Back to School

Every so often, somebody asks me what exactly it is that I actually do at work.  Despite how infinitely complicated I try to make my job sound on my resumé, the short answer is that I put out fires.  I basically sit at my desk and wait for shit to get fucked up, and then it's my job to fix it.  I'm like "Office Enforcer", only instead of throwing flying side kicks at ninjas and cracking unruly cowboys' heads together with my bare hands, I usually just end up making phone calls, filling out paperwork, and Excel-ling the holy living fuck out of people.  If that sound exciting to you, please take this opportunity to crack yourself in the head with a brick.

Honestly, I like my job.  Not so much the "actual work" part, but rather the fact that I don't really have a boss and I get lots of free time and vacation time.  That sort of thing is hard to come by in the corporate world, which is why academia is vastly more appealing to me.  Sure I get paid about the same as my building's entry-level janitorial and custodial staff (only without the overtime), but when you slack off as much as I do, a job like the one I have is utterly crucial.

But for all the "sitting around doing nothing" I get to do, back to school bites serious gorilla bozack.  This is the time that everything and anything gets fucked up, so I have little to no time to sit around thinking of insanely witty commentary for my website or indulging my unhealthy twenty-game-per-day heroin-addict eye-bulging brain-destroying Sudoku habit.  No, instead I'm talking to idiot students about whether or not they can remember how to spell their own last names or filling out stacks of paperwork so high they can double as additional seating in my office or fortified hardened bunkers with which to fend off invading Nazi Stormtroopers.  The worst part of it is that there really isn't a whole lot of ramp-up time between "summer" and "school".  It's like one day I'm leaving at 11:30am after a nice long day of "getting paid to play StarCraft for three hours", and the next day I'm collating the fifteen separate forms required to requisition a fucking ream of copier paper from the VP of Purchasing's butt.

This rapid transition from "cushy job" to "seventh circle of Hell" can be a difficult one if you aren't prepared.  For example, as of two weeks ago I don't think I had a single ball-point pen located anywhere in my office.  Now I've got so much ink, graphite and toner around here that it's starting to form an ankle-deep blackish-gray translucent sludge covering the entire third floor of my building.  Well in order to help soften the change-over period up a little bit, I've created a checklist of "signs that the school year is starting up soon".  It's sort of like that Wal-Mart Bingo game;  just clear the slate in early June and then any time during the summer that you see something on the list you check it off.  When everything's been checked off, you need to start ordering supplies and battering down the proverbial hatches for another two semesters of high-powered sucking.

1. Hos.  Oiled-up, sunglass-wearing hos in mind-bogglingly low-cut shirts and eight-inch heels that they're obviously uncomfortable walking in.  The kind of chicks that are out at eleven in the morning wearing clothes so skimpy it would make the "Me So Horny" lady blush.  The sort of TGV Acela Express Hootchie Train Locomotives that cause mothers to avert their childrens' eyes, perverts to seriously reconsider their trade and statues of the Virgin Mary to melt into toxic green acid.  I'm not even talking the college chicks that other girls whisper "tramp" about behind their backs; I mean the kind of drunken stumbling hookers that you seriously think might actually have sex with you in exchange for money or at least a couple wine coolers and who goes to frat parties with the sole intention of being felt up while she's in a mostly-unconscious alcohol-induced whore stupor.


2. Blue hair.  On a guy or a girl.  It doesn't have to be a well-done dye job either, and it can have already faded to some sort of greenish-blonde gunk or like an aquamarine stripe around the back of their head, as long as it's blue, it's hair, and it's actually attached to the head of a person who honestly thinks that it's still cool to walk around looking like a My Little Pony these days.


3. White guys in Bob Marley or Che Guevara t-shirts and do-rags protesting a war in a country they can't even pronounce properly.  Your revolution is over, hippie.  The bums lost.  (Patchouli stench optional)


4. Foreign nationals.  Continental Europeans with fifteen hundred dollar sunglasses and tens of thousands of dollars they inherited from the thirteenth Crown Prince of Ravioli who can afford gold-plated scooters and fully pimped-out Porsche 911s but don't seem to have the common decency to shower once daily.  You can tell them by their diamond-studded gold jewelry and an omnipresent B.O. capable of rendering all but the most formidable livestock unconscious.


5. A guy with a backwards baseball cap, sunglasses, khaki shorts and sandals talking on his cell phone about some sort of party where the main events will be drinking until you barf and groping unconscious hos.


6. On over-zealous athlete.  You know, the dudes with the twenty inch pythons and the chicks with rock-hard abs who wear workout gear everywhere and go to the gym just to show off how they're the ultimate fucking pinnacle of human perfections.  THOSE bitches.


7. A kid that looks about fourteen touring the campus with his or her parents, doing what I like to call "The Dance of the Freshman" - where the kid is completely mortified that their parents are still hanging around but is also utterly terrified of letting them out of their sight.  A grown-up, but not quite.  The only thing more depressing than the sickening parental-clingyness is the fact that next year's incoming student crop will have been born in a different DECADE than I was.  Holy shit I'm fucking old.


8. Some jackass who thinks it's cool to go to class in his or her pajamas.  I remember when I was a student I thought this was pretty sweet (hell, I also had blue hair for about a week because being a fucking idiot is all part of going to college), but now that I'm several years removed from it the entire concept pisses me off.  That could just be because I actually have to work for a living now, but I think it's just because you look like a fucking loser going to class in a pair of flannel pants with cartoon fairies all over them.


9. Two girls (who are obviously friends) walking side-by-side, both talking on their cell phones to different people.


10. A handful of idiots sprinting across a four-lane street completely oblivious of the "DON'T FUCKING WALK" sign and the oncoming tide of cars careening towards them at over fifty miles per hour.  The sort of dick-brained jackasses that are apparently competent enough that they don't forget to breathe, but seem to lack the common sense to look both ways before crossing the street or the self-preservation instinct to not become a bloody smear on the asphalt.  Honestly, that's the sort of shit your parents teach you when you're like two years old.  Fucking possums are less likely to be hit by an automobile than you are, and their brains are roughly the size of a walnut.  If you can't fucking take a half a second to look before dashing out into the middle of the road you deserve whatever grisly fate awaits you at the hands of vindictive drivers because you are obviously unqualified to do anything other than serve as a stupid-looking hood ornament.





These students are unaware they are about to be killed by my car.





Wedding RSVPs

In a brazen display of our die-hard Red Sox fandom, Hot Andrea and I invited Red Sox First Baseman Kevin Youkilis to our wedding.  Sure, a good number of our friends and family didn't even get invited (because we're fucking broke), but I'll be damned if we didn't invite our favorite baseball player to come and celebrate the blessed union of two random strangers he's never met before.  Andrea had a contact she knew inside the park sneak in there and put our wedding invitation in Youk's locker while the Sox were out of town last week, so we're pretty certain he's at least seen it by now.  The problem is that he hasn't RSVP'ed yet, if you can believe it.  I mean come on now, we even put a goddamned stamp on the self-addressed return envelope!  Just check one of the damn lines and DROP IT IN THE MAIL YOU LAZY BASTARD!  IT IS NOT DIFFICULT.

I'm just kidding Youk.  I'm just venting at you by proxy because if I were to say this to anybody who actually received an RSVP they would get mad at me for yelling at them, even though they've had the invitations for two weeks now and we've only heard back from one-fifth of the pepole we've invited.  Man, Youk, you can imagine how irritating it would be if you were in that situation, huh?  Especially considering that at this point we have almost as many "No" responses as "Yes"! 




(HINT HINT....)





Come to our wedding!





My Cat Had Surgery.  Also Featured: A Picture of Boobs.

Bozo, my thirteen year-old cat, had a lump removed from his belly.  We weren't sure what it was, but it turned out to be a fatty deposit and not something more sinister.  His new nickname is "daddy fat sack".





This is not my cat.
Nor is it Andrea's cleavage.





LOOK I POSTED CLEAVAGE ON MY WEBPAGE
NOW SEND US YOUR DAMNED RSVPS YOU LAZY BASTARDS





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