray the whole time for sanity enough not to choke the life out of either a) the people with them or b) the people around them. The holiday where the rest of us who can't afford a big trip or would rather take a vacation when the rest of the world is at home rather than where we're going drink too much beer and get too much sun and grill something. Chicken, shrimp, hot dogs, hamburgers, pork, small rodents, it doesn't matter as long as the grill is going. In celebration of this great American Tradition, my father has decided that he's having turkey and such tomorrow because "hey, turkeys were on sale and I got one." Nice, pop. It's like Thanksgiving in the fucking summertime. So now not only will I be sitting in an un-airconditioned upstairs kitchen where more than 2 beers is not allowed, but the oven will be on. Color me excited. No really. Color me something because I'm pretty sure that between it being 100 degrees in there and me sweating out tonight's alcohol, I'm going to be the color of a very hot, sweaty ghost. There may be a fireworks show in his town, though, after dark and those are always fun because there's a chance you'll hear someone scream when a still smoldering rocket plummets into their skull. Ah, small town life. So, in celebration of all those men and women who fought and are fighting for freedom all over the world, go drink some beer, grill some meat, and light some things on fire!

I liked you better when you were drinking....

Yes, that title applies to a lot of people I know, but today I'm using it to refer to Robin Williams. Apparently Robin has had his issues with drugs and alcohol and has recently straightened himself out. Well, that's all fine and dandy for his family and friends, but what about the rest of us? Just because he's sober now and a "family man," why does that mean that I have to suffer through the slew of horribly craptacular films he keeps putting out there. I mean, seriously. Robin, I'm glad you wanted to turn your life around. But, why punish me? You weren't bitch slapping me and cussing at me and running around on me. And, you didn't ask my opinion. So, buddy, get a little coke and have a drink because I do miss you acting like a total nut-job all the time. And, if your wife gets mad again, send her my way and we'll spend your money for you.

Sincerely,

J.