On The Road Again

I consider myself one of the lucky ones when it comes to work.  I am in the minority of people who actually like going to work and like what they do.  My job is one that is constantly changing, which is good since I am pretty sure I have the attention span of a four year old with ADHD.

In any case, my job requires me to go through what seems like endless amounts of training for new things as they come up.  Case in point, I leave Sunday for Minneapolis for a week of training on a work-related computer program that I’ll almost certainly never have to use in the depth that the training will cover.  Hey, no argument here.  If they want to pay me to drive there, pay for my hotel, pay for all my meals, pay me to sit in a classroom and daydream up a plot to get Erin Andrews to marry me, and pay me to drive back, then I am down.  I am totally down.  Mark me down.

Don’t you worry, Erin.  I’m brewing up a plan to get us together.

With the coming week included, I will have spent almost as much time out of town as I have in town over the past two months.  After being gone all next week, I’ll be back to town for a couple days and then I’ll turn right back around and head back to Minneapolis on the 22nd for the John Legend concert, for which I will be front row.  Also in the works is a trip westward with Eric, B-Weezy, and Cristin for a golf weekend extravaganza.  The dates aren’t set for sure on that one, but we’re shooing for the first week of August.

What does all of this mean?  Well, it means that for the first time in years, I’ve had a summer that hasn’t been riddled with work, and I’ve actually been able to enjoy it.  I’m the first to admit that I never used to get out as much as I’d liked because I was always stuck working at the dead-end jobs I kept.  Now that I’ve got a job that gives me a set schedule, a decent wage, and of course, paid vacation, I find myself eager to take advantage of opportunities to actually do something other than finding different ways to beat Super Mario World.

I haven’t had the best track record with wireless internet at the last couple hotels I’ve been to, but I’ll be bringing my laptop in hopes that I can bang out a post or two while I’m in Minneapolis next week.  Until then, I bid you a good weekend, and if you see Erin Andrews, please tell her I’m looking for her.

One love,

10

The Week Of Mike

Welcome back people.  Since it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that I took the week off, I should at least justify it for the six or seven people who still actually read this.  I was on a wonderful thing called paid vacation last week, so I decided I should take advantage. I declared it The Week of Mike, and I set out to make sure it was a good one.

Sunday morning, Jess and I headed down to the twin cities for a few days.  The purpose of this trip was strictly to … well, actually, there was no purpose.  We just wanted to get out of town, we both like the Minneapolis – St. Paul area, and neither of us had anything else going on.  So it was a fit.  We stayed in a nice hotel in downtown St. Paul, hung out with a few friends, and just relaxed for four glorious days.  Jess made some amazing friends in her years of living in the twin cities, so it was fun to get together with them and shoot the breeze over some food and drinks in various places.

I always like going to new places when I’m down there, but I have always seemed to stay in Minneapolis in recent visits.  This time around, it was a “discover St. Paul” kind of trip, and I liked it.  We found a great place for sushi, which I only recently discovered that I love, had some drinks at a swanky tequila bar, saw a horrendous attempt at a Michael Jackson tribute in a park (more on that in a minute), and discovered a total dive bar with fantastic burgers.  Good times. If I could find a way to live in the twin cities without all that pesky driving, I’d do it.  I just hate driving down there.  More than likely it stems from my growing up driving in a city of 50,000 people, but everyone is in way too much of a damn hurry and I can’t stand it.

So, the MJ tribute story.  As we’re walking to meet a friend, we see something strange in the park.  Is it?  Could it be?  Why yes, it is indeed a black man dressed in full Michael Jackson garb, with his face painted white, doing dance routines to MJ’s hits.  We stop to investigate, and it’s a guy in his mid-20s dancing around like a fool, lip syncing, and choreographing the two 12 year olds he had with him, who, for some reason, were wearing Halloween masks of monsters.  Sure, the masks were definitely relevant during their rendition of “Thriller,” but how does it apply when they’re doing “The Way You Make Me Feel?”  The best part was that instead of maybe making a mix CD and bringing a stereo, homie brought his computer and hooked it up to some speakers.  And when I say “his computer,” I don’t mean he brought a laptop.  Nope, that would be too easy.  Instead, he brought his full desktop setup, ran extension cords all over hell and back, and kept having to go back and forth between Dj’ing and making a mockery of all of the hits from the King of Pop.  Good for you, sir.

When I got back to town on Wednesday, I had one thing on my mind: golf.  I spent a few days hanging out with the boys, playing multiple rounds of golf in the beautiful weather, and continuing my week of absolutely ZERO stress.  I mean it, the biggest decision I made all week was whether I should get four chili cheese burritos from Taco Bell or five.  I think you know which I chose.

The weekend came together quite hastily, but worked out better than I could have expected.  As of Thursday, I had absolutely no plans whatsoever, but by Friday afternoon I was booked solid.  Saturday morning, I was up with the sunrise and I hit the road with B-Weezy and our buddy Jon for an all-day, out of town, golf extravaganza.  We started out at Oak Knoll in Red Lake Falls.  It’s a cleverly-placed nine hole course that was surprisingly nice.  It was in good shape, well maintained, and a challenging layout.  It’s always nice to branch out and golf in different places, and I’m lucky enough to live in an area with a good amount of small towns who maintain decent courses.

After our 18 at Oak Knoll, we hit the road for Bemidji to play at Castle Highlands.  We met up with our friend Lon for this round, which was good because we were exhausted and he rejuvenated us with new life.  He’s possibly one of the funniest guys I’ve ever met, so we all had a blast on the course.  It made being in the sun for seven hours that day completely worthwhile.

After my day of golf with the boys, I met up with Jess and spent the rest of the weekend at her aunt and uncle’s lake cabin on Cass Lake.  It was just what the doctor ordered.  The weather couldn’t have been better, we spent all afternoon Sunday hanging out on the lake with Jess’ cousins, and it was just an overall relaxing weekend.  I really couldn’t have asked for anything more.   I’ve never met a more hospitable family than the one I spent the weekend with.  It was like staying in a bed & breakfast, only better.

The only negative thing that came out of all of this was the regret that I can’t live my entire life like I did the past nine days.  It’s too bad I’ve gotta wrap myself up with this thing people call “work.”  Oh well, I’ve got another week of vacation coming up in a few months. So I’ve got that going for me, which is nice.

One love,

10

Yes, I Stole This Idea

Thanks for the inspiration, Hammen. I knew I would be stealing this idea as soon as I read it.

You know you’re not my friend if:

– You have a song or a “catchy” tune as your ring tone on your cell phone, and every time you get a call, or a text, or your alarm goes off to remind you to take your crazy pills, you let the song play out because you think everyone around you wants to hear “Poker Face” by Lady Gaga for 30 seconds.  No, we don’t.  You’re not the first person on the planet with a song for a ring tone, and you’re certainly not original.  Answer your phone, your other douche bag friends are probably calling to ask if you wanna go steal Keystone Light from your neighbor’s porch and play beer pong.

– You say things like “laters” or “hells yeah,” or you tell me to “chillax.”   The only acceptable reason to say things like these is if you are a 13 year old girl.  Stop it, you sound like a tool and I want to punch you. Also, if you say the word “like” every four seconds, we’re going to have a tough time getting along.  If you can’t like, bring yourself to like, spit out like, a total sentence at once, then like, you totally like, don’t deserve to be breathing the same like, oxygen as the rest of like, society.  Like.

– You don’t have any concept of what it means to have an inside voice.  If you’re indoors, please stop yelling.  I’m right here.  It’s not like we’re 40 yards away using chainsaws and lawnmowers while listening to our iPods.  I can hear you just fine when you speak at a reasonable level.

– You wear sunglasses when (a) it is not sunny, or (b) you are indoors.  Look bro, I know you paid a bunch of money for those sweet Oakleys with the shiny green lenses on them, but when you go into the store to buy Fruit Roll-Ups and a can of Peach Skoal pouches, do you really need to leave them on the entire time you’re in there?  It takes all of 0.5 seconds to flip them up onto your noggin while you’re inside.  Show some respect to the people you interact with and look them in the eyes.  Maybe I’m old-fashioned about that, but I think it’s rude to leave them on.  Also, people are definitely making fun of you, so just do yourself a favor and leave them in the car maybe.

– You play World of Warcraft.  I think this one speaks for itself.  About two years ago, amidst the massive hype it was getting, I downloaded some free trial of it at the absolute insistence of a friend.  I played it for maaaaaayyyyybe ten minutes, and I immediately uninstalled it from my computer and slapped myself across the face for wasting those minutes.

– You find it amusing or funny that Michael Jackson died.  Say what you will about the man, but he produced the single best selling album in the history of the world.  Thriller has sold approximately 109 million albums worldwide, which is more than any other two albums … ever … combined.  It’s also almost as many as any THREE albums combined.  If that’s not impressive, I don’t know what is. The man was a legend.

– You find it acceptable to let your hair grow into a moppy, tangled mess.  If you haven’t gotten a haircut since the Bush administration, consider yourself included in this one.  It’s not the 70s anymore, and you’re not Kurt Cobain, so how about trimming up that typhoon of douche-baggery on your melon?

– You throw up at the bar and blame it on someone else.  (See yesterday’s post for complete details).

– You can’t watch a movie without spoiling all the funny lines by saying them just before they’re said in the movie.  Sure, maybe you’ve seen Old School a hundred times, but that doesn’t mean you have to recite all of Will Ferrell’s lines moments before he utters them.  Also, if I’m watching a movie with you that you’ve already seen, don’t ever tell me to “watch this” or “check this part out.”  Even if the best part is coming up, don’t say it.  I’m already watching the movie, I’ll see it.  It’s not like I’m sporadically covering my eyes and plugging my ears during all the best parts, so shut the hell up and let me watch the movie.

Hmm, I think that covers the basics, for now anyway.  I’m probably going to take the rest of the weekend off.  I’ve got a couple 10 hour days of work ahead of me, and then Sunday marks day one of ten straight days I have off from work.  I’ll be heading down to Minneapolis for a few of those days, and hopefully golfing heavily for most of the week.  Not saying I won’t have time to blog next week, but if a few days slip by, cut me some slack.  I deserve this vacation.

One love,

10

Ralph and Chuck

For Father’s Day on Sunday, my Pops and I decided to get together for two things we definitely share interest in; a few beers and a few games of pool.  Neither of us really get into the whole Hallmark holiday aspect of days like Father’s Day, so we just wanted to hang out and shoot the shit together and celebrate our father-son relationship by talking about sports, women, and just life in general.

So we’re at Crosstown shooting some pool and having a few beers, just having a good time in general.  On a side note, I really like hanging with my Pops because he’s basically a 54 year old version of a teenager in many ways.  He’s hilarious and care-free.  We get along great. At the table next to ours is a girl and her boyfriend who are talking loudly about getting DUIs, anger management classes, and buttsex.  You stay classy, San Diego.  My dad finds a great deal of humor in all of this though, and at one point leans over to me and says, “I bet that girl would beat the shit out of you in the bedroom.”  Fair enough, Pops.

About an hour into us being there, I see a couple guys walk in who I graduated with and know very well from high school.  We’ll call them Ralph and Chuck.  I need to preface this story by telling you that they are both genuinely nice guys and they both mean well, but they aren’t exactly my two best friends.  I also should mention that Ralph is well-known as a compulsive liar, only I don’t think he knows that we all know he lies about everything.  And when I say he lies about everything, I mean, he lies about EVERYTHING.  Most people lie to gain some kind of benefit from the lie, but Ralph will lie just for the hell of it.  Okay, now that we’ve got that out of the way, onto the story.

So Ralph and Chuck see me when they come in, and ask if they can join us.  Of course, the more the merry.  They tell us that today is Ralph’s birthday.  Oh, happy birthday, Ralph.  So because it’s his birthday, Ralph decides to take a couple shots.  After a couple games of pool, I offer to buy him a drink for his birthday and he gets … yep, a shot.  Hey, I’m not here to judge anyone.  If you wanna crush shots of Jag and Goldschlager like a frat boy during spring break, go nuts bro.

Shortly after the shots go down, Ralph throws in a chew big enough to make Hammen’s dad proud.  Now, I’m not the smartest man alive, but this all looks like a combination of things that beg for an upset stomach in the near future.  Whatever, he’s a big boy, he can handle his business.

So within maybe an hour of Ralph and Chuck being there, my dad and I are chatting, and I look over and I see Ralph hunched over with his hands on his knees a few feet away from our table.  My first inclination is that he’s spitting out his baseball-sized chew, so I don’t pay it any mind.  Then Ralph disappears for a solid ten minutes.  No clue where he went, but I presumed he was going to the bathroom.  When he returns, he’s pale, he’s been sweating, and he looks really faint.  I ask him if he’s ok and he assures me he is.  Then, he suddenly turns toward the area he was once hunched over at and says, “Oh f*ck, someone threw up on the floor!”

Someone?  Someone?!?!?  It was obviously you, Ralph, you freakin tool.  Sure enough, I look over at the exact place he was standing ten minutes ago and there is a puddle of puke on the floor … three feet away from the garbage can.  I look at the puke, I look at him, look back to the vomit, him, vomit, him, vomit, him.  Then, he looks at me, pale as ever, and says, “You know who it was?”  Before I can say anything, he comes back with this bombshell: “It was that f*cking girl over there!” And as he says it, he points to the girl who has been sitting with her boyfriend at their table for the last two hours and hasn’t moved.

Again, I’m not the smartest man alive, but I think I would have noticed if the girl in the low-cut shirt had walked over to us, thrown up all over the floor and walked away.  I confer with my dad, and he agrees.  I’ve seen this scenario play out before, and I know Ralph is being classic Ralph and lying his ass off.  So I decide to do what I know needs to be done, let it die.  If I just ignore the situation, Ralph will shut up and I’ll stop contemplating punching him in the face for lying again.  So, I try to let it die, but Ralph won’t.  He keeps talking about the girl who “came over and puked by our table.”  He even goes so far as to tell one of the servers, a good friend of mine and someone also well-schooled in Ralph’s lies and shenanigans, that it was the girl who puked on the floor.  We share a look that says it all.  He knows it was Ralph who, well, ralphed on the floor, and nothing more needs to be said.

I share this story for one simple reason.  Sometimes when we’re drunk, we think we’re capable of getting away with a lot more than we can.  But don’t ever fool yourself into believing that you can blow chunks a mere 36 inches away from three people and not have them know it was you.  Also, don’t be a lying douchebag.  Ok, so I had two reasons to share the story.

One love,

10

Baby Got Back

So last week, I was struggling a little bit with some mild pain in my lower back.  Nothing major, in fact, I’m hesitant to even call it pain.  It was more like discomfort, and it was more annoying than anything.  Not sure what I did, but I think I may have just slept funny.

Anyway, I went to my chiropractor last Thursday morning hoping to rid myself of any discomfort, which I did, for about four hours.  As the day went on Thursday, my back started to hurt a little more.  Then I woke up on Friday … and couldn’t move.  It took me almost an hour to get out of bed and put clothes on.  I imagine that was how Debbie felt after she “did” Dallas, only my pain wasn’t in my crotch.  After I struggled to get dressed, I decided to go to Urgent Care because this was a pain that Tylenol wasn’t going to handle.

I walk into Urgent Care and there are easily 20 people in there waiting.  I wait at the registration window for a good ten minutes, and no one manages to make their way over to me.  I consider faking a heart attack just to get some attention.  I turn around and make eye contact with someone who is already waiting to be seen, and he says “I’ve been waiting for over an hour already.”

Okay, that sucks.  I convince myself that I don’t have this kind of time.  I decided, in a hasty manner, that I could tough it out and come back after work that night.  So, I took enough Advil to choke a donkey, and saddled up for work.  Bad idea.  No, the word “bad” doesn’t cover it.  Piss poor idea.  Work was excruciating, possibly the longest eight hours of my life.  Immediately after my shift, I went to the emergency room.

I should preface this story by saying that I haven’t been to the hospital in years, and I’ve never been to the emergency room for anything before that day.  Let’s run down some stats from my visit.

Number of people in the ER other than me: Three

Number, on a scale of 1-10, I rated my pain when asked by the receptionist: Eight

Number of minutes before I was able to be seen by a nurse: 20-30

Number of people I had to describe my pain in detail to: Four

Number of minutes between talking to the nurse and being seen by the doctor: 55-60 (I checked my phone)

Number of minutes the doctor spent looking at me: Five

Number of minutes before the nurse came back in to give me my prescriptions: 40-45

So, as you can see, I spent a lot of time just sitting around.  When I finally got checked in, the nurse gave me one of those sexy gowns with no back and instructed me to take off my shirt and pants and put on the gown.  She told me, though, that I could keep my underwear on.  I started giggling, and then proceeded to ask: “So, if I’m not ‘wearing underwear’ can I leave my pants on?”  (And yes, I did air-quotes around the term “wearing underwear”).

She laughed hysterically and assured me I could keep my pants on.  I took comfort in this because I didn’t want the entire east wing of the ER seeing my cash and prizes.  I was in enough pain already.

So after what seemed like days of waiting, the prognosis came.  I had severe straining of the muscles that surround the lower portion of my spine.  This caused them to swell and press against my spine, causing my extreme pain.  The doctor told me he was surprised I was even able to walk.  He said he’s seen people pass out from the kind of pain I was likely in.  Thanks, doc, I know I’m a tough cookie.

He wrote me a few prescriptions for some wonderful drugs and told me to take it easy for a week or so. Easy enough. I was elated that there was no damage to my spine and I wasn’t going to need anything more than pills and rest.  It’s strange, I always take my health for granted, but as I sat there half naked in a hospital gown for an hour, my thoughts naturally gravitated towards the worst case scenario.  A lot of “what-ifs” ran through my mind, and the word “surgery” resonated loudly.

I took the day off from work Saturday, and spent the entire weekend at home.  I watched golf, took a few naps, and iced my back for basically three days straight.  The most action I saw most days was moving from the couch to my bed.  The timing of this ordeal was kind of poor because this was the weekend JK came to visit.  Not only was I still hurting a little throughout the weekend, which prevented me from wanting to do anything, but I was strongly advised not to drink while I was on these meds.  Sorry, JK, I guess I’ll have to make up for it the next time we hit the lake for a weekend.

In case anyone actually cares, my pain is a lot better as of today and it’s progressing slowly but surely.  The only real downside is that the pills I am taking for pain and inflammation make me kinda drowsy, so all I want to do is sleep all day.  Yesterday, I woke up at 7:30 in the morning, but fell asleep at 9:30 and slept until almost 1:00.  If I’m active – at work or out doing things – it’s not so bad, but if I’m just sitting around, I tend to get really sleepy.

On a positive note, if I continue to feel better everyday like I have been, I might head over to the golf course and hit a few balls this weekend to see how it feels. Hopefully I don’t send myself back to square one with that.

I should send out a great big thank you to my buddy Jess whose nurse instincts kicked in this weekend when she found out I was hurting.  She took care of me in high-class fashion and I am extremely grateful for it.

So, I know I haven’t been active in the blogosphere lately, and I really do feel a little bad for it.  I’ll try to step up my game a little bit.

One love,

10

Slappin’ The Bass

So after taking a four day weekend and heading down to Minneapolis for some much-deserved time off, I’ve got some things to catch up on.

- First things first.  I usually make it a point not to complain about the weather.  Not only is it annoying when people do, but what’s the point in complaining about something you have no effect on?  However, certain exceptions need to be made when we’re more than a week into June and the temperature still hasn’t been in the 80s yet.  Not only has it not been warm, it’s been downright miserable.  It’s currently 49 degrees outside, it has been raining for what seems like a week straight, and I don’t even remember the last time I didn’t have to wear jeans and a sweatshirt.  In June.  I swear, if Mother Nature was a real person, I would find her and bitch slap the crap out of her.

- Tiger Woods was back to his old tricks on Sunday, playing one of the best rounds I’ve seen in recent memory.  After he struggled Friday, he turned in a 68 on Saturday, but was still four strokes back coming into the final round.  Then, all he did was hit every fairway and make eight birdies en route to a tournament-winning 65.  Hitting fairways the way he did is something Tiger hasn’t been used to as of late – he missed only six all weekend.  We’re used to seeing Tiger hit 50-60% of his fairways and still hit most of his greens in regulation.  He always found a way to find the green and sink his putts regardless of the fact that he was playing from the rough about as much as he was in the fairway. Apparently he realized that the game is a lot easier to manage from the fairway.  I’ll tell you one thing, if I were anyone on the PGA Tour other than Tiger Woods, I would be having a mini panic attack at the thought of this, especially when we’re a couple weeks away from the US Open.  Watching him birdie 17 and 18 on Sunday was like watching the Tiger we’re used to seeing.  Scary thought.

- I saw a couple movies this weekend, one I should have seen a while ago, and one that I have been looking forward to seeing since I first saw the trailer.  Hammen, you’ll be happy to know I finally saw I Love You, Man.  Aaaannnnd I loved it.  I had high expectations coming in, which were exceeded.  The cast was phenomenal.  I’m pretty sure you could make a movie in which Paul Rudd, Jason Segel, and Rashida Jones just sit around and take turns reading out of a dictionary, and I’d watch it.  As far as my post previous to this in which I said I would like to hang out with Paul Rudd’s character in Role Models, I’m sticking with that.  Sorry, James.  Rudd’s character is kind of a dork for about the first half of I Love You, Man and I think I’d be more a fan of the sarcastic asshole he plays in Role Models.  Although it would be fun to be slappin’ the bass, mon!  Totes magoats.

- I also went and saw The Hangover at the insistence of JK and a couple other friends.  This movie is funny beyond description.  I was laughing for two straight hours, no joke.  I’m not going to beat a dead horse here, so let me just say one thing: If you’re a human with an active heartbeat, I challenge you to see this movie and not laugh your ass off.  Oh, and fair warning, after seeing this movie, you’re going to want to go to Vegas.

- I’ve got a couple more weeks of work that could potentially be a little hectic, but I’m strangely comfortable with that because after that, I’m on vacation for a week.  The week that just happens to be the week leading up to the Fourth of July.  So I’ve got that going for me, which is nice.

- So, since the weather doesn’t seem to want me to golf ever again, it appears I’ll have a little more free time with my mornings and early afternoons.  Maybe I can parlay that free time into an occasional worthwhile post.  Meh, I’ll probably spend the time sitting on the couch watching reruns of “Golden Girls” while eating Ritz crackers.

One love,

10

Man’s Best Friend

Okay, I might need my blogging training wheels to get back into this.  As I mentioned briefly last week, I was in the midst of a hellish work week, effectively forcing me to do almost nothing but work and sleep.  I’ve barely seen any of my friends lately, and I’m probably one step shy of being completely phased out of any group of friends I may have had.  That got me thinking.  Could I make new friends?  I mean, I probably could, but they couldn’t hold a candle to my current friends.  Unless …

Unless these new friends are people I’ve always wanted to hang out with but couldn’t.  People I’ve admired over the years, wondering what it might be like to hang out with them.  So with that in mind, I came up with a list of a handful of fictional movie characters that I wish were real so I could hang out with them.  There are no set-in-stone prerequesites to this list.  If someone seems cool, and I get a vibe like we’d have fun hanging out, they’re in.  Of course, a list like this has potential to get out of control quickly, so I tried to limit this to the cream of the crop.

I’m certain I’m forgetting someone, but I’m pleased with the list I’ve got so far.  So let’s get into it.  These are in no particular order.

– Danny Ocean, Ocean’s 11.  Really, I’d love to hang with the entire Ocean’s 11 crew, but mostly Danny and Rusty Ryan (Brad Pitt’s character).  They’re cool, suave, debonair, and I find myself laughing hysterically at their everyday conversations.  Not only would I have more adventure in my life in any given week than I do in an entire regular year, but I’d have an excuse to dress up all the time and look sharp.  Let’s face it, designer suits and expensive shoes supersede khaki shorts and flip-flops any day.

“Did Mike just say he had to go update his blog?  Remind me again why we hang out with him.  What’s a blog anyway?”

 

– Mike Lowrey, Bad Boys.  As if it weren’t enough to be a hot-shot, chick magnet cop in Miami, Detective Lowrey has himself a hell of a Ferrari and a bunch of guns.  Yeah, I could roll like that.  Also, if it means I could hang out with Martin Lawrence’s character by default, then I’m for that too.  This is another pair of fellas whose friendship cracks me up, and I think the balance between the two would make for magic.  Plus, I’ve always wanted a couple of black friends.  I’m not exactly afforded such an opportunity living in North Dakota.

Walter Sobchak, The Big Lebowski. To anyone who has seen this movie, this one doesn’t need any further explanation.  Everyone needs one of those eccentric, borderline crazy friends, and Walter would be my first pick in this lottery.  The number of hilarious facial expressions and one-liners alone would make this a worthwhile friendship.  Not to mention he would do things like bring me a briefcase full of his dirty underwear.  Some call that a dealbreaker, I call it comedic gold.

“Eight year olds, dude.”

 

– Roy McAvoy, Tin Cup.  Come on, like I could really make a friend group without a go-to golfing buddy.  Roy would be the perfect one too, if you ask me.  He owns his own driving range, he loves the game, he’s prone to fits of insanity, and he will absolutely not lay up.  I guess he’s a bit out of my league skill-wise, but he can give me a few pointers here and there.  If nothing else, I’d get the pleasure of Cheech Marin’s company while he caddied for Roy.  Sounds like a win-win to me. 

– Danny Donahue, Role Models.  I kind of struggled with this one, because I wanted to get Paul Rudd in here somewhere, but I didn’t know which character of his I’d most like to hang out with.  Really, I don’t think there’s a wrong answer here, but his character in Role Models is just the epitome of awesome.  He’s a sarcastic, insulting, insensitive, bitter prick.  PERFECT.  For me, it would be like having Jake around, only cooler.  I could talk this potential friendship up all day, but I think the only evidence I need to point to is the link below.  30-some seconds of bliss.

 – Peter Gibbons, Office Space.  Let’s see, a total disregard for responsibility and authority, a desire to do nothing but sit on his ass all day, and a “so-fucking-what” attitude towards life in general … yeah, Peter and I would get along just fine.  I mean, I wouldn’t want to get wrapped up in that whole Superman 3 scheme he gets involved in, but I wouldn’t mind sitting around, watching kung-fu movies, and blowing off work everyday.  That’s the American dream if I’ve ever heard it. 

Thus concludes the first edition of the Mike’s Dream Fake Friends List.  Like I said, I know I’m forgetting people, and even as I was typing this up, I thought of a few more than I could have tossed in here.  But, in the interest of actually working at work, I should cut this off.  With any luck, my week should open up a little starting tomorrow and into Friday. 

On a quick side note, we’re having the roof redone at work and I’m looking out my window at the crew of three guys, all of whom are smoking.  Meanwhile, there’s a 600-gallon tank of gasoline and roughly a thousand pounds of compressed propane within 20 yards of them.  So, let’s just hope I live to write another post. 

One love,

10

Busy Bee

For the past week, and for the next ten days or so, work has been and will be a bit more hectic than usual.  I’ll be going in early here and there, sitting in on meetings, taking conference calls, and taking on extra work.  We’re getting ready for our yearly audit, which basically consists of a specialist coming in and observing our operation for a few days in addition to him going through our paperwork with a fine-toothed comb.  Basically, we’re just working at getting all of our ducks in a row because this annual audit affects several aspects of our jobs.

What this means for us (as in you and I): Not only am I borderline overwhelmed with work, and not only is my schedule going to be slightly sporadic for a while, but I’m having a tough time conducting a thought long enough to convince anyone else that I am indeed a functioning member of society.

So, please be patient with me.  I will write when I have time.  I’ve got a few things in mind, just gotta find a chunk of time to get them out.  As for now, I spent the ten minutes I had to spare today writing this.  Now I’m off to work early for a meeting.

I just didn’t want anyone to think I was slacking.  I still love all seven of the people that read this, so for now, bare with me and you’ll get your fix soon enough.

One love,

10

Spring Cleaning

First things first.  Julie, demanding a “nice long post” to hold you over for the weekend puts a lot of undue pressure on me.  I woke up today with absolutely nothing in my head, and now I’m expected to magically produce blog gold for you?  Doesn’t seem fair to me.  Sure, I haven’t written anything since last Friday, but I’ve been busy, Julie.  The worst part is, though, that at least once a day something pops into my head and I’ll think to myself, “Ya know, that could make for a good post.”  Trouble is, within an hour or two, I forget about it.  I really need to start writing stuff down.

In the meantime, I’ve had some things lingering in my brain over the past week.  I’ll see if I can muster a post, just for my friend Julie. Have fun in the land of no internet.  Might as well go live with the Amish for the weekend.

– I went to Target yesterday to pick up a few things that I needed.  I’ll preface this by saying that I somehow manage to run myself out of almost every toiletry I have at the same time.  Toothpaste, shampoo, conditioner, face wash, body wash, mouthwash, handsoap, deodorant, the works.  I was dangerously close to being out of all of them.  So anyway, on my way back home, I saw a homeless guy standing on the corner just across from Target.  Now usually, these fellas are holding signs evoking sympathy from us, hoping to guilt us into helping them out.  This guy, this guy was different.  His sign said, “I COULD REALLY USE A BEER.”

Mad props, mister homeless man.  I giggled.  On a related note, I’ve always wondered where these guys get the stuff to make their signs.  I mean, it’s not hard to find cardboard, but is a Sharpie the one thing these guys cling to as they lose everything?  As their life comes unraveled, and they lose their job, and any family abandons them, and they pick up a habit of offering oral sex for cocaine, is that black magic marker tucked tightly in a back pocket for future use?  Are some homeless men more creative and Martha Stewart-like in their sign making?  Is there a chapter of homeless guys out there with signs that look like high school cheerleading posters?  Are they busting out glue sticks, glitter, and colored markers?  I can tell you one thing for certain: If I ever came across a homeless guy with a bedazzled sign, I think I’d have to stop and give him a pat on the back.  But no money, he’s just gonna buy smack with it.

– Now that it’s finally, finally, nice outside, I think I am going to commence with my annual spring cleaning this weekend.  I keep a pretty tidy place, but a couple times a year I like to go buck wild on it.  I’m talking full-on, balls to the walls, rubber gloved, I’d be proud to have Oprah in my home, head to toe cleaning.  Only problem is … I’ve got a lot going on this weekend as it is.  Work Saturday morning and night, with a tee time scheduled with Hammen in between likely assures that nothing will get done that day.  And since Hammen is in town for the weekend and I’m only human, I’ll probably end up going out Saturday night after work, which effectively takes early Sunday morning out of the equation.  My only hope is that I am able to roll out of bed Sunday before the clock gets to PM numbers and get busting on it.  If that doesn’t work, then I’ll probably trick my Mom and Grandma into coming over and cleaning for me.  Don’t ask me how I’ll do it, but something tells me I could pull it off.  They both love cleaning, and they both love me, it has to work.  Then, the only question that remains is, would I feel bad about lying in bed while my Mom and Grandma are laying down elbow grease to make my apartment look like a Mr. Clean commercial?

– In an effort to be even more of a dork than I already am, I went to the midnight opening of Terminator Salvation last night with a couple buddies from work.  I won’t ruin anything as I’m sure most people haven’t seen it yet, but if you’re a fan of the series, it’s worth checking out.  It is MUCH, MUCH better than T3 (which, let’s be honest, doesn’t take much).  It was two hours of non-stop action, and we finally get to see John Connor vs. SkyNet, which was a reality I had hoped for in T3. Christian Bale is one of my favesies when it comes to actors as of late, and he did a really good job in my opinion.  I was, however, mildly distracted throughout the movie wondering which scene it was when Bale screamed at that guy for walking around behind the camera during a take.  Nevertheless, I liked it.  Plus, there was an extended trailer for the new Transformers movie, and you had better believe I’ll be there for that one too.  Maybe even at midnight the night it opens again.

Well, Julie, I’m sorry, but I have to get ready for work.  I wish my week had been a little more eventful, for your sake.  I have a feeling this weekend will evoke a few blog-worthy events, so by the time you rejoin civilization and the land of working internet, I’ll possibly have another post waiting for you.

One love,

10

(Insert Catchy, Applicable Title Here)

It’s a lazy Friday for me, so I can think of no better time than to fire out a few of my letters to various people, places, and things.  This is good for two reasons.  First, my brain is the consistency of a snickerdoodle milkshake right now, and I’m having trouble holding on to a thought for longer than 20 seconds.  Second, I’m fairly sure that if I think too hard today, I am going to pass out and die.  Just a suspicion, but why risk it?  Onward with the letters.

Dear ESPN,

Here is a short list of things no one cares about, and therefore it would be quite acceptable for you to cease and desist from further covering them: Brett Favre, Manny Ramirez (sorry, Hammen), Michael Phelps’ return to the pool, Brett Favre, A-Rod, anyone else allegedly on steroids, Brett Favre, Brett Favre, Brett Favre, and Brett Favre.  I’d rather watch highlights of an underwater chess match than turn on SportsCenter only to have the first half hour tainted with the likes of the aforementioned topics. If you have the audacity to call yourself the “worldwide leader in sports,” then you should start acting like it.

Dear Mother Nature,

Okay, we get it, you don’t like us.  We’re in mid May and the last few days have been nothing short of miserable.  Wednesday it was in the 30s with rain and wind, no fun for anyone.  This being said, if you could find it in your heart to shape things up around here, it would not go overlooked.  I’ve got golf on the brain but the game just isn’t as fun when I have to wear a sweatshirt and a jacket.  Please find a way to remind us what the sun looks like and get us back to normal temperatures.  And almost as if it were on cue … it just started raining.  I see this is going to be an epic struggle between you and I huh?  Well bitch, bring it on and see what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object.

Dear Sheriff Who Pulled Me Over On My Way To Work Today,

Thanks for not giving me a ticket for rolling through that stop sign. A written warning was much more appropriate if you ask me.  I mean, why is there a stop sign at that intersection anyway?  Pretty useless if you ask me.  Anyway, thanks for not giving me my third ticket in the past six weeks.  Turns out I’m not the best at parking legally overnight or following the speed limit on the highway, so this was a nice change, and my wallet thanks you.  On the other hand, why, when you first approached me, did you ask where I was going?  I’ve always wondered why police do that.  If I had looked you dead in the eyes and said, “I’m on my way to cook up some crack with a couple of hookers and a few Portuguese friends of mine who, by the way, are not legal citizens of this country,” would that have changed things?   Just curious, because the next time you pull me over, I might not be on my way to work, I might, in fact, be on my way to do exactly that.

Dear Select Group of Co-Workers,

Please stop talking me into going to Buffalo Wild Wings after work on Thursdays for 60 cent boneless wings.  That place, although tasty, is like getting kicked in the nuts, for your stomach.  I also liken the experience to that of paying for sex.  Seems like a good idea at the outset, but afterwards you’re filled with high amounts of regret and shame.  Not that I’ve ever paid for sex …

Dear Landlord,

Since you decided to raise my rent almost 15% starting in July, please kindly kiss my ass.  I’ll make you a deal, I’ll pay the rent in full every month on time  … as soon as the maintenance guy comes and fixes the shit in my apartment I’ve called three times about.  This would include the closet door, the carpet by the bathroom, and the floaty-ball-thingie in the back of the toilet.  If you send out a memo that says that tenants are not allowed to tinker with things when they break, then tell the maintenance crew to get off their asses, put down last month’s Jugs magazine, and get to work.

Dear BlackBerry Messenger,

You are an absolute Godsend.  Just when I thought texting was the greatest thing since pants with pockets, you come along and one-up it.  The only problem is now I’m up all night talking to people because it’s so easy and convenient.  It probably doesn’t help that the people I’m talking to are the bomb-diggity, but I can’t hold that against them.  I’m just going to have to alter my life a little bit to adjust.  I am no longer Mike, I am Mike + BB Messenger.  The union thus far is a match made in heaven.  A new paradigm has been born.

Dear Southgate Bar,

Please prepare yourself, as the day grows closer when Hammen comes back to town, and that can mean only one thing: you will be taken over.  Tell your blackjack dealers, bartenders, drink runners, even the guy who stocks the bar before we get there (actually, be SURE he gets this message) that we’re coming.  I’m not gonna insist you rope off a blackjack table just for our group, but it wouldn’t hurt.  That way when Hammen orders a Margarita again this time, it’s only us there to mock and judge him.  I have a feeling that someone that night is going to be so drunk, one of us gets a voicemail like this: “Hey, you guys have to come pick me up.  I’m trapped in a cul de sac because the road disappeared.  Which street is it that has the bushes that whisper sweet nothings into your ear and has the wobbling purple Pokemon?  Please come get me, I’m scared.”

And on that note, I’m gonna call it a weekend.

One love,

10