Weight loss contests and speed

I have a big mouth.  It's no secret.  Sometimes my ego writes checks my body can't cash.  Such was the case about two weeks ago when the owner of the company I work for and I were smack talking weight loss.  And when I say we were smack talking, I mean I was smack talking.  Anyway, we were talking bet when Rudy pointed out, with the wisdom of a sage, that I had nothing to bet with.  Someone suggested "fun bet".  I said, "I don't do fun bets".  Like 'The Princess Bride', we were at an impasse.  I said finally, "how about this?  If I drop thirty by July 4, I get a hundred dollar bonus."  He said, "Ya, ok."

For one thing, there really is no reason he should benefit from my weight loss, so it was bold to suggest that I get a bonus for bettering myself.  Bold happens to be my middle name, however, and I figured the claim was outrageous enough that he'd agree.  And he did, so here we are.

Naturally, the first thing I did was ponder how I could cheat in this contest.  I joked about taking Meth for a couple weeks for that extra high octane slimming effect.  I quickly discarded the idea as I considered the fact that there are no two week meth users.  I considered using a scale that I purposefully un-balanced to give me a slight ten pound edge.  If no one was paying attention, that could work.  It could also backfire though, if any witnesses wanted me to verify the feat on any of our other ten scales.

So I mulled and plodded, feeling somewhat discouraged by the clear asymptotic weight loss, trending toward none after a couple weeks of aggressive shedding.  And on a Tuesday afternoon, this doctor fellow came in and we got to talking.  He heard about the little contest.  Because I told him.  He asked if I wanted to win.  I kinda shrugged the remark off, thinking he was asking about my personal feelings or some latent, competetive, disposition.  He asked again, "Do you want to win?".  Now he had a look of mischief that I was all too familiar with and I said, "Ya".  He said, "I could prescribe you some 'Phentermine', and the pounds will fall off."  I said, "What is that?  Speed?"  He looked at me, smiled, smirked, and said "Ya". 

So, this sounded like a legitimate way to cheat marginally in the contest and earn an extra hundred bucks, or a net of 80 after buying the pharmaceutical grade speed.  Now, don't go thinking I considered this some legitimate way to relive drug days or anything.  I've never taken any of the street drugs associated with cleaning aggressively.  But in my mind it sounded intense enough that it might just work.

To tell the truth, it doesn't really amp you up that much.  I'm a little disappointed.  I kinda hoped to conquer the world on the shoulders of modern chemistry.  Caffeine gives me more energy.  And, ironically, my sleep has improved since taking this stuff.  Pfft.  Whatever.

I was running laps in the apartment, grinding my teeth, and talking to myself like the micro machine man wondering if this stuff was going to have any effect.  I took a look in the mirror and my pupils were, uh, perhaps a bit small in diameter.  And I was hopping from foot to foot.  Hmm.  Whatever.

Drunk dialing the boss

It's 11Pm.  You have to be up in five hours.  Your phone rings.  Your heart races.  Fearing the worst, you check your phone as your boyfriend leans over to see what the problem is.  You laugh, and return the text.  Confused, your boyfriend asks, "What was that about?"

"Oh, that was just Corey from work..."

If I were narrating this, an appropriate song would play out as I got to that last part and a split screen would show empty bottles of Sky Vodka.  Ya, that and some straws leaning to the side of about three Long Island Iced Tea glasses.  Just another Saturday night.  The loneliest night of the week.

Some of you may have noticed the review of my boss' coolness on the Facebook page.  That I totally wrote.  And wasn't her hacking into my stuff like she was some Mission Impossible flunky.  And when I say hacked, I might mean that I didn't sign out.  On the office computer.  At the front desk.  Hey, If you don't roll the dice, you aren't in the game. Pfft.

So, somewhere along the way on Saturday I figured out that Rachelle left an update on my facebook deal.  I promptly responded by calling her, or so she says, and pouring forth with a gem of Stewart proportions...

Sometimes if you want to know if the noodle is cooked, you gotta throw it against the wall.  To hear her tell it, it was like a full frontal assault.  I say there may be some wishful thinking, Freudian slips, or otherwise a projected disposition here.  No biggie.  I'm big enough to manage the delicate balance between overt criminal unwanted advances and complete disinterest.  It would appear that balance lies at Rod Stewart.  Ha!

Btw, I'm blogging this at work.  In every one's face.  Hella risky Indeed.  Gotta walk the knife edge.

Party time

Now we're talking!  I have a bottle in my lap and I'm listening to Billy Idol.  If you think the life in free fall is some nebulous, ethereal type metaphor, think again.  The ironic thing is that I have a job interview in the next couple days...At a real job.  And no bull, the dude said "the women who work here are intimidating." I said, "huh?  What?  Like they'll kick my ass?"  He was like, "no, they're really good looking.  Most guys can't keep it together."  Really?  Sounds like a big problem I'll just have to battle through.  He goes, "One of the women was Miss Utah.  Don't worry Rudy.  I'll keep it together.  I invented big league inverted.

So this is actually hilarious.  I was messaging my main man deej and we decided we had to move to an island.  I'm ready to bail.  He's ready to bail.  So I got online and was looking into how I could jump on a banana boat and get to an island.  It occurred to me that one of my dad's customers offered him a job in the Cayman islands a few years ago.  He probably knows something about island life right?  Gave him a shout.  He didn't have any action on the island because he opened a store around here.  I didn't even know what kind of store it was, I just, bold as brass asked him, "Can you hire me?"  He thought about it and asked me to pop in.

The way I have it figured, I just have to keep a straight face when I meet the smokes who work there.  Billy Idol didn't trip off of hot chicks.  Neither will I.  Oh, and just so you know, Rudy didn't say anything dirty or anything, just that the girls were good looking, so don't go thinking my boss is a creep. Just giving a guy fair warning.  Appreciate it.

So, I was in the act of finding a way out of the country and may have stumbled into a job with beauty queens in Roseville.  Could be something positive.  Funny that I got the best news I've had lately and I grabbed a bottle from the gay guy downstairs and am just taking it to the dome.  750ml  down the hatch. Pfft.

Odyssey

I've been on a musical odyssey for the last day or two.  It happens.  After rediscovering Marc Antony and side stepping to Santana's later stuff, I went down the hall to some of his older stuff.  From there I stumbled into some other guitarists, one of whom was an Irish guy named Gary Moore.  Never heard of him before.  Dude had his axe on lock.

And so, after the age of Moore, I stumbled onto some other less notable stuff, but in the mix was 'ol Gary and BB King doing the thrill is gone.  Got back to Santana and he played with Tower of Power for a show.  One of the Tower tunes was "diggin on James Brown".  Finally, I said fuck the dumb shit and got into some James Brown...

It's a good thing that was documented. In case you didn't know, that was James Brown and mother effing Luciano Pavaratti singing It's a Man's World.  Ya, and I watched living in America from Rocky four too and went apeshit America all over everyone I saw.  Who was no one, so I just felt a little patriotic.  Had a thought too.  People get down on America and hate it for the bad things of the past.  And you can't argue about it.  There was some messed up stuff.  But what if you judged your parents or someone else you loved by the same standard?  I'd hate my parents with the same standard that people put on the Stars and Stripes.  However, I choose to love my country good and bad, acknowledging the bad crap for what it was but still embracing what it stands for and my countrymen.  So take that Godless commies.  And take this...

It didn't end there, and still hasn't ended, and yes I started drinking at 2 today.  It's now 12.23a so put that in your pipe and smoke it.  Gotta give Santana some love before I forget and assume I already did...

Actually, Santana gets double love so...

Ok, he get's triple love because I like this one too...

And somewhere in the mix, I got into some Billy Idol.  He wins.  He is what Charlie Sheen is trying to be, but Idol doesn't even know what's going on.  Just effortless ownage, or hegemony.  You're welcome Pete.  Or, thank you I mean.  I could probably show you better than I could tell you, so odyssize with me...

I put the acoustic version there so your brain wouldn't melt off your face or whatever is supposed to happen.  Winning?  Yes.  I think so.

Apparently, the warm bacardi hug is a good companion to odysseys.  I mean, Conan did it so it has to be the thing to do, right?  Oh, and Thornan.  You're welcome for that one Deej.

Cats still suck

This is almost right, but a cat would watch the victim drown, then chase the butterfly

So cats still suck.

But cats always do

Just a few illustrations to progress the concept.

Yep.  This is the one, especially if I'm trying to type something

I swear, this cat could, in the words of my father, "fuck up a wet dream."  I hate cussing on here, but in this case I excused myself by quoting dad.  This little feline f word ruins everything to the best of her ability.  And like watches you while she does it.  Literally as I was writing that sentence, she just starting clawing the living hell out of the chair I am sitting in all the while looking at me.  Think she responded to "no"?  Of course not.  So I punched her in her little kitty kidney.  See?  I didn't punch her in her little kitty kidney.  And I won't.  But oh the glory of just letting her have it.

But I don't abuse animals.  I'll tell you though, that it's been fourth down and I've been in field goal range a couple times with this cat.  The conditions wouldn't allow me to kick the field goal, but it was on the table.  I'm tempted in the most profound ways dealing with this damn cat.  Everything is a potential tool for retribution.  Got an airsoft gun.  Think I haven't chambered a round and taken aim before?  Think again.  Oh, I have.  But I always wuss out.  I'll tell you what.  If this damn cat crawled into a dryer, the door would find itself shut and the air fluff cycle engaged.

But that's the thing with this hell cat.  It's like a mutant virus or something.  You know how people squirt their cats to keep them at bay?  Ya?  Well this damn creature is impervious to water.  I hosed her down like a burning pile of money the other day and she didn't flinch.  I though I had a nice opportunity to teach a lesson when she crawled in the sink, conveniently, as I went to brush my teeth.  Turned the water on, and like Megamind, found my maniacal laughter to be premature.  She shrugged it off like it was nothing.

She knocks everything over.  Just noise.  Knock the screen door off of it's track and over.  Noise.  And a bent sliding screen door.  Knocks the screen for the kitchen window out.  Noise.  And I gotta get the cat as well as replace the screen.  It's like "Bitch!  If there is a screen in the way, you don't get to go out there!"  Nope.  Has no meaning to her.  She's just like, "meow".  Oh, that covers it.  Guess we're good then. Meow.  Give me a break.

And in case any think this is just some anomalous bastardized mutant cat, being significantly different from the population at large, think again.  Anyone ever hear of a cat saving a drowning anything?  No?  Waking a sleeping homeowner in a fire?  No?  Doing anything cool at all, other than just looking like a miniature tiger?  No?  Of course not.  In the history of civilization, there has not once been an instance of a cat doing anything productive.

Finally, the Egyptians were big on cats, right?  Ya, well they enslaved my people to build stupid pyramids.  That's probably the curse that follows the cat to this day.  "Hey Pharoah, think we can let my peeps get out of here?"  "Meow"  "Oh, so no then?"  "How about after some frogs and stuff come out of the sky?"  "Meeoooow".  And on it went until Egypt was a shambles.  And they have only just now had revolution.  Yet the cat remains my nemesis.  "Woof!  Sucka!"

This is a cool animal.  Give me one of these any day

I'm in a mariachi band dude

I just deleted some negative flow gibberish that would make a Greek tragedy seem like Talladega Nights.  So it's up up and away with some po flo and good news.  I just joined a mariachi band.  Now, I know what you're thinking; "Oh, of course.  In Fresno, it was only a matter of time."  Not true my friends.  As fate's stupendous irony would have it, I came back to Sacramento for this.  Just a beautiful slice of life's funny quirks.  If you're scratching your head, the Fresno experience has come and gone.  Good riddance.

Unfortunately, the band is tearing apart at the seams.  The bassist was too funky and I was too seductive.  And too funky.  For some reason, even though we turned folky stuff into something else like the BBQ turned the raw cow into a burger, it couldn't last.  In truth, no one got run off, allegedly.  I'm just having trouble resolving how funky that drummer was with his apparent taste for square music.  Such is life.

So, I got the set list from this new group, who you may have heard about in "Everything from James Brown to Santana".  Just to reiterate, one of the guys played guitar with my parents back in the day and another of the guys played with that band "Sly and the Family Stone".  There is authoritative street cred here.  Maybe too much.  Junior gave me three cd's, each with around 20 songs.  "These are the tunes.  We play again on Friday."  Is that how these guys roll?  I'll snake it till I make it for sure, but that seemed like a lot.  Especially after hearing some of the songs...

It's not really mariachi, but there are about a quarter Mexican songs.  And they sound great.  I'd love to learn how to play them.  But real talk?  I can't hear what they're doing for the life of me.  It's like the music is in Spanish too.  "Hey mayne, play aye mayor."  Maybe that would help?  Anyway, that's a portion of songs that someone is gonna have to help with.

Anyway, the band has some sick musicians and gigs lined up all over the place.  There's even talk of Europe.  So, when the shows get going for me, I'll for sure disclose the time and place, maybe post some stuff.  I'm gonna tell you now that this will be sweet seduction of an unprecedented level.  Junior is seduction on the guitar.  If we'd have laid track when he came and jammed with me and Tor, it would be platinum by now.  Easily.  His daughter is the singer.  Never heard her, but if June says she's got it, she's got it.  Bam!

Note- Yes this is on the set list and if you don't like this I can't help you.  Seriously, If this doesn't make you want to move to Puerto Rico and swoop up a latina lover, then you just have problems.  And I was listening to this after posting and it quite playing for a second...And I almost had a Mac frisbee on my hands.  Literally, the interruption was the worse thing, including but not limited to a meteor through the roof on my head, that could have happened.  Just thought I'd share that.  Oh, and this isn't what I meant by Mexican music.  This isn't even Mexican.  We got some stuff I couldn't find on youtube.  Blow your mind man.  I'm done.

Leroy

When I told my friends about the incident, and that a man named Leroy broke into my house, none had this guy as their mental image of the perpetrator.  There is really no good reason to blog this now apart from the fact that it popped into my head and absolutely must be documented.  And it was about the most random and strange thing that could happen.

So, when living with DJ and Pete on 28th street in midtown, and about the time the free fall started, I had the good fortune of meeting Leroy.  In my front room.  While I was sleeping, or upon waking from sleep.  Good times.

My bedroom was a separate room from the front in that it had doors shutting it off from the rest of the house, but it was located in the front of the house.  And being the guy with the best TV at the time was the spot for ball game watching, movie nights, etc.  And there was a lazy boy like chair as well as a couch in there too.

On the night in question, Pete had some company from out of town which included, I believe, his brother from New York.  During their visit, they went out drinking and doing other things that would bring a person around after hours.  So, when I got up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, I didn't think twice upon seeing a shadowed form sleeping in a chair in the dining room.  Figured it was a guest of a guest or something.  I passed it and went back to my slumber.

Well, after falling back asleep for probably a half hour, I awoke to a stranger sitting in the chair adjacent to me (a different chair than the one in the dining room where I saw the shadowed form).  He was looking at me.  And he was close.  With a start, I asked, "who the fuck are you?".  I expected him to say he was friends with Pete or his brother or something, but what I got was a confounding drunken utterance "shbizedabballalala".

I still figured he was a guest and so gave him another chance to figure out how to introduce himself.  "Hey man, who are you and what are you doing in here?"  More incoherent ramblings came from him.  I was fully awake now, after twenty seconds and was probably close to it as soon as I saw the guy.  After going back and forth a few times, I told the guy, "Look.  You'd better start making some effing sense real effing quick if you don't want to take the uncomfortable way out of here, bouncing down the stairs".  He still couldn't get it together, but I noticed, as my eyes adjusted to the dark, that he was pretty banged up.

I said "hey man, are you all right?  You look like you're in pretty bad shape".  He gave himself a drunk and deliberate look over and said he got run over by a car and broke himself, or something like that.  So, I turned on the light and beheld his wounds.  They were impressive.  In addition to an internal injury I couldn't even venture a guess at, he was bleeding everywhere and had some very visible cuts on his face and arms.

I took him to the kitchen and cleaned him up.  While I wiped the blood off his face, I asked his name.  He said "Leroy".  Huh.  He didn't look like a Leroy.  A Brad maybe, or Jason.  Not Leroy.  Fortunately for him, the incoherence of his first utterances bought him enough time to be spared what could have been a very undignified reaction by me.  As it was, I was performing triage on the guy who broke into my house.  And he was sobering up a little bit.

He apparently was trying to drive and wrapped his car somewhere around fifteen blocks away.  I got mad at him all over again for being a jerk drunk driver and asked him if he killed anyone.  He said he hit a parked car.  Jokingly, I asked if he left a note.  He actually pondered this and replied "No man.  That's messed up though.  I should have.  I messed that car up pretty bad."  I told him that in the aftermath, they'd be able to figure out who owned the car that did the damage and track him down for his insurance.

Leroy told me that his dad wrote songs for Frank Sinatra and pretty much advertised himself as "kind of a big deal".  Even though I quoted that, he didn't say that.  But he did imply it.  He lived in Roseville and had a girlfriend.  He managed to get a hold of her and offered me-or maybe I kind of extorted-some gas money to drop him off halfway.

After him buying my silence and cooperation, we stopped at circle K where I bought him a cup of coffee and told him how lucky he was to have gotten my help instead of in jail or at the bottom of my stairs in a heap.  "You can't just go breaking into people's houses in the middle of the night and stare at them while they're sleeping.  At least not around here, man."  He admitted that he was a bit frightened about the potential for calamity when he figured out what was going on.

I dropped him off and handed him over to his girlfriend and her brother where they gave him that look that said "again Leroy, you need to get your drinking under control", but verbally just thanked me.  And so that's what happened.  It was far more dramatic at the time.  But a drunk guy named Leroy broke into my house after crashing his car, walking at least two miles, and crawling up my steps, and climbing into the chair next to where I slept, and gazed upon me until I woke.  Good times.

Cats

I've been laying low lately, and why not?  But there is something worth note.  I'll scribble a few lines about it.  Cats suck.

Clearly, not all cats suck.  And those that do suck suck to a greater or lesser degree than others.  Let's be real though.  When it comes to pets, cats kinda suck.  It's important to bear in mind that last qualifier, "when it comes to pets", because in a general sense, cats are cool.  They have cool eyes.  Big brothers and sisters are the absolute coolest of the animal kingdom, whether Tiger, Liger, or Leopard.  They are athletic and have a cool strut.  In terms of personality and loyalty, however, they get a zero.

Cats just walk around oblivious to any other being's feelings or well being.  The whole of their motivation boils down to two things.  They are "look at me" and "what do I want?".

Whether wanted or unwanted, a cat will crawl on you at any time of their choosing.  This happened literally twenty times the other night.  I'm reading a book and the cat crawls in my lap.  I leave her there and ignore her after a few pets.  She then crawled up onto my chest and neck.  I picked her up and set her down next to me with a light rebuke, "Nope".  She went through the drill again.  Twenty times.  If she's astute enough to react to my disinterest by crawling up my neck when I don't pay attention, then she should be smart enough to get the hint.  That's the thing, though, cats don't get hints because the notion of someone trying to tell them something never crosses their mind.  Just total disinterest.

So, on another occasion, I humored her and let her hang for a while since there was no obvious coercion on her part to my activity.  I petted her.  She kinda purred.  I thought, "well, here is a little interaction".  Ya, well she contorted herself around and bit me.  Little bitch.  So I bit her back.  Only then did she scram, but not without clawing me on her supersonic exit.  Cats are fast.

Apart from the physical abuse, she does everything in her power to mess up the house, just getting into toilet paper, clawing furniture, and otherwise rearranging the things that are within her power to rearrange.  "Oh she's so cute.  Look at her cute little cat like ways.  Hahaha."  Nope.  She's the devil.

I went to brush my teeth.  Hadn't seen or heard from the cat in hours.  Welp, right about the time I grabbed my toothbrush, she materializes out of thin air and plops down in the sink.  Really cat?  You just happened to want to lay in the sink right now?  Coincidentally?  Just now is a good time to curl up in the sink?  Cats in the sink are fair game as far as I'm concerned, so I turned the water on.  She even big leagued that.  Didn't jump, or frantically skedaddle.  Just kinda looked at me and calmly walked away, plotting my death, I'm sure.  And after brushing my teeth, she curled up next to me on the couch and slowly began to climb me, purring the whole time.  I had to extricate her from my face with great care because she's demonstrated a free spirit when it comes to the claws.

It goes on and on.  I know this is pointless and not a very good accounting for the first blog in weeks.  But you know what?  The freaking cat sucks.  And sadly, I still kinda like her and feel somewhat special when she climbs on me and purrs.  She's basically the hot chick that goes on dates with you when she's bored and will use you for your body when it suits her purposes, but will never call or take initiative.  She doesn't do the little things to make you feel special.  It's only during those times when you happen to be in her way and she wants affection that you get a little fix, and your desire for closeness sated.  So whatever cat.  I'll survive with or without you.  I wish she'd call me.  I'm feeling lonely.

Throwing the interpretive dance back 50 years

My sister sent me this and said I should check it out.  I don't know if I'm supposed to find it creative?  Funny?  Motivating in an anti-drug kinda way?  Dude looks like he's pulled the rip chord on an interpretive dance of a meth head on heroin impersonating a sprinkler while in a straight jacket.  I guess after that, I should be impressed.  It's kinda like how Robert Deniro smiles while frowning with a shrug and slight air of exasperation.  It's like an onion.  You know, with layers.

I've never been into Radiohead,  nor did I even know they existed until like '04 when I heard Creep for the first time and thought it was a new song.  I was trying to convince this girl I was diversified in my musical tastes and was like, "Oh ya?  I don't only listen to the O'Jays, I like that new rock song called weirdo by stereoface!"  Uh, ya.  She didn't know what I was talking about until I sang a couple bars, then promptly told me it was Radiohead, and that the song was Creep, and that it came out when she was in middle school.  Whatever.  I just told her I was a weirdo and asked what the hell I was doing there?  That shut her up.

Because I can, here's The video for the big hit I discovered ten years after it came out...

On that note, what's going on with these rock guys and their songs?  It seems like it's always some near emotional breakdown, borderline Chernobyl affair.  I heard this song at work today and the guy was singing "Rape me!"  What kinda program is he working with?  And the list goes on and on.  I'm not knocking it, but people lose their minds listening to this stuff.  And it doesn't really have a beat to get with.  It's not particularly uplifting either.  Just some suicide pact, freaky, masochistic, possible cutter mentality through the airwaves.  No biggie. I'm hip.

After another look, it appears he mixed in some popping corn having a heart attack too.  Cuttin' a rug.

Yeah...I'm just not sure about that right now

I'm in the most mind numbing, groundhog day like, un-satisfying perpetuation of a caricature of life imaginable.  I would be hesitant to say these things, but as Harry Doyle would say, "who gives a shit?  No one is listening anyway."  So, since neither my boss nor anyone else will read this, why not?

Understand, it's not torturous.  Or murderous.  It's mind numbing.  I've always been good at pretending things don't hurt.  I've always been good at continuing on when I don't feel like it.  I can't help but think, however, that I could be doing far more useful things.  I continue to believe that in the long run, this is the useful thing.  Taking that humble pie to the grill and wearing it.  I am wearing it.  I slept for twenty minutes last night and as six am rolled around, I was considering playing hookey.

My pops would have been all for it.  But pops isn't here.  And the voice in the back of my mind said to not back down.  And another one is in the books.  I said that it wasn't misery, and meant it.  What it is is mind numbing.  My favorite place to live is in my mind.  I can go anywhere and do anything upstairs.  Whether it's healthy or not to have so much fun with your own thoughts, I'm not sure.  But that's the lay.  And I can't play it when my mind is numbed by the tasks I've been engaged in.  Sadly, the self reflection I sought is not found.  Only the cycle of putting one foot in front of the other is my existence at this point.  Whatever's clever.  Hopefully something good will happen either in my head or the outside world soon.