Thursday, March 25, 2010
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
I was hoping for a 69
Damn I'm lazy. I haven't posted a blog since Feb. 6th.
Did you miss me? I didn't think so. Don't worry, I'm just checking in for a brief update.
After finishing up the last 4 of the 40 hours of job shadowing I have to do, I headed over to the Red Rocks campus today to take the Accuplacer exam required for my application into the sonography program. It's the first time I've been to campus during regular school hours, and let me tell you, it was fucking weird. There were students everywhere- and every one of them was smoking a cigarette and kicking a hacky sack. It looked like a Greatful Dead concert. Kids were sprawled out on the lawns soaking up the sun, making out, and pretty much doing everything but studying. It's not that I fault them for it, but it was bizarre to watch. I just kept thinking, "man, that was me eight years ago, sitting around doing nothing." You know, minus the cigarettes and the hacky sacks. Nor was I making out with any girls.
It's sad, but those kids I saw on campus today are getting more out of their education than I did.
So I took the exam. There were three sections to the test- reading comprehension, sentence skills, and algebra. The first two sections I did fairly well on. I scored a 111 in reading comprehension and 119 in sentence skills. I needed scores of 90 for both, so I guess I did decent enough. The algebra section however bent me over the table and had its way with me. No foreplay. No lube. Just straight to the rough stuff. It was ugly.
I needed an 85. I scored a 67. Sad.
No worries though. I can retake the test as many times as I want. And on the advice of one of the counselors there, I'm going to pick-up "Algebra for Dummies" to refresh my math skills. Supposedly students will often double their scores after studying the book and retaking their test. Yeah, sure. Whatever.
I'm thinking about buying a hacky sack. 
Saturday, February 6, 2010
I Think I'm Dying Here, Man
With only a day left until the Super Bowl, I'm frothing at the mouth to put money on the big game. It's killing me not to bet on the Super Bowl. A Super Bowl without gambling would be like Christmas without presents. It would be like some hot chick asking you if you want a blow job and saying, "No thanks." It's wrong. It's wrong in every possible way.
And yet, another Super Bowl is going to pass where I won't have any action on it.
When I'm finally named king, the first thing I'm going to do is make sports betting legal. Not only that, but I'll make it a tax write-off.
The line is colts by 4.5. Gimme! Gimme! The colts will win by a TD easily. They'll probably win by two. Put me down for $500!
The worst part about missing out on betting the Super Bowl are all the cool prop bets that could be had. Here are a few I would take...
First Scoring Play of the Game- A NO FG. $10 pays $45
Winning Margin- Colts by 11-15 pts. $10 pays $70
Player to Score the First TD- Pierre Garcon, IND WR. $10 pays- $100
Total TD Passes by Payton Manning- 4. $20 pays $100
Fuck it. I'm tired of missing out on sports betting. Next year, I'll open an account, no matter what it takes. Or I'll get a bookie. Whatever! Whatever! I do what I want!
And yet, another Super Bowl is going to pass where I won't have any action on it.
When I'm finally named king, the first thing I'm going to do is make sports betting legal. Not only that, but I'll make it a tax write-off.
The line is colts by 4.5. Gimme! Gimme! The colts will win by a TD easily. They'll probably win by two. Put me down for $500!
The worst part about missing out on betting the Super Bowl are all the cool prop bets that could be had. Here are a few I would take...
First Scoring Play of the Game- A NO FG. $10 pays $45
Winning Margin- Colts by 11-15 pts. $10 pays $70
Player to Score the First TD- Pierre Garcon, IND WR. $10 pays- $100
Total TD Passes by Payton Manning- 4. $20 pays $100
Fuck it. I'm tired of missing out on sports betting. Next year, I'll open an account, no matter what it takes. Or I'll get a bookie. Whatever! Whatever! I do what I want!
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Random Thoughts (1-23-10)
I haven't blogged in a while, mostly because I still don't have anything worthwhile to say. But as always, that's never stopped me before....
-- Someday, when I'm finally named king, my first decree will be to abolish the pointless ritual of saying "bless you" after someone sneezes. I'm not exactly sure why this bothers me so much, but it does. Why the fuck is it my responsibility to wish good fortunes upon someone just because they have a compulsive explosion of air from their lungs through their nose? So what if their nasal mucosa is being irritated by foreign particles? That's no reason for me to wish godly favors upon them. I hardly think a sneeze is worth good tidings of any sort. Really, shouldn't we be cursing people who sneeze near us? After all, they're spreading their unwanted germs through the air and increasing the chances that we'll get sick. Anyway, as soon as everyone agrees that I'm king, no more of that nonsense.
-- My second decree will be the introduction of a new, world holiday- Boobies Day! Damn straight. There is not nearly enough random, female nudity in our lives. Not even close. Seriously, what is with women and their irrational insistence on always wearing clothes? Do they not see how lame life is? Do they not understand how much cooler our lives would be if they would just flash a little nip every once in a while? Just think of how much better this world would be if women were prone to public disrobing. Surely, it would end world hunger. It would definitely end road rage. In all likely hood, we would have peace on earth.
The basics of Boobies Day is this- every Boobies Day (which btw would be April 25th), women 21 years or older would be required by law to flash any man who requests it of them. Basically it would be like Mardi Gras, only without the beads. You see, originally I was going to have Topless Day, where all women would be required, by law mind you, to walk around topless. Well, apparently not everyone is keen on this idea. Several of my soon-to-be subjects have pointed out to me that some women (like grandmas and Rosie O'Donnell) really should stay clothed. Fair enough. So instead, Boobies Day will allow us guys to pick and choose the boobies to be displayed. For those of you who aren't thrilled with this decree- well too fucking bad! I'm the one that's going to be named King soon, so just deal.
-- My third decree- all women are henceforth bisexual. Nothings really changed there, except that women can no longer pretend that they're not down with chicks. It's OK ladies, we're totally cool with it. Honest. So just stop pretending otherwise.
-- Damn it's going to be cool when I'm king.
-- I hate bank customers. You probably know this already. They just won't fucking shut up. Ever. All day long, it's weather this, and sports that. It's fuck Bush and fuck Obama all damn day. Lately though, it's their non-stop talk about global warming that's tempting me to end it all with a quick jab of a pen to my skull. Now, I don't have a dog in the global warming fight. Could be true. Could be a lie. I don't know, nor do I really care. I plan on dying at some point in the next seventy years either way. Really, I'll just go with whatever the Black Tower has to say about it. The customers I help every day though, they know the truth with all certainty. Of course, 99% of them are just spouting whatever the talking heads they listen to say. Whatever. All that is fine. What really gets me though is that no matter who's yapping at me about global warming, and no matter what side their on, they'll always point to that day's weather as proof that their belief is right. If it's warm, the dolt I'm helping will tell me, "And they say global warming isn't real." If it's cold, the person will say, "So much for global warming. It's freezing out there." Really? Am I to believe that these people actually think that the weather in Lakewood Colorado on any given day is proof that global warming is or isn't real? Really?
One quick jab and it'll all be over.
-- I have some news on the book front. I recently e-mailed amazon to inquire about making the Dagger of Lokin available for download on the Kindle. I sent them a few chapters to sample and asked what the process would be. In their reply, Amazon informed me that they would indeed accept the DoL for the kindle, so long as I was willing to pay $2.99 every time someone downloaded the book. Based on the poor quality of the writing, Amazon felt that not only should the book be free for download, but that I should have to pay the customer for downloading and suffering through it. Bummer.
-- I only have two weeks left to finish the prologue for the Mace of Dominion, and I don't have a single sentence of it written yet. There is nothing more terrifying than a blank piece of paper.
-- I hate getting older. I'm only 32 and yet I'm already seeing the signs. My memory is already starting to slip. For instance, I seem to recall vowing to cut back on drinking. Only I'm not sure I really did. My memory of it is just so hazy....
-- Someday, when I am named King of the world, I will appoint someone witty and charming to write my blogs for me, so that none of you have to suffer through this crap again. Hold on peeps, your plight is almost finished.
-- Someday, when I'm finally named king, my first decree will be to abolish the pointless ritual of saying "bless you" after someone sneezes. I'm not exactly sure why this bothers me so much, but it does. Why the fuck is it my responsibility to wish good fortunes upon someone just because they have a compulsive explosion of air from their lungs through their nose? So what if their nasal mucosa is being irritated by foreign particles? That's no reason for me to wish godly favors upon them. I hardly think a sneeze is worth good tidings of any sort. Really, shouldn't we be cursing people who sneeze near us? After all, they're spreading their unwanted germs through the air and increasing the chances that we'll get sick. Anyway, as soon as everyone agrees that I'm king, no more of that nonsense.
-- My second decree will be the introduction of a new, world holiday- Boobies Day! Damn straight. There is not nearly enough random, female nudity in our lives. Not even close. Seriously, what is with women and their irrational insistence on always wearing clothes? Do they not see how lame life is? Do they not understand how much cooler our lives would be if they would just flash a little nip every once in a while? Just think of how much better this world would be if women were prone to public disrobing. Surely, it would end world hunger. It would definitely end road rage. In all likely hood, we would have peace on earth.
The basics of Boobies Day is this- every Boobies Day (which btw would be April 25th), women 21 years or older would be required by law to flash any man who requests it of them. Basically it would be like Mardi Gras, only without the beads. You see, originally I was going to have Topless Day, where all women would be required, by law mind you, to walk around topless. Well, apparently not everyone is keen on this idea. Several of my soon-to-be subjects have pointed out to me that some women (like grandmas and Rosie O'Donnell) really should stay clothed. Fair enough. So instead, Boobies Day will allow us guys to pick and choose the boobies to be displayed. For those of you who aren't thrilled with this decree- well too fucking bad! I'm the one that's going to be named King soon, so just deal.
-- My third decree- all women are henceforth bisexual. Nothings really changed there, except that women can no longer pretend that they're not down with chicks. It's OK ladies, we're totally cool with it. Honest. So just stop pretending otherwise.
-- Damn it's going to be cool when I'm king.
-- I hate bank customers. You probably know this already. They just won't fucking shut up. Ever. All day long, it's weather this, and sports that. It's fuck Bush and fuck Obama all damn day. Lately though, it's their non-stop talk about global warming that's tempting me to end it all with a quick jab of a pen to my skull. Now, I don't have a dog in the global warming fight. Could be true. Could be a lie. I don't know, nor do I really care. I plan on dying at some point in the next seventy years either way. Really, I'll just go with whatever the Black Tower has to say about it. The customers I help every day though, they know the truth with all certainty. Of course, 99% of them are just spouting whatever the talking heads they listen to say. Whatever. All that is fine. What really gets me though is that no matter who's yapping at me about global warming, and no matter what side their on, they'll always point to that day's weather as proof that their belief is right. If it's warm, the dolt I'm helping will tell me, "And they say global warming isn't real." If it's cold, the person will say, "So much for global warming. It's freezing out there." Really? Am I to believe that these people actually think that the weather in Lakewood Colorado on any given day is proof that global warming is or isn't real? Really?
One quick jab and it'll all be over.
-- I have some news on the book front. I recently e-mailed amazon to inquire about making the Dagger of Lokin available for download on the Kindle. I sent them a few chapters to sample and asked what the process would be. In their reply, Amazon informed me that they would indeed accept the DoL for the kindle, so long as I was willing to pay $2.99 every time someone downloaded the book. Based on the poor quality of the writing, Amazon felt that not only should the book be free for download, but that I should have to pay the customer for downloading and suffering through it. Bummer.
-- I only have two weeks left to finish the prologue for the Mace of Dominion, and I don't have a single sentence of it written yet. There is nothing more terrifying than a blank piece of paper.
-- I hate getting older. I'm only 32 and yet I'm already seeing the signs. My memory is already starting to slip. For instance, I seem to recall vowing to cut back on drinking. Only I'm not sure I really did. My memory of it is just so hazy....
-- Someday, when I am named King of the world, I will appoint someone witty and charming to write my blogs for me, so that none of you have to suffer through this crap again. Hold on peeps, your plight is almost finished.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Random Thoughts (12-13-09)
I haven't blogged in a while, mostly because I'm lazy. That and I really don't have much to say. Let's see if I can't scrape a few thoughts out of the empty abyss that is my mind.
-- I realize that I'm the boy who cried wolf on this, but I have to warn you- the donks are going to get destroyed today. The colts will bitchslap them. It's going to be ugly. I know I say this every week no matter who the donks are playing, but this week I mean it. The colts will win by at least two tds. Probably three. Why am I so sure? Because of the morons I help at the bank, that's why. All week, all I heard from the customers was how the donks were going to upset the colts. Not one donks fan said they'd lose. Everyone in donks land thinks that the orange and blue will actually win. Even my naysaying powers can't overcome that kind of jinx. The donks are screwed.
-- Steph dragged me to an X-mas party last weekend hosted by one of her coworkers, a gig I didn't want any part of. Being that I'm socially awkward and a tool, going to a party to meet a bunch of Steph's coworkers was the last thing I wanted to do that night. For the most part, the party was dreadful, as I spent most of the night mumbling greetings and staring into my glass-- you know, being myself.
Have you ever seen the movie "The Bad News Bears in Breaking Training"? A classic. You really should rent it. There's a scene in the opening of the movie where the kids of the baseball team teach a mentally-challenged groundskeeper how to say "hello", "how are you?", and "nice to meet you", all so that they can deceive their parents into believing that they have a coach who will be with them on their upcoming road trip. Anyway, I realized at the party that night that I'm that guy. I'm the mentally-challenged, fake coach. I mutter the three phrases that I've memorized and that's it. After that I just smile and get destroyed drunk. Poor Steph. It's a wonder why she even brings me. She should just hire a male escort next time.
My toolish behavior aside, the party was quite interesting. The hosts were a doctor and his husband, and four of the doctor's kids. The kids were all on drink duty, making sure that no one had an empty glass, and they did a fantastic job. I plowed through so many Singapore Slings that they ran out of it about a half hour after I arrived. From there it was on to wine, which just about dropped me to the floor. Those kids can really push the drinks.
The highlight though were the lesbians. One of Steph's coworkers is a hottie lesbian, and she brought her girlfriend with her to the party. At first the two just sat together, chatting and drinking. Eventually though they started holding hands and petting each other, and I couldn't have been more enthralled. It's no secret that I'm into lesbians, but even I didn't realize I was that into them. I couldn't keep my eyes off of them, and all they were doing was snuggling. I spent the whole night trying to fight off a stiffy. I told my penis, "it's not polite to point." And he said, "Stop staring and I'll stop pointing." Touche, penis. Touche.
-- Have you seen the latest cover of golfer's digest? Hilarious.
-- I realize that I'm the boy who cried wolf on this, but I have to warn you- the donks are going to get destroyed today. The colts will bitchslap them. It's going to be ugly. I know I say this every week no matter who the donks are playing, but this week I mean it. The colts will win by at least two tds. Probably three. Why am I so sure? Because of the morons I help at the bank, that's why. All week, all I heard from the customers was how the donks were going to upset the colts. Not one donks fan said they'd lose. Everyone in donks land thinks that the orange and blue will actually win. Even my naysaying powers can't overcome that kind of jinx. The donks are screwed.
-- Steph dragged me to an X-mas party last weekend hosted by one of her coworkers, a gig I didn't want any part of. Being that I'm socially awkward and a tool, going to a party to meet a bunch of Steph's coworkers was the last thing I wanted to do that night. For the most part, the party was dreadful, as I spent most of the night mumbling greetings and staring into my glass-- you know, being myself.
Have you ever seen the movie "The Bad News Bears in Breaking Training"? A classic. You really should rent it. There's a scene in the opening of the movie where the kids of the baseball team teach a mentally-challenged groundskeeper how to say "hello", "how are you?", and "nice to meet you", all so that they can deceive their parents into believing that they have a coach who will be with them on their upcoming road trip. Anyway, I realized at the party that night that I'm that guy. I'm the mentally-challenged, fake coach. I mutter the three phrases that I've memorized and that's it. After that I just smile and get destroyed drunk. Poor Steph. It's a wonder why she even brings me. She should just hire a male escort next time.
My toolish behavior aside, the party was quite interesting. The hosts were a doctor and his husband, and four of the doctor's kids. The kids were all on drink duty, making sure that no one had an empty glass, and they did a fantastic job. I plowed through so many Singapore Slings that they ran out of it about a half hour after I arrived. From there it was on to wine, which just about dropped me to the floor. Those kids can really push the drinks.
The highlight though were the lesbians. One of Steph's coworkers is a hottie lesbian, and she brought her girlfriend with her to the party. At first the two just sat together, chatting and drinking. Eventually though they started holding hands and petting each other, and I couldn't have been more enthralled. It's no secret that I'm into lesbians, but even I didn't realize I was that into them. I couldn't keep my eyes off of them, and all they were doing was snuggling. I spent the whole night trying to fight off a stiffy. I told my penis, "it's not polite to point." And he said, "Stop staring and I'll stop pointing." Touche, penis. Touche.
-- Have you seen the latest cover of golfer's digest? Hilarious.
-- The bank is short about three tellers right now, so we've been going through the interview process for the last few weeks, trying to bring in a few more people. One day while I was in the vault with my supervisor Paula, she told me that one of the applicants mentioned that he was a writer during his interview. He'd written a novel, but it was as yet unpublished. She told me that they probably wouldn't hire him, since they already "have one of those." What I'm wondering though is- how many bank tellers are there in the world who are unpublished authors? Is this what happens to unpublished writers? They become bank tellers? I think it's a sign. I'm never going to be published. For the crime of writing such a terrible book, I've been sentenced to the purgatory of being a bank teller. Who knew?
Saturday, November 21, 2009
I love you, Hot Bartenders/ I Hate You, Denver Broncos
What is it about hot bartenders that is so damn cool?
Just the other night, Z-man and I hit up the Larimer Lounge to check out a band called Electric Six. Good times, they were. Loud music, lots of booze, and girls shaking their asses always makes for a swell time.
The bartenders at the Lounge that night were top shelf. Or maybe I just had lust-goggles on. It's hard to tell. There's just something about women leaning over the bar across from me, flashing their A through Ds against a backdrop of liquor bottles and asking "What would you like?" that gets this tool's ratchet clanked. That's customer service at its finest, peeps.
Zach and I were greatly entertained by the eye candy working the bar, as well as the thought of ordering overtly, sexually-named drinks from them. The running joke of the evening was to say, "When she asked me what I wanted, I told her a blow job. And she brought me a drink!"
Zach and I did variations of this all night long. It never once got old.
"So then I said, a slow comfortable screw up against the wall. And she brought me a drink!"
"So then I said, I want to fuck you doggy-style while your eating out another chick. And she brought me a drink!"
"Finally I just ordered a Long Island, and she slapped my in the face and told me to go to Hell."
The evening eventually took its toll on me, as I didn't get home until about 1:30 am and I had to work the next day, but really it was all worth it. In the debate of whether I'm officially old or not, youth won out that night. Well, I'm still young at heart anyway. Plus, I have yet to go to a concert and officially be the oldest person in attendance. Until I'm the creepy old guy that really shouldn't be there, I'll consider it all good.
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There's only one rule to being a true, hardcore naysayer. Never, under any circumstance, believe in your team. It is the first and last commandment of being a naysayer, and I broke it. When the donks beat the Chargers to go 6-0, earning a 3 1/2 game lead in the west, I bought into the lie. I drank the predominantly orange kool-aid. I completely and totally sold out. Now, I'm paying the price.
Just the other night, Z-man and I hit up the Larimer Lounge to check out a band called Electric Six. Good times, they were. Loud music, lots of booze, and girls shaking their asses always makes for a swell time.
The bartenders at the Lounge that night were top shelf. Or maybe I just had lust-goggles on. It's hard to tell. There's just something about women leaning over the bar across from me, flashing their A through Ds against a backdrop of liquor bottles and asking "What would you like?" that gets this tool's ratchet clanked. That's customer service at its finest, peeps.
Zach and I were greatly entertained by the eye candy working the bar, as well as the thought of ordering overtly, sexually-named drinks from them. The running joke of the evening was to say, "When she asked me what I wanted, I told her a blow job. And she brought me a drink!"
Zach and I did variations of this all night long. It never once got old.
"So then I said, a slow comfortable screw up against the wall. And she brought me a drink!"
"So then I said, I want to fuck you doggy-style while your eating out another chick. And she brought me a drink!"
"Finally I just ordered a Long Island, and she slapped my in the face and told me to go to Hell."
The evening eventually took its toll on me, as I didn't get home until about 1:30 am and I had to work the next day, but really it was all worth it. In the debate of whether I'm officially old or not, youth won out that night. Well, I'm still young at heart anyway. Plus, I have yet to go to a concert and officially be the oldest person in attendance. Until I'm the creepy old guy that really shouldn't be there, I'll consider it all good.
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There's only one rule to being a true, hardcore naysayer. Never, under any circumstance, believe in your team. It is the first and last commandment of being a naysayer, and I broke it. When the donks beat the Chargers to go 6-0, earning a 3 1/2 game lead in the west, I bought into the lie. I drank the predominantly orange kool-aid. I completely and totally sold out. Now, I'm paying the price.
This will be the second time I've had to come to terms with burying the 09 Broncos. I already did it once back in the preseason when it was obvious to everyone that the Broncos serviced well hung goats. Everything we thought about the Broncos going into the season was true. They are who we thought they were, and we let them off the hook. Or at least I did. At 6-0, the donks had converted me. I was a believer, and I was singing their praises. Josh McDaniels is a genius! Kyle Orton is the greatest game manager ever! At one point I'd even considered betting on them. When the donks wre at Baltimore even! How sad. Now, after three horrid losses, I am no longer blind to their propaganda. The Broncos are a joke. They're frauds, and I will never believe in them again.
The 09 Broncos are dead. They're deader than dead. I took them out back, hit them over the head with a shovel, and buried them next to fluffy.
If there are any believers out their who yet cling to hope, just let it go. The donks don't have a chance. As Woody Paige would say, "Look at the schedule!"
Tomorrow they lose to the Chargers, which you have to admit, is sweet sweet irony. You gotta love that the bolts have managed to yet again come back from a three game deficit to bitch-slap the donks. Epic. Just epic. Kyle Orton? Chris Simms? It doesn't fucking matter who's taking the snaps. The donks go down either way. It won't even be close.
After that, the donks will lose to the giants (I'm so glad I'll get to see that in person), at Kc, at Ind, and at Philly. Their only wins for the rest of the season will be their home games against Kc and Oak.
8-8. That's how it'll end. I've already put it on their tombstone.
Bring on the draft.
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