In The Land Of Women…

So, I’ve been thinking lately. I’ve really been wanting to get some updates to my blog site, but I don’t have the time, considering I’m saving the world now. (more on that in just a bit.)

What I’m looking for is two things. Two simple things and I’m hoping someone out there will be able to help me out.

First, what I need is a cool little photo for my Facebook “fan page.” I just want something a little better than the glass of Jack and Coke picture that I took while I was out and about one night. (It must also be noted, that the picture is also in the header of this blog.)

Which actually brings me to the next topic. I want a cool banner that reflects this blog at the top. The picture itself has to be 780 x 95 and it also has to be awesome.

To sweeten this little deal I’ve made with you people, I’ll be willing to fork over $20 in US dollars at the iTunes store. Don’t like iTunes, fine, I’ll get you $20 in Joanns Fabrics, Gap, Best Buy, Victorias Secret (please let this be the one) or any store of your choosing. Shit, it could be Louis Vitton if you really feel like you can get something worth $20 bucks there. (They’ve got keychains right?!?) Thats right $20 free dollars of fun-ness to people who can actually work the Photoshop Machine.

All you have to do is submit the photo ideas to SarcasmAsAWeapon@gmail.com. There, that’s it. I’m sure none of you have anything to do today so I should expect tons of results within the hour.

Now, with that out of the way on to bigger and better things. See, I’ve been at my new job for just over a month now. It’s pretty epic. I’m working for a non-profit in the hope of dominating a pretty terrible disease. To protect most the innocent people I work with, I’m going to refrain from actually name dropping the actual company, but rest assured, if we were to talk and you were a smoking hot, or even pretty decent looking, I’d be sure to let you know exactly the type of work I do.

It’s been a constant level of learning which I’m not entirely used to. I’m really used to knowing shit and when I don’t know shit it bothers me. You may say I’m a bit of a know it all. I’m alright with that label, because quite frankly, knowledge is power and dammit I love power. (However the thing that eludes me is the true knowledge of using comma’s. I know I use to many and I know most of them are used incorrectly, but to be honest, it’s my blog and it’s really not that easy writing them shitcanned out of your mind. You try it!)

Where was I? Oh right, things I’m not used to…. Quite frankly, not knowing things is slowly starting to change. I’m becoming more comfortable with what I’m doing and starting to learn things at a rapid pace which can only lead to my domination and quick ascension to a promotion.

While the knowledge is coming, one thing that has thrown me for an even bigger loop is the fact that I work with ALL women. Seriously. ALL WOMEN.

Now look, I know that one may be sitting there and saying “hey that’s perfect for you!” or “what’s wrong with working with all women.”

And the short answer is nothing. Nothing is wrong with working with all women. It’s just different. For example. My very first day at the office there was a staff meeting. It was held in a reasonably large conference room with windows to the outside world (important in a second.) Everyone rejoined from their holidays breaks and discussed what was done on their holiday breaks. For most it was the same old story, hung out with family, ate too much, etc etc. Oh, also this was my first time with everyone. All ladies. I believe I counted 20. The stories moved around the large 4 buffet tables made into a giant square. Finally came to the one lady I found the most attractive in the office. She recanted her story of her break, but left one little tid bit out until someone asked… “What ELSE happened on your break.” To which she replied “I got engaged!”

Whole muther effing room erupts in squeals and applause and congrats. Except me. Don’t get me wrong, I may have done a little slow clap for her, but all I could think was “dammit. of course.” Welcome to a female dominate workplace.

It’s totally different for me. I’ve worked in some pretty male dominated workplaces and this is all foreign to me. I’m used to dudes verbally assaulting chicks about their looks as they walk through the door of a gym. Nope, can’t do that. I’m used to being given a “good game” pat on the ass when I’ve done some pretty good work. Nope, can’t do that. I’m used to saying the F word left and right. Nope, can’t do that either. It’s all very weird.

One of the more weird things, is the way people are motivated. We’ve had to do some pretty inane work that can get kind of boring or trying on ones patience so the powers that be decided that we would do arts and crafts before lunch to liven things up a little bit.

Wait, what? Arts and FUCKING crafts!?! Surely you can’t be serious.

They were. And are. Another thing I’ve learned, is you don’t fuck with arts and craft time. Write this down boys and girls as a legitimate life lesson. You. Don’t. Fuck. With. Arts and Craft. Time. Ever.

On this particular day we made frames. We were to put a picture of someone that is important to us to remind us why we do what we do. Heres mine….

Arts and Crafts Bitches.

I know. Someone fucking call the Louvre. Sign my shit up.

One thing I’m finding hard, is talking ABOUT women with women. It’s not the same. Like not even at all. I try a little bit with a friend of mine, but it’s just not the same. Like, I can’t go into another co-workers office and be all “Bro, did you see what So-And-So was wearing today?!? Like DAYUM! Look at her ass!” To which they would reply “Fuckin sick bro! I know!” High fives would generally be shared along with a little head nod. These things actually happen… trust me. You wear something hot, the guys in your office totally notice. However, they have a healthy outlet to express such hotness. Alas, I am without.

Now I feel like you readers will believe that working with all women is all bad. It’s not. In fact, I’m hoping at some point I’ll get hooked up with one or two of the hot daughters… that’s right Regional Vice President, I noticed your photos on your bookshelf, and that’s right I noticed your smoking hot daughter. Maybe she’ll put in a good word at some point. You know something like …

VP “Hey Smoking Hot daughter, we have a new employee.”
SHD: “Mom, I told you for the 100th time, I’m not a lesbian.”
VP: “Well it had just been a long time since you brought a guy home. But no, the employee is a guy!”
SHD: “really?!? And he is attractive, like the Red Sox, works for a non-profit and is an overall do gooder?”
VP: “Yup!! All of those are correct!!”
SHD: “I’ve gotta jump his bones this second!”
VP: “I give you my blessing.”

I figure it’ll go down something like that. Which is good cause the other bonus to working with all women??? My very own bathroom. Seriously. It’s awesome. The bathroom is huge, I’m actually thinking about putting a couch in there and renaming it the men’s lounge. You know, were there are decanters of liquor, ascots, cigars and mahogany. (sidebar, we can’t actually have ANY smoking considering, you know, it causes cancer.) This is often times where I go when I don’t want to be found. It’s not like anyone is coming in there to find me. However, even though it is MY bathroom, I’m not going to knock the Glade air-freshener and the very cute seashell/sand bowl on the counter. I mean, it’s just cute.

Last but not least… women really know how to take care of a guy. I mean especially if there is only one. For example, I’m not known to eat a whole lot of food at work. I just don’t like to. My daily routine usually consists of a protein bar in the morning and a meal replacement bar for lunch. It’s really how I keep my girlish figure. I then devour just about everything after the fact, but that’s neither here nor there. In doing this, this concerns women a great deal. A GREAT deal. I’m always being offered food. Hey I have some leftover this. Or I have a lean cuisine in the fridge. Or hey I brought extra lettuce, have a salad. I love it. I know if I ever move out and have nothing in my refrigerator, I’m just going to go to work and tell the ladies my dilema. BAM. Free Food. Ingenious.

(And ladies lets not be haters… It’d be like you going to a frat house saying you’ve never been drunk before. Boom. Free drinks. Or just going to Vegas. Boom Free drinks. You work your world, I’ll work mine.)

In closing, my birthday just passed recently and if you ever want to just fly under the radar, I suggest working with all men. Women want to make sure you feel special on your day (women you work with that is, not ones you facebook stalk on the daily.) For my birthday I got serenaded at my desk with a rousing rendition of Happy Birthday. Free lunch. And a giant muther effing cupcake. And the world knows, I fucking love cupcakes.

So, maybe working with all women isn’t all that bad. For now that is. I mean, until their periods sync up and I’m the only man in the office to take all their hate out on. I’m sure that day is coming soon, but until then I’ll take a giant cupcake, smoking hot daughters, my own bathroom, and never having to worry about someone wearing the same outfit as I.

Life is good right now.

Until Next Time…

Email me
SarcasmAsAWeapon@gmail.com

An Open Letter To Rachel Bilson…

Rachel,

Hey. How are you doing? I couldn’t help but overhear you are single now. I’m really sorry to hear that. Darth Vader seemed like a pretty decent guy, I mean, aside from cutting down the entire Jedi army (including young padawans) and putting the Galaxy in disarray, he seemed like a cool cat.

I also couldn’t help but overhear that you were looking to focus on your career. That’s perfect, because I have a really shitty job and would need you to continue to work so we could both live in the style we’re accustomed to.

Now that I think about it, do you have a place of your own? Cause that would be best. You see I still live at home with the ‘rents (ala Seth Cohen in season 4 of the OC.) Now don’t get me wrong, if I brought you home my parents would LOVE you! More specifically they’d love you because bringing a girl home would start to erase their ever-increasing suspicions that I might be gay.

You’re probably asking yourself, “is this too soon?” “am I emotionally available?” “do we have anything in common?” to which I would reply, no it’s not too soon, based on an episode of How I Met Your Mother (a show you were excellent on btw) there is a very small window of opportunity…

To your second question, am I emotionally available? To that I say probably not, but in the grand scheme of things and considering you are an actress, I’ll take acting like you are emotionally available and call it all good.

Lastly, do we have anything in common, yes, yes we do. For starters we both like to be fashionable at movie premiers. You dressed up something fierce at the Jumper movie premier

Fierce

I also dressed up something fierce at the last Star Wars movie. Of course by fierce I mean ferocious, like the evil Rancor monster. But either way fierce.

(ps, aside from the Star Wars reference in there, saying the word “fierce” a lot is another reason in my parents ever-growing concern that their son is gay. That and I’m watching more Project Runway.)

Lastly, Rachel, I’d like to call upon the time we spent Valentines Day together. You can’t tell me that meant nothing to you?!? I mean you could. Technically. But still I thought we shared quite the moment there. I thought we had something special. Well, now that I’ve written this letter here is your chance to prove that this could be something. I will eagerly be awaiting your reply….

Sincerely,

Me.

ps. I am not a crazy person.

Email Me (this actually is for everyone, not just Rachel. But it’d be cool if Rachel emailed me too.)
SarcasmAsAWeapon@gmail.com

Until Next time…

Old Money and Loose Morals… Pt. 3…

By the way, if you’ve missed parts 1 and 2, make sure to click the numbers to catch up….

With that being said this blog is a little bit more vulgar than one may be used too… so fair warning.

RPG, JP, me, and RPG’s friend all took off from Joe’s to this Irish bar. It was a cool place, and on any given night I would have loved to have stayed there and drink some more casually. However on this night, I was looking to do serious damage to my liver, and potentially sleep with some random slut I found at a bar.

So we were on the move again. We had decided to walk our way to a bar called Whiskey’s. Along the walk RPG figured he needed to pull out some more cash so we could continue on killing our liver with copious amounts of booze and more than likely a pizza at 2 am. (The 2 am pizza has become a particular favorite Boston tradition when I venture out there. It’s been known to happen to have 4 guys demolish 2, yes thats right 2, extra large pizza’s at an ungodly hour of the morning.)

At the ATM vestibule, JP couldn’t help but notice a rather stunning blonde prancing around in some insane heels. I can’t really say I noticed at first because I was busy staring at said blonde’s ass. But then, I caught sight of them, and it just came out. I couldn’t really help it. I had been drinking. I noticed the heels, and thus replied, “those are cute. A girl I dated has a pair of those. They were hot.” I can’t say I tried to stop it. It just came out. Like gay word vomit. JP laughed and asked if I knew where she got them, to which I said no. And in all honesty I didn’t know where she had gotten them. Which doesn’t save my masculinity by any means. I offered to call the girl and ask where she gotten them, but I must not have been drunk enough, because when JP told me to do it, I realized at that moment it probably wasn’t the best idea for me to be call this particular girl. High five drunk me!

We carried on to Whiskey’s. At this point in time, I felt it was time to do some serious damage. RPG got the first round of drinks and we were happily on our way to getting just smashed. Whiskey’s is themed like a country/western/biker bar and so the girls dress accordingly. Slutty. Which is pretty much what I like anyway. We found a spot in the bar to post up in, and our waitress (who wore jean cutoff shorts and a wife beater, class.) came up and got our drink order.

At about this point in the night, things took a turn… I ordered some German Chocolate Cake shots and somehow we got on the topic of porn. I’m not sure how things got there, but they did. Wait, never mind, I do know how we got on to the topic of porn. In fact, I know the exact porn technique we talked about and how it came up.

You see, back in college RPG and I had some pretty colorful terminology. Part of this may have been because we drank a lot and our vocabulary went right out the window. The other part could have been because we were 20 something year old dudes, that really had no particular place where our language would need to be cleaned up. So, I’m not sure who coined it first (I did) and I’m not sure why we continued to say it (cause it was funny) but back when something was incredibly crazy, or some said something that was unbelievable, or something/someone was getting screwed by the man, RPG and I would usually say….

“Are you fist fucking me!?!?”

Class. 24. 7.

So on this particular night, one of us had said something that I couldn’t believe and I replied, “are you fist fucking me!?!” To which JP laughed and shook her head. She then made a vital mistake… one that more than likely cost her innocence. JP exclaimed… “I don’t think that’s possible.” Now, back in the day without technology this would have gone unnoticed or left alone until it could be proven at a later date. Say with a joke birthday gift from the porn store. However, in this day in age, all three of us guys had iPhone and we decided to prove (scientifically of course) that indeed fist fucking was possible. RPG did a search, (which to be honest took a lot less time than I thought) and boom, there it was. Actual video proof, that not only was fist fucking possible, it apparently could be done with more than one fist.

(On a side note, I can’t say I’ve actually seen a porn with fist fucking in it. Now don’t get your panties all in a bunch, I like my porn as much as the next guy, but really I have my limitations. Guy and girl, girl and girl, 3 ways, those are more my thing. You start adding extra curricular to the porn I am out. I like my porn to be a little more wholesome thank you very much.)

JP handled the affair with class and dignity, and maybe a little bit of awe. Who’s to say. After watching the video, we took the shot and got another round. However, it must be said, that these were the WORST German Chocolate Cake shots I’ve EVER had. And I’ve had my fair share of these shots my friends. They were terrible. And for some reason, the Bartender didn’t sugar the rim. I LOVE A SUGARED RIM!!! So of course I told the group that this bartender sucks, because he “left out the sugared rim!” (ps, for those of you keeping score at home, that TWO times I’ve emasculated myself on this night. And sadly, more to come.)

We continued to have half decent conversation about who knows what. This is where things begin to get a bit fuzzy. JP wasn’t feeling great after the poorly made GCC shot, (nor was anyone else for that matter) so we decided to call it a night. RPG’s friend took off and went who knows where. RPG, JP, and I all hopped into a cab to make it safely home to RPG’s. At one point, on the way home it was mentioned we wished the cabbie would put on some awesome tunes for us to get us home. He either didn’t hear us or didn’t want to have a taxicab confessions night complete with karaoke. At this point, JP busted out her iPhone and we began singing the hits. Not well of course, but that didn’t matter. And then it happened….

Baby. by Justin Bieber.

I may loose some readership for this, but I really like this song. And I’m being 100% honest and serious. I love it. I don’t know what it is. It’s pure pop crap, but it gets me every time. Like, every. Fucking. Time. I’d like to think that admitting this would get me laid. You know, cause of the whole honesty angle. Then I realize that chicks aren’t always all about the honesty angle. They’d rather you keep a secret like that deep down, and never speak of it again. I figure this is apparently why I’m single, but ladies, if you’re looking, I am an honest guy, I just happen to have a thing for really catchy pop music. (I can’t help it.)

(ps, This is by far the most emasculating thing I can admit. Strangely enough, it’s also the 3rd for this trip.)

JP and I karaoke our asses off in the back of that cab (complete with me trying to do the Ludacris part). It was pretty fucking sweet. I’m pretty sure at this time, RPG was looking out the window trying to count the minutes till it was all going to be over, like the rape scene in Shawshank Redemption.

The cab dropped of JP, and we made our way victoriously back to RPG’s. Where… we ordered pizza. And it was good.

Sunday morning/afternoon, we got up because we were invited to brunch over at KC’s house. It was also Easter sunday, and the Opening day for the Red Sox. Which we would be attending later that evening. KC had worked all morning long and made a wonderful feast for us to help ease the hangover that some of us had. I wasn’t so much hungover as I was dehydrated so I started off the morning with a mimosa. Which I don’t normally drink, but hey, when in Rome. Once the meal was all cooked we moved our party out onto the Veranda and continued to drink mimosas and have brunch. Not going to lie, it was pretty freaking awesome. Mimosas on the veranda remind me of this video….

Makes me laugh every time. After brunch, it was so insanely nice out that everyone decided to head down to the park and drink. Those who know me, know that I’m not really one for lounging outside in parks and shit, but we brought a ton of beer, and well, I didn’t drive. So down to the park we went, where we saw one of the worst egg hunts in the history of egg hunts. The worst part was it was a group of 20 something’s obviously still high/drunk from the night before. Left like 10 eggs laying around. Of course, none of use went over to get one of the left over eggs, for fear there were used needles or heroin inside the eggs. Plus, we were to busy drinking beers from Red Cups.

After our adventures on the veranda, we continued back to KC’s house were her and her boyfriend BBQ’d their asses off. Not going to lie, it was good to get some more food in me, because not only was I one mimosas, and 4 beers deep, but I had also been out in the sun, which accelerates my hunger/grumpiness/drunkeness. We continued to drink and eat and generally have an amazing day. Little did we know the day had just begun, along with all the awesomeness.

WE made it back to RPG’s house, and we took a minute to change and get prepared for our trip to Fenway Park. Which, really just means we went back to RPG’s and took a shot or two for the ride down to Fenway. The atmosphere was electric around Fenway Park that night. It was opening night, the Yankees were in town, and RPG, and I were getting ready for an unforgettable night. (sort of.) They unfurled a HUGE American flag on the Green Monster to begin the game. Which was a site to see in and of itself, however, the bigger sights came just moments later. The PA announcer geared us up, and announced that PEDRO FUCKING MARTINEZ was home in Fenway Park throwing out the first pitch! I knew we were in for something special and I was not let down.

For the 7th inning stretch, Steven Fucking Tyler of Aerosmith came out and sang God Bless America with his daughter. That was pretty effing cool. I mean Steven Tyler was still alive. Who knew. I was texting with JDub during most of the game as she was at home watching on ESPN. I told her all the cool stuff that was going down, and she half jokingly said, “if Neil Diamond comes out, you can die happy.” to which I replied, “I know right. And then, the most awesomest thing ever happened. NEIL FUCKING DIAMOND came out to sing Sweet Caroline with the Fenway Faithful.

NEIL FUCKING DIAMOND!!!

The whole place went insane. It was an amazing site to see and hear, and what a night of Awesomeness. Pure, unadulterated, awesomeness. And yes, I could probably die happy, however, I’d at least like to have sex one more time. Just sayin.

The night ended on an amazing comeback by the Red Sox and we left Fenway park just insanely happy. Tradition has it, that we roll over to the Cask N’ Flagon, but on this night, things were a bit different. We chose to go over to the Bleacher Bar (which has an amazing view of the Fenway outfield because it’s under the grandstands) T’was my first visit to the bleacher bar, and unlike last time where I celebrated Irish Wake Style, we were in full celebration mode, which meant, 5 jack and cokes in at little over an hour. We closed down Bleacher Bar with some other rowdy Sox fans and made our way back to RPG’s via a cab.

On the way home, we both decided to get some food, and of course we came to the conclusion, pizza. However, this was Sunday night, and not just any Sunday night but Easter. RPG tried to get ahold of the pizza place but any rational person would have known they were closed already. So RPG had the driver drop us off at a gas station, because back in college RPG and I feasted on the bag of chips for 99 cents that you covered in processed melted cheese. Ahhh the good life. However, the gas station was also closed, and I found myself needing to pee. Now, to be completely honest the next few events were really fuzzy.

All I really remember, was being in some alley, and RPG shouting my name, because I took it upon myself to find somewhere to pee. Mission accomplished. However, being in a dark alley, may not have been the smartest drunken mistake of my life. (But shit, since I’m writing about these events I’m obviously ok. High five drunken me!)

We settled in back at RPG’s, and I’m not sure if we ever got any food or not. I don’t really even remember the last 2 hours of the night. All I know was the Sox won, Neil Diamond sang at Fenway, and I was there. It was one of the best trips of my life. And worth every single minute.

After I touched down in Portland after the best trip I’ve taken, I couldn’t help but think, this was exactly what my grandpa had in mind. Cheers to you Gramps.

and ps, how awesome am I that I can have Fisting and Justin Beiber in the same blog?? Awesome.
ps again, I’m not exactly sure how awesome Gramps would have thought that last statement was.

Until Next Time…

Email Me
SarcasmAsAWeapon@gmail.com

Old Money and Loose Morals… Pt. 2…

So we last left off I was still drunk laying on the couch watching the Kardashians take miami. It was the episode where Kourtney was being auctioned off for a date by her sister Khloe. Not going to lie I was a little bit intrigued by this turn of events, and actually wondered if I were in Miami if I’d a had a shot with Kourtney.

I must add this, Kourtney is my #2 Kardashian. I can’t help it. I LOVE Kim. I find her wildly attractive, and she’s famous for being adventurous in the bedroom. A plus in my book.

So after a few episodes, RPG finally called and laid out the game plan for the day. #1. Get some food at Coolidge Corner Clubhouse. #2. He had to work, so I was going to go to the Red Sox team shop on Yawkey Way. #3. We’d be hitting the Celtics game later that night. #4. Potentially meeting up with one of my favorite Bostonians, JP who we last met on my last adventure to Boston.

I showered, got dressed and decided to face the day. RPG came to pick me up, and at this point, after taking such a hot shower, I realized that I had indeed progressed the drunken state I was in because of the hot water. Sweet. Still drunk at noon on a Friday. Mind you, not a first, however, most of the times I’ve been drunk at noon, I started the same day. Not a carryover from the night before. And no, I still don’t think I have a problem.

We arrived at CCC and seeing how RPG was starting to pre-game for the C’s game, we both ordered drinks. I went with my old stand by Jack and coke, RPG went with something else… I was too drunk to pay attention. Then the strangest thing happened. As we were waiting for our food to arrive, I immediately was hung over. Like BAM. Instantaneously HUNG the fuck OVER. The waitress brought me my drink, and I recoiled with a stomach convulsion. (some people call this a dry heave, I would like to think I’m better than that….) I looked at the drink, looked at RPG, back at the drink, back at RPG and said… “I’m not sure I can do it.” RPG looked at me with disgust, which I would actually like to think was a bit more disappointment.

I’m not going to lie folks. This was tough. I was staring a Jack and Coke dead in the face, with a chicken sandwich and fries to the right. Normally, I don’t get hung over. Normally I can start the very next day with drinking. This particular Jack and Coke was my nemesis.

My Worthy Opponent...

There it is boys and girls. The ONLY Jack and Coke I’ve left as a wounded solider. I got halfway through the drink and couldn’t finish. I had been bested. Well done my friend. You were a worthy adversary.

RPG left to head back to work, and I was left to my own devices. Which meant walking downtown and finding the Red Sox team store. It really wasn’t hard to find, but dammit it was bright out, and I had forgotten my sunglasses. Having my eyes completely dehydrated from boozing, then walking out into the bright sun, not my finest decision making of the trip. However I pressed on. Found the team store, and actually had a grand ole time.

Now this little trip of mine, probably took me a good 3 hours of my day. Walking around Boston is not an easy task. I hadn’t eaten much all day, nor had much to drink. The sun was beating down on me, and I started to feel like Lawrence of Arabia… It was at this moment where I decided to get back to RPG’s as quickly as possible. Here is where the enormity of my hangover/drunkenness came to play. I settled down on a little park bench to take a bit of a breather. Next to me were a line of cabs. In which one driver asked if I needed a ride to which I replied no. I was determined to figure out where I was and take the T back to RPG’s place. I busted out the iPhone, even found myself a little map of the T’s routes. My brain was just not having it. All those squiggly lines on the map, and my iPhone taking its sweet ass time. I said (verbally no less) fuck it. And got myself a cab.

A wise decision, however, not another one of my best. Because of my current state, I picked the closest one. Got inside and distinctly said “Comm Ave please….” and off we went. I sat in the back of the cab, and began smelling something insanely vile. I couldn’t pinpoint the exact cause of the smell, but it rested on one of two things… The cabbie himself or his lunch. Whatever it was, was making me nauseous. This was bad… I reached for the window in hopes that the fresh air would help and not have me throw up something probably a little more vile than this gentleman’s lunch. To my dismay the window had already been down. I sat in the back and told myself, mind over matter, mind over matter. HURRY THE FUCK UP!!!

Just as my Vomit Threat Level was hitting Orange, the driver began to pull over and was looking at me to exit the vehicle. He turned to me in the back seat, and said “Her ya go. Brookline Ave.”

wait… Brookline Ave? That’s not what I said… I said Comm Ave. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh Shit. He took me to the wrong place. I calmly informed the gentleman that I indeed had said, Comm Ave, not Brookline. I may have also mentioned very politely, how these two sound nothing alike. At all. Like, I’m curious as to how you could mistake them. I’m sure it’s a common mistake sir, my apologies.

After some confusion, (my bet was the English language) he did some fancy maneuvering and gotten me to Comm Ave post haste…. crisis averted.

I finally arrived back at RPG’s and headed straight to my previous location. The couch. I was happy to see that the Kardashians take Miami was still on. It’s like the drunk gods above placed my day on pause so I could resume it at my earliest convenience. I took a nice little nap till RPG got back, and was delight to hear him come in the door and announce, “I shall take a nap before tonight’s proceedings.” Epic win. (He may have also ridiculed me in my choice of entertainment on TV. Whatever.

Friday nights events we really not that exciting. Part of it was my hungover-ness. Part was RPG did work all day. The Celtics lost etc etc… so we essentially just called it a night. I think we would have gone out had JP and her friends made the trek outta her condo. But alas, all was for not, and we just packed it in. Which was probably a good idea because Saturday was a giant shit show….

We woke up the next day to beautiful sunshine outside, and booze on our minds. RPG put out the call that we would be heading down to Joe’s American Bar and Grill. They had an outdoor patio section with a retractable roof, and this particular Joe’s was right on Newbury Street, which apparently is a pretty awesome place to be. (I can’t argue with this fact, it was pretty awesome. Tons of food, shopping, and on a nice day like this day.. women. LOTS of women. It was like my heaven.)

We moseyed our way into the patio section and had to wait for some tables. The place was packed with a ton of people who apparently had the same idea we had. RPG and I began to down beverage after beverage, because that is exactly what you do to stay hydrated when it’s 80 degrees outside. Drink.

After sometime of putting down drink after drink, and me staring at beautiful women, and making fun of douchebags we finally got a table. (Let it be known, that this was indeed like 2-3 hours before we got our table. We really didn’t mind, it was so nice outside and the views were incredible. Plus RPG and I can have bullshit conversations till the cows come home.) After we had gotten our table, RPG (much like he did in college) put out his social Bat Signal and sure enough friends started filling in the empty seats we had. KC, who we previously met in part 1, brought her man down and her 2 friends that were visiting from Florida. More drinks were had and the conversations were awesome. At one point, some dude decided to start playing the bagpipes. Which to be honest, happens quite a lot in Boston. (and yes, most people in Boston hate that shit… however, all bagpipers know, tourists eat that shit up. As is true with this particular dude… )

The shit really hit the fan when JP showed up. At that moment, while proclaiming it was indeed her birthday the festivities took a major turn. And by major turn, I mean we started to get more drunk. Many topics of conversations were had, like “JP, how come you didn’t bring your friends out last night, so I can try to sleep with one of them? I mean we’re both on vacation? I would have walked them back to your place…on my way to Whole Foods.” To which JP replied… “Ever the present gentleman, it’s a wonder I didn’t bring them around!” We had a ton of fun drink Jack and Cokes, and Sangria.

JP began to get a bit tipsy and started a relationship with our waiter… and by relationship I mean, she said, I”ll have this… and he took that as “I’m ready to jump your bones.” One could see how the connection was born. The whole time JP would chat with the waiter, he’d return a volley and smile the biggest smile. What was a tad alarming, was the lack of teeth in said waiters mouth. And, the ones he did have, apparently had never met a Crest white strip. We all had a great laugh about that, and even more so when the waiter brought JP an “on the house” birthday slice of cake. We gave her a hard time, until JP bit into something really hard… We all looked down on her plate, and sure enough, what was laying there looked exactly like our waiters tooth!!

We all FREAKED out and started doing the “EEEWWWW” thing that 8 year olds do… upon closer inspection it was determined to be some sort of misplaced nut. (That’s what she said) JP decided that, cake, may not be her best option. So it was determined that booze was. We all got some more drinks in our system, and by this time it was night fall. We felt that sitting at Joe’s was not going to cut it for us, so RPG, JP, RPG’s friend, and I all decided to hit the town…

To Be Continued…

Until Next Time

Email Me
SarcasmAsAWeapon@gmail.com

Old Money and Loose Morals… Pt. 1…

I know it’s been a considerable amount of time since I’ve written anything. To my fans. I apologize. To people who are new to this blog (assuming there are at least 2 people who stumbled upon this blog based on some pretty messed up search terms, which I have a feeling I’ll blog about some other time) welcome and I hope you enjoy.

I’ve decided that I’ll be trying to write more about my life and it’s current happenings, but have realized that nothing has really been going on. Yes, I’ve had my fair of drama and some ups, and even some pretty decent downs, but overall life has been essentially status quo.

Which, brings me to this particular event in my life.

You see, a couple months ago, my grandpa unfortunately passed away. It was expected and was a relief to my family because he had been fighting for so long. Fast forward to the end of February when my grandmother made a visit to our house. It was her normal hard of hearing catch phrase repeating visit that I didn’t think much of. Until she handed me an envelope. Inside was a check for a substantial amount of money to which I hurriedly tried to return saying I couldn’t take such a thing. She responded that it was indeed from my grandpa. Apparently he had stashed some money away for all his grandchildren. After wiping my eyes free of dust that had built up in the room, I hugged my grandma and said thanks. Inside the envelope was also a note… “Spend it on something fun.”

I know my grandpa. I loved my grandpa. He was awesome. He was also a prankster, a joker, and didn’t take life to seriously. Aside from a tinge of racism and loving fox news my grandpa was a great man who loved life, and wanted his grand kids to do so as well.

With that, I took a couple days to think about what I would spend the money on, and it hit me. I called up RPG in Boston and asked what his ticket situation was like. And sure enough…. within minutes, I had booked a flight and had Opening Day tickets to Red Sox v Yankees at Fenway park. I knew, without a shadow of a doubt that this would be just the type of fun my grandpa had in mind. (Even if he was an Angles fan.)

Morning of my flight came, and I had to board a plane by 730 am so an early wake up time was in store. I had packed my bags the night before and went to sleep. 5 o’clock rolled around and I made my way to the airport.

As I made my way through the security line, I began unraveling in my head what exactly I had packed and what exactly I had put it in. In my travel bag I had packed all my clothes for the journey and a small Victoria Secret shave kit bag, that I had once procured from a girlfriend who bought me Very Sexy the men’s cologne from Vicky’s. (Which by the way does smell amazing, women flock to it, however, with that being said, telling any female what fragrance you’re wearing and where you got not only raises questions, but seem like it completely emasculates you at the same time. Not a winning combo friends.)

So anyway, inside my VS bag was all my toiletries one needs for a trip. They were all placed neatly inside plastic bags just like the FAA wants me to do. If you haven’t been to the airport recently, you know now that all liquids need to be removed from your bag and scanned separately. Which is really not a big deal. And then, it dawned on me. While I removed all the liquids it left only three items remaining in the bag to be scanned through… they were indeed, my razor, my toothbrush, and a condom. (It should be noted that this is the only condom that I didn’t throw away almost an entire year ago. There is no greater indication of how your sex life is going, then writing about the same unused condom from a YEAR ago.)

That’s right. Security Agent Rose, at 6:15 am on a Thursday morning not only got an idea of what was ahead for the weekend, but she knew my intentions as well. Rose looked up from the screen and asked “Where ya headed?” To which I replied “Boston.” She gave me a quizical look that almost wanted to reprimand me right there in the terminal. I took this as a bit of an insult, looked her right in the eye and replied….

“I’m looking for old money, and loose morals. Good day.”

I would like to tell you she laughed, but she didn’t. I re-packed all my stuff and headed down to board my flight. I had prepared my self for the direct flight by stopping by Barnes and Noble the night before and picking up some books. #1 was Everything is Wrong With Me by Jason Mulgrew. #2 was The Lost City of Z. and #3 was Silver.

Now, I don’t do a lot of shilling out for things on this blog. I feel I like things. You like things. We all go about our business. However, this is a rare occasion. You see, Jason Mulgrew has written a blog for many years. Many of these years I have followed his blog and laughed. And cried (not really that’s for pussies.) Questioned my life existence and over all enjoyed most of his works. So when I read that he was releasing a book, I knew this would be the perfect time to, not only read it, but hope that one of his hot female blog readers would see me reading it, and we’d strike a bond, and I’d be sitting pretty in the Mile High Club in no time.

The Mile High portion of the previous paragraph, sadly, did not come to fruition. However the reading of the entire book on my flight did. And I gotta say friends… it was AWESOME! It was some of the funniest stuff I’ve read in a long time. I like to think I’m funny, (and if you’ve read this long I’m assuming you may too) but sometimes I feel my humor pales in comparison to what was published in this book. At one point, on a plane I was crying I was laughing so hard. Which, I’m sure was awkward for the dude next to me. Like I said, if you enjoy my humor, you’ll love this book. Go get it.

Alright enough with the shilling out… (and ps, if you didn’t like it, deal. It’s my fucking blog I’ll do what I want.)

I touchdown into Boston and a gorgeous day and was quickly picked up by RPG and whisked off to his Alumni Association first Thursday event, which really is just a bunch of people who went to college and now have real jobs, come back to get bombed at. Which as I vaguely remember my college days is the only reason Thursdays existed anyway. The drinking began at roughly 445pm. Please make note of this. I filled RPG in on the goings on around the great Northwest. How so and so is married, and how so and so is having a kid, and how so and so is still a slut (that’s right chick in my Communications class I’m calling you out!) After some time RPG’s friends with real jobs started to show up and the general merriment was under way. Drinks were flowing conversation was great, there was even some dude selling his special musical instruments that he brings to all the events.

This is also where I met KC. Now, I had only talked with KC a couple times before meeting her. At one point there was discussion on me potentially moving to Boston. KC told RPG that she indeed had a room to rent, and at the time, it was something I highly considered. KC and I chatted a bit, and she gave me the go ahead that I could indeed move in AND I could have threesomes. I felt like our friendship was going to be long lasting. (Let it be known, that while I was allowed to have threesomes had I moved in, KC is way to classy for these types of shenanigans, and I would have to procure the 2 other girls for said threesomes on my own.)

Also, let it be known that during this time, there were a LOT of Jack and Cokes being had. If I had to venture a guess… I’d put it at around 7. Rough estimate.

We left the shindig to make our way to another bar. We knew the night was coming to a close, and seeing as it was still a Thursday, people had jobs to do in the morning. However, RPG was like fucking Lewis and Clark blazing the trail to the next bar. And so we went. Went to a place right near RPG’s condo, found a seat at the bar, and attempted to give our livers sclerosis right then and there. I’m not sure at what point I decided this, but I had begun to drink straight Jack with just some ice cubes. Not one of my wisest decisions, but after say 6 more of those, things got a little hazy. And by hazy I mean completely fucking black….

If someone were to say, “hey, I’ll give you a million dollars if you can tell me A.How you got home that night? and B.Who you called that night? I’d really be out a million dollars, cause I would have had no clue. (Most these answers came to light the next day… )

Speaking of the next day, it was about this time where I thought I had lost my iPhone. Again. Yes you read that right I would have been 2 for 2 on trips to Boston and losing an iPhone. I awoke in a panic realizing I had no idea where my iPhone was. I scoured the apartment. I looked for the electrical outlet I had used last time and it wasn’t there. This is apparently where the cold sweats began. With my quick thinking I raced to my bag to see if the charger had been left in there, along with my iPhone. Apparently not. The bag was without cord or charger or phone. Fuck. It was about this time that I made one last ditch effort. I completely removed all the sheets from the bed only to find that right about where my groin area would have passed out all night, was exactly where my phone was. Which lead to a couple conclusions. #1. I wasn’t drunk texting or dialing. #2. Drunk me was smart enough to put it in a safe place. #3. I spooned my iPhone all night long. You’d think I’d be ashamed of #3, but I’m not. Not even at all.

After that whole ordeal with thinking I’d lost an iPhone again, I quickly realized my motor skills were a bit off. Really off, actually. It took roughly 5 minutes with my diminished brain capacity to realize that I was indeed, still drunk. And not just a bit boys and girls, I’m talking speech slurred, got the spins, not ready to face the day drunk. My apologies to those of you on the west coast that I texted so early in the morning. In addition to the spins, and slurred speech, math was apparently lost on me as well.

I got up, poured myself a glass of water, and essentially waited for RPG to call to finalize the itinerary for the day. (What this sentence should have really read was…. I got up, found myself a couch pillow, drank some water and watched Khloe and Kourtney Kardashian for 3 hours straight. However, I felt that sentence was a bit to emasculating. However, I top that 100 times over later in the weekend.)

To Be Continued…

Until Next Time

Email Me
SarcasmAsAWeapon@gmail.com

The Greatest Story Ever Told…

This, boys and girls, is the greatest story ever told….

Enjoy….

ps… if you want to read the greatest story ever told… click the picture.

or here. Whatever.

Down Goes Frasier… pt. 2…

P.S. For those of you who read the first part of this blog, and believed Mr. Thompson to indeed be a homosexual, I can verify factually that he is not. In fact, he is a young, very successful man who lives in LA, works in TV and is, by all accounts, handsome. He is also single. And yes, I am pimping him out a bit. Please forward all email inquiries to

SarcasmAsAWeapon@gmail.com

Thank you.

Now, back to the story. We continue the story after the three weary travelers awake from a drunken stupor. I pains me to think back and realize how much I drank the night before, how early I got up, and how I wasn’t hung over at all. In fact, I got up, turned on the TV (volume down) and proceeded to function like every other Saturday. By watching College Football. While I sat in the dark room contemplating my life, I thought to myself, maybe I should cut back on my drinking. I mean how much longer can I continue to drink as heavily as I do with no side effects (other than blacking out. More on that.) and no reason to slow down. (P.S., all of these thoughts/and reasons to slow down were evident at the end of the trip.)

Jdub seemed to be fairing a bit better.

Mr. Thompson was hit the hardest. As we all got up and got on our way to a buffet, Mr. Thompson was still hurting pretty bad. We all attempted to eat some food after declaring “actually getting out of the room made me feel better.” This was indeed a lie. The food did help a bit, but the buffet at Harrah’s was indeed not what it was nearly 9 years ago. (When this small little fact was brought to both JDub and Mr. Thompson’s attention, they replied in shock… “We were 16 then.”) Not going to lie. That one hurt.

After brunch, JDub and I decided to catch the end of the Oregon Ducks football game at an awesome sports bar in Planet Hollywood called Blondie’s. Blondie’s is probably one of my favorite places to go in Las Vegas. Is it one of the best… hell no. However, the waitresses dress in cheerleader outfits, they have 8-12 beer pong tables, and a tournament every Saturday night. I highly recommend this little known gem. Anyway, we got to Blondie’s and grabbed a table and waited from Mr. Thomspon to return from visiting the room for a bit. It was a good hour or so, when Mr. Thompson returned victoriously. Albeit he looked extremely pale and was moving very, very slowly down the walkway. When he sat before us, he exclaimed… I’m still hurting. And he looked it. Mr. Thompson decided (best decision when hung over btw) to order the “bucket of beers.” 5 beers for the low price of 20 bucks, served in a plastic bucket. Half way through the bucket, Mr. Thompson mentioned he may be using the bucket for extra curricular activities. To which I replied…. “Oh hell, no.” Mr. Thompson asked at least 2 waitresses if they had Aleve on them in which both of them failed him. He walked down to the store in the mall, picked up a small bottle, and proceeded to wash down two with a couple swigs from the Bucket o’ Beers. Needless to say, we almost lost the big guy.

After some bitching we convinced Mr. Thompson to grab some more food with us and see what the night brought us. We all got some dinner at 9 Fine Irishmen in New York, New York and mapped out the rest of our night. We ventured back to the Mirage and settled in for some resting up. Which ultimately means we all took naps. Except me. I’m not sure what my deal is, but sleep was just something I was taking for granted.

The time came for us to begin getting ready and I, for some reason, hit a wall. I was not excited to go out. I almost considered not going out at all. This brings me to a very important point about my friend Mr. Thompson. Mr. Thompson seeing and knowing full well that I may not make it the rest of the night, did what any good friend would do. Feed me booze. Mr. Thompson took it upon himself to fire up the iPod fresh with Jay-Z’s current Blueprint 3 songs, and pour me a Jack and Coke. Mr. Thompson, being the good friend that he is, also poured a mighty hefty drink. One thing lead to another and there was more bathrobe wearing, outfit comparing, drink having, dancing, and general merriment.

We left the room in plenty of time to make the designated cut off time to get into JET and waited a short amount of time to get in. Once inside, we followed our animal instincts to the watering hole and procured more booze. Obviously to get the party rolling shots were ordered from a busty brunette babe working the counter. I for one thought we would be perfect together, however there were others in the group that quickly nixed that decision. Good-bye sweet busty brunette bartender (good lord I love alliteration.)

We made our way to another dance floor where once again we made our way to get more booze. (After reading this, there is probably a good indication of what my true problems are.) We gathered some more drinks and began judging/dancing about. Just then, a very attractive girl came up to Mr. Thompson and greeted him with a handshake that wouldn’t end. No seriously. She wouldn’t let go. It’s probably because he’s good looking and all the chicks like him, and he is by no means gay. (Zing.) (No seriously… pretty sure if the chick didn’t have a boyfriend she’d be all over Mr. Thompson, and he would oblige. P.S. I think things sound a little classier when one obliges.) However, the chick did have a boyfriend, which she indeed introduced to Mr. Thompson after she held his hand for an awkward 2 minutes.

At about this point I couldn’t help but notice little Ms. Handshake and I decided to strike up a conversation with her. We talked about all sorts of things. Her tattoos, where she is from (can’t remember), what she does for a living (can’t remember) that she has a boyfriend (can’t remember) what she was doing later (can’t remember) that her boyfriend was walking over (can’t remember) and basically just having a really good chat. Had I been a bit more sober, I would have noticed Mr. Thompson AND JDub both making the throat slash motion, like stop. Quit it. Her Boyfriend is bigger than you. At any rate, the boyfriend bought Mr. Thompson and I some shots (didn’t notice if JDub got down on one) and I considered all was well. Well, I was a tad wrong, after a couple more minutes of chatting it up, Ms. Handshake leaned in and said, “I’m getting in trouble.” To which I have no idea what I said, but she was gone a minute later with her hipster trendy boyfriend.

Now usually I would have been a bit bummed, but I had 3 of my best friends with me. Mr. Thomspon, JDub, and Jack. They helped me get through it. It was decided that we would all move on to another dance floor. And this is honestly where things get insanely hazy. I remember at one point, JDub up on ANOTHER stage. I was wielding a camera like I was Annie Leibovitz, and Mr. Thompson was doing who knows what…. I seriously don’t remember. We danced our ass off and then, to my best recollection we headed back to the room to wake up and catch an 8 am flight.

Sarcasm is pleased to Announce for the first time ever a guest writer. Please welcome… JDub. JDub felt she could add some more to this blog so I agreed…. and with that….

1. Let me first just say for readers of part 1 I in no way shape or form wanted to get Mindfreaked by Cris Angel. Or even hang out with Cris Angel. I feel as though I have been misrepresented here and if Mr. Thompson can be publically vindicated then I deserve the same.

Also, I have no idea why Mr. Thompson wasn’t referred to as Big Cat in this recap of shenanigans in Sin City – I for one referred to him pretty much exclusively as Big Cat.

As the sole responsible person when the coalition gets together I feel it only right to let Sarcasm readers know the truth – the three of us were having a great time at Jet, you see Jet is set up as one main bar and then two smaller bars with alternate music selections. Our time in the back bar was where mysterious shots were purchased by a dude for other dudes (note: I did not participate in this dude on dude shot taking) was brought to an end by the need to see what other music was playing besides late 90’s mainstream Rap/R&B hits.

What a wise move it was for when we ventured back into the main club area I made the executive decision to push our way through the crowd do where a center stage complete with girls dancing on poles was so we could essentially lean against something while judging people instead of getting bumped into at all angles. All club goers should be so lucky to have a smart thinker like me there. At this point my camera was taken away and as a result there are all sorts of shots of random legs, women, drinks and half portraits of what I think are Big Cat and I.

At this point I made some new friends with a pair of other brunettes who were dancing on the stages and I think trying to get at Big Cat. Hard to say since mostly we were all singing “Empire State of Mind” at the top of our lungs. At some point I realized it was getting to be about 1:30am and considering we stayed out partying until 3:30am the night before it wasn’t “technically” late but I knew I had to get up at 5:30am and would have to wrangle someone (ie Mr. Sarcasm as a Weapon) to the airport – which we previously have done when I went to Italy and he went to San Diego (I don’t want to get into it now but let’s just say I have a new appreciation for mom’s who deal with getting unruly children from place to place). I told the boys we were done and thankfully they were intoxicated enough they knew better than to put up a fight. Great success. We were leaving! As we head out the door Big Cat yells “We are going to McDonalds!!!” I was out. I had awesome heels on and after all that dancing and trekking around the last thing I wanted was to tromp across the street for fries. So I double checked that Big Cat had his room key and was aware enough to recite back to me the room number (Mr. Sarcasm was never trusted to be in charge of a key – I mean really, we knew that I was going to have to make sure he made it home safe). After a successful recalling of the room number I headed through the casino to the elevator and the boys headed out the door.

Just when I was starting to worry about the boys I hear giggling (yes, giggling) outside the door. Low and behold there they were. Key in hand – yet not in door. The giggling duo come barreling in with matching chicken nugget combo meals. Big Cat sits down and opens a packet of ranch – you would of thought Big Cat open palm slapped Mr. Sarcasm in the face. Mr. Sarcasm proceeds to flip out about Big Cat eating 1 of 2 ranch sauce packets when Big Cat requested BBQ Sauce and was awarded a half dozen. To calm down the rampage I did what any rational girl would – I tried to calm Mr. Sarcasm down by having him eat his feelings. But he was too distraught or maybe just too enraged – so he demanded I feed him. So here I am a grown adult feeding another adult French fries and chicken nuggets dipped in ranch and receiving the following feedback: “I can’t eat the whole thing at once! Just hold it there while I bite a piece off.” “Put more ranch on the next bite.” “I want more fries.” You get the idea.

Big Cat took down food like a champ and this time managed to climb into bed instead of passing out on top of it. Although he did try to push some good night Robin Thicke music on us yet again. I waited until he fell asleep and turned off his iPod. Mr. Sarcasm at one point got out of bed, waking me up along the way and 5 minutes later I had to basically promise the boy a pony with a red bow to get him up off sleeping on “the nice cold” bathroom floor.

I remember none of this.

I awoke for an 8 am flight bright eyed and bushy tailed! JDub did her best and got me up and out the door. We nudged Mr. Thompson who would be driving back to LA that day. We got to the airport, checked in and said our goodbyes for JDub was off to Charlotte and I would be returning home to Portland. Before we left, JDub noticed my drunken state, and offered to get me some water, or powerade, or SOMETHING. To which I vetoed and would inevitably it would be my greatest downfall.

I would board the plane, put up my hoodie and fall asleep dreaming of my nice warm bed and a safe flight home. However what I got was probably the single most embarrassing moment of my life. About 30 minutes into the flight I felt the sudden urge that I was going to throw up. Instead of just doing the obvious of throwing up in a bag, I decided to get up and head back to the bathroom. I was only three rows from the back so I figured what could go wrong. Apparently a lot.

I tapped the shoulder of the gentleman sitting on the aisle and asked politely to pass. That’s the last thing I remember.

I came too, with a flight attendant kneeling above my head asking if I was ok. I was a bit disoriented and wasn’t quite sure why I was laying in the middle of the fucking aisle, but assured her I was ok and began to get up. She helped me to my feet and I rushed back to the bathroom where I did a little dry heaving and generally felt a bit better. I came out of the bathroom with both flight attendants (who were cute obviously. The one time I get cute flight attendants I’m passing out in the aisle) and a nice gentleman who helped me up. Then they began a conversation that went something like this…

FA 1: “Are you ok?”
ME: “Yeah, I’m fine.”
FA 2: “Are you diabetic?”
ME: “Not yet.”
FA 2: “Did you drink a lot last night?”
ME: “What’s a lot?”
FA 1: “Enough that we can smell it on you now.”
ME: “Yeah, that sounds about right.”
FA 2: “Here take some water, and eat some cookies.”
ME: inaudible mumbling.
FA 1: “You know this is quite common. Happens a bit on flights outta Vegas.”
ME: (sounding hopeful) “Oh? Happens a lot?”
FA 1: “Well, no, not like you. I mean we don’t just hear a ton of assistance buttons being pushed and look down the aisle and see someone passed out in the middle of it.”
ME: “So, I was passed out in the middle.”
FA 2: “Yeah, someone said you went down like a boxer in a fight. Right into the aisle.”
FA 1: (putting on a headset) “Hold on, this is no big deal, we just have to communicate with ground and let them know that our little medical “emergency” is just fine. (Into headset) “Yeah, he said he feels much better now. We gave him some water and some cookies. He looks a lot better than he did a minute ago. The color is back in his face. Yup. Uh huh. No. Sure. Ok. Over.
FA 2: “Don’t worry we gotta call ground when there is a potential medical problem with our passengers.
ME: “wow.”
FA 1: (To FA 2) “You know, I told you this was going to be a weird flight!”
FA 2: (To FA 1) “I know right. We should totally document this!”
FA 2: (To Me) “You think you could lay back down in the middle of the aisle while I snap a picture real quick?”
Me: “Well, um yeah I suppose I could.”
FA 2: “Oh you’re the best…… smile!”

I spent the rest of the flight sitting in the jump seat with the Flight Attendants who were very nice, and didn’t mind divulging which pilots were douches, their plans for the upcoming holidays, and even a little bit about themselves. All in all, aside from the passing out, Michelle and Shannon from Southwest Airlines took great care of me. Even saved my life a little. I will be forever in their debt.

In conclusion, I got my answer to all those questions plaguing me. Yes, I should probably slow down. Yes, it’s a bad sign you don’t get hung over any more. And sure as hell, the minute you start passing out on airplanes, you probably have a problem.

I just know, everyone on that flight who’s seen The Hangover, is saying in their heads (or out loud) “Some people just can’t handle Vegas.” And for now, it’s true. Vegas and I are splitting up. However, the time I had with two of the greatest people in my life… Mr. Thompson and JDub… I’ll never trade in. Even if it means passing out on a plane.

Until Next time…

Email Me
SarcasmAsAWeapon@gmail.com

Down Goes Frasier… pt. 1…

I’ve been trying to write this bad boy for the last couple days. Just a simple blog. Sum up my feelings of the events of last week. However I haven’t been able to. You see, for the last 3 days I’ve been hung over. My mind has been shot. Creative juices. Zero. Motor skills. Non-existent.

(This brings me to my next point… I would like to remind my audience that if there are any spelling, or grammatical errors in the next few paragraphs, it is indeed because I am still drunk. As are most of these post here at Sarcasm.)

For those of you who don’t already know, I was in Las Vegas for the last weekend and apparently tried to commit suicide via drinking as much booze as my poor little liver and kidneys could handle.

It all started when my friend JDub informed me that her work was providing her with a hotel suite at the Mirage hotel in Las Vegas for one week. She was to work a show and be done Friday afternoon and have nothing to do the remainder of the weekend. So the logical choice was to ask me and a number of other friends to join her for some much need binge drinkingrest and relaxation. I immediately agreed for the thought of some time away from The Gym got me all giddy inside. Although the invite was extended to a many of peoples, the one confirmed attendee would be none other than Mr. Thompson.

Mr. Thompson and I go way back to our radio days. We worked very hard on a radio show being awesome and funny. No seriously. Awesome and funny. We were like John Stockton and Karl Malone(minus the short shorts). Or Rob and Big. Or Sammy Davis Jr. (minus the eye thing) and Frank Sinatra (or any of the other white dudes in the Rat Pack.) Basically what I’m trying to get at is we were the perfect tag team comedy show and qualified for equal opportunity employment.

It’s also worth noting, that before my friend Mr. Thompson moved to LA, he, JDub and I had formed a coalition of sorts. This coalition of sorts, was based around the three alcoholic beverages that we so gladly devoured and worshiped. Mine, was, and still is to this day, Mr. Jack Daniels. Mr. Thompson’s was Crown Royal. (it’s changed) and JDub’s was none other than Jose Cuervo. There may actually be a picture of the three of us chugging straight from the bottles of these fine spirits on one of my birthdays. The Coalition was a force to be reckoned with (and a driving force in sales of said liquors. Mr. Thompson and I had been known to get black out drunk Wed-Sundays. Ahhh radio.)

So we were destined to meet in the City of Sin.

I flew all by myself (a point that shall be very important later on) Mr. Thompson drove in from LA, and JDub was already there. As I was the second to arrive I made the executive decision to purchase the first bottle of booze on the trip. It was indeed JD and it was glorious. JDub still needed some to finish up the event, so I took it upon myself to sit and watch Leave it to Lamas in my bathrobe. And get drunk.

Mr. Thompson arrived and the decision we all came up with was to go to Pure at Caesars Palace. We got ourselves dolled up, and there was an actual conversation between Mr. Thompson and I regarding pant length, shoe choice, and which shirt looked best. I believe there were numerous comments from the JDub camp regarding our sexuality, to which we decided to ignore and continue said conversations until we looked smashing!

We made our way to Pure and upon paying a ridiculous amount to get in found our way to an open spot on the dance floor. Were we got our groove on to many of today’s hottest hits. At one point, some dude was grinding on a honey in front of me when I noticed a giant eagle on his back that reflected off the lights in the club. I quickly took it upon myself to start the Napoleon Dynamite Happy Hands club motion behind him in a mocking maneuver. To which the nice Asian lady to the right of our group saw, and began to giggle. Pretty sure there was a mental high five given, and received.

The night wore on, as did our intense drinking. At one point, Mr. Thompson was getting the eye from a classy girl dressed in a Zebra print dress standing in the VIP. Somehow or another, she got Mr. Thompson into the VIP area, which he in turn got me, which she in turn got JDub. So there we were, all in VIP. Having a good time, not buying bottle service. Not buying drinks from the bar, and in actuality, having drinks spilled all over my pants. Like ALL over. Right in front. Pretty much where my junk was. It was also very awesome of the bouncer to flash his flashlight right on my crotch. Allowing everyone in VIP to see my junk, and that it looked very much like I’d wet myself. Awesome.

During our time in VIP I learned that Zebra, was just a girl looking to make it big in Sin City. She moved out here from Arizona, and was just hanging with a group of her “friends” in the VIP area. Indeed her friends were dressed as “classy” as she was, and things began to dawn on JDub and I. Mr Thompson had moved his attentions away from Zebra to some dude I believe he met in the VIP area. I’m not sure what the exchange was all about, however Mr. Thompson was the only one who left the VIP area with a number.

It must be said, that while Mr. Thompson did leave the club with a number, it was JDub that could have left with much much more. After we all stopped paying attention to Zebra, she moved on to a new group of gentlemen. We decided that VIP was not our “scene” so we luckily enough were able to retrieve our previous spot on the dance floor and “posted up.” While posting up, we made it out to the dance floor a number of times to dance to a delightful ditty or two. On one said ditty, JDub were out there busting some moves and generally making people jealous of our awesomeness. So jealous that a bouncer came up to JDub grabbed her arm, and escorted away from me. Mid-Maneuver!! In most cases, I probably would have been concerned and been all what the fuck! where are you taking her. However Jack had indeed been invited and was beginning to take over the party. So instead of getting indignant and protective, I merely said… meh.

Apparently, Mickey, one of PURE’s finest bouncer, took a liking to our friend JDub. So much so, that he removed her form the dance floor and took her up to a stage area, where low and behold, only females were up there dancing. With one exception. Chris Angel was also up on said stage and there were throngs of women around him. Including our own little JDub. Mr. Thompson and I knew it was only a matter of minutes before America’s Douchiest Man got wind of our JDub and would be Mindfreaking her all night long. It was at that moment, we decided to act. And act fast we did. Mr. Thompson and I put our minds together, and worked out an ingenious plan. We pushed our way through the crowd, got as close as we could….. and ordered another round!

The night wore on, JDub got away from Mickey’s evil clutches, I was essentially blacked out, and Mr. Thompson had gotten a dudes phone number in the VIP of PURE. We decided to call it a night and began the walk back to our hotel room where some much needed sleep was in order. However, along the way, as we walked past the tall bushes that line the front of Caesars Palace for some reason or another, I fell into the bushes. Which actually prompted Mr. Thompson to start sprinting down Las Vegas Blvd. beacuase he didn’t want to be caught by the cops. Of course, as JDub described that next afternoon, “walking home with you guys was like trying to herd wild cats.” Mr. Thompson and I high fived. Excellent.

The next afternoon, we all awoke de-hydrated and damn near dead. Some of us were worse for wear. I, because of my alcoholism, looked at the half bottle of Jack Daniels left in the room, and realized, “I’m not hung over. I can’t remember many of the events from last night. Half a bottle of Jack is gone… maybe now would be a good time to address actually having a problem.” Little did I know that that statement would come much later in the trip. Upon everyone waking up, we had a little chat about the nights previous events. Mr. Thompson and I began a dazzling display of insults and jabs directed at JDub about her time with Chris Angel.

Mr Thompson or I: “JDub how did it feel getting Mindfreaked?!?”
JDub: “I didn’t get Mindfreaked!”
Mr. Thompson: “We saw you inching your way toward him! It was impressive.”
JDub: “I don’t even like Chris Angel. He’s a douche…”
Me: “No way, I saw you put the head bob, fling the hair, jazz hands move on him.”
Mr. Thompson: “mmmmmhmmm.”
JDub “You guys, stop. I did not get Mindfreaked.”
Me: “Mr. Thompson, guess what the best thing about getting Mindfreaked is….”
Mr. Thompson: “What?”
Me: “You don’t even know it’s happening so when you get up the next day, you can tell all your friends you met Chris Angel but didn’t get Mindfreaked…”
JDub: “I. DID. NOT. GET. MINDFREAKED*!!
Mr. Thompson and I: *laughter*
JDub: FINE! You guys want to do this!?!?! What about you Mr. Thompson getting worked over by a HOOKER!?!
Mr. Thompson: “WHAAAAA?!?!”
(*At some point, we stopped saying Mindfreaked, and started saying “done in the ass.” We figure a douche like Chris Angel would do something like that. If you re-read this exchange, I’m pretty sure it’s funnier with “done in the ass.” However here at Sarcasm, I at least attempt to show some tact and class in the beginning.)

The mere mention of the Hooker brought Mr. Thompson on the defensive. “What hooker?!?” “There was no hooker!”And then JDub and I began replaying the nights events out loud. The more and more we described a hooker, the more and more Mr. Thompson got defensive.

Mr. Thompson: “She was not a hooker! She was just a small town girl trying to make it big in the city.”
Me: “Dude, she was a hooker. Even “I” knew that. (This statement was indeed powerful because on one of my trips to Vegas, I got to know a nice young lady, only to find out she was a hooker by some friends the next day. I just thought she was being polite.)
JDub: “Mr. Thompson, she was totally working you. She got you into VIP hoping you’d buy shit and the club would get a percentage.”
Mr. Thompson: “No way, she just knew the bouncers. She said she goes there all the time.”
Me: “Dude.”
JDub: “Did you not see her with her friends? They were hookers too!”
Mr. Thompson: “It was just girls night.”
Me: “Duuude.”
JDub: “And PLEASE! You know of ANY classy girls that rock a short ass Zebra dress into the VIP?!?”
Mr. Thompson: “Maybe Forever 21 was just having a sale.”
Me: “DUDE!”
JDub: “She moved on to the next dude, who bought shit, after you stopped paying attention to her!”
Mr. Thompson: “She felt dejected after I turned her down.”
Me: “Dude. Seriously. Hook. Er.”
Mr. Thompson: “She wasn’t a hooker. She was a nice girl.”
Me: “Hooker man.”
Mr. Thompson: “I don’t believe you.”

The best part of this whole interaction is through out the rest of the day, at random times, Mr. Thompson would just say “She wasn’t a hooker.” Which made both JDub and I laugh a bit, and repeat, Dude, she was a hooker. The battle was finally given up later that evening after Mr. Thompson had a conversation with his sister. To which she replied, that she would have had to have seen the girl, and other details before she could make and informed decision, however…. it was most likely a hooker.

To Be Continued…

Until Next Time…

Email Me…
SarcasmAsAWeapon@gmail.com

Adventures In Babysitting…

When last we saw our hero he had just gotten a promotion at work and was coaching high school soccer at the same time. Both of them have been mentally draining and left him with a little creativity. And, not much will to live. But that’s another story.

Not that I need to get into too many details, but our soccer team has performed, a little less admirably than I’d like to admit. But since I’ve already brought it up (and following the Sienfeld guidelines, that once you start you have to finish) I’ll have you know that our team has pretty much sucked this season. In league play we have 0 wins to go along with our 0 goals. I’d take that a little more personally had our team not crumbled before our eyes.

Lets look at some season stats…
3 Broken legs
1 Broken Collar bone
1 Pulled hamstring
1 ingrown toenail that has the kid’s white sock red at the end of the game
1 pulled calf muscle
1 Outdoor sitting bench falling on a kids leg
2 kids who’ve just decided to not let anyone know where they are
220 cases of Swine Flu at the school (Now, they’re not exactly swine flu, and our own team didn’t have 220 cases, however, last Monday there were 220 students out of school for sickness. Yes, some were from our team.)

I’m not going to lie. In all my years of coaching that’s an impressive stat sheet. Like REALLY impressive. We’d love for us to have the ability to pull up some players from JV, however, they started with 22 and are down to 12. As the kids continue to drop left and right, I’m less and less inclined to believe my coaching abilities are what’s driving the team down and that the soccer gods pretty much just have it out for me for some odd reason.

Awesome. Season.

So, coaching has been a bit rough.

However, while coaching has been rough, the whole working thing has really began to suck the life outta me.

I was moved up into a “managing” position that is in charge of our reception area and our Kids club facility. You know, where over zealous parents can drop their spawn off for a little more TV babysitting so they can get their 30 minutes of cardio in.

Our front desk staff (which I was previously apart of) is generally of the same idea that our job, while not difficult, is the most boring job in the world. Standing for six hours at a time, while scanning cards so people can use the gym isn’t mentally challenging, it’s actually a mental assault on your brain that I believe, without any scientific proof, that makes you dumber. In fact, I’m really afraid that if the Gym in question put some time and money into training monkeys, we’d be replaced in a matter of minutes.

Alas, I have risen above this mental assault on my mind to be reminded, that indeed, the mental assault of dullness and stupidity DOES NOT end there. The aforementioned Kids Club is under my domain. I am in charge of the hiring and firing of all that enter that room, and all that are responsible for caring for the spawns of Satans that partake of the gyms services. Once I received my promotion, it was indeed my first priority to find someone to fill the spot of one of the girls leaving. Of course, the manager before me gave me a sweet 2 day window of finding someone.

I’m not sure if you know how corporate America works, but hiring someone in 2 days is damn near impossible. But, I did my best. I got another young lady who had previous experience working with today’s youth and had her fill out paperwork as fast as possible. I called around to some other clubs to see if they would be able to spare a couple of their Kids Club attendants to help out for a bit. For the most part all was covered and I felt pretty good about the situation.

Until the day of reckoning came upon our hero. (Still me.) One of the girls, informed me that she had an emergency and was unable to work one of the following days. I tried in vain to find suitable coverage for the Kids Club but to no real avail. Then the plan crept into my head, “just have one of the female personal trainers do it. She needs the hours.” I looked at her availability and noticed that she indeed was free most of the hours I needed covered. With her track record in having clients cancel on her, I figured she could cover, considering we only get one or two kids in the morning anyway. She agreed, and my life again was seamless and I was an awesome manager.

The thing about planning, is usually it gets fucked up. As is the case in this story. Apparently, our Personal Trainer had her client come in, and unusually we had two infants show up to be “watched” after. Seeing as how I was the new manager, it was now my duty to go back and watch these young children.

I got back to Kids Club, and to my delight the two children were calm and unresponsive. Of course, the minute their mothers left this all changed. Boy Baby decided to freak the fuck out and start crying uncontrollably. This prompted Girl Baby to start freaking out. Based on my extensive non-verbal communication classes in college, I deduced that this young Girl Baby was indeed freaked out by males and was having NONE OF THIS! She would shudder and shy away and begin crying. Well, this just egged on Boy Baby, and before I knew it had a fucking stereo crying contest in my ear.

This isn’t even the best part. As mom of Boy Baby was leaving, she left me with one little detail of her sons life that she felt I needed to know. Her son was in fact teething. Fucking awesome.

I come from a large family, and I’ve had my siblings go through teething. It’s not their fault they cry constantly without end keeping you up all hours of the day and night, shit hurts, I get it. I mean your gums are getting ripped up and all you’ve got is this fucking binky(pacifier). If it was cool to give them booze, I bet not one kid would complain about teething.

Boy Baby was in hysterics, as I held him in my massive arms trying to comfort him. As the pain got to him, I couldn’t help but notice that his mouth was wide open (along with his nostrils) and not only did I have baby slobber running down my shirt and onto my arm, but I believe it was a mixture of snot and slobber creeping down his face. As I got a tissue to try and stop the massive flow of snot from the Boy Baby’s nose, I feel as if I angered the beast even more. He wailed out mostly in pain, but mostly because he, along with myself, no longer wanted to be at the gym. It was fucking nap time, and for the love of all that is good an holy, he was letting me know.

It was about this point in the story that I called the front desk to get the mothers of these children. I did my best. I’ve taken care of my brothers and sister many times. I called upon this prior experience to try and soothe the raging beast. My options were not working. I did all I could, save for having boobs, and breastfeeding.

The mothers came, and retrieved their spawns, and apologized because “they’re usually not like this.” I said, no mam, it was my apologies they couldn’t get a full workout in. As the mothers left with their respective spawns I took it upon myself to find the nearest Hand Sanitizer station and proceed to take a bath. However, looking upon this Hand Sanitizer station, I came to notice one fact about hand Sanitizers. They ONLY kill 99.9 percent of all germs.

99.9 percent.

Which means, that that little Snot Nosed/Drool Machine Germ Host that I had cradled in my arms to comfort was carrying the .1% of germs in the world that was probably going to either make me sick, or indeed kill me.

Toss up.

It also clued me into another realization of my life…

I’m going to be an “awesome” dad.

Until next time…

Email Me
SarcasmAsAWeapon@gmail.com

Baby Seals…

I know it’s been a very long time since I’ve posted anything. And I know that makes me a terrible person. I understand. I know some of you may be really pissed. Then again, I know most of you could care less. It’s not like I’ve gotten an angry, “dude, why haven’t you posted in a long time” email. But then again I’m not angry at myself. I’m just disappointed.

It seems as if my life has been pretty busy. I would like to tell you guys how fulfilling my life has been right now with travel all over the world, or a new girl that I spend all my time with, or about the research I’ve been doing on curing cancer, or all the volunteer firefighting I’ve been doing. However, if I were to do this, I would be lying. Turns out, my life is pretty much the same as it has been. Although two developments have kept me pretty busy.

The first development is that I’ve been “promoted” at work. You see I use the term loosely. I mean, I did get more money. I do now have a staff that works beneath me (that’s what she said! Can i do that on my own blog?) I get to hire and fire. And let it be known, I will go Ari Gold style when I get to do my first firing. Now, the downside to this promotion, is I actually have responsibilities. As of late at The Gym I’d been doign a night shift which consisted of me turning off the TV’s, locking the doors and going home. It was pretty glorious, aside from closing at 11pm every night. I even kinda became a book worm. It was nice being able to sit at the front desk, scan a card, and sit back down and read my books. Not bad for a days work.

While work is plodding along the biggest thing that is taking up my time is coaching High School soccer. In my vain attempt to be a lot more cool with the Europeans I decided to start coaching some soccer. (The attempt for raising my status with Europeans came when one so lovingly commented on one of my previous posts. So I vowed to become more hip as it were with Europe.) (Of course, this isn’t exactly all true, because I’ve been coaching soccer for over 8 years now. And if it were any REAL attempt to raise my status in Europe, I’d start calling it futbol, but that as we all know would make me sound pretentious. And I can’t have that.)

I’ve been coaching at my current school for nearly 5 years. Enough time to see freshman grow up (use the term loosely) and become seniors and go on to play some college soccer. I’ve also seen kids grow up and completely waste their lives on drugs and failed attempts and being porn stars. (the second half of that statement isn’t true.) However, regardless of talent, or regardless of life’s offerings after high school, one thing they all have in common is soccer, and our annual beach trip.

I get excited for the beach trip every year. I really do look forward to a weekend, molding young minds and continually getting bigger laughs for “that’s what she said jokes” than with my current group of friends. If anything this trip essentially feeds my ego, and indeed reminds me how cool I am. Not that I’m looking for that from high school students, it’s just kinda cool. That’s all.

The make up of this team is a bit different than in years past. In years past this team of athletes was made up of predominantly white students. However, as years have gone by and the socio-economics of our neighborhood have changed so has the student base. Now, our team is probably 90% Hispanic. Which is fine. It’s good to be exposed to different cultures. As I was on the hour long trip to the beach. We as coaches are given the task of driving a van load of students to the beach. It just so happened, I was given a van load of all Hispanic kids. And like most kids this day and age, they have iPods and wanted to listen to it. I’m pretty hip and cool so I felt that I may know some of the songs they would play. However, they all had an inside joke, and for the first 20 minutes of our trip, a mariachi band was seated in all six speakers of the van. They thought this was funnier than I did.

After our drive, and trip to the pizza joint, the boys were all fed, and ready for some chillen at the house. And by this I mean, eating all sorts of crap, and seeing who could burp the longest/loudest/special words. We have little control over this, because were in the other room going over individual goals one at a time. (This year was indeed really tame, as we got reports after the fact that one group started playing strip poker one year.)

The next day we focus on team bonding and generally trying not to talk too much about soccer. The coaches start up a bbq, and lament on the fact we have no booze. Sometimes we’ll walk by a bar with outdoor seating, and sling curse words at the people enjoying a frothy beverage. Our blood pressure and stress level also rises during these months of coaching. After a day spent, surfing, watching college football, visiting some bumper cars, we settled on the beach for a bon fire and s’mores.

Two of the boys, decided it was a cool idea to dig a “hole.” That’s right. Just a hole. For no apparent reason. It reminded me of the Friends episode where Joey digs a hole. However his hole would be used for medical purposes when Monica was stung by a jellyfish. We had no jelly fish stings on our trip. However we did have some need for medical attention.

Youth of today are rumored to always stay inside and never venture out and enjoy life. This is obviously not true for my group of soccer students. Apparently they play a game called Fugitive. It’s fairly simple in it’s premise. One group defends a location. The other attempts to get to that location. If you get tagged, you’re mission was unsuccessful, and you have been “caught.” We decided that after it got dark we would play Fugitive on the sand dunes and attempt to get back to the house.

My team, it was determined, would be attempting to get back to the house. As the leader I dubbed them the Navy Seals. Now I’m not sure if one of my Hispanic players didn’t hear me, understand me, or just plain wanted to piss me off, for he insisted on calling all of us Baby Seals. “Lets go Baby Seals.” Baby Seals! I’ve got a plan.” His all time classic quote came after discussing the boundaries. “Yo, Baby Seals, I got one thing to say about the boundaries… FUCK THE BOUNDARIES!” This quote brought me great joy, in seeing as this particular player is all of 5’3, and possibly 100 pounds. We all had a good laugh.

As darkness surrounded the playing field I got my team into position as we made our assault on the house. All of us began creeping quietly toward the house in silence. If I didn’t know any better I’d say I had a team full of silent assassins moving in for the kill. However I had my team, and I knew at some point they’d fuck up.

As it turns out, I waited patiently in the sand dunes and crept slowly toward the street. It must have been 10 minutes I slowly crept up patiently awaiting any sign of movement or sounds. As I inched closer to the street I heard a member of the opposing team coming my way. As he got closer he heard a twig snap beneath my feet. We both took off running.

About 40 minutes before the game began the head coach stated, maybe we should just play in the streets because that would be safer. This idea was quickly shot down because the dunes around the ocean were hilly and provided some cool cover for all of us. One of the other coaches, actually suggested, lets keep it in the sand dunes because running around the streets at night is not safe for anyone. Especially kids wearing all black trying not to be seen. As our head coach realized he had been out voted, he opted not to play but been the man guarding the aforementioned boundaries.

I wish I had listened to the head coach. As I took off in a dead sprint, I quickly came to realize, that not only was someone chasing me, but this ground was not level by any means. I felt that if I could make it to a certain point I could crawl down and he would zip right past me. I was running at full speed, reeds of grass whipping by my waist and the footsteps of a faster man behind me.

And then it happened. I placed my right foot where I thought land would be. Turns out it wasn’t. Apparently there had been a rock pit about 20 yards from my initial mad dash and I had found it. I landed on a rock knee first, and came to a crashing halt of rocks flying everywhere. Most of them were the size of flat rocks you might use to garden with. Regardless, I was in the middle of it on my back. You would have thought, my first thought was “man I hope I’m alright.” It wasn’t. It was however “man, if I lay still enough, maybe he’ll run right past me and I can still make the house.” Apparently he didn’t run right past me, but he had indeed heard me hit the rock pile. He had caught someone and he knew it. As he approached I could hear him say “I so got you!” But to his dismay, he hadn’t gotten any of his teammates. Just one of his coaches. Laying motionless in a rock pit. Wounded like a trapped Rhino on an African poaching show. He stood over me, looked down in disgust and said…. “oh. Its you.” and walked off.

Later on that night I regained myself and made it back to the house. There was the assailant with a broad smile and a package of fruit snacks in his lap. Victory was his.

As I sat there in the house, with an ice bag on my knee I realized that not only did he not ask if I was ok and left me to die, he in fact had NOT actually tagged me. A thought, that I kept to myself, as I was safely inside the house.

Victory was mine.

Until Next Time…

SarcasmAsAWeapon@gmail.com