Archive for March 2009

Note To Self

March 30, 2009

Note to self: Working from 2:00 pm on Friday until 9:00 am on Saturday was a bad idea and should never be attempted again.

Note to self: The expiration date on a jar of peanut butter is something that should be taken very seriously.

Note to self: Putting on a tie and going to the bar is like shooting fish in a barrel.

Note to self: Bouncers don’t like to be called “pussies” when they have trouble throwing someone out of a bar.

Note to self: On that note, bartenders don’t like to be asked “HOW DO YOU SLEEP AT NIGHT?!?!” when they give you your bar tab.

Note to self: A grandmother’s cooking can cure anything.  Including hangovers.

Note to self: Boxing up your winter hats and gloves is a surefire way to get it to snow again … for two straight days.

Note to self: Telling a group of drunk people who hinge their lives on hockey that it, in fact, is a shitty sport is never a good idea.

Note to self: When trying to hide from an angry, toothless, ignorant group of hockey fans at the bar, wearing a tie will make you stick out like a hard-on in sweatpants.

Note to self: Turns out that I am indeed not a hollaback girl.  This has been verified to be true.

Note to self: If you leave your car parked downtown and take a cab home, the city will tow your car two blocks away and ticket it … and charge you an extra $35 for the towing fee.

Note to self: City employees also dislike being asked “How do you sleep at night?” when you question the validity of said towing fee.

One love,


500 Years = 12 Years?

March 26, 2009

If a city has a record-setting flood that (a) forces 60,000 people to evacuate, (b) ruins everything in a  three mile radius, and (c) causes $3.5 billion in damage, then what would it take for that city’s citizens to feel safe again?  In this case, it was a $200 million flood wall surrounding the city that was promoted as the protector of a “500 year flood.”  That means, in summation, that a flood of epic proportions, like the one seen in 1997, doesn’t come around often.  Weather conditions for months at a time have to link up and follow a certain chain of events in order for something like that to happen, and according to people who have college degrees in things I can’t pronounce, the likelihood of another flood like the one we saw back in ’97 was supposed to be minimal at best.

Yet here we are, a mere 12 years later, and we’re being told that these flood walls might not be enough.  Well, I guess it was a good run.  Even if those flood walls – at 12 years, $200 million – are getting paid A-Rod money, they lived up to their end of the bargain thus far.  Hall of Fame material? Not quite.  But I’m proud of them nonetheless. So, cue the water.

Wait, no. I refuse to believe it.  I am in total denial.  Maybe it’s that my brain won’t let me believe it, but I just can’t bring myself to accept the fact that I might have to go through that crap again.  It was hard enough in ’97 when I was 13.  Now, for me at least, things have gotten exponentially more complicated.  Back then, it was a family of four living under one roof that had to deal with all of this.  Now, the parents have separated, and both my sister and I have taken up residence in our own places.  So instead of having one piece of property to deal with, we now have four.

On a side note, if in ten years we find out that I am actually to blame for all of this area’s bad weather, don’t say I didn’t warn you.  Consider this: I left for on Monday the 20th for Orlando, and there was a bunch of snow on the ground.  I was gone for five days, and in that five days, about 90% of the snow in town managed to melt.  Within five days of me being back, there is three feet of freshly fallen snow on the ground. And it’s still coming down.  Coincidence?  Perhaps, but this just might be a signal telling me to move to San Diego or something.  You know, between reading Hammen’s post about the flood of ’97, and thinking about what may lie ahead, I am getting kind of depressed, so let’s move on.

Other various things:

– I need a little help with my bracket this weekend.  I need Duke to lose, first and foremost.  I had them losing last round (and hot damn, they sure tried to lose it for me), and the sooner they make an exit, the sooner I can gain some ground on Skye, who is still pulling in the top spot in our pool.  I think Villanova can pull the rug out from under them as long as they don’t turn the ball over too much. I also need Syracuse to beat Oklahoma.  My Elite Eight is still in tact, and I’d really like to keep it that way.

– How much do you think it would cost for me to hire a hitman to kill Terrell Owens?  Can we start a collection for this?  Now he’s saying he refuses to attend any team activity that isn’t mandatory.  After this long in sports, TO should know what I figured out my sophomore year of high school: all team activities are mandatory, even if the coach says they aren’t.  Voluntary workouts are meant to get teammates working together before mini-camp so people come into camp ready to gel and work as a team.  TO says he doesn’t need to attend the voluntary workouts because he has a personal trainer, and he’s not always in the area.  Congrats Buffalo, you just adopted a four year old.  Have fun with him.

– I am almost completely caught up with season four of  “How I Met Your Mother” and let me tell you (I’m looking at you, Hammen) it is getting good.  Do your best to keep away from any YouTube videos or CBS commercials that may give stuff away because some things are happening and I wouldn’t want them to be ruined for you before you get a chance to see the season.  I spent a half hour in a restaurant this past Monday shielding my eyes from the TV screen by our table because a new episode was on and I didn’t want to see anything that I wasn’t ready to see.  Worth it.

– I’m kind of itching to do another top ten list.  Haven’t done one in a while.  Any suggestions?  I’ve already tackled video games, TV shows, and hip-hop albums.  I guess maybe my top ten movies would be a reasonable play here, but I’m looking for something a little more, dare I say, exciting.  Let me know what you think.

One love,


Legen … Wait For It … Dary!

March 22, 2009

All times are approximate, and all events are , sadly, 100% true.

5:15 pm: I meet B-Weezy at Buffalo Wild Wings for some wings, beer, and sports.  Hey, that should be their slogan.  “Buffalo Wild Wings; wings, beer, sports!”

5:16 pm: That already is their slogan?  Okay, forget I said anything.

5:25 pm: One beer down and we’re looking good folks.  It’s going down easier than a two dollar Moroccan prostitute on a Friday night.

5:28 pm: B-Weezy notes that he hasn’t eaten anything but a salad all day and I realize that thanks to my all day travel-a-thon the day before and the 11 hours of sleep I got, I hadn’t eaten in almost 24 hours.

5:30 pm: B-Weezy and I are waiting for our buddy Sally to join us, and we grow intensely impatient as each minute passes.

5:41 pm: Sally finally arrives and tells me that she didn’t invite her annoying friends because she knows I don’t like them, God bless you Sally.  You know the way to my heart.

5:58 pm: Food.  I crush my boneless wings and potato wedge thingies in record time and set my sights on Sally’s food.

6:02 pm:  Sally decides she isn’t really into her food and invites me to help myself.  I’m pretty sure I made that happen with my mind.

6:33 pm: Basketball is going well, and beer isn’t hurting anything.

6:42 pm: I start mocking B-Weezy for being a pussy and nursing his beer.  I call him a meow-job, and Sally teaches us how to call someone such a name in sign language.  A new craze is immediately born.

7:01 pm: After a few games and a few beers, we decide a change of venue is a welcome idea.  We head downtown after making a quick stop to buy B-Weezy’s underage girlfriend alcohol.

7:19 pm: First stop – Kelly’s.  Kelly’s?  Really, B-Weezy?  I’ve taken shits bigger than that building.  Alright fine. I can roll with the punches.

7:22 pm: I order a beer, and they give me a can.  No bottles?  Nope, no bottles.  Christ, I should have just bought beer when we went to the liquor store.

7:56 pm:  After a few more beers and a few games of pool, we leave that abandoned missile silo and head for greener pastures in the form of Joe Black’s.

8:01 pm: Ahhhh, now this is more like it. I decide beer has run its course and I switch to the good stuff.

8:02 pm: I start murdering vodka sours like I’m OJ Simpson and they are Nicole Brown-Simpson and Ron Goldman.

8:05 pm: I kick the shit out of B-Weezy in a few more games of pool, knock out a couple more drinks, and watch Duke squeak out a win against Texas.  Seriously, there is no way they win their  next game.  They’re just not a tournament team anymore.

8:16 pm: A few work buddies – Adam, Andy, and Dan – join the party.  This has the potential to get downright disastrous.  Adam and Andy are notorious for ordering shots that taste delicious and therefore are not refused.

8:19 pm: And here’s the first round of those shots.  Down the hatch!

9:04 pm: B-Weezy decides to pack it in and head out.  After I do the meow job sign language thingie, I realize that him leaving is not good for my immediate health.  He is usually my voice of reason.  He would tell me if I was getting in too deep.  And now he’s gone.  This undoubtedly had a butterfly effect on the rest of my night and subsequently my morning.  More on that as we go.

9:18 pm: Rounds two and three of shots.  The butterfly has officially flapped its wings, the hurricane is sure to follow.

9:23 pm: Dan’s girlfriend Leah becomes fascinated with my sexual interests, and begins asking me if I would “hump” certain girls throughout the bar.   I’m a sucker for sex talk, so we make a game out of it.

9:46 pm: I openly degrade and mock women to Leah, and rather than being repulsed, she finds it hilarious.  I point out girls with obvious shortcomings, and I am on fire.

9:49 pm: Leah and I have this exchange:

Leah: “What about her, (points to a girl who is mildly attractive), would you do her?”
Me: “Maybe.”
Leah: “Just maybe?”
Me: “Ok, yes, but only if she shaved her arms … and her moustache … and her back.”
Leah: “HA! How do you know she has a hairy back?”
Me: “Look at her, that is the spawn of Sasquatch right there. ”

Yes ladies, I am single.

10:07 pm: Some other people from work start showing up, including a couple guys who, for lack of a better phrase, run shit at our location.  We’re all pretty good friends, so they join us.

10:08 pm: Cue round four.  Man, these things are delicious.

10:09 pm: I play “Never Gonna Give You Up” by Rick Astley on the jukebox … twice.  Best four dollars I’ve ever spent.

10:22 pm: I converse with a good looking girl while I wait at the bar for a drink.  We have good convo, and it’s almost like it’s too easy to talk to her.  Her defenses are definitely not up and I am somehow managing to keep it together enough to make her laugh a time or two.

10:24 pm:  This lovely exchange ensues.

Me: “So, are you here with your friends?”
Girl: “Yep! They’re over at the blackjack table watching my boyfriend lose all his money.”
Me: “Oh you have a boyfriend?”
Girl: “Yeah, we’ve been together for almost four years now!”
Me: “Oh, sweet.  Good for you.  I gotta go.”
Girl: “Oh okay well it was … ”

And that’s the last thing I heard because I just walked away.  Yes ladies, still single.

10:38 pm: Back with the boys from work.  I walk in on the middle of round five.  Whew, that was a close one.  A minute earlier and they would have ordered me one too.

10:39 pm: They are pissed that I missed a round, so they order another and make sure I’m included this time.  So much for good timing.

10:41 pm: I notice one of my bosses talking to a very cute girl, so I decide to give him an edge.

10:42 pm: I pull out a line I read in the Tucker Max book I just finished up.  Watch me work …

Me: (to the girl) “Do you know who you’re talking to?  This is one of the co-founders of, and the fourth largest stock holder in, Yahoo.  Woman, this is [name withheld, just in case].  You’ve got your hands full, good luck.”

10:43 pm: I walk away while the girl stands there eye fucking my boss.  I look over to him, and he gives me a sly wink as if to say “Nice one.”

10:45 pm – 1:35 am:  A little hazy here, but I’m pretty sure I spent this time bullshitting with the guys, hitting on various girls, and racking up a $54 bar tab, $3 at a time. One thing I do remember is seeing a bachelorette party, begrudgingly paying $10 for some stupid, shitty beads, and having some girl shove my face in her cleavage as a thank you.  Hmm, works for me I guess.

1:36 am: The lights in the bar come on, and I close out my absurd bar tab.  The words “after party” and “apartment down the street” are muttered to me.  Remember that butterfly that flapped its wings?  There is a storm on the horizon, I just don’t see it at this point.

2:04 am: I have called and/or texted way too many people at this point.  Seriously, I need a phone that can only call pizza places and cab companies after 1:00 am.

2:06 am: We roll into the aforementioned apartment, and it’s a huge, wide open place with about 40 people already there.

2:11 am: I realize that I am no longer drinking, and I try to find a beer.  Where do people keep beer?  Say it with me people: in the fridge.  So, I walk over like I own the place, open the fridge, and stick my head in.

2:12 am: Let’s see, we got soda, OJ, purple stuff … Miller Lite!

2:12 am and four seconds: I see cookies on the counter.

2:12 am and seven seconds: I am eating someone else’s cookies.

2:16 am: I see a mess of a human being running around the party and realize it’s B-Weezy’s girlfriend.  We chat briefly and I think I say something to the effect that if any guy hits on her, I would personally break his knees and wipe my taint with his face.  Just wanted her to know I had her back.

2:50 am: A girl notices I don’t have a beer, and offers me one.  Why thank you.  We stand in the kitchen and talk while I nibble on someone else’s cookies again.  She might be in to me.  She has a cute accent and somewhat broken English, so I ask here where she’s from originally.  Mexico. Jackpot.

2:58 am: After a while, we realize that we know some of the same people from college, so we decide now would be a good time to call some of those people.  Wow, what a great idea Drunk Mike.

3:02 am: Three phone calls are made to three different people, none of which result in anyone answering.  Thank God.

3:03 am: Mexico Girl grabs my phone during the last phone call and leaves a voicemail.  The words “cute” and “funny” are thrown in as precursors to my name. She is definitely in to me.

3:04 am: I envision my night ending in a hot, sweaty, drunken manner.

3:28 am: I continue talking to Mexico Girl, and things are going really well …  until the proverbial wind started to blow.  Yep, looks like a hurricane is headed this way in the form of my stomach not liking me anymore.

3:31 am: I realize that I am not going to visit Throw Up City, but rather a city just south of there.

3:34 am: It becomes very apparent that this is not going to be solved by holding it and hoping it goes away for a while.  This is a situation that will need to be addressed.  Soon.

3:36 am: The only bathroom in the entire place is directly off the living room, where everyone is.  So not only is everyone going to notice that I’m in there for a good ten minutes, but they are absolutely going to smell the wonderful concoction of wings, beer, and vodka that I leave behind.  Unacceptable.

3:42 am: It’s official: This is a force that will wait for no man.  I completely ditch Mexican Girl and bolt out the door.

3:43 am: I am running around the hallways trying to find my way out.  It’s more confusing than any apartment I’ve ever been in before in my life.  It’s above a store so it has a certain exit you need to find.  I’m kicking doors in like Steven Seagal and all I’m getting is furnace rooms and closets.


3:45 am:  The fact that I have to poop is only half of the problem at this point.  I’ve gotta pee like you wouldn’t believe.  That is becoming more urgent than the original problem.

3:46 am: I realize that while I probably shouldn’t poop in public, I can probably get away with urinating.  At least that takes care of half of the problem.  So, I stumble into one of the aforementioned closets, unzip my fly, and as God as my supremely disappointed witness, I peed.  In a broom closet.

3:47 am: I find my way out of the building, call a couple of buddies still at the party, and inform them that I will no longer be partaking in the festivities.  I also mentioned that there is a pretty decent looking Mexican girl up there somewhere looking for a good time tonight.

3:50 am: I get to my car.  Now, I am in no way, shape, or form proud of this, but I was out of options.  I was going to be pooping soon whether I had a toilet under me or not, so I needed to get home pronto.  Waiting for a cab is out of the question, and there is not a single place in the area that is still (a) open and (b) eager to offer me a bathroom to punish.

**Please note, I had sobered up a little bit.  Turns out the paralyzing fear of shitting yourself in front of 50 other people will do that to a guy.  I still shouldn’t have driven, but defecating myself and sleeping in the park didn’t sound like much fun either.

3:58 am: As I pull into my parking lot, I call my buddy Adam once more to tell him I got home okay.  It was this point when he told me that our boss was looking like a sure thing to take home that girl he had been talking to.  You’re welcome.

3:59 am: I run as fast as I can without disturbing anything that’s already poised to make an exit, make it into my apartment, and sprint to the bathroom.

4:00 am: Whew, that was a close call.  A photo finish if there ever was one.

4:12 am: I slug some water, giggle about the fact that I got cockblocked by my own bowels, and pass out.

10:36 am: I wake up in the fetal position with my thumb in my mouth.  I can feel and hear my heartbeat.  I am sweating like an overweight, rented mule in the fields of Ecuador. It feels like there is a midget trapped in my head and he isn’t happy about it.  He is desperately trying to get out and I’d love for him to do so. I slug more water, grab my phone, and assess the damage.  Aside from the few phone calls I made with Mexico Girl, I pretty much behaved myself toward the end of the night.  No inappropriate texts were sent, which is an accomplishment in and of itself.

11:04 am: My phone rings.  Since I live alone, I hadn’t talked to anyone yet, so imagine my surprise when I answered the phone and nothing came out of my mouth.  Well, check that, a sound came out of my mouth, but it was not human verbalization.  It sounded like an 18 wheeler driving through a field full of half-retarded kittens.  I guess that’s what I get for saying some of the things I said last night.  God was indeed smiting me for my behavior.  Let that be a lesson to all of you.

One love,


You Know It’s March Madness When …

March 21, 2009

– You have the opportunity to watch roughly 20 hours of almost non-stop college basketball over the course of two days, and that thought excites you to no end.

– You wake up every morning, grab the USA Today, tear out the section devoted to the NCAA tournament, and leave the rest of the paper in a crumpled heap on the floor while you drool over box scores, recaps, and matchups.

– You have a sexual dream about former UConn women’s star Diana Taurasi.  (Yes, apparently my brain, in its endless wisdom, can incorporate college basketball even when it decides to give me a sex dream.  I woke up utterly confused this morning, and I spent a solid 10 minutes on Google looking for a picture of Diana that justifies such a dream.  Alas, I have accepted that I am a sick human being).

– You send a text message claiming that you “would rather stand on your dick for eight hours than get beat by a girl in a March Madness pool.”  If I hadn’t had such a boner for the Minnesota Gophers, I would be alone in second place right behind Skye.  I’m coming for you Leedahl, watch your fuckin’ back.

– You consider watching women’s basketball.  You don’t actually watch any of it, but the thought crosses your mind.

– You get home after traveling for almost 13 hours on 4 hours of sleep and still manage to stay up for the Wisconsin-Florida State overtime thriller as well as the Siena-Ohio State double overtime thriller.  Devotion.

– Beginning at about the two minute mark of the second half, you are doing math on every single game’s score trying to figure out if your numbers are plausible to come up.  I need the winner’s score to end in three and the loser’s score to end in zero. That’s not asking for much is it?

– You start thinking about excuses for when you call in sick to work so you don’t have to miss any games.

– CBS and the ESPN trifecta become the only important channels in your life. Nothing else even exists.

– Greg Gumbel, Greg Anthony, and Clark Kellogg become three of the people you want to see everyday.  They have a level of comfort associated with them, along with most of the in-game commentators.  If I turn on the TV and these guys are on, I know things are going to be okay.

– You scream and cuss because you went back and forth between Ohio State and Siena a dozen times before settling on Ohio State, stating that “there’s no way they should lose a game in Ohio against a team from the MAAC.”  Solid.

– Every plan you make revolves around finding a TV when you get there.  Going to get some dinner?  Sure, I’ll go, as long as it’s somewhere we can watch the games.

– You understand that no one will probably read this post until mid April because they’re all too busy watching games, breaking down matchups, and calling their bookies.  It’s okay, I understand.

One love,


Quick Hits Before The Weekend

March 20, 2009

In my mind, when a hotel boasts free wireless internet, shouldn’t its guests expect that internet to work?  I certainly did, but thanks to some strategic placement, I was unable to connect all week.  Apparently, and this is according to the front desk staff, there are a handful of rooms in my wing that just don’t seem to get any wireless signal.  Mine was one of them.  Super.

Any chance of me being moved?  Nope.  Hotel was booked.

So I spent the week stripped of almost all internet connection aside from a few brief moments at training when I managed to sneak onto a computer.  At one point, I realized that I might not even be able to fill out a damn tournament bracket this year, and I determined myself to find a way.  So I straight up told my instructor that I needed 10 minutes of my own time to fill out a bracket or I wouldn’t be able to focus all day.  His response: “Now seems like a good time for a break anyway.”  God bless him.

So I had time to fill out only one bracket.  Which one should it be?  ESPN?  Facebook?   USA Today?  All of those boasted prizes for top brackets, but life isn’t about money, it’s about being in a CBS bracket group with some friends and ripping on them when they make shitty picks.  So, with that in mind, I gladly accepted an e-mail invite from Noles to join their group.  As of right now, I’m doing decent (only two wrong so far) but a female is atop the leaderboard in our group.  Can’t say I’m surprised.

Anyway, I don’t have a whole lot of time right now to chit chat.  I’m currently at the Orlando airport waiting for my flight, and this just isn’t the time nor the place to breakdown my week.  Besides, it’s Friday and that means no one is going to read it until Monday anyway.  It’s just the way it works, people.  So for the time being I wish you a good weekend, and by the time you come back I will more than likely have slapped together my thoughts in order to give you the rundown from my week in beautiful Florida. Now, I leave you with one final thought.  I have a proposed addendum to Webster’s dictionary.

depressing (adjective).  (1) serving to depress; (2) inducing a state of depression; (3) leaving Orlando, where it is currently 79 degrees and flying home, where it is currently 34 degrees.

One love,


Good Morning, Angels

March 16, 2009

Yes, I am Charlie, and you are all my Angels.  I have a job for you, but we’re getting ahead of ourselves.  First, I have to get this out of the way …

Okay, so I know I’ve been sucky at blogging lately, but I’ve been busy so LAY OFF.

Whew, sorry I blew up there.  I’m heading to the airport in about an hour and I should be in Orlando this evening for my last week of training.  Since I’m going alone and I know exactly zero people in Florida, I should have plenty of time to hit you all with a few thoughts I’ve had tumbling around in my head as well as the first of many, many March Madness posts.

I have a three hour layover in Minneapolis, so I’m sure I’ll get lost looking for the food court or something mundane like that, so I imagine at least one decent story coming from today’s travels.

Back to your assignment.  I’ll be spending a lot of time in airports and in the air over the next week, and I have not one book to read.  Eric bought me a book for Christmas, but I finished it already.  So here’s my question to you.  If I wander into the book store in the Minneapolis airport looking for a book to buy, what should it be?  (Note, please don’t say any of the Harry Potter books, and if you say one of the Twilight books, I will slap you so hard your ears will bleed gravy).

I’m not gonna get sucked into a series of books, I just want one good read while I spend roughly 12 hours with my thumb in my ass over the next week.  I’ll be checking back for comments throughout the day, so I want something good.  Make me proud, because I can only read this month’s Golf Digest so many times.  Help.

One love,


1, 2, 3, 4, I Declare A Thumb War

March 11, 2009

It’s time for another episode of Thumbs Up – Thumbs Down.  I’ve had a few things on my mind lately that are either pissing me off or making my day.  Let’s explore, shall we?

Thumbs up to Pandora.  I know it’s a simple idea, but I really like the thought of a radio station that actually plays the music I want to hear.  It’s too bad I can’t get it in my car, but for now I’ll settle with only being able to enjoy it at home and work.  I mean seriously, I type in an artist I like and they give me an unlimited stream of music that doesn’t make me want to shoot myself.  Wait, you’re telling me I can listen to the radio without hearing a Hannah Montana song? Brilliant.

Thumbs down to the March of Dimes Foundation.  Don’t get me wrong, I support the cause, but I don’t necessarily approve of their collection methods.  Last week I got a letter in the mail requesting a donation.  Not a big deal, I can handle that.  However, enclosed in that letter was a book of pre-printed address labels with my name and address on them and, wait for it … a dime.  Okay, I get the cunning attempt at humor when the March of Dimes Foundation sends me a dime, but why is a charity giving money away?  Sure, it’s just a dime, but how many of those letters do you think they sent out?  A lot.  That, plus the address labels, plus whatever other overhead they’ve got, and I’ve gotta spring for a Jackson just to get them to break even on me.  Not smart thinking if you ask me.

Thumbs up to the Cowboys dumping T.O.  I haven’t mentioned it yet because everyone in America was talking about it for a few days.  Allow me, if you will, to pull a quote from a post I wrote on December 14th.  “My Terrell Owens-related prediction for next year is this: T.O. will be out of Dallas by the end of next season.” Okay, sure, I also went on to say that he would have trouble finding another team, but apparently the Bills’ front office doesn’t own a television between them.  The guy is a disease and if he thinks he didn’t get the ball enough from Romo, I can’t wait to see what he has to say about Trent Edwards.

Thumbs down to Mother Nature.  I know, I usually make it a point not to bitch about the weather, but this one was straight out of the playbook.  It was nice for a while.  So calm.  Rising temperatures, no large amounts of snow, things were definitely looking up.  Then, almost as if on cue, Mother Nature let loose with a back-handed bitch slap today in the form of 40 mph winds and 30-below zero wind chills.  Super.  So super, in fact, that 80% of the entire state of North Dakota had to close down for the day.  And things don’t close easy up here.  Driving to and from work was like driving with a huge sheet of white construction paper taped to the windshield.  I may as well have closed my eyes and just hit the cruise control.

Thumbs up to the aforementioned weather leading to me only having to work for about 30 actual minutes today while getting paid for 6 hours of “work.”  If I could go to work everyday and spend three hours watching “How I Met Your Mother” in the break room, count me in.

Thumbs down to me being supremely busy again this week in preparation for another week of training which I leave for on Monday.  I have a ton of work to do and even though I did a bunch yesterday, I’m still gonna be a busy bee the next few days in order to stay caught up.

Thumbs up to that training being in Orlando … during Spring Break week.  Yes, you may now be jealous.  I’ll have class from 9-4 or so everyday, and I imagine I’ll spend the rest of the afternoon and evenings trying to convince ladies that I work for Girls Gone Wild.  God bless America.

One love,