My Poor Decisions, I Blame On My Friends…

So, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but a couple things have changed around here. Namely the blog header at the top. I really dig it. A friend of mine did it and, I’m a man of my word so they’ll be getting 20 bucks of their favorite gift card. (or 20 dollars in Jello Shots it’s still to be determined.)

Also, if you’ll look to the right there, you’ll notice there is a spot for you to sign up and receive my words in your email. That way, you’ll never miss one of my self indulgent, ego boosting, grammatically incorrect, all around garbage writing, in your inbox. (Yeah, I know I messed up the punctuation on that bad ass previous sentence, but deep down knowing exactly when to use ; and : just doesn’t sit right with me. So until someone actually wants to teach me how to use them correctly they’re going to have to deal with a lot of commas. Also, I’m drunk again, so being able to tell the difference between : and ; is fucking mind blowing, let alone how to use them.)

Last change, and it’s kinda minor/big depending on how you look at it, is I’ve started to blog over at tumblr. Now, by no means will you see one of these epic blogs posted over on tumblr, but it’s easy for me to throw something up there. Like taking a picture of something and blogging about it. Or some cool deep philosophical quote and post it. So it’s there. Take it for what you will. See I’m arrogant enough to think you guys really deep down like what I have to say, so I keep spewing garbage from all sorts of social media sites. Thanks internets!

Here’s the link, just in case you missed it highlighted in the paragraph above. http://sarcasmasaweapon.tumblr.com/

Anyway, enough with the changes. My last blog basically dealt with my new found life working with all women. It’s gotten progressively better, and I can honestly say I’ve made some real friendships there. I’ve also gotten the inside scoop on the latest DSW store opening so if you need all the deets, just shoot me an email.

Lately I’ve come to know my new friend Boise quite well. (And if you’re new here, you know that people get nicknames to protect the innocent. Also, when I introduce a character, it’s best to make you think they may be a stripper.) We’ve hung out a couple times, and based on stories and personalities realized were very similar in many ways. But the most glaring of these similarities, is our awesomeness. For example a couple weekends ago it was one of the first gorgeous days of the year. So we took it upon ourselves to leave work a couple minutes early and head to a sports bar that also has an amazing outdoor patio. We also decided that we should start drinking. Heavily.

And so the weekend began. There were stories shared, skin burned, and overall merriment that went along with playing a little hooky from work. (In fairness, we put in an insane amount of time where we work. Literally, like 60+ on some weeks, so we told ourselves, “we’ll make it up at some point.”) After 2-3 rounds of drinks, it was decided to head back to Boise’s place to hang with her husband and some of her out of town guests. This was not a problem for me, because they provided snacks. It’s amazing what I’ll do for a snack or two when I’ve been drinking. As the drinks began to flow a little more heavily, at one point someone suggested some new fangled “whipped cream vodka.” What the hell is this? Like seriously? I know in my beginning stages of drinking I may have mixed a couple of zima’s with a jolly rancher but this is straight up ridiculous. I mean, does it look like I was in a sorority?!? No. I am a dude…. and this by jove is disgu…..wait… this. ain’t. half. bad. Whipped Cream Vodka! Why didn’t I think of that. It’s delicious! So to keep things a little short, there was whipped cream vodka had.

After some hours of drinking, there was a executive decision to head downtown and grab some dinner, then maybe hit up a bar or two. Little did we know that whipped cream vodka can send you down a dark path real quick. We had some delicious dinner and moved on to what is now becoming one of our favorite spots. A karaoke bar that sits right across the street from a bar that hosts a very popular drag show in our city. (This will indeed come into play soon.)

We got inside the bar, and found a great table next to some pool tables and began ordering more drinks. As people started to shuffle in and the bar became more packed it was decided that I would indeed bust out my favorite Karaoke song, Sweet Caroline. I put my name down on the list and went back to our table. By this time, unbeknownst to me, a group of Drag Queens came to play some pool. Now, I’m not the best at having a ton of tact when I’ve been drinking, and well, sometimes the worst in me comes out. And so, while the “ladies” shot a round of pool, I took it upon myself to point out… “thats a dude.” “that’s a dude.” “Also a dude.” I also may or may not have been pointing. Whatever. They were very nice, and didn’t gang up on me to kick the living shit out of me for being rude, so we call it even.

As the night wore on, my tolerance for booze slowly got lower and lower. At one point it was discussed that we should probably be on our way, however, an injustice had been done when I had yet to perform Sweet Caroline. Boise and I went up to the KJ (karaoke jockey right?!? seriously? Am I right?) It was there that I learned I was still roughly 8-10 songs away from performing my masterpiece. In my drunken haze, I saw the mans tip jar on the table. Knowing full well that you tip the KJ to get your song up next, I reached for the jar, and was trying to find change for a 20. Well… apparently this is rude and he took exception to my little maneuver.
“What are you doing?” he yelled at me.
“I’m just trying to make change for a 20.” was my reply.
“Dude put my fucking jar back, and I’ll get you some. Asshole. What song are you anyway?”
“Sweet Caroline, how far away?”
“Like 10-15 minutes.”
“Fuck it man, heres a 20. Wheres that get me.”
“Sweet Caroline, next.”
“Awesome. Just awesome.”

So, with that, Sweet Caroline was performed. It was epic and we left the bar. I was so drunk that the realization that I tipped someone 20 bucks to drag and drop my name haunts me to this day. But what can you do. It was time for Boise and I to say goodbye and we did so in the best way possible. Like 12 year old girls. We hugged each other, say good by and repeated “you’re my favorite!” “no, you’re my favorite.” MY best friend Stampy should have known that this was indeed time to call it a night but I have other ideas on my mind. Very bad ideas…..

We carried on to a club, a literal club in all senses of the word. A club that has poles installed, and a swing attached to the ceiling. You would think, by my description that I have just broken no strip club rule, however, this is NOT the case. It’s just a club so dirty, that it’s where most the strippers go before heading to work. Also, if you haven’t bedazzled your shirt, you probably don’t belong as a dude. But hey, apparently I was dead set on attending the club so we went. And my god was it horrific. I wish I could say I remember things, but I don’t. 2 events stick out in my mind…
A. I almost got in a fight. That’s right, this dude thought I poured a drink on his bedazzled white shirt and took exception to that. To which, I would say good sir. 1. I would never waste alcohol on pouring it on a dude. Never. 2. You shouldn’t wear a white shirt to the club. It’s not even memorial day son. 3. When someone offers you to buy you a drink, and you take them up on the offer, and the drink is blue… you probably deserve to get your ass kicked. Luckily Stampy was the voice of reason, and I and White Shirt Bedazzled Dude left the club unscathed.
B. Some girl actually was flirting with me. Like, for real. Came up to me. Was flirting with me. Apparently, we were actually doing sign language with each other. Which is shocking, cause about the only sign language I remember from college is “beautiful” and “fucking.” Which, considering the club we were in, may have been all I needed. But alas, it was not meant to be. Sign Language girl took off, and even after a diligent attempt at scouring the club, she was no where to be found.

Again, at this point, Stampy should have known it was time to go. However, it was someones bright idea to continue on. Party Trifecta! We made it in to one more bar. (Which is shocking, cause most places won’t let people in if they look intoxicated. And based on my previous activities, and how much I had to drink, I have a hard time believing I didn’t look intoxicated.) But hey, I’m no bouncer. Once inside bar number three we sat down on some couches across from some very attractive ladies. (actually it was only one attractive lady. The other was the booster friend.) At this time, we had met up with another friend of ours and his wife. They were Downtown having a stay-cation, and they decided to meet up with Stampy and I. DBJ was in full drunk mode. As Stampy and DBJ’s wife sat together, DBJ and I sat on another couch and DBJ was in my ear like a muthereffing shoulder devil.
“You should go talk to that girl, she’s really hot.”
“I”m good DBJ, I’m too drunk, plus, they don’t look like they want to talk.”
“DUDE, they totally want to talk. I’m sure I just saw one of them wave you over.”
“really. You thinks so?”
“Would I lie?!? Go talk to her. Do it for me man. I’m married. And you know I always want the best for my friends!”
“You’re soooo right DBJ, Suchs a greats friends you are. I”m going over.”

Now, it would be important to know that some of the above statements are true. DBJ does want the best for his friends. However, had I turned around this one night, more than likely I would have seen DBJ with a huge shit eating grin on his face as I flew solo into the lions den.

I sat down next to one of the ladies, and began having a “conversation.” I use that term loosely, because really. I don’t remember a damn thing. I do however remember how awkward I felt, so I can only assume it was 20 times worse for the lady. I sat there for a good 10 minutes (or what felt like it) and attempted some sort of open dialoge. The only thing I remember talking about was soccer. Something for which I have a great deal of passion, however, in my state, I’m not sure I conveyed that to this nice young lady.

I woke up the next day with no hangover. Which was a nice way of god not punishing me, however, he left me just enough memory to remember the “conversation” with the young lady. And looking back, I’m trying to figure out, just which one I’d rather have. Knowing just how much of an asshole I was all night. Or a little headache and some nausea.

Tough choice on this one…. tough indeed. However, what makes it all worth it, is thinking that she got with her girlfriend later that week and said… “Hey remember that really hot guy that hit on me, but was too drunk to keep his eyes open?” and her friend will reply… “Of course I do.” And she’ll reply by saying, “He was kinda funny. For a drunken asshole.”

And she’ll smile and giggle.

At least I made her laugh….

Until Next Time…

Email me
SarcasmAsAWeapon@gmail.com

Rain Up My Shorts…

I suppose as of late I’ve been writing of the happenings of the world around me, and not much of my life. Reason being I suppose is that things are not going as well as I’d have hoped.

I’ll sum it up, because the details are boring, and down right sad.
Finding work, has become very trying. I’m now almost completely broke and getting close to selling my beautiful baby, my car.

However, in the last couple days I’ve actually had some fun even with my “No Fun Embargo of 09.” (While the No Fun Embargo of 09, basically consists of my trying to to spend any money, I thought I would come up with a trendy name like the newscasters do with, well, everything.)

So in my NFE 09′ I have literally tried to do as little as possible for saving money purposes. No going to friends houses, no movies, canceling Netflix, the gym (this is important) and generally honing my World of Warcraft skills to great heights.

My family, with whom I live with in either noticed my NFE 09′ for my dad mentioned some friends of his get together each Saturday morning for a pickup game of soccer. Now, in my lifetime I have known a couple of things.
#1. Playing soccer since I was 4.
#2 The Red Sox since I was 8.

This 2 things are a constant, and pretty vital part of my life. Soccer makes me happy. Playing or coaching. With me in the funk, I quickly jumped on the chance of getting together for some weekend Shenanigans. (Shenanigans is capitalized because it is St. Patrick’s Day Weekend.)

Upon arriving, I quickly realized that I was indeed one of the youngest people out there for some soccer. It was apparent much later in the game, that though I was the youngest, I was probably the most out of shape. 2 straight hours of soccer after weeks of an Embargo can almost kill a guy. Especially me.

I love to think I can draw the line between having fun and being competitive, but I can’t. Not with soccer. I have to win. I have to play hard. It’s just in me. There are a couple of things I do really well in life. One of them is soccer. (Another of them, I would brag about, but I don’t think it’s the smartest thing to do in regards to an open forum and public ridicule. Plus, now that I think about it, I don’t think I’ve ever gotten a “good game” like I’ve been accustomed to receiveing in soccer for my other skills. But hey, a self high five is still a high five.)

So not to brag, but I scored two goals and felt great. I had a blast. One thing that I can always count on to put me in a better mood, is playing. However, at some point the endorphins in my body decided they had had enough of pushing adrenaline through my body and I realized I am indeed 30, and have been sedentary for a couple weeks. I felt shooting pains in my right foot and couldn’t think of why. My quads were burning, and my back was killing me. I came home and quickly downed 600mg of Ibuprofen and grabbed a heating pad.

I decided at this moment I would find out what was wrong with my right foot. I removed the sock from my foot, and low and behold, a gigantic blister on my foot. It was at this point I remembered I had signed up to do a 5k (3.1 miles) the very next day. I am an idiot.

The Mighty Blister

I awoke at 6:30 am the following day pulling my legs up and placing them onto the floor. It was at this point, I could HEAR the wind howling and the rain hitting my window. I was not a happy camper. I pressed on. I met up with my friend JDub and off we drove downtown to tackle the mighty 5k that was in front of us. Now, if you’ll remember earlier in my post, I have stated all of my medical ailments, and in addition to that I haven’t trained for a 5k. The only training I’ve put in lately, is sprinting down the stairs whenever my mother orders pizza or brings home fast food for lunch.

I’m not going to lie, I’m pretty sure I was in peak physical condition for the task at hand.

The rain and the winds came down as we grabbed our numbers and headed to the starting line. It was packed with tons of people, and tons of…… kids! That’s right. Kids. When people generally ask me if I like kids, my answer is usually (unless they’re hot) “I like kids. Just not yours.” So imagine my displeausre to be surrounded by a bunch of kids. And seriously, what kind of parenting book state you should take your kids out into the pouring rain and wind and run around for 3 miles. In my parenting book that’s just a bad idea. In my day, we had Nintendo World Class Track Meet (complete with Power Pad) to get our running in for the day. And look how my generation turned out.

The race started and the mass herd of people started heading out down the course. I’ve seen City Slickers a couple times and can only compare the start of this race to the cattle drive at the end of the movie. Half a mile into the race the crowd seemed to disperse a little bit. It was here I decided to make my move. I picked up my pace, leaving JDub in my wake and passing people left and right. I felt really good about myself and the run.

Fast forward to about 2.2 miles into an uphill run. I. Am. Not. Happy. For whatever reason every kid that was entered into the race decided, not only to pass me, but to jump into every muther effing puddle I was near. Imagine the shock, when not only did I have to deal with rain coming down upon my head, but indeed flying UP MY SHORTS! It’s a good thing I didn’t go commando. And let me tell you boys and girls, the water was COLD. Really cold. And it would happen roughly every .25 miles. Running minding my own business when all of a sudden… HOLY BEJEEZUS!! Not only did this increase my pace but also my disdain for children.

As the end of the race approached I felt good for the simple fact that even though I really wanted to walk, I didn’t. I persevered to the end. In fact, I felt good enough to start my “kick” and finish strong. However, my legs had other ideas. I picked up the pace and my legs felt like potato sacks filled with bricks. Each step was like taking a weightlifting class in high school, you know, where you added to much weight in case the hot girl was looking. Well, she wasn’t and my legs were dead. I saw the end and it was within my reach. However with 50 yards to go, there was a complete standstill at the end. You see really smart people who finished ahead of us, decided to take of their timing strap RIGHT THERE AT THE FUCKING END! Creating a gigantic cluster fuck and killing my time! You bastards. As we all waited my legs yelled at me for just stopping. Not a cool down jog, or even a walk. I went from running at a fast pace, to stopped. My legs were pissed. As was I. My time was effed.

I cooled down and finally met up with JDub after losing her like a little kid at Disneyland. However, oddly enough (not really) I found her standing near the Beer Garden line. Go figure. I looked around and realized, that I in fact did not want beer. So we went to the sponsoring bar and kicked back Jack and Cokes. Thats right, 3.1 miles. 9:00 am. Sunday. Jack and Cokes.

It’s how I roll.

Upon finding my race time later that night, I’m quite ok with my time. 37 minutes (which I would think is closer to 35 minutes considering the log jam at the end. And considering my propensity towards Carl’s Jr, Little Caesers Pizza, Dairy Queen Chicken Strip Basket with Gravy, that is a pretty good time)

I Barney Stinsoned that 5k and made it my bitch.

Of course after seeing one dude did it in 15 minutes, I felt highly out of shape. That dude however was probably driven by the fact that the winner wins his/her weight in beer. I can’t say I like beer that much.

Until next time…

SarcasmAsAWeapon@gmail.com

To All Of You…

Just wanted to say Merry Christmas, and Happy Holidays to the thousands of readers I have.

Or the three of you, who check back often, making my stats go up and seeming like thousands of you.

Either way… I’m grateful. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays.

Blog Virgin

That title may in fact be a lie.

I’m not really a blog virgin. I’ve blogged successfully many times over at Myspace.com. And by Blogging over at MySpace I mean posting a ton of bulletins everyday till my friends all delete me. Thats how I got here. I’m trying to obtain some new internet friends.This is, however, my first blog at wordpress.com. So by technicality I’m a blogging virgin. 

I suppose I’m going to use this opportunity to write down things I like. Write down things I hate. Things that intrigue me. Hopefully, I’ll have a small devout following that I can give a trendy little cult name too. Like the Sarcasasites. Or, Sarcasonians. Yeah, I think that could be a little fun. I could even have them do my bidding.

I guess basically I’m going to use this as another way to inflate my ego. 

To start off, I feel as if there needs to be an explanation  as to why I chose my particular blog “theme.” While surfing through the descriptions of the themes, many of them were very cool. Like some hip trendy color schemes, or some neat look like a journalist themes, or even some, I’m a dark emo wanting to kill myself black themes. 

While all of these themes felt like they would fit me perfectly, this particular theme stood out from all the rest because of its description. “basic regal and elegant design.” Fuck yeah! Regality and Elegance is my fucking middle name!  

And thus a blog was born. 

And kids if you are following along in your book, you’d realize that a blog has been born, yet I’m a blogging virgin….

That’s right boys and girls…

The Immaculate Blog.