Book Worm…

29 05 2009

As I’ve mentioned before, I’ve begun a new and exciting job at one of my local gyms. It’s not glamorous and the only true power I wield is letting people in the gym or allowing them to tan. Out side of that I’m pretty much a stool pigeon in dri-fit pants and a sweat wicking shirt, than more than likely won’t be doing any sweat wicking any time in the near future. (If ever)

As I told numerous friends of mine, and them knowing full well of my single status all seemed to reply with the same answer. “Well at least you’ll meet some hot girls.” Yes I may, and I shall wow them with my hourly paying salary that rivals that of my recently high school graduated brother, my snazzy pants, and my new found powers. However, at least I’ll meet some hot girls.

As I re-examined my not so high paying job, I did include meeting hot girls into the “perks” of the job. Well boys and girls, I am here to tell you there are VERY FEW hot girls that work out at my gym. I’m talking maybe 4 tops. MAYBE.

In fact, since I am the closing shift, there are absolutely NO hot girls that come strolling into work at 8-11pm to work on their fitness. Not only are there no hot girls, the 8-11pm time frame seems to be the best time for crazies, meth heads, wackos, and nut jobs to get a couple reps in. I’m not sure what calls to them. Maybe it’s the fact that no one will judge them (aside from me), or that they can be alone in the place (aside from me) with their thoughts. Whatever the case may be, we have an over abundance of crazies that work out at my gym at night.

I am thankful of being a dude as well, because if I were a girl and had to close the gym with these whack jobs, no doubt I’d be getting the heebie geebies every single night. (Let it be known, I in fact do get the heebie geebies every night, however, I feel that I could throw down if it came down to it. I mean, as long as they didn’t punch me in the face. It’s all I got.)

In addition to closing the joint down, sometimes I work 11 hour days. That’s right, 11 hours of standing at the front desk and basically allowing people to enter and use the workout equipment. I feel like James Vanderbeek in How I Met Your Mother. If you’ve seen the episode, it’s hilarious. I couldn’t find it on YouTube, and since my last two blogs didn’t have a HIMYM reference I figured I’d pony up and put on here.

Soooo… needless to say, I get a bit bored. (B. T. Dub, if it’s needless to say, then why did I say “needless to say.” English. How funny.) And whilst contemplating my boredom, I decided to start bringing books into work.

Those of you who know me may be startled at this revelation , for I believe many of you are of the understanding that my reading prowess extends no further than Calvin and Hobbes. (Yes, the comic. No, not the philosophisers.)

At first I was bringing in books from my own personal collection. Now I Can Die In Peace, by Bill Simmons. Faithful by Steven King and Stewart O’Nan. And Hate Mail from Cheerleaders by Rick Reilly. (2 outta 3 books on the Boston Red Sox. that’s battin .750 folks.) I realized that after cranking through all three of those books in one day, I would have to venture out and bring something with a little more length.

Therefore I turned to my friend Harry Potter. It is widely known that Harry Potter series are the longest books I’ve ever read in my life. Including college. I find this to be an incredible feat, while others are not so impressed. So I brought in some of my books that I one day hoped to be reading to my kid. I delved back into one of the books to begin passing the hours at the gym.

While working at the gym I interact with a wide number of people. With a bunch of different backgrounds, and different lifestyles. People come up to me asking all sorts of questions…
“Are you putting on the Game on the TVs?”
“Why is the Sauna not hot enough?”
“Why do you have a camera on the hot tub?”
“Do people do it in there?”
(so we can see if people drown, and no. No one’s done it in there. At least not to my knowledge.)
[sidebar – seriously this job is going to waste while I’m single.]

As I pass the time reading in addition to the previous gems for question, the one I get mostly is “Whatcha reading?” Now in terms of the sports books, people curiosity was satisfied with just the title, and they moved on with their workout/day.

However, in the case of Harry Potter it was often enough for people to linger and make some sort of comment about the book.
“I Love those books!”
“At least your reading something!”
“I didn’t think you knew how to read.”
“Those books really appeal to certain types of people don’t they?”

Yet my all time favorite was this…
“You must really love when the scanner magically scans my bar code on my membership card then huh?”

as a matter of fact I do. Dick.

So with that last question (and the fact that I finished Harry Potter 6 in two days) I decided I need to obtain myself some more books that would…
A.) Make me looks smart.
B.) Have the two hot girls I know inquire and then be awed by how smart and witty I am.
C.) Make me look more educated than a fourth grader.
D.) Be the new trendy book and the topic of conversations on all things “cool.”
E.) Get me through my 11 hour days.

Seeing as how I’m poor I decided the library was the best option, when it had occurred to me that I did not have a library card. It had then dawned on me, that I had no fucking clue where the library was. This endeavor was going to be harder than I thought.

I settled for a local bookstore and began my search for “the one book.” I noticed some books by Chuck Palahnuik, which I feel as if I’m somewhat obligated to buy, seeing as how he is from the Northwest. I also kinda liked Fight Club so maybe I should get another one of his books. On second thought, the cover sucked. I’m out.

Which brings me to two very important ideologies I have in regards to books.
#1. I will judge a book by it’s cover. It’s no secret that I am indeed a consumer whore, and I will buy things based on how cool they look. So if the book looks cool, chances are I’ll be much more inclined to buy it. And recommend it to friends.

#2. I believe all books came from movies. I will not falter on this.

With that being said, I feel that I should actually read some books that I tell people I’ve already read. You know, the Great Gatsby, Catch 22, that book by Jack Kerouac, The Jungle, War and Peace. But seeing as how people already think I’ve read them, what’s the point.

I lingered at the bookstore for over an hour, just perusing books that cuaght my eye. Here is the list of said books. (Not ALL of them, cause there were some really cool covers out there… )

Loose Girl – Kerry Cohen (obviously)
Tuesdays With Morrie – Mitch Albom ( My roommate in college had this. Morrie must have been a pretty cool dude to give up every Tuesday for. I mean it’s 50 cent wing night at Buffalo Wild Wings. And they have beer.)
Sasquatch – Jeff Meldrum (Not quite the hot girl lure I was hoping for, but the cover was BAD ASS!)
A-Rod – Selena Gomez – (Any book that calls A-Rod “bitch tits” is ok in my book. get it? In my book… I kill me.)
I Am Legend – (Sorry, graphic novel section)
The Raw Shark Texts – Steven Hall (Chicks dig texts. Sharks are cool. We may have a winner.)
Pride and Prejudice and Zombies – Jane Austen and Seth Grahame-Smith (I always figured that movie could use a few zombie killings. Not that I’ve seen it.)
Microserfs – Douglas Coupland (I feel like my inner geek is reaching out and begging me to buy this book. Plus I think they’re writing about my dad.)
The Five People You Meet In Heaven – Mitch Albom (Since I’m not going, no need to worry about who I’m meeting. pass.)

So my blogging friends this is my feeble attempt at getting some recommendations on some making me smart looking-conversation starter-hot girl appealing- 11 hour killing books that are…
1. Cover appealing.
2. Aren’t movies I’ve already seen.

And ps, if ONE of you mentions Tucker Max, I’m going to be pissed…

Feel Free to email me…
SarcasmAsAWeapon@gmail.com

Until Next time…

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Never Pet A Hooker… Pt 2…

21 05 2009

If you haven’t already done so, please make sure you read part 1 of this Saga in Seattle. (ooh alliteration.)

After the nights run in with a Hooker, it was off to sleep in our cozy hotel room. I figured I’d plow through a couple hours of uninterrupted sleep and wake up feeling like a million bucks.

This however could not be further from the truth. Roughly at about 5:45 am, the fire alarm in the hotel was going off. We happened to have the room right by the exit, so I could hear everyone congregating outside our room. And by everyone, I mean a team of high school girls it seemed. Along with the fire alarm, I could hear countless girls laughing and cackling and generally having a raucous good time.

Of course, what they couldn’t hear was me, still laying in bed cussing up a storm. I made it my goal to let the world know how pissed off I was at this current moment. Had sailors been around, more than likely I would have offended them. It was definitely a mouth I don’t kiss my mother with.

After a good 3 minutes of my continuous swearing, I decided that my life was probably a little more valuable than a couple more minutes of sleep, and there was a group of high school girls just outside my door probably in teddies, and all sorts of hot lingerie. I begrudgingly got my self out of bed and headed to put on a shirt. The second, and I mean the SECOND that shirt was on, the fire alarm, and girls ceased.

I’m not sure I’ve ever been more pissed in my life. More swearing ensued.

About 930am I made a phone call to my friend Micah for it was indeed his birthday. We had a great conversation about his birthday, and shenanigans, and how he was in fact not in Seattle over the weekend. The reason I questioned this, was because it was in fact my friend Micah who rocked the Michael Vick jersey when trying to score at the clubs. He talked me down of the ledge, by letting me know, much like Vick’s career, his Vick jersey was on lock down.

The phone call lasted about half an hour, when JDub started getting agitated and needing food. Apparently training for a Triathlon* generates an insatiable hunger. So we were off to find some food. However, something was off. I just didn’t feel right. My stomach didn’t want anything inside it, and I was fighting off the urge to fall over and go to sleep. I wasn’t hung-over, because I’ve been hung-over many times, and this was unlike anything. I couldn’t figure it out.

[side bar, please check out JDubs fund raising for her triathlon, it’s for a good cause]

JDub, being the trendy-outdoorsy type that she is, drove my sorry ass to Whole Foods, where she figured we’d both find something to eat. We got inside, and at first, I was in awe of what the Whole Foods had to offer. I am a man that enjoys good food, and for my first time at Whole Foods, it seemed as if they had everything. Chinese food, Pizza, Meat, tons of Beer, it was all there, and on any other given day, Whole Foods may have turned into my favorite store. However on this day, Whole Foods became enemy number one.

As I previously stated, my stomach didn’t feel as if it wanted any food. And while the prospect of some nice Chinese food always makes me happy, I can honestly say the ONLY thing I wanted in this world at that time was a Gatorade, shit, I would have settled for Powerade even. As I perused the store, I saw all sorts of organic hipster loving bullshit. Organic this, organic that, Whole Foods was rapidly moving down my list of cool places to shop. After many passes through the store, I came to the conclusion they had no Gatorade. I want Gatorade dammit. Finally becoming acutely aware of my misery and hatred for the store, JDub found an ultra-hipster employee and the following exchange occurred…

JDub “scuse me, do you guys happen to have Gatorade?”
Ultra Hipster * scoffing at her * “We DON’T carry Gatorade! (acting all indignant that someone would insult the great Whole Foods by carrying Gatorade.)
JDub “ok, do you have anything with electrolytes in it??”
Ultra Hipster “ummm we have some VitaminWater.”
JDub “Soooo water with some vitamins in it?”
Ultra Hipster “Well, ya.”
JDub “ So nothing with electrolytes?”
Ultra Hipster “ VitaminWater.”
JDub “Thanks for ALL your help.”

That was pretty much it. Whole Foods and been removed from my list of places I’ll ever shop. Listen, I know people in their Birkenstocks and Volvo’s love that shit, but if you “CANT” carry some Gatorade, were going to have words.

I settled for some Organically grown water in a bottle and proceeded to checkout with a limited amount of Chinese food. For if it was indeed a hangover, I would soon be cured. I looked longingly at my food, as if at some point it would let me know it would all be ok. That if I ate it, the magic would come through and I could go on and face the day. This was all not to be. I took one bite, and my stomach informed me that another bite, may in fact be the worst decision ever.

We left shortly, with JDub wanting to go for a run, or walk downtown, or check out Pikes Market. However, I, I could only think of one thing. Sleeping. I was having problems keeping myself awake, I knew instantly I was not hung-over. No, I was indeed still drunk.

As I awoke again at 4 o’clock with a hangover I asked JDub just how many people I drunk dialed the night before.
Me “How many people did I drunk dial last night?”
JDub “No one. Oddly enough.”
Me “No one? Are you sure?
JDub “ ya positive.”
Me “That’s weird, I could have sworn we called Micah.”
Jdub “ You did, this morning.”
Me “ ooooooh shit… I don’t really remember that. At all.”

That’s right boys and girls, I made my first trip to Whole Foods, still outta my mind drunk. Awesome. (My feeling still stands. Carry Gatorade assholes.)

Four o’clock brought time for us to get out and face the day. That and the fact the Everybody Loves Raymond was over. We threw on our Sox gear and headed toward the stadium to meet up with some more friends at Sluggers, a sports bar near the stadium.

As we wandered the streets of Seattle, we got a lot of negative remarks for our Sox gear proudly displayed. “Sox Suck.” “Go Mariners!” we’re the majority of things said to us. In most cases I would be the one returning a verbal assault on someone. At one point we were walking down the street, when a bum on the side of the road shouted to us, “Mariners are going to give Boston a tea party tonight!!” This actually caught me off guard and I had no response. JDub, in all her cleverness returned quite the volley…

“Yeah, well I have a home and you DON’T. DEAL!”

Both the bum and I were in awe. It was glorious. Obviously not to the guys feelings, but quite the comeback. To which I turned to her and said… “That’s going in the blog.”

She knew what she had done.

We met up with JLee, Tyson, his brother, and spunky little thing named Katie. We all hung around Sluggers pregame, and enjoyed a number of cocktails and tallboys of Bud Light. (Funniest point of this part of the night was a tie, between this group of douches in plaid shirts wearing St. Louis hats taking pictures of Katie, and Katie, who’s all of 5’3, chugging her tall boy in record time, and slamming it down on the table proclaiming DONE!)

The Sox won the game with Josh Beckett pitching a gem.
Highlights of the game…
1. JDub being called Maam by some dad.
2. Some 8-year-old girl, would mean mug me (glare) every time I verbally rooted for my sox. I counted 4 times. I also made a bet that she was going to throw up, after killing, Nachos, Soda, Cotton Candy, and possible some pizza. I don’t remember it was gone quick.
3. Fans from Boston buying me shots of Jack at the bar in the stadium.
4. Unknowledgeable fan being taught baseball as it was happening by his softball playing girlfriend. Or, mistress, as he was wearing a ring, and she was not. Dude was really annoying… “ooooh that ball is really high.” “ooooh he hit that pretty far.”
5. Girl sitting next to me getting shots, asking her boyfriend if Josh Beckett is good, while rocking a Papelbon shirt. You honey, are a bad Sox fan, as is your boyfriend. He should have his ass kicked. I’m not kidding about this. Don’t bring your new Sox fan girlfriend to the game if she doesn’t know her history. If she didn’t have a sweet southern accent, I would have been more pissed.

We left the game on a mission to meet up with JLee and crew at the Red Door a bit a ways from our hotel. We stood on a street corner attempting to wave down a cab. After several minutes, we saw a cab coming towards us and started waiving. To our shock, he crossed three lanes of traffic coming within inches of hitting the car parked on the side, and having the Toyota Camry rear end him.

I knew we were in for something special!

We got into the cab, and gave him the location, and we were OFF! He took off like a bat out of hell. No red light could stop him, no corner was to sharp, and mirrors we just decorations. Our man had his head on a swivel like he was running from the cops. In fact, now that I think about it… we may have been in a stolen cab. I felt like I was Space Mountain in Disneyland, and only he knew where we were going. The ride jilted the both of us, and I asked to borrow the cabbies Rosary he had dangling from his mirror. It was next to the peace sign.

As we met up with JLee and crew, we got drinks and began just having a good time. The weekend was dying down for most of us, and some of us (me) were a bit tired from the night before. However, once I started drinking that Jack, I couldn’t help but “need’ more. I’m not kidding when I say I have a problem. I’ll deal with it later.

Probably the highlight of the night was when someone spilled some whiskey on the table, and Tyson was in no way going to let it go to waste. So like a cat, he leaned down and began licking the whiskey straight off the table. To which everyone all started moaning and yelling “grossssss.”

I took this opportune time to make a remarkable observation.

“I guess I’m not the most likely to get gonorrhea this weekend now am I?!?”

To which, everyone agreed. And I sat vindicated. My ultimate feat of being the most likely to get gonorrhea by petting a hooker, was trumped only by a man licking whiskey up from a bar table.

Which brings me to the end. While I have remained STD free for my many years of living, my recent outings have caused me to re-think my actions whilst drunk. My conclusion I shall pass onto you, my friends…
Never Pet A Hooker.

Email me at
SarcamsAsAWeapon@gmail.com

Until Next time…





Never Pet A Hooker… Pt 1…

18 05 2009

I know it’s been some time since I’ve written something. To my faithful followers I apologize. I’m trying to get back into the whole writing thing after landing a new job.

I currently work the front desk of a gym, and while I’ve got one or two things in my head I’d love to write about, every time I think of the gym and working, it takes my soul away and I have no desire to continue writing. But know this, a blog about the inner workings of a gym is coming.

This is not that blog.

This my friends is a blog of my Booze induced weekend in Seattle for some Red Sox baseball.

It all began in February, when my birthday is. My friend JDub purchased tickets to see the Red Sox only trip to Seattle this year. I have obviously been in a little bit of a funk, so I was looking forward to this trip.

As some of you may know, I joined the twitter revolution (before Oprah) and decided to send text message updates on twitter as the weekend progressed. The only negative to this whole situation, is I don’t have a phone capable of checking @replies and the such. So basically I update with something funny, and don’t get to see any of the responses. If any. Sad.

As JDub and I proceeded to go over the checklist of things we may need or things we may have forgotten, somehow that list included 2 fifths of Jack Daniels. Obviously a necessary item for any Sox weekend. As we left our great city, we hadn’t even been driving 5 minutes, when I took my first pull from a flask filled with Jack.

This was going to be awesome.

We arrived in Seattle in perfect time to head to the Pyramid Brewery to get some much needed food and….. well booze. Pizza and beer arrived at our table as we sat across the street from the amazing Safeco Field. Whilst the beer and pizza arrived, so did a very nice young lady with nice fake boobs and a glittery Red Sox shirt on. I’m not going to lie, and pretend I wasn’t already smitten, cause well… She was wearing a Sox shirt. However, my curiosity was peaked (as was JDubs) to the fact that said girl was wearing a Friends and Family pass around her glittery Red Sox covered chest.

Which got us to thinking….. and by thinking I mean searching the internet on JDubs phone. After a couple minutes of relentless stalkingsearching, we came to this website, and this conclusion……

John and Farrah Lester

John and Farrah Lester

This was Farrah Lester. Wife of one of my favorite up and coming Red Sox players, and wife to JDub’s second favorite cancer survivor, Jon Lester.

The plan in our heads was hatched of how to say hello, talk to her, ultimately, How can we meet your husband. I was even willing to seduce her to meet her husband. I believe it was at this seminal moment in my life, I realized that I should really find someone to marry or at least seriously date. That way all this attention I place on the Red Sox, could be diverted into real life things I can control. However, since the prospect of getting married is far from here, I shall resume my focus on the Red Sox, and hitting on Jon Lester’s smokin hot wife.

We discussed for a good 30 minutes on an “ice breaker” to talk to Mrs. Lester. However nothing came of it, and she left with her Friends and Family pass.

(ps, I had already been drinking pretty heavily at this point, so it may not have been Mrs. Lester. But I’m pretty sure it was. Either way, please check out The Lester Project)

As we watched Lester pitch a pretty decent game, it was Ichiro who saved the day for all Mariner fans. Speaking of Mariner fans, can people help me out here. If you go to a baseball game, anywhere across this great nation of ours, can you please take a poll of how many lesbians you see at the game. (hot or not, a lesbian is a lesbian.) It just so happens that for some reason the Seattle Mariners fan base consists heavily of mullet wearing, visor toting lesbians. I wish I was half way kidding about this. Friday nights game had us sitting next to a very nice couple, one sporting the short man cut, and the other sporting the very eloquent salt and pepper mullet to the shoulders.

At one point, after Ichiro’s first home run, Man Cut decided to start talking shit to me. Why she didn’t choose JDub who was siting in the seat next to her is beyond me. Maybe she thought JDub might think she was hitting on her… I don’t know. However she leaned over, clapping her hands Church Clap style and proceeded to shout, “He can hit em anytime he wants. ANYTIME HE WANTS.”

Now, we were winning at this point, so I’m ok with a little shit talk here and there. I feel it’s supposed to be there, and he did just hit a home run. However…. The second home run that gave them the lead, and the second ANY TIME HE WANTS had me fuming.

Look tiny lesbian with a nice fade….. Like you, I also believe in rights for everyone, which means treating women equally, which also means, you lean over one more time and come inside my circle, and sure as hell there will be shit storm a coming! I know for 100% fact I can take you… No doubt in my mind. On the other hand, I’m going to refrain from whooping some ass at the ballpark, because I am legitimately scared of Salt N’ Pepper Mullet to your right. I feel as if I’d get one good shot in and SnP would want to get to me! So be happy you’re Mullet sporting partner has got your back cause you almost got an equal rights beat down courtesy of me! (PS, I’m a lot tougher when I drink. Or at least my mouth is.)

Anyway, there were no fisticuffs with the Lesbians, however the Sox did lose, and so I took it upon myself to celebrate Irish Wake style! I received a text from a good friend and former co-worker in radio who informed me he was indeed doing a club night at one of the clubs near the stadium. We walked a couple blocks and were soon in front of the greatest bar in the entire world. (Gross exaggeration for effect.) We were indeed making our way into Cowgirls Inc. OH HELL YES!
(For those of you who didn’t click the link, Cowgirls Inc. is indeed a real life Coyote Ugly. Where the dancers are hot, and the clientele is not.)

Anyway, My friend Maynard knew one of the bartenders in the joint, so it was awesome in getting drinks. Lets just say there were a couple dollars from being free. Which, as anyone knows, is a good thing to have cheap liquor, however, you tend to buy a bit more booze when it’s really cheap. And seeing as how I was in mourning… it was bring on the Jack and Cokes…A lot of them! I was so focused on drinking that at one point, whilst one young lady was gyrating in booty shorts in front of me, attempting to earn some college tuition, I gently nudged her leg and asked her to move so I could get more booze. (Note, this is probably why I’m single, and an alcoholic.)

sidebar: they’re hiring.

The night carried on as did my drinking. In the midst of my drinking 3 major things occurred.
#1. The SECOND Michael Vick jersey siting in Seattle. THE SECOND!!! And this wasn’t even a Falcons jersey, this was an old school Virgina Tech jersey. What’s with Seattle? I haven’t seen two Michael Vick jerseys in one day for as long as I remember. However, back in the Day one of my buddies used to wear his Vick jersey to the club. He mentioned it being the #1 jersey for scoring chicks. Said he was batting a cool .750 (75%) with the Jersey. So I supposed this dude was also attempting to score some chicks at the great Cowgirls Inc. I’m not sure it worked.
#2. I did the robot. It was awesome.
#3. At one point, JDub and I were standing next to one of the speaker boxes. And on said speaker box was a delightful 40 year old cougar dancing her troubles away…. and her marriage. More than once she reached down and was touching me on my head. Messing with my hair. It was hilarious. But what can I say, when I have a good hair day, it’s pretty amazing. And last Friday, my hair was pretty good… so it goes without saying that this cougar was obviously smitten. Our time together came to an abrupt end as we decided it was time to leave. But not without her pointing to her wedding ring multiple times, informing me that we would NOT be having hot cougar sex tonight. damn.

We proceeded to our hotel room, escorted by our mighty yellow chariot. As we were driving up the street to our hotel, we couldn’t help but notice two ladies who were scantily clad walking up the street. JDub, upon seeing the ladies, couldn’t help but yell in excitement like she was on an African safari…. oooohhhh HOOKERS! Our mighty cabbie also got excited shouted “hookers!” and proceeded to honk the horn! So as we pulled into our parking lot the hooker picked up the pace to gallantly take over our cab to reach their next destination.

As I got out of our cab, I decided to be the gentleman that I am and hold the door for one of the hookers. As one of them proceeded to walk past me, I couldn’t help but notice in my drunken state that she was indeed wearing a black fur coat. To which I proceeded to take my hand, and pet her arm and proclaim…. “I like this.”

I’m not sure what followed, but no money or bodily fluids were exchanged, and JDub wisely got me inside the hotel without further incidents with the hooker. I did tell some of my friends about said hooker incident and here were some responses….
#1. You have chlamydia.
#2. Did you ask to try it on?
#3. Is one of your eyes going blind, and does it burn when you pee?
#4. Did she charge you for that?

I proceeded to the room to pass out and get ready to face the day ahead of me….

to be continued.

as always email me
SarcasmAsAWeapon@gmail.com

until next time.