Not much going on today, but here is a recap of today’s events.
I started the day by going into the company’s kitchen and whipping up some sausage, egg, and cheese bagel sandwiches. I usually do this once a week, because I work with almost all women, and everybody knows that women are generally more pleasant when they aren’t hungry. It is a great idea on my part. I get to cook br
eakfast and enjoy it as well, while the rest of the week, the ladies aren’t on my back as much, because they think I worked so hard on the breakfast sandwiches.I hopped online around 9:00 and scanned the web for some good articles to print out and stuff in the back pocket for future bathroom reading material. I can’t wait to check this article out about the pictures of Gay-Rod in Details Magazine. He seems to be making out with a mirror in one of the pictures.
Around 10 o’clock, a direct result of the mass movement from the digestion of the egg sandwich, I headed to the bathroom for an important “business” meeting. Strange today. It was literally the perfect dump. No Dairy Queen soft-serve. No 7-11 Slushy. No rock solid pine cones. It seriously was two symmetrically and texturally perfect logs. It was so clean and perfect that I truly didn’t even need to wipe, but I went ahead and at least did a “courtesy wipe”. The pictures of Alex Rodriguez were ridiculous. I just don’t think he’ll ever get it. I actually used to have a small amount of sympathy for the guy (I know. I'm ashamed), since he was ridiculed for nearly everything he did. However, after seeing these homo pics, I have no more sympathy. He just does this bullshit to himself. I mean think about it. He rocked frosted tipped highlights in his hair deep into 2008.
I hear some mysterious bass music coming from somewhere outside and I step outside to check it out. Apparently the Irish pub and restaurant across the street is already firing up the band and serving cold beverages for St. Patrick’s Day. Mmmmmm…..an ice cold Guinness sure sounds fine.
Speaking of St. Patrick’s Day. What a fucking stupid holiday. Sure it is fun to have another excuse to get plastered, but other than the excitement of seeing green poop in the toilet the next morning from digesting obscene amounts of green food coloring, the rest of the day is quite pathetic. I actually got pinched for not wearing green today at work within 15 minutes of arriving. I’m 26 years old, still find farts and wedgies amusing, and even I am too mature to be pinching grown adults for not wearing some stupid color. Lets’s face it; green is just a dumb color. Nobody ever says their favorite color is green and if they do they are lying. To top it off, every damn commercial on AM sports radio for the past week has some creepy guy doing his best Irish/Leprechaun impersonation, yelling at me to come to their bar or restaurant for their St. Patty’s Day. Shit I mean St. PATRICK’S Day events. Personal Enemy numero uno is when people call it St. Patty’s Day. Not only do they sound gay saying it, but “patty” is just an awful word. Period.
One of our clients today was the dog of one of the Simons Brothers. I guess I would assume that a super-millionaire’s dog would be some elegant, perfectly groomed poodle or something. Not this one. He was the coolest Yellow Lab I’ve ever met. He had to of been at least 10 years old, a full goatee of grey and white, and probably the most laid back and pleasant attitude a canine could have. The funny thing is that he reminded me of one of my high school buddies' dogs, "Hoosier". Hoosier is the epitome of living life to the fullest. Ironic how the buddy I know is fucking awesome and the inventor of the"doing what you want, not what they want you to do" plan, while the other owner is a super-rich man that also happens to own the Pacers. If dogs are truly a lot like their owners, then the Simon Brothers must actually be some pretty cool dudes.
We had to take a leg off of a dog today that had osteosarcoma, or bone cancer. It is pretty sad watching a dog wake up from anesthesia, having no idea why he suddenly is missing his back right leg. However, it always amazes me how much better dogs are than their human counterparts at handling adversity. Any human that lost a leg would mope around and pout, feeling sorry for themselves for a long while. Not dogs. Literally, within hours of waking up, they are already trying to learn to use only three legs and their tails are still wagging with contentment. A few months later and they are back to pooping in the flower garden and chasing squirrels around the yard. If only people were built this way.
Not to get too sentimental, but other than children younger than 4, dogs are probably the closest thing in the world to an absolute “purely good” creature. No matter how wonderful and honest a person is, everybody from time to time makes a sinful mistake or does something against their conscience. Not dogs. All they want is for their owners to be happy. They don't know lying. They don't know resentment. And they certainly don't understand how to be anything other than loyal. They don’t care if you just lost your job, won the lottery, got dumped by your girlfriend, starred in a blockbuster movie, or got sent home early from work for sharting in your pants. To them, no matter what, all they care is that you come home. Well, that is about as emotional as this blog will ever get, so let’s quickly move on.
Sometime late in the day, I was for some reason thinking back to my elementary school days. It was something that I saw on my fantasy basketball message board that got me on the issue at hand. Yeh, I know, fantasy basketball. You can imagine what a hard-core group of nerds the league is composed of. There are a couple of dudes in the league that are twin brothers. I don’t know if it is just me, but I find twins that hang out together kind of gay. I don’t know, it is probably because I grew up without a brother, but all I can picture is the two brothers high-fiving and saying, “Good one, Bro!” Anyways, while one of them is a perfect combination of sarcasm and depression, while the other is a testosterone-fueled meathead that is completely white, but insists on posing in pictures, while flashing the N.E.R.D rap group symbol. I didn't even know their was such a thing until someone pointed out to me what he was doing. At least it is better than throwing u0p a "westside" sign. One of them has probably never found amusement or enjoyment in anything and refers to everything as dumb, while the other one’s idea of a good time is getting in a bar fight. Anyways, although it is a FANTASY basketball league, it is quite humorous how serious they take everything. I mean, I am a fantasy sports addict that does everything in my power to win, but I'm probably not going to be picking up players off the waiver wire and questioning other league members‘ allotted amount of weekly lineup moves when I am 43 games out of 1st place with a week to go in the season. I used to get into it with the two of them in message board battles, but have since retired and now I find more enjoyment ignoring them while they continually try to bring me down. Between analyzing my life, trying to make jokes about my soon-to-be wife, and attempting to be witty, insightful sports fans, I am not sure what else they have time for. I guess that is probably why their team always suck sweaty Oprah twat in every league in every sport. They also seem so concerned about having everyone else think they were the one that discovered the unknown, young prospect that they forget to actually form a competitive squad. Best part is, if one of the turds is reading this right now it is completely pathetic and hypocritical, since they both have proclaimed how much they hate this blog. Actually, after rambling on about the Twin Tool Phenomenon,
I completely forgot how I was going to compare these two Internet hooligans to my elementary school days. But I did think back to my Head Cafeteria Lady in elementary school and how she had a giant wart on her forehead that looked exactly like the sausage pieces on our school pizza. Every time we would have sausage pizza for lunch, I double-checked each bite to make sure that it wasn’t a cafeteria worker’s dislodged wart.The rest of the day, like the beginning of it, was not very eventful. The highlight of the evening was when I was turning into Marsh’s parking lot to grab some groceries. Some rich, trophy wife type, in a red convertible was slowly backing up from her parking spot. However, there was a 20-something chick in a late 1990-something Honda Accord behind her, blocked in by another car. The dumb trophy wife, most likely suppressed on wine and Xanax, backed into the Accord and slightly dented the front right hand corner of the car. But here is the strange part. As soon as the cars connected, the girl in the Accord immediately got out of her car, screamed at the top of her lungs and then began balling her freaking eyes out. Seriously. She was crying as if she had just lost her child in a horrible house fire. Maybe she was having a really bad day already, but I was completely baffled.
Well, it is now time to throw a couple steaks on the grill, ice down some delicious Guinness pints and soak up the early sun on this awesome Irish holiday.
P.S. No, I will not be grilling any hamburger PATTIES or PATTY melts on St. PATTY’s Day.
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