Vacation All I Ever Wanted

Next week I will be on vacation, or as they say around the office "on holiday". This is the first of two vacations we have planned for the summer. What exotic destination do we have on the calendar? Aruba, Jamaica ooo I wanna take ya, Bermuda, Bahama come on pretty mama, Key Largo, Montego, baby why don't we go, to Pittsburgh PeeeAaaaa. That's right the family and I will be whisked away for an eight day, seven night stay in da 'Burgh, where we'll enjoy all the mustaches, jean shorts and Long John Silver's we can find.

The first few days we'll be chillin' at my Mom's house, or should I say ma mum's hahse. She says she has an early birthday present for me. I thought I had everything they could possibly put a Steelers logo on including a cooking apron and wind chimes. That's right, I have Pittsburgh Steelers mother fucking wind chimes. You know how far into the merchandise catalogue you have to go before you get to the wind chimes? Please don't ever question my super fan status! Even with my extensive collection, I guess she's found something I don't have, maybe a Troy Polamalu Chia Pet, or a Big Ben enema kit. Stay tuned...

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After a few days at the old lady's house, we are heading over to my Uncle's fatty boombastic pad. Olympic-size heated pool, hot tub, crazy grub and open bar. Fat, drunk and stupid is no way to go through life, but it's a great way to spend a vacation. Wow, I should really go into the T-shirt slogan business. If I see a bunch of rednecks wearing this shirt in Panama City next year I'm coming after one of you for some royalty checks.

Every year at my Uncle's I line up the rafts and attempt to run across the pool like a modern day Jesus. In previous summers my attempts have all failed, but I think this could be my year. I've been feeling quite nimble lately, and that really is the key to a successful pool crossing. Well, that and Speedy Gonzales like quickness. Andele Andele, Ariba Ariba! SPLASH! Hijo de puta!

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This will probably be my last post for awhile, unless I decide to get out of the pool long enough to write something, but the Maragaritas will most likely impair any chance I have at putting a coherent sentence together. So if you see a post that starts like this you'll know why: ddue tihs is teh bste vaction evr! I lov all fo you. Thkns 4 reding my blof, even tho i'mm so faking we toddid.

At this time I'd like to introduce Pittsburgh's own, Donnie Iris to play me out of this bitch!

I see your lips and I wonder who's been kissin' them.

I never knew how badly I was missin' them.

We both know we're never going to make it,

but when we touch, we never have to fake it, Leah!

Lesson Learned

I posted my letter to the company last Friday, and because I included the company name at the end it was picked up by Google Alerts. Google Alerts allows you to put in key words, and whenever there is a news item or blog about those key words it gets picked up and sent out in an e-mail blast. Basically, I sent my blog to everyone in the company, the company that just acquired us, and anyone else out there who gets the alert. Wanna Get Away?




I write this blog for my own entertainment, and I often reveal details about myself and use language that are cool for my friends, family and complete strangers, but may be a bit awkward for co-workers. When I pass someone in the hall I'll wonder if they are thinking "Hey, there's that guy who watches the Adult Video Awards, farts in his office and asked his German teacher if she were on the rag." Not exactly the image that you want to project in a professional environment.

I guess it is what it is. Go ahead and add it to the ever-growing list of stupid things I've done over the years. If the Darwin Awards knew about all of my escapades I would be a perennial winner.

Here are a few of my proudest Darwin moments:

Dumbest Use of Scissors:
I wanted to suck on just the candy portion of my lollipop, so I got a pair of scissors and as I cut off the stick I also took off my bottom lip. I don't recommend this. The taste of blood really overpowers the sweetness of the candy. Plus, I couldn't whistle for a month.

Dumbest Use of a Jump Rope:
I wanted to learn how to tight-rope walk, so I tied a jump rope between my dresser and the closet door. When I stepped on the rope the dresser came crashing down destroying my right foot. I guess you can tell Barnum and Bailey that I'll be on the DL for awhile.

Dumbest Use of a Plunger:
I stuck a plunger to my chest and walked around my apartment. When I removed the plunger, my internal organs slammed against my chest cavity and I thought that I was going into cardiac arrest.
Mourner 1: Did you hear about Crawford? Such a shame. The dude plunged to his death.
Mourner 2: Really? Did he jumped off a bridge or something?
Mourner 1: No, he actually plunged to his death.
Mourner 2: What a fucktard!

Dumbest Use of a Suction Cup:
I took the suction cup off a nerf basketball hoop and stuck it to my forehead. When I removed the suction cup, it left a huge round hickey in the middle my forehead for a week. Nobody takes you seriously when you have a big red circle on your face. "Crawford, when are you going to apply for that home loan?" Not this week.

I hope you all had a good laugh at my expense. Now, if you'll excuse me I have to get back to hiding under my desk and avoiding all eye contact.

Memoirs of Aiesha

My company asked everyone to put together a one-page story about their time at Genesys. I'm sure most of the stories will be heartfelt tales of company loyalty and sadness at the end of an era, but of course my lack of empathy wouldn't let me play that game. Here is my entry...

This is my story. I grew up in an Afghan village, where I spent my days flying kites, eating lamb kabobs and avoiding bullies. When the Russians invaded, my father took me to America, the land of opportunity. I left behind my dearest friend, whom later I would come to find out was actually my brother. Wait, wait, wait, this isn’t my story this is the best-selling novel The Kite Runner. Let me start again…

In 2002 Genesys acquired my talents for their Help Desk in a trade for a future draft pick and a case of Corona. While in training the first call my master (he was really into the martial arts and made me call him that, and in turn I was his grasshopper) and I took was a woman who wanted to change her meeting number to 8675309. At the time of the call I was focused on how to make the change in the system, but for some reason I began humming “Jenny I got your number, I need to make you mine…”. Then it dawned on me, that woman had just ripped off Tommy Tutone. Mentally I gave her mad props, and my Genesys career was off and running.

After six months of problem solving and learning the product in and out, I earned the certificate “How to Deal with an Irate Caller”. It still hangs in my office today to represent the patience needed when callers stop being polite and start getting irate. Around that time my biggest fan Colleen Wells decided to move into the sales arena leaving her position as the Demo Queen open. (See that girl, watch that scene, dig in the demo queen). That’s when opportunity came a knockin’. I decided to leave behind the land of irate callers for the greener pasture of excited, wide-eyed prospects.

I intended to do the demos for a year or so, but that turned into four years. I got to the point where I could do the demo and converse on IM at the same time. My mouth was saying “That’s why Software as a Service is such an advantage”, but my fingers were typing “IDK, my BFF Jill and I are so down for happy hour. ROTFL. Car Bombs FTW!” The Help Desk taught me the product and the demos helped me learn how to sell it. Now I was ready for phase three of my Genesys career, Web Marketing.

Do you know HTML? Nope. Do you have any experience with SEO? Nope. Ok, then you’re hired! Luckily, Saleem’s team had developed a CMS which allowed someone with a creative vision who lacked certain technical skills, to work in a web marketing capacity. Now, all I had to do was edumacate myself on the glacier sized field of web marketing in a few short weeks. Unfortunately, the commercials for trade schools that offer truck driving, custodial services and paralegal, don’t offer a course on web marketing, so I had to learn the old fashioned way. Google!

I have learned a great deal from this company, and as Genesys grew I seized opportunities that may not have been available at other larger organizations. The European approach of work hard, play hard is one that I fully subscribe to, and I am proud of what this company achieved.

This was my Genesys story. Now, fetch me my kite and lamb kabobs, I’m starving.

The Office

No, not the hit NBC sitcom where witty dialog and quizzical looks are delivered without the help of a laugh track, I'm talking about my office. A 9' by 6' cell in which I waste my life making other people rich and myself financially viable. When I am in my office I feel like I'm at home on the couch and everything is fair game. I scratch my balls, pick my nose and let the occasional fart squeak out. Hey, I'm a guy it's what we do.

During the workday I constantly have the Bose earbuds on, which only enhances my sense of isolation. I'm either rocking tunes in the morning or Ron & Fez in the afternoon. This serves two purposes:

1. People walking by think I'm on the phone and tend to leave me alone.

2. I get to listen to "Can a Nigga Get a Table Dance?" without geting a visit from Human Resources.

The earbuds can cause some confusion at times. The other day a woman walked into my office just as "Thorn in My Pride" by the Black Crowes was coming on and I went "shhhhhhh" along with the song and she started to whisper. I had to sheepishly explain that I wasn't talking to her, I was singing along with Chris Robinson.

It's also slightly awkward when an executive comes into the office to talk shop and I take out the earbuds and the volume is still audible. Especially when Rage Against the Machine is screaming "Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me!"

Did I mention that I sit directly across from a conference room? I tend to get my air band on to certain songs, then I look to my left and see a room full of people. I know at least one of those fuckers just saw me killing the drum fills in "YYZ" by Rush. What are you gonna do? I like to rock out with my cock out.

Now that my dirty little secrets are out there, if you ever visit my office at least I will be easy to spot. Just look for the guy wailing on the air guitar, and shouting random phrases like he has Tourette Syndrome.

The Outdoor Type

Saddle up boys, it's time to ride. We set out for parts unknown on Friday morning, stopping only for some crazy delicious eats at Arbys. They have these new mini roast beef sammys that rock, then you throw in some curly fries and it's like you've been touched by the hand of God. With food in the belly, we continued down the highway on our quest to become camping legends. Just before we reach Bumfuck, Virginia we pull onto this gravel road and wind our way back past the sleestack caves and into the land of the lost. Cell phone service? Nope. Anyone know where we are? Nope. Has Bruce already had four beers and pissed twice? Yep. Ok, we're on the right track.

After an eternity of dodging car-swallowing holes and tire-bursting rocks, we end up at our destination. Alright guys lets set up camp. Amy told me to make sure that I set up the tent close to the others, so I picked a nice secluded spot by the creek as far away as possible from our fellow outdoorsman. The tents are up and so is the baking, afternoon sun. It's 2:00 pm, and the girls won't be here for another three hours, I guess it's thumb up the ass time. In a moment of divine clarity, Bruce, AKA Testosterone Overdose, decided to bring a pellet gun. Let the "You'll shoot your eye out kid" Olympics begin. We set up several empty beer cans on a fallen tree over the creek bed and take turns living out our white trash dreams. "Dag gummit I shot the living shit out of that Bud Light can. That dog will hunt!"

Still more time to kill before the cougars arrive. If only we had a game that required minimal physical exersion, that could be played without puting your beer down...Cornhole time! For those of you who are unfamiliar with the game, it's like horseshoes without that annoying clanking noise. Boards with holes are placed nine yards apart and then you take turns trying to throw bean bags through the aforementioned holes. It's scored like horseshoes, so basic math skills are required. After a few rounds, all of that standing and drinking really got to us, so we decided to rest on our laurels, that is if laurels means asses.

Arby's is now a distant memory, and we are ecstatic when the women folk finally arrive. We won the first reward challenge on Survivor Bumfuck, Virginia, so we have the flint necessary to start a fire, but really, who needs flint when you have a lighter and a Sure Flame fire starter log. Wiggity-wiggity-wiggity-whack we have flames, grab the dogs and let's get this feast started. Twenty minutes later I am slumped in a chair with mustard, chocolate and marshmallow all over my face and on my shirt. Kevin Spacey would kill me for Gluttony if this were the movie Se7en, fortunately for me it's not, it's Friday the 13th part XIV, Jason vs. a former Tenderfoot Scout.

Dusk is upon us and I decide to take the pellet gun out and see if I can cause some woodsy mayhem. "Hey guys do you think I should shoot this deer?" Being known as a maestro of bullshit, my inquisition goes unanswered. "Seriously guys, should I give this Bambi a headache or let him go?" My crew finally come over to see what the fuss is all about. We all watch a young, fearless buck eating the leaves off trees and occasionally glancing my way with a "nice pellet gun you fucking Nancy-boy" look. I pump it a few times to let him know I mean business, but he is unaffected by my gun-toting bravado. He finally turns and heads up the hill, being the master of post conflict banter I mutter "Who's the Nancy-boy now? That's right, you better run before I give you a nice welt on the ass, you dumb deer."

Now that the cervine threat has been abated, our attention turns to campfire discussions. We talk about the role of the internet in globalization, and debate the reasons for Darfur and why developed nations seem to ignore regions where there is little economic gain. It was really funny when Amy said that Darfur was in Chad, when it is sooo in the Sudan. Duh! We all had a good laugh over that botch. Ahhhh, nothing beats mistaken campfire quips for a good guffaw.

After that belly laugh, it was time to call it a night. Our tent looked like the Taj Mahal in the light of day, but by nightfall it seems to have diminished in size. Two-man tent my ass, maybe dos-hombres tent, but no way this fits anyone over 5' 3" comfortably. The ground is also extremely hard, like Ron Jeremy after four Viagra's, hard. Our sleeping arrangements made Abu Ghraib look like Club Med, and by morning I was begging to have my genitals shocked, if it meant I could get an hour of sleep.

Finally, the Sun put down his Jimmy Dean Breakfast Bowl and decided to light and heat the earth. I had our tent down and packed in record time. All I wanted to do was get my shit in the truck and hit the closest McDonalds for some McSkillet Burrito McYumminess. Happily, my camp companions complied, (How's that for alliteration bitches!) and we broke camp like we'd just been informed of an Al Quaeda ambush.

Safely back on the highway, we had survived a night of camping on Friday the 13th, and after a nice long Karen Ann Quinlan nap, I was back among the living. I hope my smores-eating and deer-fighting merit badges are in the mail, because I earned them this weekend.

King for a Day

Father's Day is coming up and it is my second year as the top male role model in my abode. If I can keep my constituents happy, hopefully I'll get re-elected for another term. Although, I don't really envision myself as a Dad yet, more of a guy that has a kid. Maybe when Maggie starts calling me Dad it will start to sink in, but for now I feel like a 36 year old kid who happens to have a kid. (shakes head) Babies raising babies. There are times when I'm like, hey are those parents ever going to come and pick this kid up, oh wait, that's right, they aren't.

Growing up I always saw parents as authority figures, who are responsible, always do the right thing and have it all figured out. Yeah, I was a little naive. As I got older I realized that wasn't the case, but it's still weird when your peers start to have kids. It's like, holy shit Steve is going to be a Dad! I remember when that idiot got stoned, tied his bike to a horse, then the horse took off and dragged him a half a mile up the road, and now he is responsible for another human life? I guess if crackheads can raise kids, maybe he has a shot.

When my younger brother became a Dad it really tripped me out. It's cool to have a niece and nephew, but it's crazy to think that my brother is actually a parent. Of course they see him as a God, but I know better, so it's hard not to say things like "You know your Dad used to be afraid of the radiation from remote controls." He also used to wear Robin Underoos, not even Batman, fucking Robin, and now he's responsible for teaching you everything you know. Good luck with that.

Being a parent is a ton of work, but I will admit the last few months have been a lot of fun. Especially now that Maggie is talking, walking and dancing like a stripper working the crowd for a few singles. It's my job to keep her off the pole, but when her first dance move is the rumpshaker, I know it's going to be a long road. I just hope I don't have to say things like:

"Maggie, honey, it's not polite to lick your fingers and rub your nipples.Yes,
I know that Daddy does it, but it's different when Daddy's do it."

"Maggie, honey, please don't do a crotch chop after you score a goal it's bad
sportmanship.Yes, I know that Daddy does it, but that's when he's at home in private and gets a strike on Wii Bowling."

"Maggie, honey, please don't call strangers fucking
assholes. Yes, I know that Daddy does it in the car, but it's not
right to do it to their face. I mean, it's not right to say it at all."

Now that I've horrified all of you with my future parenting skills, and my in-laws have child protective services programmed into their cell phones, I will conclude by saying that after all the hard work and sacrifice it will be a touching day, when my little girl comes up to me with a tear in her eye and says; "I love you Daddy, thank you so much for buying me a pony. I'm the luckiest girl in the whole wide world. Is it OK if I bring my new Daddy over to see it on my next court supervised visit?"

Friday the 13th

Guess what we are doing this Friday, which happens to be the 13th? If you said camping in the woods, you are correct. I haven't been camping since the early 80's, when I did a week at Boy Scout camp. A few of my friends were all gung ho about the scouts, but camp was my last hurrah in the scouting arena. I never made it past the rank of Tenderfoot, but I did earn two merit badges that summer, cooking and basketry. That's right, you heard me, cooking and basketry. Nothing says, I'm the camp badass like sporting these two beauties on your uniform.

I remember walking through the mess tent in the morning, and I would just hear whispers "Holy shit dude, don't fuck with Crawford, he has both cooking and basketry. Not only can he whip up some pancakes in a jiffy, but he can then carry them in a freshly woven basket to his grandmothers house."

In preparation for our little excursion into nature, I decided to Google some rules for surviving, just in case we become part of a serial killers wet dream. There are seven of us going, so here are the rules that will most likely lead to our untimely demise.

1. Never, under any circumstance, plan a camping trip that coincides with Friday the 13th.
Right off the bat we shit the bed on this one. We are all in, so there is no turning back now. Might as well start writing our obituaries.

2. Never Baby-sit.
My niece is babysitting before we head out on Friday afternoon, I guess Brittany will be dead before we even leave the suburbs. Tough break getting the axe before the opening credits. This goes for my Mother-in-law too, because she is babysitting my daughter.

3. The guy with the testosterone overdose is dead meat.
HAHA! Bruce you are a dead man! I guess all that working out and motorcycle riding doesn't seem so cool now does it? Volunteering to go out alone and get firewood was your first and last mistake.

4. Along with the guy that is always making jokes.
Doh! I guess I should have read down the page a little further before making fun of Bruce.
Me: Where's Bruce
Unidentified Voice: He went to get some wood
Me: That's what she said
Then I take a machete to the face carving a nice extended smile.

5. The first woman to either lose or remove her clothing is toast.
Sorry, Jen but you are cooked! Even if you don't remove any clothing, you are the testosterone guy's chick, so either way you are going to get smoked at some point.

6. Don't ever do something just because someone dares you to.
This pretty much taps out my nephew Jay, because he'll do just about anything on a dare or for $5. I'm going to dare him to say "I'll be right back" which will ensure his never coming back.

7. If you see a short guy wearing green and wearing a shamrock hat, I wouldn't stick around to ask about his pot of gold.
My father-in-law is Irish, so this is the rule that will most likely get him. He will mistake an evil leprechaun for one of his relatives and take a pink heart to the eye, a yellow moon to the throat, an orange star to the chest and a green clover to the groin. I guess those charms weren't so lucky were they?

This leaves Amy, who will be our heroine and live to tell our tale. She'll sign a book deal, it will become a classic and spawn a movie with several sequels. Following this success, she will start a charity for Victims Of Idiotic Deaths. A short time later the charity will go bankrupt because her contributors will make the checks out to VOID, thus rendering them uncashable.

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In the winter of 2016 she will be in an automobile accident. Her "number one fan" Annie Wilkes, will find her car, rescue her and take her back to a remote cabin. After being nursed back to health, Amy is held hostage for several months of misery before she finally escapes into the woods. Unable to cook food or make baskets she eventually dies of starvation. Maybe somebody should have paid more attention to their husband when he was alive.

Adult Education

This year the AVN awards were broadcast on Showtime, for those of you who aren't officionados of porn, AVN is the Adult Video Network. Personally, I am not an officonado of porn or a die hard fan, I'd consider it more of a hobby, like doing hook rugs or painting by numbers. I am not here to talk about my work in the industry, or my years as a fluffer in the valley, but rather to discuss why this show was so aces.

There was an award for Crossover Star of the Year. I didn't realize that appearing on a VH1 reality show meant that you had crossed over into the mainstream world of Hollywood. Although nominated, I can't believe that Marey Carey didn't win, because her acting on Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew was in a word, molesto-rific.

Porn legend, Jenna Jamison is married to WFC star, Tito Ortiz, who is known for his outstanding grappling skills. Do you think when he and Jenna are getting down and dirty, he ever gets confused and tries to submit her with an arm bar? Tap out jenna, just tap out! Jenna has had so much plastic surgery that she looks exactly like a Barbie doll. So much so, that I think Mattel should make an effort to have Barbie look more like Jenna and agree to let her be gang banged by Ken, GI Joe and Mr. Stretch. C'mon, like all of you sick fuckers out there haven't done that already. By the way, is gang bang one word, two words or hyphenated? Oh the grammar dillemas faced by porn copywriters.

The biggest WTF? moment, came about half way through the show when they went into this big performance art dance number about the government infringing on the rights of internet porn. It concluded with a bunch of FBI guys putting hula hoops around a half naked chick in an office chair. Talk about Cirque Du So Lame. I felt like Beavis and Butthead watching a Winger video.

Only at the AVN awards will you hear the Female Performer of the Year say in her speech; "I can't believe I'm fucking crying, I don't even cry when I get fucking electrocuted." I had to rewind it three times to be sure my ears weren't deceiving me. To be fair though, I think she may have plagiarized that from Hillary Clinton's 2006 speech at the International Brotherhood of Electrical Workers awards in Detroit.

In a total upset, Best Anal Sex Scene went to Big Wet Asses 10. I mean, I've Been Sodomized 3 was clearly the critics darling, and the front runner in this category. I guess that after you've been sodomized twice the third time doesn't garner the fan support or attention it truly deserves. Even bigger than the disappointing loss of the I've Been Sodomized 3, were the lack of creative names for the movies this year. Where were all the twisted versions of Hollywood blockbusters like No Cunt for Old Men or Abonement?

That about does it for this year's awards, and I can honestly say that I feel dumber for watching this show. I know it took a lot of effort for the girls to get ready, the fake tits, the fake tans, the fake eyelashes, getting two hair styles done, that's a lot of work, but it's so worth it when they call your name for Best Solo Masturbation Scene. Have a great weekend, and if you do happen to get electrocuted, please don't cry, it's not like you won an AVN award.

Here's your Friday joke of the day:
How many porn stars does it take to present an award?

Three. One to speak, one to help sound out the words on the teleprompter and one to flash her tits and scream woo-hoo.

Wanna Get Away?

We've all seen the Southwest Airlines commercials where unsuspecting folks end up in embarassing situations. Well, surprise, surprise, I've had my fair share of "Wanna Get Away" moments over the years, and here are a few that have stayed with me.

The Boys Go Shopping:

The summer before I started 4th grade, the old man decided to take us to JC Penney for some school clothes, aka Silver Tab jeans and St. John's Bay sweaters. It was a weeknight and the store was pretty empty, so when I saw a kid vanish into the fitting room I knew it was my brother. I am a master antagonist, so this was a ripe opportunity to cause some trouble, I just needed to figure out what would be the biggest dick move to pull.

I decided to empty and entire rack of clothes into the little fitting room where he was trying on his jeans. I waited until his pants were off, so that he couldn't escape and then I began chucking pants and shirts onto him as fast as I could. I saw them piling up at his feet, and then I heard this unknown kids voice yell "Mom! Somebody is throwing stuff at me! Mom, are you out there?" His Mother rounded the corner and I was standing there with a handful of the aformentioned sweaters and she had a look of complete shock. "Wanna Get Away?" I dropped the sweaters, yelled sorry and booked it out of there.

Pissed On or Pissed Off?

In 5th grade I was using the school facilities when I decided to play sprinkler and started hosing down my buddies who were next to me. This escalated to an all out piss fight, and as we are screaming and painting each other yellow, the janitor walks in, sees three pre-pubescent boys with dicks in hand, covered in urine and he goes off. "Wanna get Away?" We get called into the principal's office and end up having to clean the bathrooms for two weeks. At least this incident let me know that I did not want to pursue a career in the custodial arts.

auf dem Lappen

In high school I had a German teacher who was more like a friend than an authority figure, so the classroom atmosphere was light and a perfect fit for my smart ass antics. On this particular morning she seemed annoyed and in a less than euphoric mood. As she passed out out the weekly quiz, I asked her if she were on the rag. Instead of a big laugh, I got the dreaded collective gasp. "Wanna get Away?" She taps me on the chin with the quiz papers and says she would slap me if she were allowed. Remember that family reunion where drunk Uncle Frank called his wife a fucking cunt in front of everyone, yeah, I got that story beat.

Yo Mamma!

In college, my roommate's girlfriend was over at my apartment with her roommate and we are just shooting the shit. As I'm walking down the hall her roommate yells at me "I know what you can do tonight", and I immediately rebut "So do I, your Mom!" Two seconds later my roommate's girlfriend comes around the corner and in a hushed voice tells me her Mom died two weeks ago from cancer. "Wanna get Away?" I apologized, and immediately headed to the emergency room to get my foot surgically removed from my mouth.

Peek-a-Boo

One year we decided to spend New Year's Eve with another couple in the ultra-trendy vacation spot, Gatlinberg, Tennessee. Before you get to Gatlinberg you have to go through Pigeon Forge, and less is definitely not more, when it comes to decorating for the holidays in this town. It's as if they took a gaggle of those annoying middle-aged men and women who start wearing Christmas sweaters immediately after Halloween, and gave them thousands of dollars to decorate an entire town.

Once we got through what I like to call Santa Claus' colon, we arrive at our chalet and settle in for a night of drinking and tomfoolery. I put on some tunes, comfortable clothes and we all start getting liquored up. As it often does, the conversation turns to gymnastics and I decide to show off my mad cartwheel skills. I clear a nice runway and and start my approach, bing, bang, boom, I am over and back up. Yes, I stuck the landing! Everyone is looking at me and cracking up. I'm like, what? Then, I look down and see that my third leg has decide to make an appearance. "Wanna get Away?" This episode is now legendary, and known as the three-legged cartwheel incident.

What's Your Sign

Blender wanted some human interest angles to Lollapalooza story, so we decided to interview the people who do sign language for the deaf folks at the side of the stage.

As we are walking we see a couple of the sign language facilitators coming our way. I stop them and as I’m about to ask them a question, I involuntarily see my hands come up in front of my face and in slow motion my fingers start moving in a mock sign language fashion. "Wanna get Away?" It was like walking up to an epileptic kid and start gyrating all over while asking him if he ever has seizures.

There you have it, some of my proudest moments. Now, I am going to take a shower and try to get rid of these douche chills, but if you have any great "Wanna get Away?" moments, please leave me a comment.

Time to Make the Donuts

The older I get the more curmudgeonly I become, so it's time for another rant. "Sounds like somebody has a case of the Mondays." In fact, I have a case of the Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays and Fridays. I don't really enjoy anything about the whole work week, and here's why.

The irritation starts when the alarm goes off. Instead of waking up naturally from dreams about rock stardom and naked chicks, I am jolted into consciousness by a few seconds of inaudible radio noise. The first words that go through my head every single day are "Fuck me!". Then, I lay there in a state of limbo arguing in my head, should I get up or just relax for a bit longer? I try to relax, but every few minutes I glance at the clock hoping time will stand still, but it never does. I hear the wife's hairdryer go on in the bathroom letting me know that it is indeed time to hit the showers. Again the proverbial "Fuck me!" goes through my head.

Shower, dress, feed Maggie, throw the bottles in Amy's car and then I'm off to my second favorite part of the day, sitting in morning rush hour traffic. Gas, brakes, gas, brakes, taillights, exhaust, taillights, exhaust, fucking goooooo asshole! You hear about people who go through traumatic experiences and they separate their minds from their bodies, that's pretty much what I have to do every single morning to keep from pulling the wheel to the left and just letting a semi put me out of my misery.

I park at my building and hop in the elevator. We are on the top floor, if you like overhead panoramic views of the mall it is money, but the elevator ride up is pretty much my idea of hell. There are nine floors, six people are on the elevator and of course they are all going to different floors. Ding, get off, ding get off, ding, get on? WTF? Then the person who gets on selects the one floor that isn't lit up yet and it happens to be one floor up from where they got on. Hey badonkadonk butt, how about using the stairs next time! Ding, get off, ding, get off, finally, I get to my office, plug in my laptop and the "loading personal settings" message sits on the screen for a good 10 minutes, which in computer time is equivalent to the Mesozoic Era.

I open up my e-mail and begin my day. Tedious task, co-worker is an idiot, tedious task, tedious task, customer is an idiot, tedious task, oops I am an idiot. I think John Goodman on Roseanne summed it up best when he said in a sentence full of biting sarcasm "Today was a special one for me, it was the 369th day in a row where I did exactly the same thing".

I plug away at my work load until lunch, when the IM pops up and the usual crew debates for the 981st time where we should eat. After a few months at a job, I can usually order for my co-workers at any restaurant within a five mile radius. Mary will have the seared tuna salad with the dressing on the side and a diet coke, Tom will have the quesadillas with no onions and a water with lemon, Steve will have the burger well-done with everything and that pain in the ass Stacey will have steak, but only if it is hormone and steroid free and a Cobb salad with every single topping on the side. If there is even one thing wrong with her food, we will hear about it for the remainder of the meal and at all future meals. "Remember the last time we were here and the waiter forgot to bring my salad until after my entree? I'm glad we don't have him this time. Remember when the waiter brought me coke instead of diet coke and I was so surprised I snorted it through my nose." I smile and nod, but this only serves as a mechanism to keep me from reaching over the table and punching her in the larynx. At least her story at the next meal would be interesting. "Remember the last time we were here, Erik punched me in the throat and now I have to use this voice-box to speak."

Back at the office, I continue to pound out task after task, until it's just about quitting time. This is when I get the urgent call from the salesperson who needs something done before close of business or we lose a deal. I think, "the lack of planning and managing customer expectations on your part, now constitutes an emergency on my part?" I say, "no problem, I'll knock that out and get right back to you." Here it comes again...wait for it...wait for it..."Fuck me!"... there you go.

Wow, what an exciting day, I can' wait to get up and do it all over again tomorrow.