In The Land Of Women…

12 02 2011

So, I’ve been thinking lately. I’ve really been wanting to get some updates to my blog site, but I don’t have the time, considering I’m saving the world now. (more on that in just a bit.)

What I’m looking for is two things. Two simple things and I’m hoping someone out there will be able to help me out.

First, what I need is a cool little photo for my Facebook “fan page.” I just want something a little better than the glass of Jack and Coke picture that I took while I was out and about one night. (It must also be noted, that the picture is also in the header of this blog.)

Which actually brings me to the next topic. I want a cool banner that reflects this blog at the top. The picture itself has to be 780 x 95 and it also has to be awesome.

To sweeten this little deal I’ve made with you people, I’ll be willing to fork over $20 in US dollars at the iTunes store. Don’t like iTunes, fine, I’ll get you $20 in Joanns Fabrics, Gap, Best Buy, Victorias Secret (please let this be the one) or any store of your choosing. Shit, it could be Louis Vitton if you really feel like you can get something worth $20 bucks there. (They’ve got keychains right?!?) Thats right $20 free dollars of fun-ness to people who can actually work the Photoshop Machine.

All you have to do is submit the photo ideas to SarcasmAsAWeapon@gmail.com. There, that’s it. I’m sure none of you have anything to do today so I should expect tons of results within the hour.

Now, with that out of the way on to bigger and better things. See, I’ve been at my new job for just over a month now. It’s pretty epic. I’m working for a non-profit in the hope of dominating a pretty terrible disease. To protect most the innocent people I work with, I’m going to refrain from actually name dropping the actual company, but rest assured, if we were to talk and you were a smoking hot, or even pretty decent looking, I’d be sure to let you know exactly the type of work I do.

It’s been a constant level of learning which I’m not entirely used to. I’m really used to knowing shit and when I don’t know shit it bothers me. You may say I’m a bit of a know it all. I’m alright with that label, because quite frankly, knowledge is power and dammit I love power. (However the thing that eludes me is the true knowledge of using comma’s. I know I use to many and I know most of them are used incorrectly, but to be honest, it’s my blog and it’s really not that easy writing them shitcanned out of your mind. You try it!)

Where was I? Oh right, things I’m not used to…. Quite frankly, not knowing things is slowly starting to change. I’m becoming more comfortable with what I’m doing and starting to learn things at a rapid pace which can only lead to my domination and quick ascension to a promotion.

While the knowledge is coming, one thing that has thrown me for an even bigger loop is the fact that I work with ALL women. Seriously. ALL WOMEN.

Now look, I know that one may be sitting there and saying “hey that’s perfect for you!” or “what’s wrong with working with all women.”

And the short answer is nothing. Nothing is wrong with working with all women. It’s just different. For example. My very first day at the office there was a staff meeting. It was held in a reasonably large conference room with windows to the outside world (important in a second.) Everyone rejoined from their holidays breaks and discussed what was done on their holiday breaks. For most it was the same old story, hung out with family, ate too much, etc etc. Oh, also this was my first time with everyone. All ladies. I believe I counted 20. The stories moved around the large 4 buffet tables made into a giant square. Finally came to the one lady I found the most attractive in the office. She recanted her story of her break, but left one little tid bit out until someone asked… “What ELSE happened on your break.” To which she replied “I got engaged!”

Whole muther effing room erupts in squeals and applause and congrats. Except me. Don’t get me wrong, I may have done a little slow clap for her, but all I could think was “dammit. of course.” Welcome to a female dominate workplace.

It’s totally different for me. I’ve worked in some pretty male dominated workplaces and this is all foreign to me. I’m used to dudes verbally assaulting chicks about their looks as they walk through the door of a gym. Nope, can’t do that. I’m used to being given a “good game” pat on the ass when I’ve done some pretty good work. Nope, can’t do that. I’m used to saying the F word left and right. Nope, can’t do that either. It’s all very weird.

One of the more weird things, is the way people are motivated. We’ve had to do some pretty inane work that can get kind of boring or trying on ones patience so the powers that be decided that we would do arts and crafts before lunch to liven things up a little bit.

Wait, what? Arts and FUCKING crafts!?! Surely you can’t be serious.

They were. And are. Another thing I’ve learned, is you don’t fuck with arts and craft time. Write this down boys and girls as a legitimate life lesson. You. Don’t. Fuck. With. Arts and Craft. Time. Ever.

On this particular day we made frames. We were to put a picture of someone that is important to us to remind us why we do what we do. Heres mine….

Arts and Crafts Bitches.

I know. Someone fucking call the Louvre. Sign my shit up.

One thing I’m finding hard, is talking ABOUT women with women. It’s not the same. Like not even at all. I try a little bit with a friend of mine, but it’s just not the same. Like, I can’t go into another co-workers office and be all “Bro, did you see what So-And-So was wearing today?!? Like DAYUM! Look at her ass!” To which they would reply “Fuckin sick bro! I know!” High fives would generally be shared along with a little head nod. These things actually happen… trust me. You wear something hot, the guys in your office totally notice. However, they have a healthy outlet to express such hotness. Alas, I am without.

Now I feel like you readers will believe that working with all women is all bad. It’s not. In fact, I’m hoping at some point I’ll get hooked up with one or two of the hot daughters… that’s right Regional Vice President, I noticed your photos on your bookshelf, and that’s right I noticed your smoking hot daughter. Maybe she’ll put in a good word at some point. You know something like …

VP “Hey Smoking Hot daughter, we have a new employee.”
SHD: “Mom, I told you for the 100th time, I’m not a lesbian.”
VP: “Well it had just been a long time since you brought a guy home. But no, the employee is a guy!”
SHD: “really?!? And he is attractive, like the Red Sox, works for a non-profit and is an overall do gooder?”
VP: “Yup!! All of those are correct!!”
SHD: “I’ve gotta jump his bones this second!”
VP: “I give you my blessing.”

I figure it’ll go down something like that. Which is good cause the other bonus to working with all women??? My very own bathroom. Seriously. It’s awesome. The bathroom is huge, I’m actually thinking about putting a couch in there and renaming it the men’s lounge. You know, were there are decanters of liquor, ascots, cigars and mahogany. (sidebar, we can’t actually have ANY smoking considering, you know, it causes cancer.) This is often times where I go when I don’t want to be found. It’s not like anyone is coming in there to find me. However, even though it is MY bathroom, I’m not going to knock the Glade air-freshener and the very cute seashell/sand bowl on the counter. I mean, it’s just cute.

Last but not least… women really know how to take care of a guy. I mean especially if there is only one. For example, I’m not known to eat a whole lot of food at work. I just don’t like to. My daily routine usually consists of a protein bar in the morning and a meal replacement bar for lunch. It’s really how I keep my girlish figure. I then devour just about everything after the fact, but that’s neither here nor there. In doing this, this concerns women a great deal. A GREAT deal. I’m always being offered food. Hey I have some leftover this. Or I have a lean cuisine in the fridge. Or hey I brought extra lettuce, have a salad. I love it. I know if I ever move out and have nothing in my refrigerator, I’m just going to go to work and tell the ladies my dilema. BAM. Free Food. Ingenious.

(And ladies lets not be haters… It’d be like you going to a frat house saying you’ve never been drunk before. Boom. Free drinks. Or just going to Vegas. Boom Free drinks. You work your world, I’ll work mine.)

In closing, my birthday just passed recently and if you ever want to just fly under the radar, I suggest working with all men. Women want to make sure you feel special on your day (women you work with that is, not ones you facebook stalk on the daily.) For my birthday I got serenaded at my desk with a rousing rendition of Happy Birthday. Free lunch. And a giant muther effing cupcake. And the world knows, I fucking love cupcakes.
Giant. Cupcake. Delicious.

So, maybe working with all women isn’t all that bad. For now that is. I mean, until their periods sync up and I’m the only man in the office to take all their hate out on. I’m sure that day is coming soon, but until then I’ll take a giant cupcake, smoking hot daughters, my own bathroom, and never having to worry about someone wearing the same outfit as I.

Life is good right now.

Until Next Time…

Email me
SarcasmAsAWeapon@gmail.com

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Adventures In Babysitting…

20 10 2009

When last we saw our hero he had just gotten a promotion at work and was coaching high school soccer at the same time. Both of them have been mentally draining and left him with a little creativity. And, not much will to live. But that’s another story.

Not that I need to get into too many details, but our soccer team has performed, a little less admirably than I’d like to admit. But since I’ve already brought it up (and following the Sienfeld guidelines, that once you start you have to finish) I’ll have you know that our team has pretty much sucked this season. In league play we have 0 wins to go along with our 0 goals. I’d take that a little more personally had our team not crumbled before our eyes.

Lets look at some season stats…
3 Broken legs
1 Broken Collar bone
1 Pulled hamstring
1 ingrown toenail that has the kid’s white sock red at the end of the game
1 pulled calf muscle
1 Outdoor sitting bench falling on a kids leg
2 kids who’ve just decided to not let anyone know where they are
220 cases of Swine Flu at the school (Now, they’re not exactly swine flu, and our own team didn’t have 220 cases, however, last Monday there were 220 students out of school for sickness. Yes, some were from our team.)

I’m not going to lie. In all my years of coaching that’s an impressive stat sheet. Like REALLY impressive. We’d love for us to have the ability to pull up some players from JV, however, they started with 22 and are down to 12. As the kids continue to drop left and right, I’m less and less inclined to believe my coaching abilities are what’s driving the team down and that the soccer gods pretty much just have it out for me for some odd reason.

Awesome. Season.

So, coaching has been a bit rough.

However, while coaching has been rough, the whole working thing has really began to suck the life outta me.

I was moved up into a “managing” position that is in charge of our reception area and our Kids club facility. You know, where over zealous parents can drop their spawn off for a little more TV babysitting so they can get their 30 minutes of cardio in.

Our front desk staff (which I was previously apart of) is generally of the same idea that our job, while not difficult, is the most boring job in the world. Standing for six hours at a time, while scanning cards so people can use the gym isn’t mentally challenging, it’s actually a mental assault on your brain that I believe, without any scientific proof, that makes you dumber. In fact, I’m really afraid that if the Gym in question put some time and money into training monkeys, we’d be replaced in a matter of minutes.

Alas, I have risen above this mental assault on my mind to be reminded, that indeed, the mental assault of dullness and stupidity DOES NOT end there. The aforementioned Kids Club is under my domain. I am in charge of the hiring and firing of all that enter that room, and all that are responsible for caring for the spawns of Satans that partake of the gyms services. Once I received my promotion, it was indeed my first priority to find someone to fill the spot of one of the girls leaving. Of course, the manager before me gave me a sweet 2 day window of finding someone.

I’m not sure if you know how corporate America works, but hiring someone in 2 days is damn near impossible. But, I did my best. I got another young lady who had previous experience working with today’s youth and had her fill out paperwork as fast as possible. I called around to some other clubs to see if they would be able to spare a couple of their Kids Club attendants to help out for a bit. For the most part all was covered and I felt pretty good about the situation.

Until the day of reckoning came upon our hero. (Still me.) One of the girls, informed me that she had an emergency and was unable to work one of the following days. I tried in vain to find suitable coverage for the Kids Club but to no real avail. Then the plan crept into my head, “just have one of the female personal trainers do it. She needs the hours.” I looked at her availability and noticed that she indeed was free most of the hours I needed covered. With her track record in having clients cancel on her, I figured she could cover, considering we only get one or two kids in the morning anyway. She agreed, and my life again was seamless and I was an awesome manager.

The thing about planning, is usually it gets fucked up. As is the case in this story. Apparently, our Personal Trainer had her client come in, and unusually we had two infants show up to be “watched” after. Seeing as how I was the new manager, it was now my duty to go back and watch these young children.

I got back to Kids Club, and to my delight the two children were calm and unresponsive. Of course, the minute their mothers left this all changed. Boy Baby decided to freak the fuck out and start crying uncontrollably. This prompted Girl Baby to start freaking out. Based on my extensive non-verbal communication classes in college, I deduced that this young Girl Baby was indeed freaked out by males and was having NONE OF THIS! She would shudder and shy away and begin crying. Well, this just egged on Boy Baby, and before I knew it had a fucking stereo crying contest in my ear.

This isn’t even the best part. As mom of Boy Baby was leaving, she left me with one little detail of her sons life that she felt I needed to know. Her son was in fact teething. Fucking awesome.

I come from a large family, and I’ve had my siblings go through teething. It’s not their fault they cry constantly without end keeping you up all hours of the day and night, shit hurts, I get it. I mean your gums are getting ripped up and all you’ve got is this fucking binky(pacifier). If it was cool to give them booze, I bet not one kid would complain about teething.

Boy Baby was in hysterics, as I held him in my massive arms trying to comfort him. As the pain got to him, I couldn’t help but notice that his mouth was wide open (along with his nostrils) and not only did I have baby slobber running down my shirt and onto my arm, but I believe it was a mixture of snot and slobber creeping down his face. As I got a tissue to try and stop the massive flow of snot from the Boy Baby’s nose, I feel as if I angered the beast even more. He wailed out mostly in pain, but mostly because he, along with myself, no longer wanted to be at the gym. It was fucking nap time, and for the love of all that is good an holy, he was letting me know.

It was about this point in the story that I called the front desk to get the mothers of these children. I did my best. I’ve taken care of my brothers and sister many times. I called upon this prior experience to try and soothe the raging beast. My options were not working. I did all I could, save for having boobs, and breastfeeding.

The mothers came, and retrieved their spawns, and apologized because “they’re usually not like this.” I said, no mam, it was my apologies they couldn’t get a full workout in. As the mothers left with their respective spawns I took it upon myself to find the nearest Hand Sanitizer station and proceed to take a bath. However, looking upon this Hand Sanitizer station, I came to notice one fact about hand Sanitizers. They ONLY kill 99.9 percent of all germs.

99.9 percent.

Which means, that that little Snot Nosed/Drool Machine Germ Host that I had cradled in my arms to comfort was carrying the .1% of germs in the world that was probably going to either make me sick, or indeed kill me.

Toss up.

It also clued me into another realization of my life…

I’m going to be an “awesome” dad.

Until next time…

Email Me
SarcasmAsAWeapon@gmail.com





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…





I’m A F’ing Pageant Queen.

26 02 2008

So some of you may know….. wait. Actually non of you know cause I’ve never brought it up here.

Well then, a little bit of an backstory is necessary. You see I think one of the reasons I started blogging is because I was (still am) out of my mind bored. I was laid off from my dream job back in October.

I used to work in radio as a Music Director for an adult format station. And no, not that type of adult station. You know the type that plays Elton John, Billy Joel, and mixes in some new shit from Kelly Clarkson or Daughtry. You know, the station your mom used to listen to in the car, and the one you hear while you’re getting your teeth sanded down! Now I’m not saying this was my format of choice, but I worked my ass off and earned my way to one of a radio stations top spots.

And to be honest with you it was fun! It was the best job i’ve ever had. Quite frankly now that I think about it, that’s not really saying that much. Considering I’ve worked at a big box electronics store I shall call the “Buy More.” And I’ve worked at an indoor playground by the name of SuperPlay. Both of witch jobs if I were to still be doing, I may have chosen to slit my wrists and die.

That is all besides the point though. The point is I was laid off. 

Now being laid off has its advantages. I can play World of Warcraft all day long with only lunch/dinner and bathroom breaks to interrupt me. I can stay up till all hours of the night watching Cheaters/Elimidate/RonCo on television. I can also go to Vegas and not care about being sober enough to return to work the next day. With all these pluses comes the downside.

I don’t make any money (other than unemployment) and I have to look for a job. Now I don’t know about you but I can’t stand looking for a job. I wish the job would somehow show up on my doorstep like the baby Moses. But unfortunately that’s not the plan.

So as it happened I came across a promising job that I felt I would really enjoy. It was with a small advertising agency that I though I would do well at. I was put through the process of two interviews, in which I thought I did smashing.

I have to say, that some time in my past I actually dated pageant queen. She was Ms. Small Ass County that entitled her a trip to compete in State. If she were to win at State, it was on to Miss America, WHOO HOO *fist pump*!! Now if you’re a dude and you’re reading this, you have hopefully given me a successful internet blog high five, just for the simple fact that a dude you pseudo know bagged a pageant queen. (ps as a sidebar they’re TOTALLY not supposed to do that.) Anyway, when you’re dating a pageant queen they expect to win. They do all sorts of crazy shit for six months in attempts to win. Diet, exercise, take pills, throw up, practice their talent, practice their platform and who knows what else. Most of the time in expense of spending time with reality.

After all this is said and done a pageant queen comes away winning or losing. There really is no middle ground. When they win, all is right with the world. When they lose. EVERYTHING is wrong. Their dress was the wrong color, vaseline didn’t make me smile enough, Susie had bigger breasts, my speech wasn’t good enough, I did an 7 counts instead of 8 in my dance, the judge thought I was a whore, my platform sucked… all of these and MILLIONS more a pageant queen thinks about when they lose.

And then…. it hit me. I’m a fucking pageant queen. For the last 24 hours I’ve been sitting at home questioning what the hell happened??? I thought they liked me. Was my tie crooked, was one of the girls threatened by my stunning good looks, did I answer a question wrong, should I have shaved for the second interview, was my hair wrong (it wasn’t) did I wear the right shoes, should I have lost a few more pounds??

I’ve been at a loss all day. I thought I nailed the interview. I thought I nailed the talent portion.

At the end of the judging process, it’s not the one with the most charisma, talent, and poise, it’s the one who fucks the judges.

Bitch.