Ryebread

San Francisco and Why I'm Still Alive

2005-07-05T15:12:00.000-05:00

The long weekend afforded me the opportunity to take Lindsey to see what is most definitely my favorite spot in the entire world - San Francisco. I love the atmosphere, the people, even the uncharacteristic and unpredictable weather. Sharing the experience of running from a half-crazed homeless vagrant is something that I will remember forever. It was a great weekend that ended far too quickly.

I am now back in my cell wasting away the hours pretending like I do real 'work.' I realized today that even the people I work for don't expect much from me other than a few hours of Excel data entry and some chauffeuring. This job could probably kill me and it is likely doing permanent and detrimental damage to my mind. I do, however, now have a drive... a motivator that I did not have before. I must get out of the Midwest and move to the west coast, to California. I will do everything in my power to find a job or school out there that will take me after graduation. I miss it already and it's the only thing really keeping me going. Otherwise all I have to look at is my large credit card debt and this sucktacular job that drains me day in and day out.

Out west there is the calling of $2 Fat Tire drafts.... Mmmmmmm....

Why I'm dying little by little each and every day...

2005-06-20T07:12:00.000-05:00

Every morning I somehow manage to wake myself up enough to drive an hour and fifteen minutes to Indianapolis where I then sit for 9 hours pretending like I do "real" work. After an internal battle with myself every day about what is an appropriate time to leave (I think taking off as early as 2pm should still count as a full day), I then drive another hour and fifteen minutes home. Once home I generally sit and veg for a couple of hours before I pass out and sleep until I have to go through the whole routine again.

I could probably handle this schedule if it weren't for a couple issues. It is most difficult to cope with the fact that I am doing absolutely nothing with my life during the 9 hours that I'm at work. Even if I was doing something for this company I still wouldn't be doing anything meaningful. We make gas stations - who can find a passion for this? I'm no civil, but I can at least understand a certain attraction to designing a bridge or a skyscraper. But a fucking gas station? The hardest decision is where to put the condoms... the bathroom or out by the potato chips? What's even worse is that there is a standard for this stuff anyway. My group doesn't even do design work, they pass it off to other people (and they get paid less). No, instead we project manage - make sure all the work gets done on time. FUCKING BLOW ME. How is this supposed to keep me awake when all I got was 5 hours of sleep and had to drive over an hour to get here and you make me sit on my ass in my cubicle and NOT play freecell or use photoshop.

Along the same lines is how I feel so different than the people I work with. Somehow they manage to come in every day and treat their job like its the most important task on the planet. Somehow if they don't get gas station XXX done then the pope will send all the good people to hell and Bush will find a way to get a third term in office. How are these people in such good spirits and what's wrong with me that I have no appreciation for this job?

To answer this question I have started to re-read The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand. If anyone else has read this then you know why. This book makes you feel like there is something important and special to be done that no one else can understand unless they realize how feeble and simple they are. I want to design and to create, to dream, but not about gas stations and not about pipelines. I can't sell out to some company for a paycheck if I'm not doing something amazing that I can be proud of. A heap of shit that leaks pollutants into the ground while making fat rich men fatter and richer is not my idea of a dream. I really want to quit...

And I swear to god that if they take my stapler I'm going to burn the fucking building down.

Getting in Trouble - Part II

2005-06-15T10:53:00.000-05:00

Not only did I have to go throw the IT lady chastising me for installing "illegal" software, but I also got called into my boss's office this morning. I thought something weird was up when I got a phone call from him since his office is literally 10 feet away and the effort it takes to get up and come over here is less than the amount required to yell "whip em out" at the local high school cheerleading squad.

I walk into his office, sit down, and he closes the door. Now I'm thinking I'm either going to get all Michael Jackson'd by this guy or he's gonna yell at me for messing with the computers. Thankfully, he didn't pull out a rhinestone glove and some lube, but he did tell me that it was a huge error in judgment on my part for trying to install illegal software on my computer. While I did install Freecell, I never actually played it, but he made this the center of his attack. He asked if I had enough work to do (I have plenty). Then he told me that if I were a full time employee I would likely be getting fired, but since I'm just a co-op it can be overlooked. I don't understand this logic, but I won't argue with it. I need the money and can't really afford to get ousted, even if I don't like the job all that much.

Regardless, I'm now sitting at my non-photoshop, non-freecell computer, but I did get my earlier problem fixed so that I can look at CAD drawings. That's almost as good, right? RIGHT?

Getting in Trouble

2005-06-14T12:32:00.000-05:00

A couple of weeks ago I used some tricks (thank you, Mr. McNasty) that let me get administrative access to my work computer. This let me install cool stuff like iPod Rip, Adobe Photoshop, AIM, FreeCell, and a few other programs that I wouldn't normally get to use here at work. Today I went to install this program that I actually do need for work, but it's only available online through our online product catalog (it's retarded). For whatever reason it refused to work with my computer so I called our help desk to get the problem resolved.

Now, my computer has been a little janky ever since it first got set up. I haven't had access to network drives, certain parts of my group's file systems, and none of my settings ever get saved. Generally, this doesn't matter, but it's a little annoying. But most importantly, it's been doing this for 3 weeks now and nothing that I had done to my computer affected its retarded behavior.

Well, the IT lady that came to fix my computer today noticed that I had a few programs installed that she hadn't personally authorized. So she turns around and looks at me. She goes "how'd these get installed?" And I smiled because I knew I was caught. But then I told her how cool I was for wiping out the administrative passwords and getting in so I could set a background picture and listen to music instead of being forced to do nothing all day. She tells me how that's against "company policy" and that she has to re-image my computer because I messed it all up.

I hope she chokes on her own menstrual blood.

Books That Suck

2005-06-14T07:37:00.000-05:00

As some of you may know, I rather enjoy reading... for pleasure. No, not just browsing through the latest Playboy or looking at Monhaut's copy of Stuff, but actually sitting down and flipping through the pages of some interesting story about absurd characters and crazy plots. Usually this is a rewarding experience - I get to expand my mind and look smart because I can read. Lately, though, I have been picking probably the worst books in existence to read. Last winter I read Sahara by Clive Custler. The book SUCKED, but it was turned into a movie (which didn't suck). The book lacked any amount of character development and had the most insane and jumbled plot I've ever seen. BUT, it made for an excellent movie, which is what I'm guessing the author had in mind since the book had no other redeeming qualities.

Similarly, the book I'm reading now, Digital Fortress by Dan Brown (author of The DaVinci Code), SUCKS. The character development didn't happen, the story is extremely movie-esque, and I don't even care what happens because it's been set up so poorly. This would be a good one for TBS to pick up as a "network original feature." Little else could really come from it, and I assume that The DaVinci Code is probably just as bad. What makes this worse is that people tout these books like they're genius when really they just blow. Maybe I should go read the Bible... at least then I'd get to think about killing and rape and multiple wives and stuff.

Darth Vader Has Messy Poop

2005-06-13T09:44:00.000-05:00

To stay awake on the morning commute I will usually either bring a bottle of cold, refreshing water, or stop off at Starbucks for some wake-me-up latte. If I go the water route, I'll hit up the super sexy mocha machine in our breakroom when I get to work. After I down all these fluids my super small bladder gets full and makes me run to the bathroom. This allows for a total of about half an hour that I don't actually have to be sitting in my office working. This morning was no exception, except that usually the bathroom is void of people when I go in there.

An empty bathroom is a pleasant thing. You can start unzipping as soon as you walk in the door, fart, or adjust your package in the mirror without upsetting anyone else. You can pick your nose, stand 5 feet back from the urinal and sing... and no one will make fun of you later to other co-workers. BUT when you walk into the bathroom and either see someone at the sink, standing in front of the urinal, or behind a locked stall door you know that you have to be quiet as a mouse so as to not disturb the others' bathroom experience.

This morning when I walked into the bathroom I was faced with the very ominous locked stall door. The way the bathroom is set up I had no idea who was behind said door, but I had a pretty good idea from his mannerisms. While I was standing waiting to unleash into the urinal, I noticed that the guy behind door #1 was breathing rather heavily. No, not quite... he was heaving as if his lungs couldn't suck up enough oxygen to sustain life. He was breathing for at least 2 other people while they suffocated from his poop stench. It sounded like Darth Vader was fighting the worst constipation pains ever suffered by anything human, robot, or jedi. But then, after all the straining, I heard the sweet relief that could only be felt by someone that had just unloaded 10 lbs of excess weight. It sounded, however, like he was sneezing all 10 lbs out of his ass. It went "pfffzzzzz plop plop... pfffszzzzzzz!" I started to giggle, which apparently threw him off because the heavy Darth Vader breathing started again. I could tell his whole game was thrown off just by me being in there. He wanted to poop loud and unrestrained, but the aforementioned 'noise' rules applied. His intergalactic shit was louder than hell and could probably be heard down the hallway.

So I stayed in there for an extra couple of minutes, adjusting my pants and shirt, smoothing out my hair, and playing with myself a little. The smell finally hit me and made me leave, but at least I did so with the satisfaction that I ruined someone's morning. I should have left the water running so he wouldn't have known if I'd left or not.

More Anal Adventures

2005-06-10T08:52:00.000-05:00

Yesterday we got a pool for the Taj. A gigantic, blue kiddy pool, complete with 5 foot ladder and filter pump. This thing is big enough to bathe an elephant and will likely be used for such a purpose sometime this summer. I have never seen a more elegant piece in any Hautian backyard and I think we are better people because of it.

We bought the pool off of one of my roommate's bosses for $30 (retails for $160 at sam's club... deal of the century). When I got home yesterday it felt like Christmas morning... for like a poor black kid... like I was finally going to get presents from my crackwhore mom and my drunkass dad (who doesn't even think I'm his) is going to pay attention to me for once this year. I was so excited that I literally started jumping up and down trying to get everyone going so we could put the thing together. Of course we had to do this while drinking beer.

Alcohol is a funny thing. It usually empowers you and makes your mind work overtime trying to come up with creative ways to solve difficult problems. For us, the problem was filling our super huge pool with water. We have a low-flow hose that's good enough to wash out our puke bucket, but little else. Our neighbors, however, have a nice, new hose with great water pressure. A quick hop over the fence and a dart around the house to unhook the hose and she was cranking out a constant stream into our love lagoon... er, pool. It was still obviously going to take HOURS before it was full, so we left the pool to play with our friends at the bars.

After getting pissed at one bar for not having free food we found ourselves at another. These four girls walked in, apparently celebrating someone's birthday or something... who cares, really. Well, I turned around to them and waited for eye contact. As soon as I had it I blurted out "girls, we have a poooool!" They looked at me, got scared, and sat on the opposite side of the bar. So I did what any obviously shot down guy would do, I bought them Jager shots and told them that if they did them off of each other's stomachs I would let them clean up in my pool. Apparently just having a pool isn't enough to get girls to do something. I either should have told them it was a hot tub or slapped them in the face with my penis.

I was drunk, they were uninterested, we left. Once home I remembered that I had to return the hose to the neighbor's so they wouldn't find out that we had stolen roughly 8,000 gallons of water from them. I had been jumping over the fence between our houses earlier and assumed that I could do it again. I didn't remember from Health class that drinking severely impairs cognitive, motor, and reasoning skills. It also makes you a clumsy dumbfuck. So while trying to balance on the incredibly unstable chainlink fence, my foot slipped and I went falling ass first onto the painful shards of twisted and rusty metal shooting straight up. I fell, tumbled, and landed in the neighbor's yard. I lied there assuming that I was lying in a pool of blood from my ass and my thigh. I would have just gone to sleep right there (it was about that time in the drunk cycle), but the encouraging shouts from my roommates got me up and on to replacing the hose.

Fast forward to this morning and I remember that I have to put the hose back (I can't remember ANYTHING about what I do when I'm drunk so I completely forgot that I had already taken care of it last night). So I get up and go to the bathroom for my morning poop. I sit down and 'OW' eeps out of my mouth. I think it's an ass pimple but upon inspection its really a 2 foot welt going from the middle of my right ass cheek to my thigh. Looking in the mirror all I can see is red and scratch marks. JESUS. I go back to my room and see that theres a big spot on my sheets where I was bleeding all night. JESUS. Then I remember what happened and that I lost one of my sandals. So instead of going back out to put the hose away I had to go sandal hunting. It was under someone's car, thank you flashlight and Scruff McGruff investigating techniques.

Now I'm sitting here in my office leaning to one side of the chair because it hurts to sit on the welt. I told the girl at Starbucks this morning my story and I think she was shocked that I was saying 'ass' in her store. I guess it's not the Starbucks way.

Sex and The Office

2005-06-09T11:16:00.000-05:00

Just curious... but has anyone done it? I'm gonna need to see some hands, people.

Atomic Poop

2005-06-09T07:56:00.000-05:00

So I'm really not sure what's wrong with me, but I know it's something bad. No, it's worse than bad, it's goddamn awful. There is little doubt in my mind that I have contracted some mutated strain of killer Central African mosquito virus. It's like West Nile for my colon. The symptoms, however, are far worse than any ordinary fever.

I first noticed something was wrong last night when my ass kept itching. Not my ass cheeks, mind you, rather the magnificent brown hole, itself, kept grabbing my attention. It was like something was trying to tickle me from the inside out... of my ass. Being a man, I chose to ignore the urge to rub my sore little asshole... no, no amount of pain or torture could get me to peruse down in those nether-regions. That's what I thought, anyway.

This morning I woke up with the same sort of itching... just dying for me to scratch... to stink up my hand. Once again, my manhood came through for me and I chose to go running instead. What I didn't know was the trap that my body had laid out for me in the middle of my run. I was going along, pissed off that it was 5am and I was the only person awake that wasn't drunk and running from the cops. I was running past one of the many abandoned houses in Terre Haute when what can only be described as pure horror descended upon my body. My entire stomach and intestines seemed to twist inside of me. With each little jog of my body I was literally playing with my own fate. At any moment the up-and-down motion of my run could set me off to explode straight into my pants. There was a quivering and I immediately stopped.

I stood there, roughly half a mile from home, wondering what to do. I had two options - run like hell, tempting fate the entire way, or find a conveniently placed bush with which I could expunge the black sludge that was trying to trickle out of my ass. Fearing that it would land on the back of my legs and smell for the rest of the day, I chose plan A. I darted off in the direction of home... up a hill, down the street... over the broken pieces of sidewalk and past the friendly hobo that lives at the church's 24 hour prayer door where he hands out hand jobs like pieces of candy on Halloween. No time for that today, Mr. Hobo... I've got an emergency. I actually contemplated defecating in his house, but realized that I didn't need a dirty homeless guy and God pissed at me.

I could see the house getting closer, only half a block away. I darted over a semi-shrub that lives in the sidewalk and ran through a crater next to the abandoned house. Around the fence and up our porch steps. Here I had to slow down and use every bit of energy to keep those puppies clenched. How would I explain to our neighbors upstairs the large and foul smelling pile of crap that appeared next to their door? Actually, it would be pretty funny to poop in their mailbox and watch them reach down to get the mail and instead come back with a handful of Ryan poop... but I digress...

So I did the "I gotta shit" waddle into the house, half breathless and mostly sweaty. I waddled my ass straight to the toilet with just enough time to get my pants down half way... (I'm pretty sure that had they not been draw string basketball shorts I would have pooped myself. And while I am not a novice in the pooping oneself area, it still would have sucked.... balls)

What exploded from my ass was a greater victory than the US over the Japanese at Hiroshima. It was for me a more glorious event and probably would have killed just as many Asians. I could feel my muscles relaxing and my breathing slowed. Then I had to deal with the ungodly awful smell, but anything was better than pooping on myself with runny, black poo goo.

comments? anyone?

Distractions

2005-06-06T11:06:00.000-05:00

If you have ever worked in an office you already know how easy it is to get bored. There is virtually no escaping the overwhelming urge to take a nap right at your desk or to take 30 minute bathroom breaks. Fear not, friends, for there are many ways to keep yourself entertained that require almost no money and only a little resourcefulness on your part.

Office decorations: For the most part, when you move into a new cubicle or office you will notice that everything is cookie cutter boring and very neutral colored. This is the perfect atmosphere that corporations want to provide for their employees in order to turn them into mindless work drones. A good defensive to this is to decorate your office. Now, my personal favorite is to bring in a can of paint and a roller and go to town on the walls. This would likely work better in an actual office, but I guarantee it'd be funnier in a cubicle. If you fear reprimand from such an action then may I suggest another option. If you have ever entered your supply cabinet you will notice that there are a copious amount of goodies, and most importantly, Post-It Notes. Should you ever want to change your office color, grab a handful of the little pads and go to town. If your boss or co-worker happens to ask what the hell you are doing, just tell them that it keeps them handier so you don't have to go looking for them in your drawer. Or, if you're really worried, you can write your name on each one of them and just tell onlookers that you're labeling your stuff.

Which brings me to my next suggestion...

Stealing: Or rather, misrepresenting. My first idea to end office boredom was to go around to all of my co-workers cubicles and offices late at night and grab a handful of family photos off of their desks and put them on mine. The next day they would all come over and I would stare at them blankly like I didn't know what was going on. This, while funny, points an immediate finger at you as the culprit and is thus no good if you are afraid of getting into trouble. An easy solution is to switch all of your co-workers photos with their neighbors and bosses and janitors and whatnot. Throw in one of your own just so you can be part of the mixup. It'll easily take a good hour off of the day.

You can play a similar game with people's lunches. Go into the breakroom and start taking items out of various people's lunch bags. Then put them back in the bags randomly so people get all kinds of crazy food. You'll laugh when you see Manuel, the crazy Hispanic, choke down some of Icqbad's disgusting tofu while Mary is passing out from Manuel's own special hot sauce. Plus, if you see anything particularly delightful, you can eat that yourself without anyone putting the blame on you.

Fun with E-mail: A staple office novelty - the electronic mail message. You'll notice that quite frequently the more important, or rather... FULL-TIME, employees get up from their desks more often to go do important FULL-TIME stuff. Well, to get back at them for thinking they are so important you can easily send out fake e-mail signed by them. Just wait for Kathy, ADV HUMAN RESOURCES REPRESENTATIVE, to get up for one of her many important business meetings where she likely sits there looking important while other people discuss business. Run over to her computer and fire off a quick couple of e-mails to some of her contacts. Make it casual... something about lunch maybe or how their kids are doing... or about that gangbang they had scheduled for later in the day.*** Then run back to your desk and watch the fun unfold as Kathy checks her e-mails later on... and likely some voicemails too. She' probably stomp around demanding to know who was on her computer, but no one will believe her because she's a slut and they like going to the gangbangs.

***Using Outlook, you can also schedule people for random meetings with high level company officials. Always a good idea if you really don't like the person and want to get her both high-level attention and embarassment. Laugh at her when she poops herself, then offer to clean up because you're a good intern.

Timing: You've probably noticed that no one (like your boss) will talk to you for about a half hour until after work starts or a half hour before it ends. There's also about a 2 hour break in the middle of the day where you won't get any phone calls OR visits from co-workers. These are all good times to not be in the office, because no one will notice and you will be that much happier with your life. If you're afraid that people will notice, then you can alter this plan in a couple very successful ways. Instead of leaving altogether, you can go visit one of the actual cool people that work with you during this time (like before lunch). Then, after lunch you can go visit the only other cool person. Usually its acceptable for little visits like these, but it starts to get noticeable if you keep visiting the same person over and over again. Much like a cop, you've got to 'walk a beat' so you aren't talking to the same person over and over again. It'll keep everyone on their toes and use up some much needed time before you can go home and try to remember what keeps the gun out of your mouth and your finger off of the trigger.

Pranks: While some of the previous suggested office distractions may be considered office pranks, they are most definitely NOT. A good office prank requires that someone either become violently ill to the point where they have to leave work in an ambulance or where everyone in the office knows about the prank except the victim so that you can attain maximum embarassment. Some good office pranks are depantsing an unfavored co-worker and then shoving him into a crowded elevator, rubbing poison ivy leaves on the rolls of toilet paper in the bathroom, stealing the power cord to everyone's computer (most won't be able to figure it out), and pulling the fire alarm in the middle of a level 9 wind storm.

*Note, this is not a comprehensive list and will likely be added to over the course of the summer.

The Indy Chronicles

2005-06-06T09:25:00.000-05:00

Another year of school gone by, another summer spent in an office. This time, though, things are much different. When I use the term 'office' I will no longer be referring to the chronic headache and embarassment that was Marathon Ashland of Findlay, OH. Nor am I confined to a cubicle with less room than the traditional port-o-pot. Gone are the days wondering if the guy I'm peeing next to is looking at my package because we're both standing 5 feet away from the wall and are overly nervous of some splashback hitting our pants. And probably most important, I don't have to hide from my boss because of our mutual hatred of one another.

No, now I am working in Indianapolis... there's a Chipotle less than a mile down the street and I have an office with not one, but TWO windows. I hope that in my boredom I will come to treat you all with some excellent tales of what I see here in Indy. We can only assume that my life, in all of its ridiculousness, is enough to entertain all those other unfortunate office slaves.

Mao

2004-12-07T13:14:00.000-05:00

We got Mao about a month ago. He's the coolest motherfucking cat on the planet. The best part: he has two eyes and he won't eat his own vomit. He likes to eat my hand and sleep on my head. He does all of his poopies in the litter box and he likes to feel tall by sitting on top of doors. He terrorizes Kow and eats his bamboo. He's peed on the floor less times than I have, but he goes into super death Destroyer mode more often. At night he plays "let's see how fast I can run down the hallway and bump into loud things." It's a good game, especially while I'm trying to sleep. Mao used to have balls but we took care of that; still, he struts around like he's got the biggest pair in the world.

He's named after the communist ruler of China, and I think that it's appropriate since he rules our house like he pays the rent. He's the best beer pong player out of the 6 of us - even you, Amy. Never mess with Mao, or I'll poop in your bed.

I stole something really cool last weekend.

2004-12-07T13:11:00.000-05:00

I can't say what it is, but it is awesome and I'm glad that I have it.

I Fucking Love Facebook

2004-11-28T08:00:00.000-05:00

Is it a little homosexual? Yes. Am I okay with that? Definitely.

Vodka Shots on Thanksgiving

2004-11-28T02:02:00.000-05:00

How do you know when you hate yourself and your family? How about when you sit all alone Thanksgiving night with a bottle of vodka, two cans of chilled Red Bull, and a glass you got from your parents kitchen downstairs? Let's not forget sitting in front of the computer trying to figure out how to get Laws of Attraction to play, then wondering why the fuck a disheveled Pierce Brosnan would be attracted to a red head. Of course, then you have to wonder why anyone would be attracted to a red head. They're gross - why, you ask? Well, they have red hair... EVERYWHERE. I don't know if you noticed, but just about every guy skips the fucking red head pages in Playboy cause that nasty red pubic hair with pale white skin is a combination that only a drunk Irishman could love - go figure.

So the movie sucked, I was drunk and confused, the Red Bull lasted for about 20 minutes, and I had nothing else to mix. What did I do? I took shots out of a drinking glass. Happy fucking Thanksgiving! I'm pretty sure this is what the pilgrims did right after they slaughtered some Indians... sat alone drinking while watching hairy men fuck red heads. Either that or they raped and pillaged some teepees, who knows?

Double fisting the stuffed turkey - that's how you clebebrate Thanksgiving! Bring on Christmas! Maybe I'll go get a bottle of rum this time.

A Good Old Horsefuck

2004-10-22T11:04:00.000-05:00

This morning I was walking with a friend and along our way to class we passed by one of the 3 construction crews dotting our campus. They were leveling out the dirt with this huge pile-driving machine. The equipment was kind of cool, but since they took out the sidewalk to lay down a pipe, we were forced to walk around the site and through the mud. After passing the crew, my friend told me that one of the construction guys tries to hit on every girl that passes. I thought this was funny, but not really surprising, as all contractors learn their trade from the most disgusting and vile men on the planet.

Your average contract worker, whether he's an electrician, a plumber, or an outdoor laborer, will be able to shock you with stories of penis explosions and tripping off LCD while helping his wife give birth to their twelfth baby, or about that time he and his friend got busted for growing 60 acres of marijuana. These are not bad people, mind you, they have just been skewed by years of working around other men who all share the same sick, terrible humor. To an outsider it appears that these people are two steps away from being imprisoned for child endangerment and sexual harassment. But again, contractors are usually very decent fathers, make enough money to live comfortably, and are respectable in their community. Its just when they gather in groups they become a giant ball of testosterone trying to find an outlet. Its always a contest to see who can come up with the most asinine thing to say. The one that out-does the others will be king for an hour.

And this is my story:

I was working down in southern ohio for the evil oil corporation. It was sunny, hot, and beautiful outside. I was standing in front of a huge hole that had been ripped out of a hillside. A big pile of mud and dirt was to my right, and in the hole in front of me was one of our contractors operating a large trackho. Standing around me was the foreman, his supervisor (We had two jobs going on at the same time, so there were two foremen and a supervisor over them. It also just so happened that they were all family... and they were from West Virginia - go figure), and the general manager of the contract firm. My boss was standing next to me talking to them while I watched the big machine play with the mud. My boss was a woman of about 35. She has a speech impediment, her hair is ridiculous (think peacock), and she's probably got an extra 50 pounds she doesn't need. She lives by herself in an apartment in Findlay, Oh, doesn't date, and works on average 12 hours a day. She is a good person, but she is boring. She has lived in Ohio all her life. She is uninteresting to the nth degree.

This is why I was absolutely floored when it was suggested that I "give her a good old horsefuck" after she left. I had no idea how to respond to this comment. If she were hot, I may have said 'hell yeah' or if she were not my boss I would have said 'are fucking kidding me - she is a fucking horse.' But oh no, she was my ugly boss - I just stared and quietly mouthed 'WHAT THE FUCK?!' The foreman turned to his brother and the general manager and just started laughing his ass off. The other two joined in. The laughter and my obvious blushing weren't enough - they started humping the air and whinnying. JESUS FUCKING CHRIST - Here I am, 19 years old, standing in front of 3 guys who are collectively as intelligent as my shit, but they can each grab my head and squeeze it till it pops, and they are laughing their asses off at me. What the fuck do I do?

Well obviously I found my boss, fucked her in the back of our company car, and then went and told these assholes to get off my case.

The don't make Impalas like they used to.

Jada

2004-10-18T17:47:00.000-05:00

Dayton, Ohio. It's home to the Flyers, one of The Taj roommates, and one of the grandest strip clubs in all the land - Diamond's. It's pure class from the front door to the back. Tuxedoed bouncers, cute waitresses, 4 stages with mirrors, lasers, and see-through floors, and about 30 of the hottest women on the planet. With names like Candi, Amber, Nikki, Brazil, and Barbie you'd think that this was the white-trash, high school drop out center of Ohio. It probably was, but these weren't your ordinary drop-outs. No, no, these were 12's on a 10 scale. Each one was hotter than the next. It was like the strip club had some play-doh mold that they put these girls into.

One after one the strippers would come out onto the stage, shake their ass a little, grab a dollar from some wrinkly old man, then trot back to the dressing room. The dancing was usually very casual, going to the beat of the music - none of them actually stripped on stage, they would do that off stage and every song come back out with one less piece of clothing. Sure, they were hot girls but none of them really did anything for me.... until Jada. At first this black chick walks out - she was remarkably less hot than some of the other strippers. She had real boobs, but they weren't very big. She had a ghetto booty, which I wasn't super fond of at first, but then she busted out every stripper move she ever learned. She came out, threw off her skanky clothes, and started gyrating her ass like she was trying to jump out of her body. I was speechless. I had only seen this done in really expensive rap music videos. I didn't actually think it was real, but more of a computer-generated effect. Then she proved that not only could she make her ass jiggle 100 times a second, but she could also do a handstand and have dirty sex with the air.

I was amazed. This was the coolest thing I have ever seen. I had to give her money, all of my money, I didn't care. She could take my clothes, my car, anything - I just had to see what else she could do. I grabbed a dollar bill out of my pocket and approached the stage, patiently waiting for her to acknowledge me and my dollar. She strolled over and seductively looked me. I told her I wanted her to do the handstand again. She obliged by flipping over, putting her legs on my shoulders, then thrusting her naked crotch into my face. I tell you, if I had any innocence left before that moment, it was forcefully stricken from me in less than 5 thrusts. This was a defining point in my life - to have this black girls body thrusting at my face while I stood frozen, clenching a dollar bill in my right hand. Holy fucking shit!

She finished up her 30 second show with my head and took my dollar bill. It was incredible, but I had to have more. I waited for half an hour before I saw her sitting down in the corner of the club. Her job is to strip - to take her clothes off and dance for money. I was a customer, and I wanted whatever goods or services she was selling. I ran up and told her that I needed a dance immediately. She looked me up and down, accepted my offer and took me upstairs. She asked what kind of dance, so I told her that I was a poor college student and couldn't afford anything crazy in the Champagne room. What I ended up getting was the most ridiculous couch lapdance for a pitiful sum of $20. I would have paid $120. She did things to my body that ought to be outlawed in this country. She was upside down for most of the dance with her signature crotch thrust move. Legs were up in the air, boobs were all of my penis and my face. She grabbed and rubbed, licked and moaned. If I were a weaker man, it would have been embarrassing. I saw more parts of her body than her OBGYN. It was a strange and fascinating experience, and I am a better person for it.

Still, she left me wanting more... Jada, will you marry me?

I need advice

2004-10-12T13:10:00.000-05:00

So last night I was sleeping on the couch while Cody and Andrew studied for this test that we all had today. My phone started ringing, which immediately woke me up and pissed me off. Sleep is important, god dammit. I check the number and its some crazy local number - maybe it was someone on campus. I answer it and say 'hello' to which I'm responded with:

Her: "Who is this?"
Me: "Uh, who is this?"
Her: "This is Lauren. This number was on my phone, and I didn't know who it was or how it got there."

Now, I know I do a lot of crazy things when I'm drunk, and drunk-dialing is one of my personal favorites. It's fun for everyone, plus your friends get to tell you all the stupid crazy shit that you said the night before. So I immediately assume that she was the victim of one of my drunk dials...

Me: "Ummm.... was this Saturday night?"
Her: "Yeah, I was in Tennessee when I got the call. Who are you?"
Me: "This is Ryan. You're Lauren? That name sound so familiar. Where do I know you from?"
Her: "I have no idea. I just called this number to find out why it was on my phone."
Me: "Wait, do you know Jenn?"
Her: "Jenn who?"
Me: "Jenn Sahr???"
Her: "Yeah, why?"
Me: "Alright, it makes sense now. I was hanging out with Jenn on saturday - she must have called you or given me the number or something. Wait, you were at the ATO party a couple weeks ago weren't you?"

*BINGO* - This was one of the girls that I was taking turns making out with. I think she was on the right side. And I remember she was really cute - hot even. So the conversation winded down once we figured out what was going on. I still have her number and she apparently has mine. I didn't really suggest anything on the phone, so I need someone to tell me what to do next. I sort of suck at phone calls... I have intentions but then I end up just slobbering on myself and saying things like "I think I should make out with my mom." Girls get turned off and never talk to me again.

So, any advice? Maybe I should poop on her.

Nemesis

2004-10-12T12:00:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was a long day. I left for school at 8:20 in the morning and got home roughly 14 hours later. School, homework, school, more homework, then work with the kids (one funny phone call - posted below), and finally I got to experience that well-known joy of driving through the Haute to head back to The Taj. I had no idea, however, that there was a giant beast waiting for me.

I rolled up behind the house, got out of my car, took two steps towards the front door, and then pooped myself. Sitting on the top step of the back porch was the largest, most foul looking creature to ever escape the claws of Satan. He had beady eyes and a long devilish snout stained with the blood from his last meal. With claws covered in grime and old fur he pawed at me as if saying "your next, bitch - bend over..." I screamed. No, not a manly growl, but more of a little girl just getting kissed by a boy type of scream. I covered my balls with both hands and slowly backed away from the stairs. This motherfucking possum wasn't about to take my manhood away from me.

I flipped out my cell phone and tried calling the roommates to come out and look at the creature guarding our door. They filled the laundry room trying to get a peek at our new pet. The possum, in turn, growled at them showing his thousands of pointy fangs. He wasn't about to take shit from them. They tried to open the door and push the beast off of the staircase, but his massive body remained - he held fast against all 5 of them pushing against the door. I was alone in the backyard - no one was going to rescue me.

I found my weapon. For some reason we keep this 20 foot stick next to our garbage cans; 20 feet is the perfect length to appropriately poke a possum. I grabbed the stick, stood as far away as possible and started to prod and fondle the monster. After a few jabs of the pole, the possum was ready to fight. He stood on his hind legs and let out a raucous roar. He was eying my jugular, so I gave him one final jab in the possum family jewels (this possum was so big and scary that you could actually see the two melon-sized balls hanging - easy target). My aim was dead on, the possum yelped and scurried away into the shadows and off into the black abyss of the neighboring condemned house.

That's right - all you little furry critters can just step back. Me and my pole will destroy.

How I keep myself entertained at work.

2004-10-12T11:42:00.000-05:00

Last night at work was insane. Well, it was as insane as it gets at the Homework Hotline. There were non-stop phone calls from 7 to 10 and I was just getting more and more bitter as the night went on. Right around 9 I got this call from some Indy number. I pick up, do my normal greeting, and she says 'hi, I never called here 'fore so I ain't sure what I'm sposed to do." She's black, thick ebonics, but whatever - that's cool - I can hang with the homies. Still, I can't resist messing with her a little bit.

Me: "Oh, you've never called her before?"
Her: "Nah"
Me: "Okay, well, in that case we're going to have to set up your account. I'm going to need two major credit cards, your social security number, and another form of personal identification. A passport or birth certificate will do. Do you have a fax machine?"
Her: "Whhhaaat?!? Y'all need all dat?"
Me: "Yeah, I'm afraid so. Maybe you should go ask your parents."
Her: "A'ight - I'll go ask her."
*5 minutes passed where I drooled on myself and read some e-mail. I could hear some yelling and shit in the background, but I figured it was the tv...*
Her Mom: "Waz all dis I hear about y'all needin' my credit card!??!"
Me: "What? I'm sorry mam, I just got on the phone. This is a completely free service. Do you or your child need any help with some homework?"

She put her daughter back on, who was confused as shit as to what just happened. I think I told her that it was some special circumstance where she gets like a free trial period or something. Hopefully she won't call back anymore. I hate helping people.

Some other things that are brown and smell funny...

2004-10-03T16:16:00.000-05:00

This morning I woke up in bed. Good. I opened my eyes and saw my roommate lying next to me. BAD. I was in his bed wearing only a pair of boxers that have a tendency to let my package fall out. Instead of getting up, adjusting myself, and leaving to go sleep in my own bed, I just closed my eyes and fell back asleep for another couple of hours. If anyone wants to see the picture of me sleeping next to Kow, just ask - Hanlon's my boy and wouldn't dare let this happen without photographic evidence.

This was only the beginning of my morning adventure, however. Kow is definitely brown and sometimes he can smell a little funky, but what completely mystifies me is what I eventually found in my room. I walked my groggy, nearly naked ass into my room and immediately spotted a brown sludge lying on my carpet next to my bed. OH FUCK - NOT FUCKING AGAIN. It was all making sense again. I was undressed, I slept in someone elses room... why else would I do these things? I must have pooped myself again, the room stank to high hell and I ran away from it so that maybe, MAYBE I could put the blame on someone else.

I was about to cry. I was about to fucking break down and cry when I saw that goo sitting on my floor. Then I saw it glisten. I'm not sure how familiar you are with poop, but as a self-proclaimed poop aficionado, I have never seen poop glisten. This obviously confused me, so I got down on my hands and knees, put my nose within millimeters of the mystical brown goo, and took a whiff. It was Mesquite.... a little woody maybe and with a nice, bold tank. Yep, fucking barbecue sauce was smeared all the fuck over my floor and down the side of my desk. The culprit? Well, I'm not sure, but there was a wine flute sitting on top of my desk filled to the brim with some of the sauce, and then there was a half empty bottle of KC Masterpiece just chillin' over on my table. Thanks life, I needed something else to make me feel special. Pooping on myself just wasn't enough.

Some other cool stuff from this morning:

Hanlon's boobs were in the fridge overnight. One of them is all lumpy now.
Amy washed everyone's shirts from the graffiti party last night. Most of the shit that was written on the shirts came off, except for one comment on Andrew's shirt - "Pimpin' Aint Easy" ISN'T THAT FUCKING COOL?
I went through the booty of shit I stole last night - Quarter case of Keystone Light, this cool Queen of Spades poster, some pink Old Navy girls sandals, a Delta Sig t-shirt, and the kicker - a frozen pack of hot dogs! I'm so excited, eBay's gonna have some great shit up for auction soon.

I know you all wish you could be me... except for the poop.

My iLife

2004-10-01T23:59:00.000-05:00

My life is so fucking different from last year. It's like things change every 2 seconds. My life is ridiculous - I love it, and I'm having a blast.

Florence Y'all, bitches.

The Shit Story

2004-10-01T11:18:00.000-05:00

I don't understand myself. Sometimes I do things that are unthinkable, ridiculous, and fucking wrong. What I'm about to tell you is definitely one of those things. There are few things that I regret in life as I view life as an experience... like a really good ride at a theme park, but sometimes you aren't at a good theme park, you're at the fair hanging with Carnies and you just had nachos and you went on the tilt-a-whirl and you know it's going to be a train wreck. Yeah, waking up covered head to toe in my own shit was one of those train wrecks.

Our "house" is really the first floor flat of this old T-Haute mansion. The girls that live above us belong to the sorority across the street. They're cool girls, a couple of them are ridiculously hot, and one night they invited us to the party they were having. Proximity is a devil, I tell you... oh, especially when a free keg is involved.

The party was fun. I got the girls to play some Dirty Red, lost at flippy cup, kicked some Theta Zi guy out of the party cause he was scaring everyone, and shamelessly hit on some girls. I was not spinning the best game that night, but I was downing a shitload of beer. My body had its revenge.

I do not know how I got from the party upstairs to the bathroom in my house, but I do know that this is the place where I regained consciousness. It was one of those "where the fuck am I?!?" moments. I was buckled over my knees, sitting on the shitter. I lifted my head up and tried to get my bearings. Wrapped around my ankles were my brand new boxers... with a nugget of shit stuck to the ass crack crease. On my legs were streaks of brown goo - on further inspection the brown goo was, in fact, smeared shit. My fingers had shit stuck to them like I had been clawing my way out of a prison cell made of my own poop. There was shit in between my toes, smeared across my ass, up and down my legs, and on my hands. There was, thank god, a little shit in the toilet, too. HOW THE FUCK DID THIS HAPPEN? Obviously someone was playing a terrible trick on me - they had drugged me, threw my limp body into a dumpster, turned on a shit storm, and then let me wallow back to my bathroom. Fucking gangbanging hippies.

Regardless, I literally had a mess on my hands. I started wiping. Wiping proved to be about as effective as helping the homeless. It was just moving shit around and not really getting it off - a shower was in order. I was still drunk, but I realized that I could not take a shower until I got a towel... how else would I drunkenly dry myself off? Here's where the magic happened. I walked back to my room (there was poop caked under my feet, remember) and started searching for my towel. Then, I think I did some jumping jacks and grabbed poop from my ass and started flinging it everywhere. Why do I think this? Well, the next morning I realized that every square inch of my carpet was covered in poop. There was poop in my closet, on my walls, on my chair, on my bed, on my sheets, on my fucking storage boxes, even on my dress shoes (which I keep in a plastic bag in my closet). I have no fucking clue how all this poop got everywhere that it did - I'm going to blame the crab people... or maybe the underpants gnomes. It sure as shit wasn't me.

Eventually I showered and got the shit off of my body. I drunkenly walked back to my poop-stained room, put something on... hopefully something that wasn't covered in poop, but how could I really tell? I lied down and passed out in my bed. I woke up about 4 hours later to startled cries of "what the fuck died in our house?!" and "Ryan, you destroyed EVERYTHING!" I opened my eyes, looked around, and took in the chaos. It smelled like a port-a-potty after it had been used by construction workers with a bad case of "just ate White Castle and put Taco Bell sauce on it"-itis. I have never witnessed such a disaster area. I considered my room Ground Zero for the duration of the war campaign that was about to come.

I handwashed the carpet... on my hands and knees in the shit. I took the brown nugget out of my boxers and threw it at the abandoned house next door. I had to wash my sheets, my clothes, the bathmat, and my storage boxes. I febreezed EVERYTHING. I bought $50 worth of candles - my room smelled like a mixture of shit and rasberries for the next 2 weeks. There was nothing I could do to win this battle, so I had to break out some heavy artillery. I spent another $50 on steamcleaning the carpet... I spent hours going back and forth on the poo stains, emptying and filling the cleaner, watching the poo water flow over our neighbor's yard. I won the poo war.

Isn't life full of fun little surprises?

Tappan

2004-09-23T08:01:00.000-05:00

Welcome to our oven. The Tappan "might blow up your house" deluxe two shelf model. It comes complete with no knobs and no range racks. Instead it has a slew of miscellaneous 'generic' knobs that have been abandoned by their slut mother ovens. The range knobs are from at least 3 different ovens. It's like this Tappan is the bastard child of a Kenmore and a Whirlpool - I'm pretty sure that we get some form of support check every month from the Indiana state government just to take care of this beast.

The oven is controlled by one of these random knobs. Turn it to high and you'll notice that nothing happens. I tried baking cookies on 'high' once. It took about 45 minutes to get the cookies to brown, but I'm pretty sure that was just the egg drying out and the cookie dough solidifying. They still tasted okay... actually, that's a lie; two words for you: Anal Leakage. Still, if you slam the knob way over past 'low' you'll actually get some heat down there - maybe enough to cook a meal. You still have to survive the plumes of leaking natural gas that escape from the rusty pipes of the oven. The Tappan apparently suffers that same fate as my ass. I wonder if they make oven-sized diapers. Probably not, but I guess I could check the fat-ass hillbilly department at the local Wal-Mart.

There is also a bottom drawer that one would assume is for extra shit like cookie sheets and pizza pans. In reality this drawer is our very own kiln, crematory, and gate to Hell. We were making cookies in the oven earlier and thought it might be a good idea to load up 80 cookie sheets with the dough so we could have super fast transitions. It'd be great - we'd use less gas, and we'd be able to clean up our dishes earlier - efficiency and productivity to 8 billion percent. If this were a business, we could buy Donald Trump - who's fired now, bitch? I opened the drawer to get one of the pans and couldn't help but notice the bright glow reflecting into my face off of a cookie sheet and the obvious warmth lapping at my hands. What the hell is this? I got down on my hands and knees, looked up into the bowels of the Tappan and all I could see were flames. The gas just shoots out from this center pipe and hits the pilot light, then shoots HUGE FLAMES out to either side of the oven... well, the bottom of the oven... in the drawer where we keep our baby kittens.

It took me a few seconds to realize how this all worked. This fireball sent from satan is what controls the temperature in our oven. How fucking smart. Whoever the engineers are at Tappan that designed this thing - you win an award for most baby kittens killed because we thought the bottom drawer was a fucking drawer and not just a good place to dispose of a body.

Or maybe it's just the broiler - I guess we could try making fish. Anyone? Salmon? It might taste like kitty, though.

The Yellow Paper Surprise

2004-09-21T07:27:00.000-05:00

About 15 minutes ago I got to school and opened my mailbox. There was a graded lab (I got a 10/10), some stupid advertisement for an upcoming lecture by the guy that invented the mouse (thank you Rose for not ever bringing a band to campus… but OH, can you ever bring in the inventors of things!), and then there was a strange envelop with a bright yellow paper inside and the message “IMPORTANT ACCOUNT INFORMATION ENCLOSED” written in blood-red large-type font on the outside. Instead of just tossing it in the trash, I figured I should probably open this last piece of mail as it was obviously a letter from god telling me why and how I am eventually going to go to Hell.

I sliced through the envelope and ripped out the screaming yellow paper. It was from Time Warner Cable in Ohio. There were a total of two sentences written. The first sentence discretely informed me that I have an unpaid balance with the cable company in Ohio. The second one indicates that if I don’t send them the money I owe, then they will have to resort to “further collection activity.” I can only assume this means that Bruno and Gustav will show up at more door and bludgeon me to death while yelling “lightning bolt” at me. I will bow down before them and flail my arms about as if I were some poor baby trapped helplessly in a trash can. These cable companies don’t fuck around.

Since I don’t relish the thought of being castrated or battered to death, I continued to read down the letter, making special note of the bold type. Past Due Amount: $5.00 What the fuck? I’m getting a threatening letter over five fucking dollars?! Bruno and Gustav are going to show up at my door and make me take turns fellating them and taking it in the ass all over $5.00??? Time Warner, you can blow me.

I called up their office in Kettering, Ohio (anyone know where that is? I can only assume that it’s some magical fairyland where the cable is free and the tap water doesn’t suck). I went through the red tape of figuring out the atrocious automated system. Finally I got to talk to Debra. I told her that I had dropped off my cable box a month ago and the lady told me I didn’t have to pay any more money. Debra was confused. I told her that I received a threatening yellow letter in the mail and that I did not look forward to meeting Bruno and Gustav. Now Debra understood. She could obviously tell that I was a badass motherfucker, so she hooked me up and took the $5.00 charge off. I guess she was protecting the goons.

Either that, or my AAA sized package. RIGHT? Whores.

The Halloween Costume

2004-09-19T01:44:00.000-05:00

My sister is a godsend. I was sitting at home in CL this morning waiting for her to show up. When she did, I learned that she brought the perfect piece to complement my planned halloween costume.

At the evil oil corporation this summer, I was given a large amount of personal protective equipment (PPE) - this includes safety glasses, a hard hat, a FR jump suit, and some steel toe boots. At the end of my session with the company, I was sent a number of e-mails asking me to return said PPE as I guess it really didn't belong to me and they could reuse some of the stuff. being the bastard that I am, I figured that I could easily just ignore these e-mails and take the stuff home with me since its so cool and will keep me safe if I ever need to kick a homeless man really hard after he's caught himself on fire.

My costume creativity over the years has gone from brilliant at age 10 (I was Miss Illinois - sash, fake boobs, some chicks old prom dress, etc...) to functionally retarded (last year I was an Indian... modelled after my roommate, except that I had a turban). What I have learned from all of my recent "bad" costumes is that I really need to appreciate any early costume ideas I have, especially if they are cheap, leave me practically naked, and come from stolen goods. Thus I have decided to use my loot to be somewhat of a cross between one of the Village People and Prince. I'm going to wear my FR clothing (unzipped), the hard hat, and the neon safety glasses. Underneath this I will be wearing my sister's contribution - my speed-o that I wore on the swim team when I was 10. GLORIOUS DAY! I cannot wait to see how many girls I repel with my violently distasteful costume. I am so excited that I can barely contain myself... and if you could see the speed-o, you would understand that it is quite likely to incure the same problem... of containment... of my package.

I know I'm gross, but fuck you, you're just jealous.

The Little Shits

2004-09-17T01:22:00.000-05:00

When I'm not working for the evil oil corporation, I am a full time student in Terre Haute, IN. While not the greatest town, it has its charms. There are a couple strip clubs, a multitude of mediocre bars, a slew of abandoned buildings, and 5 institutes of upper-education (mine being the only one of any real merit). School generally keeps me more than busy, but for whatever reason my conscience forced me to take on this financially rewarding job where I have the opportunity to help out the state's academically challenged children. I am a homework hotline tutor - it's like working with retards, except you don't get to see the funny stuff that they do.

Kids call up and ask their dumb questions. These questions can range from doing simple fraction addition to complex calculus and physics questions. Answering the latter is usually quite engaging and I can get hung up on the same problems the kids do... these questions don't bother me too much. The little shit elementary kids ask really fucking dumb questions, though. And I understand that they need help - that's not their fault. They have stupid teachers that probably don't present the material correctly or at all and expect the kids to go home and figure it out on their own. Well, that works for the kids that are fortunate to not come from dumbshit houses on wheels, but for the trailer park kids, "figuring it out on your own" just isn't in the cards. The kids will ask 'mom' for help with their fractions homework, but instead 'mom' is sniffing her last line before she has to go be the greeter at Wal-Mart for the next 8 hour shift. She's not good enough to be a cashier, so she makes half wages as the greeter while her boyfriend, who already got her pregnant again, is the manager of the family portrait center. These kids are fucked from the start - so they call me, a disgruntled college student that would rather be out getting shitfaced than help some pimply brat with premature facial hair.

I understand that this is not the most admirable stance to take when dealing with the less fortunate, so I have found a new past time that will help me deal with my job. I try to see what I can get away with while still helping out the little kids. Last thursday I asked every kid what his or her school's team mascot was. One kid answered "The Blue Jays" and so I laughed at him because the blue jays are a bunch of pussies. He obviously was offended, so I told him not to worry because our team mascot is the "Fightin' Engineer". Apparently he didn't know who he was talking to because he thought I was a third grade teacher, which I am not... nor will I ever be. Third graders still have a tendency to pee themselves... and are afraid of boobies - not cool.

This other girl called up and informed me that she had a really hard question to ask me. I, in turn, then informed her that I was going to hang up on her. I don't think she appreciated that.

Last Monday I had a few "special" brownies before I went to work. By the time I took the first call I could barely control myself. The calls that would usually take only 10 minutes to answer, ended up at 30-40 minutes just because I had no idea where I was, I had no clue which book I was supposed to get or why things kept bumping into me. The best part of all of this was that I was actually training a new tutor how to do the job all while I was tripping up a storm. At least I don't think the kids noticed... but they were certainly confused when I would just say 'ummm' for 5 minutes straight.

I'm sure I'll find better things to do with the little shits before long... or I'll get fired. Really, that's my goal.

The Pooper

2004-09-06T23:48:00.000-05:00

Consistent with the rest of the Taj, one of our bathrooms has been having major malfunctions. The small bathroom, which we lovingly refer to as “The Coffin” consists of a toilet, a sink, a shower, a wall shelving unit, and secondary shelving unit on the floor. All of this is miraculously enclosed in a 3 ft by 3 ft space – the same size as your average coffin. While sitting on the toilet in this bathroom you can brush your teeth in the sink and wash your feet in the shower. Every time you flush the toilet, the little poo particles float up in the air and stick to everything in the bathroom. There is probably no ventilation and it seemed that before we moved in, the coffin bathroom had not been cleaned in about 15 years. That’s 15 years of caked on poo, urine, and vomit… not to mention skin flakes, pubic hair, and lost tampons that didn’t make it down the toilet. None of this really concerns any of us living there as long as the bathroom is functional. We can ignore any space constraints or the difficulty one faces when trying to scrub one’s legs in the shower or, for that matter, when trying to turn around. This is passable for the coffin, all of this but the toilet – because it fucking leaks.

Not some little trickle leak, either. Every morning we wake up to find a new puddle formed overnight in the center of the bathroom. This makes it impossible to get into the shower, stand at the sink, or shoot into the toilet without planting at least one solid foot into the lake of urine-poo water. For days this situation rendered the coffin bathroom absolutely off limits. Not even a shower was allowed even if one chose to hop from the door straight into the bowels of the coffin shower. No, any threat of contamination to the individuals living in the Taj has been eliminated, but with that is our use of another toilet. Obviously, this is our landlady’s problem, but since she’s lazy and we don’t want to wait for her to get her fixer-goons in our house, I took it upon myself to enlist the roommates in a battle against the toilet and a solution to the leak.

After the quick purchase of a new wax gasket from Ace Hardware, we had our ammunition. Having operated on a toilet once before in my life, I proclaimed myself leader of the expedition. Andrew, as number two, carried such responsibilities as cleaning the little poo-covered washers and rinsing off the poo-covered toilet bowl. Oh, and of course, he had to help carry the porcelain beast from the coffin to the unforgiving outdoors. We lifted the toilet after I turned the water off and removed the fastening nuts. We fully expected a gush of poo water to expel itself from the inside of the toilet onto our patiently waiting feet. Not so much – that was interesting. Andrew and I proceeded to take the toilet outside. We got two feet into the kitchen when the rectum of the toilet finally decided to release and 8,000 gallons of poo water… on our feet… in the kitchen… where we eat. Andrew started laughing but I kept him focused and we finished taking the leaky poo bucket outside where we tipped it over and let the poo water flow out majestically over our beautiful backyard (where the possums and raccoons frolic at night). After cleaning all of the shit and urine off of the toilet and using a butter knife to scrape a 15 year old wax gasket off of the toilet, that fucker was ready to go back on. I removed the new gasket, pulled off the protective plastic and victoriously jammed it into the bottom of our toilet. We picked it up and flung it down on the bolts. I jumped up on the toilet, strangling it like a wild beast, trying to get the wax to ooze into every cranny from which water could potentially leak. I stood back, looked at our work, and cried out “freedom!!!!” a la Mel Gibson in Braveheart.

We hooked the toilet up, let the water fill up the tank, and gave it a victory flush. We had given back what years of poo water erosion had taken away. We have beaten Satan’s beautiful temptations and will now be allowed through the gates of heaven. We are men and we are proud.

The next day the toilet had a nice puddle of poo water waiting for us. That bastard still leaks. I’m still awaiting my shipment of “Do it yourself wrist cutting” from Amazon.com. Fuckers.

The Wonderbread Outlet

2004-09-05T11:30:00.000-05:00

In college it is almost a holy grail to find the cheapest shit possible. Shopping at Goodwill is respected, stealing shit out of the garbage from your neihbors is practically holy. Unfortunately, you aren't going to find anything decently edible in either of these locations. No, when it comes to food, you are left with only a few options; namely there is ALDI, Sam's club if you have people to chip in, and the Wonderbread Outlet store.

When driving down 3rd street in Terre Haute you see some of the most wondrous of shopping outlets and restaurants. You've got your Xandu (the erotic clothing store), the abandoned Rose Garden (Indian restaurant that won't go away but is never open), 8 China Buffet (brand new) and right next door New China Buffet (covered in vines and foilage... oh, and garbage). You pass the famed HoneyCreek Mall, 8 more china buffets, the Vigo County drag strip, and then finally you will find the Wonderbread Outlet store. It fits in well with the rest of the Terre Haute shopping strip. The building is small, the letters on the sign are dirty and small, there are huge rust stains on the building marquee, and the store is filled with more white trash than an NRA meeting.

This store is amazing - you can get twinkies for 20 cents, loafs of bread for 30, AND you can pick up your future bride there. What better place to meet people than the Wonderbread Outlet? You know someone that only shoves low-priced hostess cakes down into their gullets is a hot find. You can tell your children that you met their mommy while trying to save enough money by buying day-old bread and half-eaten Little Debbie products. If it's cheap enough, you might even have money for that case of Bud Light you need to get you through the weekend. And that's how mommy met daddy, little Timmy... and that's why we still live in Terre Haute and you'll never amount to anything.

All because of the Wonderbread Outlet Store.

Po-Po

2004-09-04T10:04:00.000-05:00

It's usually not a good thing when the 5-0 roll up to your house. In fact, not once have I heard a story where the police showed up and handed everyone money... or brought some hos. Nope, the po-po are a dark and dangerous force. They decide your speeding ticket fate, whether or not to fuck you with DUI's, and just how hard to slam you to the ground when you're caught urinating on their cruiser. Sure, they might be "protecting" the rest of the boring people from getting yelled at by a bunch of drunks... or maybe killing lots of people with un-practiced drunken driving, but what they are really doing is ruining everyone's fun. No one likes them and they know that - they feed off of their own negativity. Their attitudes are generally akin to those of a Chihuahua getting railed by a Doberman. So when 2 cruisers and 4 po-po rolled up to my door last night I naturally freaked out and wet my pants.

I was in back of the house shooting some bottle rockets at our friendly neighbors, the condemned house next door. Generally, we're hoping that it burns down over the course of the year... not necessarily last night, but eventually. We were lighting these big bottle rockets and throwing them at that piece of shit, I realized I was out and so headed back up to the front to grab some more. About halfway down the hall I see that my roommate is answering the door, beer in hand, and there are no less than 4 men-in-blue standing on our porch. I look through a window and there are two cruisers sitting in the street with their lights on. SHIT. My thoughts on this: there is beer everywhere and maybe only 2 people that are 21, I was just shooting fireworks at a house that was condemned for being a fire hazard, and my roommate is Indian so I doubt the cops will trust anything he says. All I heard were the words "field" and "I'm gonna fuck you all in the ass so hard it'll make Rodney King look like a joke."

I waited for my roommate to go outside with the po-po, then I tore up to the front hallway and grabbed the bag of fireworks, ran downstairs and hid them under the futon. I figured they'd be safe under a futon - no po-po will look there. I go back upstairs and inform everyone that doesn't know already (like the people in the back still shooting fireworks) that the police are here and they need to stop being dumbfucks (if, in fact, they were being dumbfucks). At the mention of this, everyone comes out of their rooms to see what exactly is going on. Maybe this doesn't have to do with the fireworks...

Outside, there is a big crowd forming at the street. My roommate is out there talking to the police. I ask around and apparently some dicks tried to steal his motorcycle, but instead dropped it in the middle of the street and ran off like little pussies. The cops were just cruising around and saw a bike lying in the street so they started going door to door to find out who it belonged to. I'm sure they scared this scared the shit out of everyone - who the fuck likes the police making house calls?

But we did stop shooting fireworks at the fire hazard house. Don't worry, though - that bitch is going down.

The Candle Bitch

2004-09-02T23:59:00.000-05:00

Due to some unfortunate circumstances, I am in desperate need of something that produces an overpowering scent of the variety that does not cause one to dry heave. Without specifically saying what these circumstances are, just take from it that I was on mission to find a candle that would make my room not smell so bad. The target was the candle store at the Circle Center in Indy.

I'll admit that I am a novice when it comes to purchasing and, in fact, using professional-grade candles. I lack the inherent knowledge that it requires to pick out a appropriate fragrance, size, or shape of candle. I don't know how to trim a wick, how long to burn a candle, or what the fuck the difference is between Pine and Christmas Wreath. How do I buy a candle? I walk in and ask for the most potent ball of wax they have. 250 pounds of CandleBitch stepped up to the plate and directed me over to the far wall. She seemed nice enough at first, showing me the different scents and whatnot. I picked something like Cinnamon Stick and Tangerine and told her to wrap it up. TheRoomie, who was there helping me, immediately called CandleBitch out on her bitchiness... partially because TheRoomie likes the other candle store a lot better, but mostly because her bitchsense is going off the charts with our helper. Candlebitch can sense TheRoomie's displeasure with our shopping experience, so she starts rattling off whatever candle knowledge she has acquired over the past week that she's worked in this sorry excuse for a wax-peddler. She rattles off some bullshit about burning the candle for exactly 2 hours otherwise you won't get the maximum amount of burn time out of it and that you should trim the wick and then you need to rub your genitals on the candle so that it gives you magical powers. CandleBitch is obviously doing this to tick off TheRoomie, which is very much not appreciated by me. So I throw my card at her, sign the receipt and get the fuck out of there.

To calm TheRoomie, I promise that we'll go up to the other candle store and I'll buy another candle there. This satisfies TheRoomie, and after a strange bout in Eddie Bower where this sales clerk was very obviously gay and very much wanted to pound my ass in the back room, we found our way to the other candle store. TheRoomie's bitchsense found no targets in this new candle store and both clerks were extremely helpful. They did not try to throw garbage candle jargon at us or teach us the "right" way to use a fucking ball of wax. Instead, the clerk brought a thousand different scented candles up to me so I could smell them. She even suggested a few different varieties. I was impressed. As shitty as our first candle purchasing experience was, this was FAR better. $44 later and I had two awesome smelling candles.

What now? Time to return the first candle purchase back to the CandleBitch. I'm not going to let her get away with bitching all over us and then keeping my money. Fuck that. TheRoomie and I walk in - CandleBitch spots us from her counter where she's resting all 250 pounds of her stupidity. She welcomes us in with this line, "I knew you were going to return them." Wanna know why, bitch? Look in a mirror and watch you flap your mouth around for a while and you'll know. I explain to her that the other candle girls said that it's just a fucking candle and you don't have to follow special instructions or use an electron microscope to operate a candle. This infuriates CandleBitch. She tries spouting more candle bullshit about the 2 hour rule, but TheRoomie shoots her down with "I've never sat in front of my candle with a stopwatch for two hours and my candles are fine." I'm pretty sure she then called her a slut bitch whore, punched her in the face, and then pissed behind the counter, but I was laughing too hard to see it all go down. Regardless, I am positive that CandleBitch is now using my credit card information to go to Tijuana and try to peddle her shitty wax there.

After all, where else should we put all of our shit? I think Mexico is a great choice.

The Bat

2004-09-02T08:19:00.000-05:00

I was trying to go to bed... seconds away from just having my eyes closed to full-fledge poo-myself sleep. Wait, what's that? Someone was bounding down the hallway towards my door. Oh, shit, someone needs something. Cody busted in and goes "Ryan, I need your help - I trapped one of the bats in my closet."

We just moved into a really old house this year - a house that is barely standing up. One of the staircases wasn't even nailed all the way in (we fixed that the other day); there is filth everywhere, lots of shit doesn't work, and there are bats living in our basement with one of my roommates.

Now, originally we had only thought there was one bat (and honestly, I never really believed any of these "stories" about bats - I mean, come the fuck on - BATS? BULLSHIT) This was until I went downstairs to Cody's room. The closet door was shut and something was obviously squeaking and flapping behind that ominous door. I swung the door open and out flies this fucking blind rodent sonaring the crap out of the room trying to find some means of escape. We just stood there and watched - wait, no we didn't - we screamed like little girls at the flying rodent from hell. It was most definitely on a mission to attach itself to our necks and bite our jugulars out. I saw his little red demon eyes and I knew he was a minion of Satan himself... or our landlady. Regardless, we eventually got the beast trapped underneath a blanket and it was my job to carry it from the basement outside where we could free him.

Nw I'm standing outside with this fucking quivering bat trapped in a blanket considering the best means for release of the little bastard. I throw the blanket up in the air holding onto one end as if I was going to snap some guys ass in the lockerroom. I don't hear anything. Not even a thud as maybe the bat hit the ground and broke its little rodent skull. NOPE. He must still be on the blanket... fuck... okay, one more attempt at getting this whore off my blanket. I flip the blanket again and *WOOSH* the fucker goes flapping past me in an attempt to transmit the most potent case of rabies in known years and flutters off into the night. I crapped myself.

Jesus - what next?

New President

2004-08-30T08:13:00.000-05:00

The presidential elections are coming up rather soon, and while they are very important to the integrity and success of our nation, that is not the focus of this post. Rather, my school, the prestigious Rose-Hulman Institute of Technology in Terre Haute, IN has welcomed its new President for his first year of tenure. Honestly, last year when our "famed" president was leaving I really didn't care all that much - I foresaw no real effect on my life. As soon as you step onto campus this year, however, you will immediately notice some changes. Our new president felt that the thousands of banners we had scattered across campus were "tacky" and "tasteless." While he is quite correct, they were also a source of pride and amusement for the school and visitors. You can't just fucking remove all of our goddamn banners - they were OURS YOUR FUCKER. I'm sure he just wanted them all taken to his house so he could fill his room with them and roll around in the fact that he's president of the "number 1 engineering undergraduate school in the nation." Dick.

That's not enough to hate someone, I know, but he also apparently tried to expel some kids for pulling a prank over the summer. There is a tradition that every summer the Fast-trackers (don't ask) take one of the Indianapolis Colts' golf carts and put it on the floating dock in the middle of our lake. Then the Colts' coach makes a third string player swim out and retrieve it. It's all for fun - until some dickhole president pulls out some papers to EXPEL STUDENTS. Jesus, I've done way worse shit in my year two years of going to this school. If he'll expel someone over a little prank, what happens when a student "allegedly" falls on a fat girl and then vomits all over her floor and window sill then runs away to avoid cleaning it up... then continues to hide for the next three days just so the maid cleans it up and he doesn't have to get his hands dirty... WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO HIM?

I have a feeling that I'm fucked this year.

The Taj: Arrival

2004-08-30T07:41:00.000-05:00

After the amazing feat of filling two cars and a U-Haul trailer to the brim, I finally arrived back in Terre Haute. I live on a street that is filled with big old houses. Across from us is a 10,000 square foot house. It used to be the home of some ISU fraternity, but they moved out / got evicted... you know, whatever happens to fraternities. Right next to us is an abandoned house with a scary red chandelier that is always on. I think it's there just to freak the shit out of me. I don't really have any curtains on my windows - well, I have a shower curtain on one, a sheet on the other, and then I ran out of stuff for the third window - it's ghetto classy.

There are still some things wrong with the house. For one, the ceiling in the basement is ready to cave in, but apparently a bat lives in it so we can't fix it until we find him a new home. He also needs a name; I think I will call him "That fucking bat that lives in our ceiling." I hope he appreciates his new name.

Like all of the power outlets in my room blow. The one that I have my computer plugged into is only a two prong, and obviously my PC needs 3 prong power. I plugged in a little adapter but the outlet is so janky that it doesn't really stay plugged in, if say someone were to *bump* it or *look at it funny*. As such, I have accidentally unplugged EVERYTHING like 8 times and almost killed myself in the process. I tell you, it's hard to dodge a shower of sparks when you're trying not to spill your beer... or wet your pants from laughing.

And our fridge is full of food, but none of it belongs to me. I don't know what I'm going to do. I don't like mooching so I'll probably just watch everyone else eat while I sit there and stare at them. Maybe I'll drool to get the point across.

I hate my boss

2004-08-27T08:07:00.000-05:00

I can tolerate his frequent stupidity and his mild retardation - I can even cope with the fact that he doesn't like me, but what I can't do is allow him to get away with "saying good-bye" through a fucking e-mail. I don't mind avoiding him like the plague or him taking days off without telling me - really, the less we see of each other the happier I am. Still, it's my last day here and you would think that he would have enough respect for me to come over and send me off in a decent manner. No, instead he attached a little snippet at the end of a business e-mail which was sent out to 3 other people that I have no contact with.

Here is the e-mail:

Good morning Ryan,
Thanks! I do appreciate your help and support.
Have a great day - weekend - and fun at school
Brian

Obviously from this e-mail I get the point that he has no intention of stopping by to wish me well on my future year at school. He doesn't want to personally thank me for putting up with his crap from the last 3 months. He doesn't want to see me at all. AND what's better is that he sent this to those other people that I'm sure will deduce the same intent from this message that I found.

I hope he gets ass herpes from that pole he keeps shoving up there. I hate that whore.

The False Alarm

2004-08-26T14:50:00.000-05:00

Have you ever been sitting at your desk and thought that you really had to pee, and then when you stand up your bladder relaxes and you realize that you're getting hot, but the kettle isn't about to whistle just yet? This is generally considered the "false alarm," and it plagues us all. Women don't usually have a problem with it as they either pee all the time and thus do not get false alarms or they can usually mask it by sitting in the stall for a while and hiding. Regardless, women are physical masterpieces and it is better to think that they never pee anyway. The false alarm for men, however, is a completely different story. How one handles himself at the urinal is a testament to his manhood, his character, and his potential for success in life. If you have a false alarm at the urinal you might as well chop it off and find some gay man to console you, because it is likely that you'll never use your member in a heterosexual relationship again.

Unfortunately, I had a little false alarm of my own about a month ago. I was sitting at my desk and suddenly felt the urge to pee. No bother as the bathroom is only about 20 feet down the hall and around the corner. I got up and went to the facility, but just as I walked through the door to the bathroom I saw that my department manager was finishing up and about to walk out. (Side Note: The department manager is 4 levels above me... as in there are 3 levels of boss above me before you get to him) At first he just looked at me and said 'hi' which would have been fine, but then he turned around in the doorway and asked me about dragon boat racing the weekend previous. This was bad, as I knew it would be a lengthy explanation of our poor performance in the Toledo Dragon Boat Race. The situation was made even more awkward by the fact that we were standing inside the bathroom which is floor to ceiling tile and echoes like a motherfucker.

After a 7 minute discussion of dragon boat racing I can feel that I am nearing my conversation with him. We are interrupted as a man walks in and heads to the urinal. This sets us up for the 'good-bye' and the 'enjoy the rest of your day' when all of a sudden I realize that I no longer have to pee. I don't feel an ounce of pressure on my bladder whatsoever - it's like whatever liquid was sloshing around in there before was used as energy to fuel my stressful boss conversation. What to do? I can't follow him out of the bathroom as he was there when I came in and I haven't walked more than 3 feet in there or washed me hands or unzipped my pants - NOTHING. So I figure 'fuck it' I can give it the old college try, and I walk up to the only other urinal right next to the man that had walked in a minute before. But something was wrong... he'd been there a full minute, just standing there, and he wasn't peeing yet. Now I'm standing there, pants unzipped, hand firmly gripping my limp penis trying to squeeze out anything. Both of us standing there without a sound between us. This lasted for as long as I could stand and then I finally opened my mouth.

Me: "I think I'm having the same problem you are."
Him: "heh" (guys are very timid about talking at the urinals)
Me: "I dunno what's wrong - I had to go before I came in here."
Him: "Maybe if I flush the toilet it'll help"
-He flushes his urinal - still nothing for either of us -
Me: "Ummm... I think I'm just gonna give up. I tried my best."

With that, I zipped up, and like an idiot I flushed down the clean urinal water that was sitting before me. Then I walked over and washed my hands. As I was leaving I heard him start peeing. Well, good job man! At least one of us was able to walk out of the bathroom with some dignity remaining.

The Office Staredown

2004-08-26T13:07:00.000-05:00

Have you ever noticed when you are walking down the sidewalk how people will do just about anything to avoid looking at you? This strange phenomenon becomes much more obvious when seen in the office atmosphere. Just 5 minutes ago I was walking down the hallway as I returned from the water machine when I saw this woman coming from the opposite direction. It was apparent that we were going to pass. She saw that I was walking with someone, we were talking and joking about something, but what this really meant to her was that we outnumbered her by one. This is very crucial - this means that if she were to look up as she passed by us she would have to somehow say 'hello' to both at the same time. If she didn't, it would be rude, and honestly there is no way to direct your eyes so that you are looking at both people while you greet them in the hallway. I knew this, she knew this - it was clear that there would be no greeting between the three of us.

So what did I do? As soon as I saw her I stared at her, and I kept staring until she passed us. When she was about 15 feet away she got uncomfortable and put her head down so that she wouldn't have to say anything. It's like hallway chicken, except without the violence. Well, sometimes there is violence, but usually it doesn't go beyond the casual pencil stab. Regardless, I beat that bitch into submission with my eyes... and the fact that I outnumbered her by one.

Safety in numbers, folks.

Look Out!!!

2004-08-26T10:37:00.000-05:00

There's this guy in my office that works down the hall from me, we'll call him "CrippledE" because his name starts with an 'E' and well, he walks funny. You know the hot exercise instructors that spend half an hour every day showing fat old women pointless exercise routines? Well, one of those routines is called the "lunge" where you go from a standing position and lunge forward with your body and plant your foot out as far as you can to stretch whatever muscle starts hurting really bad. Now, imagine someone walking around like that - ALL OF THE TIME. You'd look like a retard. That's how CrippledE walks, and not only does he look like a retard but he gets really tired; so tired, in fact, that he has to take little breaks every 20 feet down the hall.

Every day CrippledE walks down the hallway to go to the bathroom, or to the printer, or to lunch, and every day he walks right by my cubicle. For whatever reason my cubicle is positioned at just the right place that CrippledE ALWAYS takes one of his "breaks" here. Now, seeing as how he walks like a tard, it's very difficult for him to slow down or to stand normally, so when he takes his break at my cubicle he usually just fucking crashes into my wall and lets the laws of physics bring him to a dead stop. Then, since he's tired, he starts breathing REALLY heavily. I swear, it's like he's the T-Rex in Jurassic Park. I can hear him coming from a mile away with his dragging feet and heavy breathing like he just ran a marathon... he gets closer and closer and then BAM! he runs straight into my wall and stops.

Thankfully nothing has fallen off of my shelves yet, but I'm just waiting for one of his "breaks" to send a thumbtack sailing from my wall and straight into my temple. I welcome that day like you would not believe.

Boss sends stupid e-mail

2004-08-26T10:22:00.000-05:00

The same boss that was sad with his life apparently got in an e-mail fight this morning over some stupid training course. Here was his response to a negative e-mail that I was copied on:

Kevin,
You are absolutely correct! We have discussed this before I hoping by the tune of your e-mail that you are NOT under the assumption that I am not doing what we have discussed. If you are, then you are sadly mistaken!

Notice that he left a word out between 'I' and 'hoping' - Also note that he uses a double negative. I'm pretty sure he's stupid, and he doesn't get any respect because he's the only non-engineer working in the engineering department. Maybe that's why I don't respect him, too - wait, no, that's because he goes on 8,000 vacations and never tells me when he's gone so I have to find out THAT DAY that I could have come in late and no one would have cared.

Bastard.

Findlay Famous

2004-08-26T08:42:00.000-05:00

Last night after a violent game of volleyball a few of us ended up at Outback. There was drinking, food, stories - basically anything you would expect from a late night dinner with work friends. The interesting part came when we were about to leave. I had paid my check (which was absurd - $5/beer is NOT a good deal no matter how big they are), and was about to walk out of the restaurant when the really cute hostess stopped me.

She looked at me and said "Do you remember me?"
Instantly movie scenes flashed in my head as I had no clue who she was or why I had forgotten talking/meeting/fondling this incredibly hot girl.
I honestly had no fucking clue, so I responded "I have no fucking clue."
Her: "You danced with me at Boogie on Main St."

Click! Now it makes sense. Boogie on Main St. is this function held every year in the booming metropolis of Findlay, Ohio. They block off a quarter mile stretch of the downtown, put up a stage with live music (that surprisingly didn't suck), erect a huge beer tent, and lure everyone there with the appeal that functions hold when there is nothing else to do. When I arrived with my group I had already drank about 8 or 9 beers and was feeling it pretty well, but Findlay is boring and the people there were boring and everyone was standing around "talking" and I got bored very quickly. Simple solution: Ask every woman with a vagina to dance regardless of age, race, or hotness. I asked this one woman of roughly 45 years of age to dance and she declined, so I asked her for a kiss. At this her eyes sparkled, she smiled seductively, leaned in and pecked me on the lips. Her husband was standing next to her so I turned and told him that she was leaving him because he doesn't know how to pleasure her like I do. I giggled and ran away to find my next over-the-hill victim.

I danced with a few women (mostly girlfriends of older guys I knew at work or other people that didn't know any better) but then the real party started. The live band started playing Eagles covers and since my dad has made me listen to the Eagles ever since I was a baby, I had no choice but to run out in front of the stage and start moshing... all by myself... with no one within a 50 foot radius. Apparently I have some strange infectious dancing style, because right after I started dancing 100 people flooded out there with me and began jumping around like the drunken idiots they were. I can only assume that the hottie and her friends were somewhere in this group.

Back to the conversation:

Me: "Huh, no, I still don't remember... But go me!"
Her: "Yeah, you were a lot of fun, but you seemed kind of intoxicated."
Me: "Me drink? What?!? Never!"
Her: "But all of my friends and I still talk about you! You danced with us in front of the stage when the music started going."
Me: "Well I guess that makes sense. Wow. High Five to Me!" (I was really impressed with myself for dancing with this hot chick)
Her: "I can't wait to tell my friends that I saw you again!"

I walked outside after that.

Holy shit, I'm Findlay Famous.

I am a bad person.

2004-08-25T15:00:00.000-05:00

I left work today at 3. I drove home through all of the crazy construction traffic that litters my road. I grabbed the keyboard I bought to fix my other keyboard (I took the contact sheet out of the new one and replaced the old one.... then put the janky gross burnt one in the new keyboard)... and I took it back to Best Buy. They took it back without batting an eye. Now I'm sitting on the couch drinking a beer. At 5:30 I'm going to play volleyball with that cute chick that ran away from me the other night. Apparently she isn't afraid of me anymore; she sent me an e-mail today at work asking if I would like a ride so I don't have to show my ugly car off in public. I thanked her for insulting me and graciously accepted the ride. I refuse to give her road head, though.

Maybe.

Lunchtime Debacle

2004-08-25T09:29:00.000-05:00

Today our 'crew' has picked The Gathering as the restaurant of choice for our lunchtime endeavor. The crew used to consist of a large group of co-ops that were here over the summer. For the last month, though, people have been leaving to return to school, so now the crew is down to three people: Dalton, Romer, and myself. When a co-op leaves they are often replaced, which means that every week our department has gotten a few new people. The old people, myself included, are 'nice' to the new people but we do not accept them as brethren in the great war against boredom because they just don't understand. They don't know any of our inside jokes, they dress funny and don't understand correct office behavior, and often times they are introverted and have peculiar laughter that just wouldn't properly mesh with the group.

This is why we have decided not to include them in our lunch plans. We brought them along once or twice and the entire experience was completely awkward. The three of us would tell a joke and all laugh while the rest stared at us and pulled on our pant legs for some form of acknowledgement and acceptance. We're all gone in a few days so we don't need to become friends with them - they need to become friends with each other. When we go out to lunch we don't want to be left with the responsibility of carrying a conversation for their sakes... we'd much rather tell raunchy jokes that get us strange looks in the midst of others' lunchtime conversations.

Going about not inviting people is a bit touchy. We openly talk about our lunch plans (we do keep a lot hidden through an intricate e-mailing system, but lunchtime discussion are usually open and accepting... it's hard to break this pattern after months of its use), and so the newbie co-ops will generally hear where we are heading. It's a little awkward for us to not invite them, but it's better than inviting them and staring at their ugly faces while trying to eat.

So for today, the new co-ops are not invited and the three of us that remain will have a delightful dining experience away from the office. Hurray for us.

It was either this or kill them all while the managers aren't looking and hide their bodies in the hardly used handicap bathroom on the other side of the floor.... but I'm sure someone would notice the smell after a while. Handicapped people, while disabled, are usually clean.

My Boss

2004-08-25T08:32:00.000-05:00

My boss, we'll call him Brian... because that's his name, stopped by this morning to talk to someone sitting near me. I saw him and said 'good morning' in my friendliest tone even though I loathe him. He came over and started chatting with me. I'm pretty sure he noticed that I was writing a post for this blog at the time, but frankly, I don't care.

Regardless, we got on the subject of me moving back to school in a few days and I told him about all the problems we are having in The Taj. This set him off on a 15 minute story spree about all the good times he had in college. He ended it with "I'm too old to do any of that stuff anymore" and then he looked at the ground. Honestly, he looked sad and I felt bad for him. I hope I don't end up like him when I'm 40. I don't want to be pathetic and regret that I'm old and miss the days of long ago. At least he's married and probably has lots of sex.

Parking Lot Games

2004-08-25T08:26:00.000-05:00

Every morning I pull into the same row of the same parking lot in front of the same bland looking office building, just like everyone else. I loathe this moment in my morning because it means that I have somewhere in the vicinity of 8 hours till I get to return to the sanctity of my car. Everyone else knows this too, so there are very few people walking around in the parking lot in good moods. Thankfully, I have found an entertaining activity to cheer myself up.

A few months ago I installed a 12" subwoofer and some new aftermarket speakers in my car. Every morning I play a little game. I put in some rather "hard" music (along the lines of Thrice, Between the Buried and Me, anything that's rap and has black people... basically anything I think will be offensive to someone), I then turn the volume up past 30 with my windows down and drive fast enough through the parking lot that if someone jumped out I would easily kill them. I park, get out of the car, and check to see how many people are staring at me.

I set a new record this morning: 7

The Water Machine

2004-08-25T07:35:00.000-05:00

Here at work we have these little nooks scattered around the building called "coffee bars". These consist of a number of coffee pots filled with bubbling sludge that is only consumable after the addition of 30 sugar packets; there's an array of vending machines, and a sink. One of these coffee bars is right near my cubicle and if I want water I can go to the sink, get semi-cold tap water, and be back at my desk in less than 3 minutes. Or, I can take a 10 minute break, walk down to the ice machine in the main building, and maybe see one or two attractive women. I almost always choose the latter option, but there is one significant drawback to this - Other people.

It became obvious early on that everyone in the office will choose to take a longer break rather than a short one even if it means they have to walk 1000x further just to get some ice water. While there is generally at least one person in a coffee bar, the ice machine can draw a line upwards of 10 people. This alone proves how popular "not working" is to the office crowd. People from all corners of the building flock to the ice machine like it's dispensing high purity cocaine. People bring bigger and bigger cups to the machine so that it will take longer to fill and allow them more time to waste away from their desks.

The ice machine fascinates me. It succeeds at bringing the company together in ways that the coffee nooks fail at. But, I have learned that it is dangerous to go to the ice machine alone. You have no one to talk to while you wait, you have no one to protect you from evil managers that you might see while walking to the ice machine, and you look like you have no friends when you are waiting in line behind a group of fat women who are all laughing and standing in front of the ice machine but NOT filling their cups with ice. The saying "strength in numbers" holds true for the ice machine. I've seen people beaten to death for not getting out of the way fast enough. It's like the Soup Nazi from Seinfeld except you control your fate with the ice machine. If you take too long the ladies behind you start to scowl and make little grunting noises that mean "get the fuck out of my way!" I face this great danger every morning - sure, it's scary - I could lose a limb or get stabbed in the back. But at least I get to take a longer break than if I had just walked to the coffee bar.

Maybe I should start bringing weapons...

Tard.

2004-08-24T21:10:00.000-05:00

Tonight has been a random series of events that have all confirmed that which we all sort of knew anyway: I am a tard.

For the past month I've been working on a little project. One of the guys that was working with me here in Findlay was really into working on his car. He would come into work and talk about his plans for his car, little projects he was attempting, things he took apart and rebuilt, etc. After all of his talking, I eventually caught the do-it-yourself bug and felt an urge to mutilate, I mean 'modify', my car. The plan was simple: Remove the rear emblems from my Honda. Shouldn't be too difficult, right? Maybe if I weren't a fucking tard it wouldn't have been. I took the emblems off (they were held on with a sticky adhesive) and then to remove the adhesive I used sand paper. SAND MOTHERFUCKINGPAPER. I don't know why any college accepted me when I obviously think it's a good idea to sand paper my car... which has paint on it... which comes off when you sandpaper it.

Surprise surprise - the paint is now all messed up, but hey, at least the adhesive crap is gone. That was a month ago. After figuring out all of the work required to sand, prime, and paint an automobile, I pretty much let my laziness carry me until the thought of my father scolding me for being a dumbass motivated me to do something about this project from hell. I went out, got all the supplies and instructions that I thought would be necessary. All was going well until I tried to put paint to primer. Let me just say that it looks like some paint abomination threw up and died on the back end of my car. There are no words for what I did to the poor thing. An aborted fetus would be prettier to look at. So dad, when you come this weekend, I'll hit myself in the head and refuse to pay tuition just so I don't have to look at your face of obvious disappointment.

And to add insult to injury, while I'm working on the freakshow I call my car, this really cute girl came up to talk to me. She thought I was cleaning it... in the dark. I then had to show her what I was really doing - trying to paint it with a vomit mixture of green and suck. She immediately could tell that I was a tard and ran away. I tried to get her to stop, but I think she knew that if she stayed I'd just do something to ruin her too.

At least some people in the world are smart. They can carry my ass while I'm toiling around in a wheel chair drooling on myself... maybe in a month or so.

Someone Will Pay

2004-08-24T20:55:00.000-05:00

Last thursday I had a little "gathering" at my apartment. During all of the socializing someone somehow spilled... nay, POURED a fucking beer into my keyboard. (Side Note: This is no ordinary keyboard, no this is the #1 geek-wet-dream-keyboard... the kind that would have John Carmack rubbing his nipples. It's wireless and comes with this cool mouse and this base thingy with a pretty blue light and regardless, it was fucking expensive.) After the spill, the beer traveled around the "spillproof" keys and down into the bowels of the keyboard where the conducting contact sheet lives. What happened there can only be described as a violent explosion as conductive beer met with conductive electrical traces and all hell broke loose in the form of melting and burning plastic. I was busy getting drunk and didn't notice that someone was using my keyboard as a sink, so I really didn't care at the time.

For the last few days, however, I have been without a typing device and so every time I get an IM I can either stare at it or copy text that the person wrote to me and paste it back in as my reply. Both get really annoying to the people I try to "talk" to and many of my friends have started sending hatemail... all because of one fucking beer. Bastards.

The Taj

2004-08-24T15:19:00.000-05:00

For the last two years I have lived in the dorms at school. Starting this weekend, that is going to change. I am moving in with 5 other people into a house on 6th street in the Haute that we have lovingly dubbed "The Taj" after the magnificent Taj Mahal in India. If you were to look at our house, however, you would notice that there is really only one similarity between the two structures: that there is an Indian living inside of it. Other than this rare occurrence, the house is a complete misnomer and is making a startlingly successful attempt at tearing itself apart. As of yesterday, there was no heat, no electricity, the toilet leaked, the windows are cracked, the microwave over the stove sits too close to the range to effectively cook anything, the last people's crap is blocking the furnace and water heater so the gas company can't turn our gas back on because of the potential fire hazard, the A/C was broken, and the refridgerator barely kept the milk luke warm instead of hot. All I can do is pray that the house is in a livable condition by the time I move in.

It seems that every time I call one of the roommates there is a new problem. The last tenants left no less than 3 couches, 8 mattresses, and a ping pong table in the basement of the house. All of this does not belong to us nor do we want it (actually, the ping pong table would be kind of cool). One of the bathrooms is missing a mirror and the sink rattles when water runs through it. There is a bar in the living room, which would be cool for parties, but apparently it's falling apart and is barely functional. There are 5 girls living above us (it is currently unknown as to whether or not this is "good" or "bad" fortune), which means no less than 9 cars to park in 1 driveway. The logistics of this living arrangement are beyond my comprehension. All I know is that I am going to have to take things in strides, try to not get frustrated, and possibly calm my anger with alcohol for the first few weeks.

After that, I can start killing people... especially if they are named after Harry Potter characters.

Please, wish me luck.

HR

2004-08-24T14:36:00.000-05:00

Being in Findlay, it is incredibly difficult to meet women my age (19/20). There is a university, but it is small, and only relatively ugly mongaloids go to school there. While I do not have standards so high as to immediately discount all of the mongaloids, I would rather not talk to or look at them. Essentially this leaves me little us but to stare at the women around me where I work.

This is an office building with roughly ~1500 full-time employees. There are the engineers, the businessmen, the lawyers, the food service staff, and of course, the HR reps. Now, for whatever reason, God decided to send all matter of hot girls to school in order to become HR representatives. Unfortunately, I am an engineer, and since this company refuses to allow distractions to get in the way of an engineer's hard day of work, the HR department lies on the exact opposite side of the building, a mere half mile away from where I sit. While this is torture most of the day, it provides excellent excuses for getting up and finding drinking fountains, vending machines, and bathrooms as far away as possible. The further away the facility, the more likely an engineer's chances of running into an HR chick.

I have seen many amazing women around the office through my little adventures. There is only one problem - all of them are at least 15 years older than me. I am amazed at the fortunes of the men in this town. There is a large percentage of very attractive "soccer moms" that work here, which means that there must be an equally large percentage of well-endowed men that have snatched up these beauties. I have seen some of the nicest asses and well-rounded racks in all my life. It is a cruel, cruel world when I have to be tempted and taunted by women that are old enough to be my mom.

I miss college - I need to go back - I think I'm in withdrawl. Or it's the crack addiction.

Last Days of Work

2004-08-24T14:18:00.000-05:00

As of now, I still have 2 days, 5 hours, and 50 minutes left. I've been in Findlay, Ohio since March 7th and finally, after nearly 6 full months of sitting behind this tiny desk, surrounded by these utilitarian Steelcase walls, I am almost free. For the last 2 and a half months I have learned how to do absolutely nothing, leave the office early, and still get paid. I am now an expert on living the "OfficeSpace" life. I come in late, take long lunch breaks, and leave early. I sit in my cubicle and play FreeCell. To break up the time, I have rubberband wars with my colleagues and all the while I am making $19/hr.

This is a Co-Operative education plan where I work for a few months and then return to school. It is supposed to let me experience the "real world" and what it means to be a full-time employee... a so-called "engineer". Rather, I feel like I am a joke. This entire work session has been a joke. The most I've done is throw grass seed down on an empty field and pray that it grows so that "my" company won't lose thousands of dollars in non-compliance issues.

I am bitter, yes, but my feelings are well-founded. I am astonished that so many people can give up their souls to become trapped within the a company all so that they can get their bloated paychecks. Sure, money is good, but I think sunshine is better. 30 years, trapped in a steel cubicle, all so that you can retire and never work again. I don't understand this. Why not do what you want now, and when your body is useless, trap yourself in a cubicle.

I'm tired of practicing in this three-walled coffin.