My Job is Identity Theft

After sliding the gear shift into park I hopped out on 9th and Main two blocks from Cantina, the best Mexican restaurant in Steamboat Springs Colorado. I closed the door to my ’05 SUV and met up with some people who have titles with far more words then mine. Had top shelf margaritas, began with a slight slur, and then eyed down 40 year old woman who would have gone for a bit of me in a heart beat. Ate a shrimp laced enchilada, which was recommended by a local who I could tell on physical looks alone had a comprehensive understanding of eating. Grand Marnier neat then the bell rung and I called it a night.

You see, I had to head back to the upscale resort. I was staying at one of their Suites during my 5 day ‘work session’ where I would master the art of rock climbing, hike through the red reek trails, enjoy food and wine I can’t pronounce (albeit I can say enchilada with a spot on Spanish accent), all on company time. My credit couldn’t get me into a ’89 Volvo, and my possessions could be used in trade for a grilled Cuban from 7-11. But we aren’t talking about me. I live in a two bedroom apartment across from Lake Eola. My bank account dries up faster then a porn star ‘sans’ lubrication. I don’t even think I ever bought a bottle of wine on my own, unless you consider the ‘box stands’ of Franzia we pulled back in ’02. I live in Orlando…not even the nice part of Orlando. It’s time to figure out ‘x’ in this little equation.

The following statement may or may not be true:

“I am a 26 year old hack.”

That is not to say I am incompetent. I am not throwing a pity party. I don’t have that penciled in for about 2 more years and there are no Early Rewards programs currently redeemable. What I am saying is that Susan Shemmer, who was knocked up by 9th grade before I knew the accurate definition of 3rd base (which I think is a grossly inaccurate use of words…finger fucking…hypocrisy) could most likely bring the same skill set which has allowed me to enjoy a 6 days vacation out west in a four star hotel with spa and herbal body treatments, a outside heated pool with jacuzzi, two decks overlooking the entire rocky mountain region and a fireplace I can’t figure out how to turn on. The cost of the vacation….thanks client. Getting paid while I am out here…thanks employer. And I know it is very hard to be away from your wife and your new baby boy. Luckily I have neither and will be away from my crazy roommate (Not crazy ‘haha’ but crazy ‘uhoh’). YES, this is my job. And while it might not be like this all the time, it ain’t such a bad fucking place to be. Did I earn it? Is there someone more qualified? Am I growing as a strategic thinker? Could I be using this time more effectively and efficiently instead of typing away at 11pm?

The answer is ‘I don’t fucking care.” Bigger things my friends. You see, I got to get up at 10 tomorrow…got to go work out in the facility center, catch a dip in the pool then swing over to the Sauna so I can sweat out all the alcohol impurities. THEN I got to hit the shower and grab the valet so he can fetch my car as I want everything to be wrapped up because I don’t want to be late for my first meeting at noon…after all, it’s about a pretty compelling collateral piece.

I never met a hack who I didn’t admire.

Day Drinking and the Art of 'Slutting it Out"

After mailing out a letter I went above to my friends apartment where he asked the following question.

"Hey, we are going to the pool. Do you want to go?"

Like everything, you gotta read the fine print. Do you want to go to the pool really means do you want to stop at 7-11 pick up Coors Lite, start drinking in the sun and pretty much ensure an idiotic adventure complete with topless walking, skin tight wife beaters, flip cup, and the old switch on - switch off public display of affection. YES. Nights like this happen because of days like this. Day Drinking and Slutting Out are siblings...Not rivals mind you for they get along great. Getting them together guarantees just one thing. The morning after roll over where you look at the clock and mutter "Jesus Christ." It's amazing how versatile those two words are...And YES, I am Jewish...And NO, that has nothing to do with anything.

Details you ask? Well here we go:

After knocking back what I deem enough alcohol to get me light on my feet I retired to my humble abode. Changed 'sans' shower and went to the surprise party because day drinking is not something you half-ass. You don't have a couple and then chill. Well you might but you are not the 26 year old I am. You probaly have what doctors call 'control,' 'will power' and 'good decision making abilities.' But I killed off those words from my immune system years ago.

I am very 'coincidence' minded. My friend and I have coined this phrase. Examples: "Can you believe we are going to be in NY partying the same weekend our best friend is getting married in NY?" Or, "Wow, I went on a 6 day vacation out west the same week my boss was out there meeting the client." See where I am going with this one. Basically, the same day I was celebrating a solid day drinking excursion and polygamy, my friend Bill was coming back into town for a two keg throw down...I know, what a coincidence. NOTE: I realize I am not in college.

I blinked my eyes and day drinking turned to night drinking. I decided my next destination needed to be more dynamic for I was Social and needed the ears of the public.

As I arrived at the doors of Caseys on Central in pants and shoes, I asked the doorman if I had 'finally found that topless bar I'd been looking for." Shockingly enough it WAS not a topless bar. Apparently, the 26 people I asked on the way to the bar did not know of a topless bar I would most definitely of fit in at. He explained that it was not and I put on my garb of choice...Skin tight wife beater with a Chinese symbol on the front...I could have been the Mayor of Thorton Park!

Casey's was about as much fun as a dead baby so I quickly flexed one last time for the ladies and went to my next destination...The Lodge. Now, you would expect to get your ass kicked for wearing what I had on but for some reason no one hit me! I mean, no one. Seriously, I would have hit someone with my car if they looked like I did...awful on both sides.

So I arrive at Lodge and watch two of my friends who are dating make out (WARNING: The following part is not for the queasy and definitely succeeds in supplying to much graphic information. Viewer discretion is encouraged.).

Then something strange happened...something that punched the logic right out of me. My friend unlocked with his girl, grabbed the girl next to him and starting making out with her. I knew what I had to do...no one takes my PDA title away from me without a knockdown drag out. He was the Oats to my Hall, and he would not take the spotlight.

So after I get done making out with my friends girlfriend, I decide to go for the other girl...ahh yes...SUCCESS! Then we switched back again and then I believe once more. Seriously, who counts.

I got up to go to the bathroom, saw another girl and began to make out with her so grossly that if my jaw was open 3 more centimeters I would have swallowed her fucking head. Whatever. If I got kicked in the balls for everytime I impressed someone with my maturity and reason...

I opened my eyes, rolled over at the alarm clock and felt the effects of the little man who apparently came into my room last night and hit me in the head for 5 hours with a pool ball in a sock. I turned my head and saw the laid out wife beater and muttered Jesus Christ...flashes of the night before and day before flash through my head...another JESUS CHRIST!

But I did mail that letter, so the day wasn't a total wash.

Bowling 102: Advanced Bowling

The ruby slippers click three times and I find myself back at the equal of heaven. The paramount of perfection….equal to sex AND the Macy’s day Thanksgiving parade…Yes, ladies and gentleman, we were back at the bowling alley.

I arrived at an ever so prompt 6:52, which by all considerations was early. Turns out 3 others got the memo. While most people ‘assume’ you meet at the front of the bowling alley, our meeting place was secured in the deepest dark corner in which nightmares breathe and Megans law is the only law. Where Mildred the ‘not so young or talkative but very effective and efficient’ bartender catered to our every need.

Definition: NEED: ( P ) Pronunciation Key (nd)n.
A condition or situation in which something is required or wanted: crops in need of water; a need for affection.
Something required or wanted; a requisite: “Those of us who led the charge for these women's issues... shared a common vision in the needs of women” (Olympia Snowe).

I have decided to make a bold statement. One which may bring an onslaught of criticism. But if I didn’t feel strongly about it…never mind…I would still say it. I digress. Anyway, I will say that I would rather hang out with a bucket of beer then Danimal (Danimal is part Dan part Animal). Yes, there, I said it. And it’s not because Danimal isn’t cool…okay, so maybe that is the case…but I do not want to ignore the overwhelming ‘cool factor’ that the bucket of beer brings to the table. I mean the ability to please 5 people simultaneously? I’m skilled but that is a whole nother book, or ethnic consideration. The only thing cooler then a bucket of beer, is a bucket of beer ‘sans’ cost. Which brings us to our next point…

Stick to PR! Yes, you know who I am referring too. I believe at one point someone from the Public Relations Department bowled a 38. Retarded children with disabilities bowl at least a 50…the only explanation I have as the snot runs down my face and I try my best to not rub my eyes and avoid pink eye, is that she was trying to score a zero. Now that makes sense…because a zero is nearly impossible just from a probability perspective. Jesus…a 38…I still can’t get over that. I have contacted my doctors and they should be swinging by your house, because everyone with an ability to not shit their pants is interested in the ailment that causes a 21 year old to bowl a 38…CHRIST, that means that when you knocked down 4 pins it was considered ‘above average.’

Anyway. For all those on this email who were not in attendance, I just want to say I hate you.

Now for the rules…these aren’t rules per say but after reading them you should understand

Okay, we need cover off on a very important tidbit of information. A surefire way to NOT get laid is to bring your own bowling ball to the alley. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I have MANY other surefire ways to avoid that practice. But you are really not leaving anything to chance when you bring your own bowling ball. I am pretty sure Mildred would soon get double downed on before someone walked into that bowling alley with their own ball and a girl turned with the ‘I want to eat him up’ reaction.

Getting my back and helping me out is buying me a drink. It’s giving me a ride. It’s taking me out to lunch. It is NOT, stealing my shoes with my car keys in them. I applaud the effort and the commitment to my well being, however, if my shoes are still at the bowling alley that means I AM STILL at the bowling alley. Not mentioning any specific names but going downtown in Rainbow sandals fit for a 7 year old is not my idea a ‘knee slappin good time.’ And putting Rainbow sandals in your back pocket, unbeknownst to many, is not comfortable. OH, and you haven’t stared fear in the eye until you woke up delirious, turned to your clock and realized that you don’t have your car.

The only thing worse then a BBQ is a nighttime BBQ…what kind of party planner does that?? Retarded.

As stated in “Bowling 101” (Found below) Bowlers Thumb continues to be a serious injury…please be cautious at the first sign of initial symptoms.

In regards to Apres Bowling: Yaeger Bombs is a bad idea. Never once have I woken up and said “I don’t know what it was. We just started taking Yaeger bombs and everything just went smooth and in control. What a great memory I have of that conversation we had where we discussed very important issues.”

Finally, bowling is at a minimum equal to a very good parade. And a good parade is HARD to find.

You set um up, I’ll knock um down.

Opening Credits: The Cliche - Words with no meaning

I am not going to grossly overestimate the interest that one might have in my ideas and opinions. After all, I am writing the Life & Times of a 26 year old kid who balances his check book with the skills of a 16 year old crackwhore, and succesfully destroys an immune system only to arrive at work the next day with a smile fastened tight and a "If they only knew" attitude.

But fuck it, I will write it anyway. Without further ado, topic one,..."The Cliche"

The loss of anything original or interesting to say is an epidemic that is not only airborne, but incurable. Vaccine? No way. Why say what you really feel and believe. Why not just hide behind a vague string of words that no one will question. Also, sugar coating tastes much better then shit coating.

CLICHE EXAMPLE: Let's get this done so we don't find ourselves behind the 8 ball. (NOTE: Pool 8 ball, Not 100 words a minute 8 ball)

WHAT THEY REALLY MEAN: If you guys fuck this up, the lights are getting turned off, the work equipment sold, and the locks are changed because we just failed miserably.

Hell, I think the latter is much more compelling. I know I would try at least slightly harder if the reality of it made it into the sentence. It's gotten so bad that I was part of conversation today that actually have no original thoughts or ideas, but just cliches back and forth. My ears nearly melted. How do you even summarize a conversation like that:

Summary Report:

Objective: To not be caught with our pants down when its time to pull the trigger.

Strategy: Make sure we have enough bullets in our gun when we hit the tipping point.

Next Steps:
1. Brandon to get his arms around it, because it is not rocket science.
2. Larry to produce something not run of the mill so we achieve the WOW factor.
3. Billy to get our ducks in a row and some miles under the tires so client does not find themselves stuck between a rock and a hard place.
4. At the end of the day client and team to see eye to eye and the light at the end of the tunnel.

I think you get the point. People who use cliches got their ass kicked in middle school, no question about it. I only make one simple request...three days. Three days with no use of cliches. If you can kick the habit longer then you are indeed a will powered one.

Till the next time I make you dumber....