Internet dating websites + Beer (sort of) = Son of Geo Metro now has an internet stalker

This entry pretty much is a guarantee that I'm going to hell. A little backstory to this: When I moved, I signed up for Match.com. It was a stupid thing to do and I've learned my lesson as you ill soon read. Don't bother searching on there now, because I've deleted the profile for good reason.

So three weeks ago I was sitting home on Sunday night trying to figure out what I was going to do for dinner. Usually when I'm sitting around trying to decide what to eat I usually do one of three things: 1) go to the store, which is always a disaster because I always end up buying way too much food because I'm hungry and everything looks delicious 2) I go get some fast food, to which my options are pretty limited in North Carolina 3) I order a pizza, because I'm lazy. On this Sunday night I went with option 3, because let's face it, I'm lazy.

The problem with ordering pizza was that pizza almost always leads me to having a beer. Having a beer usually leads me to having another beer. Having another beer makes me crave another beer. When I crave more beer I usually acquiesce to the demands of my brain, because if I stop before the brain is ready I will be in some pain in a few hours because my brain still wants beer. So the pizza showed up, I turned on the TV for a night of entertainment, and cracked open a cold Stella. After the first Stella, I went back for more and there was a slight shudder in my heart: I was down to just two more Stella's.

I finished off both Stella's within the half hour, and then had to find more beer. I started digging through the fridge, looking for something light and domestic. I couldn't find anything resembling a Coors Light, but there were about 12 cans of what appeared to be large Red Bulls. Upon closer inspection the cans were something called Gruv (the 'u' had the two German dots over it but I'm too incompetent to know how to create those on a keyboard - I'll also be making a shit ton of retarded puns involving the name of this beverage). So I shout at the roommate, "Dude, what the hell is this Gruv shit?" and his girlfriend yells back "It's bitch beer!" So I ask "Well, I'm sort of desperate for alcohol, does it taste ok?" And she says "Dude, it's bitch beer! Are you a bitch, because if you are you'll probably like it! That's why they make it, because bitches don't like to drink real beer. They're all like, 'beer tastes gross I only want a Mike's Hard Lemonade!'" I didn't have the patience to explain how this did absolutely nothing to answer my question; I was hunting for drunk. I popped open a gruv and took a sip to assess my situation. The sumptuous flavors of papaya and cigarette butts determined I would be chugging each Gruv.

I hit my Gruv after about three cans and decided to flip on the computer to check e-mail and such while I was enjoying the fine original programming on HBO. About this time I see that I've got an e-mail from Match.com. Tigger1056 writes saying, "Hi, I just noticed your profile on here. My roommates and I are playing beer pong tonight and if you want to hang out sometime we are always up to something." Checking her profile she lists herself as 5'10 and "A Few extra pounds." On the site I was listed as 5'9 and "Average." I'm really only 5'7 but all guys under 6' or 6" give themselves a couple of inches; it's just what we do.. Now my first reaction should have been "I'm really sorry but that's a little direct. I don't know you and you don't have a profile picture. I shouldn't have to show up at your house asking your roommates where Tigger1056 is."

Instead I sent the following response: OK, what are y'all up to tomorrow night? I'm a little drunk right now so hanging out sounds cool.

Now let's break this down through my drunken haze and make it crystal clear. I'm a little frightened you may be a water buffalo so I don't want you to come by my house tonight so my roommate can't tell a construction site I'm humping Babbar. But I'm intoxicated, so I'm open to fucking you against my better judgement right now but if you check in with me at a later date I want to be consulted beforehand while I'm sober.

I received the following reply about twenty minutes later: I got this wedding shower pig picken! And then I'm sure we're going out to a bar or playing beer pong or something!

I'm pretty sure that I felt offended at the horrible abuse of the English language in that message. But at the same time there was the possibility of a beer pong engagement. At this point I had gone through 6 Gruv's on top of the 3 Stella's and everything was just gruvee I sent back the following: What the fuck is a pig picken? Anyway, five me a shout when I am sober enough to drive (I really typed 'five' instead of 'give').

I got the reply after another Gruv: You've never heard of a pig picken. It is a southern thing, where some one celebrates something by cooking a pig. It is fun most of the time! I wish I was as drunk as you sound!

This time she included a picture which I've placed in the blog.

This got me sober enough to stop sending messages. The problem with just stopping all communication at once was that she didn't get the hint. I received 6 e-mails the next 3 days asking where I was and what my name was and crap like that. I then deleted the profile altogether. Now I know I'm being a complete asshole, but if you send someone your picture and they stop talking to you, you should probably get the hint. You don't need to tell me, I know I'm going to hell, and I guess I'll see you there.

Thankfully I didn't get tasered by the air marshal - I blame liquor

Ok so a couple of weeks ago I decided that this year was the year to test my meddle at the annual WSOP. I decided to play in a reasonable buy-in tourney ($2K) and take a three day weekend from work. I left on Thursday directly from work and took AirTran down to Atlanta and then over to Vegas. The first part of the flight was rather enjoyable. I upgraded to first class (always worth it on AirTran) and got seated next to this old guy who sold medical equipment to hospitals and such. I always appreciate sitting next to someone that wants to chat on flights. I don't know what it is, but being in first class brings out the socializer in me . It's weird. I always feel like I should have a top hat and monocle on and sip a class of port while discussing the decreasing risk in global markets. Needless to say I read my book and occasionally this guy would stop and ask me a question. He asked me about my trip, and I told him I was going to go play in one of the poker tournaments and this guy was all about talking about the tournament. I've never seen an old guy who had never played poker before in his life get so fired up about the subject. Honestly it could have just been the third scotch he was working on during the flight.

So on the flight over to Vegas I got to listen to the NBA draft in coach. We sat on the tarmac for about an hour before taking off, so I got all the way to Joakim Noah at 9 before we were air born. So I get into Vegas, go buy in to the tournament and go back to my hotel for some sleep. I finally sleep at about 3am and immediately wake up at 6:30am. I'm not used to sleeping in any later than 8:30 EST so I should have expected an early start to the day. I go down to Bally's ad promptly lose $100 playing blackjack. I have to say, I was about to go on a great run when this completely miserable woman came up and sat down in front of me. I hate gambling with people who are already pissed off. I should have started doing some smack talking to get her off the table, but I was in a friendly mood. I ordered a pineapple juice and got a screwdriver. I left that table not the happiest, but fortunately I went to have the best breakfast in Vegas at the crepe stand in Paris (which you can get to directly from Bally's).

So that afternoon I played in the WSOP. If you want to ask me specific questions about this any time, that's cool, I'll be more than happy to answer any of them. I will say the one poker pet peeve I developed when I was there was the talk during the breaks. Basically as soon as a break starts, everyone heads out of the room and immediately picks up their cell phone to tell someone not in Vegas all about Hand X that they played that was so fucking exciting that person Y has to know about it this second and they'll call the person back and talk to them right after the next break. It's infuriating. I will say that I got knocked out 20 places out of the money due to my own brain fart and a nice suck out on the river (in the same hand!). Anyway, after that I kind of went on a bender.

Anyway, the exciting part of the mini vacation was actually the trip home. I got to the airport WAY too early (due to the fact that I couldn't remember what time my flight was). I say it was WAY too early because I had nothing to do once I got there except sit at the bar for four hours and watch the cubs game. It's also about the time in the story to tell you that I hadn't eaten anything since about 5 that morning at the coffee shop in the hotel right before I went to bed. The timeline of the day was 5:30 - sleep, 9:00 - wake up and check out, 10L00am 0 airport, 2:00 pm flight. Well, when I got to the airport bar I ordered some bar food (Nachos!) and a vodka tonic.

That's when this guy Craig from Tahoe pulled up to the bar stool next to mine. I knew Craig was a pretty cool dude when he booed Soriano two minutes after sitting down and when some guy across the bar asked if Craig was a Brewer fan Craig yelled "This idiot is killing my fantasy team!" Craig and I talked ball mostly and about our weekends. We were having a great time chatting up everyone around us as well. I ended up talking to some guy about the politics in Baltimore (seriously I told the dude before we started talking "everything I know about your city comes directly from 'The Wire,'" but he thought that made me more qualified than their mayor). Anyway, Craig basically orders me a vodka tonic for every beer he's drinking. If you know me or you've ever seen me drink on a near empty stomach, you know exactly where this is heading. Craig left for his flight at about 1:30. By this time the vodka tonics tasted like water and I was having a hard time managing to actually get the Chex mix I bought into my mouth. Keeping with The Wire, I was like McNulty after a few fifth of Jameson.

So after a while I decide I need to board my flight... no I think I need to double back for another vodka tonic before I get on the flight because instead of passing out I'm feeling frisky. Lord knows another alcoholic beverage should curb this a little. So I get into the jetway probably bout as red as a high school Asian girl after three beers. In the jetway I start talking to the really attractive girl in front of me an she tells me she lives in DC. I ask her if I can borrow her cellphone briefly and she says "of course. " I then call Murdock in DC and get his voicemail. Now in front of this girl I basically leave he following message (I say basically because things were a bit hazy at this point) "Yo, Murdock, I'm talking to (insert name) and she's really hot and she's from DC so if you have a soul, you need to call her back and now you've got her number so good luck with that. Seriously, she's really hot and you need to call her back!"

Unfortunately we were the last group to board and we had to sit in the empty seat as far back int eh plane as we could go. So naturally I'm stuck next to the two high school girls. The DC girl was a few rows up and I think I spent the next fifteen minutes trying to get her to talk to me again, but for some reason she just didn't want to talk to me. The flight attendants were doing the the announcements at this point, and the middle aged woman across the aisle asked me to be quiet and stop talking. Now I'm a smart-ass when I'm sober, but when I've got a belly full of alkie, I'm downright vicious. I said to the lady (loud enough fr a lot of people around us to hear) "Oh I'm sorry, did you not seethe doors when we got on the plane? Are you taking meds for the Alzheimer's yet, or do your kids want you to slowly rot? Wait, let me show you how to use a seat belt again ma'am." Clearly I'm going to hell.

After a while of m being stupid, they started the drink service. I can't remember if the girls next to me asked me to buy them drinks or not, but I remember basically yelling across the plane to the flight crew "Hey, these girls want me to buy them drinks, but I'm too drunk to see if they're old enough!" Can I get some help with this? Anyone, are these girls old enough to drink or will I get in trouble?" At this point some guy four rows up started yelling that he was going to kick my ass and I responded with a "What the fuck did I do?" which just got him more enraged. The flight attendants then asked me to move to the back row. The guy four rows up followed me and sat two rows in front of me. By now you already know two things - 1) I'm a smartass and 2) I'll say anything I damn well please. Basically when this guy followed me I decided to tell him exactly how I felt and it took a few people I recognized from the bar to hold that guy back and calm him down. After this I pass out for the remainder of the trip to our first stop in Nashville.

When I wake up in Nashville and immediately ask the flight attendant if I can use the lavatory in the back of the plane while the Nashville folks are getting off the plane. She says sure and is totally nonchallant about it. I'll also say at this point that I am quite a bit more sober. So I used the facilities, wash my hands and step out of the lavatory to see something I really hadn't expected: four of Nashville's finest walking towards the back of the plane. The lead officer points at me and puts his hand up in the universal sign for "Hey you, Fuckhead, don't go anywhere!"I stand in the back of the plane and when he gets there he says "Sir I need to talk to you. We were called from this plane to come and take you to jail for terrorizing these people. As you know a lot of crazy things have been happening with airplanes and airports this weekend. Now I think you need to come with me." At this point, to say I was panicked would have been quite the understatement. I have family in Nashville (very distant) so I'm sure if I needed to be bailed it could have happened, but that was definitely not a phone call I wanted to make. So extremely calmly I say to the officer, "Sir is this necessary, I've been asleep the last three hours on the flight." I went from monocle and top hat to breaking rocks with failed country music stars in the space of a weekend. He then tells me that I'm a 'terrorist' for scaring people on the flight. I then say that I'll be on my best behavior the rest of the flight and that if I say a word out of line on the way to Raleigh I'll gladly go to jail there. This guy then gets in my face and tells me I had better be a model citizen and turns with his men and leaves.

Now I had originally thought that it was an airport security guy, but as he turned around I definitely got a "City of Nashville" patch on his arm. Holy shit, they called the city po-lice on me! Needless to say we'll be taking proper precautions next time I fly into Tennessee. So on the flight the rest of the way home the first thing I do is apologize to the flight attendant who says "You weren't that bad, I don't know why they called the cops on you. You were just being loud and stupid." Awesome.

An Evening with Special-K

In yesterday's blog I mentioned my reputation at my place of business since my night with Special K back in November. Special K was from our parent corporation's headquarters who was assigned to our company in order help out with an excess of work around that time. I was still relatively new to the company and didn't work with Special K at all. Finally when it was time for Special K to leave and go back to the mothership our department head decided we needed to have a nice dinner out to be rewarded for all of the hard work we had done. We left work at about 3:30 that day and headed straight for the bar. Fortunately Killuh P came with us, so I had someone to hang with that was (closer) to my age. Killuh P is our receptionist and isn't quite 21 yet, so we all have to take care of her when we go out in a group. We decided to play darts while the old folks sat and chatted (I say "old" when they're all in their 30's and 40's). I had three or four black and tans and we decided to head over to the restaurant.

At the restaurant everyone had an awesome time. I had a big steak and a few more black and tans. I had my side of the table in stitches making jokes about everything I could think of. It was awesome. The best part of this was that Killuh P was getting pretty hammered at this point. I knew that she had a new boyfriend that none of the other ladies we work with were too fond of, so I start in on her about him (at this point he was supposed to be at the Christmas party and I think we were all interested in seeing him ruin P's evening by making an ass of himself there). Background: apparently the first time Killuh P intriduced this guy to everyone from work he said a few things that no one appreciated. He was completely sober that night. Can you imagine this guy drunk with the same people. The possibilities would have been endless. Anyway, she starts defending him to me in her drunken state. There was no way she could have made this guy sound any better, and at one point she pulls out her phone and starts showing the picture of the two of them around the table. I see the guy. He looks exactly like K-Fed. I sit there dumbfounded until someone asks me why I'm so quiet all of a suffen. My response was something along the lines of "I'm shocked Britney lets this guy off his leash to hang out with Killuh P." Bang bang!

When dinner had been wrapped up we get the "I don't know about you guys but I'm still thirsty" from our department head. This means we're going to a bar. Originally I thought that the evening would end here and thought I''d meet up with Jake and the guys at Fado's. Hearing that I would instead be drinking for free makes me happy. We go up to a bar in Alpharetta and it's kind of dead. I only say kind of dead because there's a group in the corner partying pretty hard. Not everyone gets to make the trip though. Apparently Killuh P had talked to her mom during the dinner service, her mom confronted her at the front door of the restaurant, and her mom drove her home. That was pretty awesome. So those of us who made it are at the bar having a few drinks. Special K is with us, and out of nowhere one of the girls at the table next to us sits on his lap and starts talking to him. Then they start making out. Then her top came off. Then Special K dove headfirst into her exposed cleavage. Then she simply tied her top back up and walked back to her table.

She came back a few times, and stopped to chat with our entire table. The really odd thing was that she gave me her card. I didn;'t think that a real person acted like this and sure as hell didn't think prostitutes kept a legit source fo income. And let's get something straight. I don't throw the word "prostitute" around lightly... unless I'm drunk. The differenece is that the sober people around me were calling her a whore. She was all over Special K for a while until one of the guys at her table told her he had paid for her tie and that she needed to come back (at least that's what I remember). So our department head leaves after getting us pretty sloshed and all of the other people are talking about going hime, so what do I do? "Hey! Let's all go down to Buckhead and go to Fado!"Everyone just kind of stares at me like I'm retarded except for Special K who straight up says "Hell yeah, let's go!"

So we start driving to Buckhead when Special K says "Dude, give me your phone." Okay. "Who should I call?" He ended up calling Leah and tried to tell erh that he received her number at a bar or something. She wasn't having any of it and as he hangs up he says "Yeah, sorry about that, I thought it'd be fiunnier." We get into Buckhead and I definitely make the wrong turn into Midtown. We were completely lost. So while we're lost driving around Atlanta Special K starts talking about the breasts he just devoured in the bar and we were talking about how nice they were (and they were pretty fantastic). So as we're talking, Special K asks "Hey, is there a strip club in this town?" For those who don't knwo I think Atlanta's three greatest natural resources are 1) droppable beats 2) college sports information and 3) lapdances. Not necessarily in that order.

So I know jsut the place, (h)Oasis! We ge to the club, and immediately Special K says "This is awesome, but I have a rule. I can't buy myself lapdances, and you're not buying your lapdances. We pay for each other's lapdances." I was pretty drunk still, so this made perfect sense. We'e getting lapdances and ordering drinks and having a great time, when mid-lapdance Special K lans over and says to me, "Dude, this chick is going to take us up to the VIP. Grab some girl you like."

"Special K, do you have enough cash for that because I don't."

"Fuck it, I've got the corporate card! Don't worry, I can find another job!"

At this point I sobered up pretty quickly. I wasn't in any position to value my job as lightly as Special K, so I suggest we just keep that girl dancing down in teh peasant area for a while longer. After a few hours of lapdances from the same girl, Special K starts ordering shots like a madman. After one shot, I'm immediately doing another. The same girl has taken to Special K and is just hanging out at our table. At this point we need a gameplan for the rest of the night. I decie it'd be best for me (because I'm driving) if we sober up at Waffle House afterwards. Special K then tells the girl that she should meet us at the Waffle House afterwards, only he tris to use the Waffle House like some sort of pick-up line: "So tell me about these Waffle House places I see everywhere, they must be good, right?" Awesome.

The lights come on in the club meaning that we have to go, so we go over to the Waffle House, order breakfast and talk about the wild evening. We make a wager on whether or not the girl is going to show. I bet she would, and Kirby didn't think o. Little did he know why it's called the (h)Oasis. The girl shows up as we're about halfway through our meal. She sits down on the other side of Special K and those two start talking so I think, "Why be the cockblock for this guy and tell Special K "I'm not feeling well" and take off. I get back into the house while the sun is coming up and sleep for a few hours.

When I got into work on Monday, I was a little nervous about people talking about my behavior Friday night. Everyone was pretty cool until someone from another department walks up to my cube and says loud enough for everyone around to hear, "I hear you party like a rockstar!"Apparently Special K didn't get to leave withteh girl as she wouldn't "drive a stranger around" Special K ended up having to take a cab back from the club to his hotel and walked through the lobby still drunk at 8:30am while his fellow hotel stayers were enjoying the continetal breakfast.

I'll be your corporate monkey as long as I get my open bar

OK, so Son of Geo Metro works for a company headquartered in Atlanta. Two weeks ago we had our semi-annual conference where everyone from the company gets together to review performance for each department, etc, etc. I need to state that I love the company I work for. The following stories should outline that pretty well. These are all 100% true. I'm really not making any of this crap up, even though after reading this you won't believe any of it.



Thursday night:

The meetings end Thursday at about 6pm with the sales reports for the companies broken down by division. They look good, so we're all happy about that. As soon as we break we're told that we'll have about a half hour until the open bar gets set up. That was the most tense half hour of the week until word spread that the CEO had opened a tab at the bar in the lobby for everyone. The tense half hour was about a tense five minutes. I took the five minutes to call roommate 1 and try to set up a time to meet to fix the mess I had created the previous weekend (that's the next post, probably tomorrow night). I then went downstairs and proceeded to have a few beers with the co-workers. Now I need to realize that since I work in Atlanta and most of the folks I work with are good ol' boys, I need to stick with the domestics. I think that's the one thing bad about living in California as long as I did - I became sort of a beer snob. I'm not saying that imports aren't better, but when you ask for a Blue Moon in front of a bunch of guys drinking Budweiser (NOT Bud Lite) from the bottle, you need to re-evaluate your beer section. Needless to say I had to defend my drink for the remainder of the half hour. We get served dinner, and since I have some food in my stomach it's time to step up to the plate and really tart drinking. I decide that it'd be a good idea to start pounding vodka tonics while shooting the shit with the guys because 1) I need to loosen up, 2) they're all drinking hard liquor, and 3) I'm the youngest person here. I need to show these guys what's what.

Believe it or not nothing bad happened to me. I got to hang out with people from corporate most of the night. I found out my branch manager is the coolest boss I've ever had. Our HR manager who made the trip with us got completely annihilated. I think the only hiccup int eh evening was with my colleague in the Charleston office who decided to attack me at one point, ruining my name tag and biting my hand. There was an interesting subplot to the evening that I can't really talk about at all. Like I said, I like my job.

One story from the evening that I didn't find out until the end of the weekend: one of the guys from the Charleston office got completely fucked up and actually picked up two of the Asian ladies who were working as housekeeping for the hotel. They ended up taking him to the floor where all the laundry is done. The three of them then get into the laundry machine, because it's set up much like a hot tub and they have a threeway where everyone's sheets are supposed to be cleaned. There was also some talk about maybe he threw up in the washing machine halfway through and they didn't stop, but I'm not sure about that minor detail. Think about that when you're staying at your next hotel.

Friday:

Friday's meetings started with everyone staring at their breakfast not wanting to make eye contact with those around them. Awesome. I had to call the HR manager's room because he definitely didn't set a wake up call. The meetings went all day talking about the future direvtion fo the company and all that. At the end of the day, the CEO gets up in front of everyone and says "Now guys, you need to realize that we're guests of this hotel" (and I'm thinking, hey, we weren't THAT bad last night) "and you guys are representing everyone else here and the company as a whole" (wow, maybe we were loud or soemthing?) "you need to realize how much you're had to drink" (we did drink a lot) "becasue we had one guy, and I'm not going to name names, but one guy passed out in the men's room here in the lobby in a big mess that the staff had to clean up after" (GETTHEFUCKOUTOFHERE!) Apparently another guy from the Charleston office passed outsitting on a toilet in the mens room and had mess come out both ends... and none of it in the toilet itself. Awesome.

So the company had set up a casino night for a couple of hours and every $500 you had at the end of the night got you a raffle ticket, and the prize they were raffling out was a flat-screen TV. I ended up having the CEO at my blackjack table most of the evening. They weren't serving liquor at the bar. I was on my best behavior. I ended up not winning the television mostly becasue one of the dealers was cheating the entire evening while I had the one guy playing it straight. Fine. Afterwards I hear someone say that they're all going to the Pony. That's cool, but I'm not a big fan of the pony. I have a nice photo from the Pony, but I'm not a fan of the Pony. I talk to a couple co-workers and try to guage interest in a trip to (h)Oasis. I'm definitely not drunk due to playing blackjack with my boss and the CEO all night, so I can drive. We leave about a haf hour after the Pony people. When we get to the club, we were pretty surprised to see that the Pony people had come to (h)Oasis. Now I'm somehwat new to the whole "going to strip clubs with people that you work with" things, so I must say I was a little fucked up when I see the President of the company (not the CEO) sauing "What's up Son of Geo Metro?" while he's getting a lapdance.

One fo the otehrguys in that crew was checking her out and at one point the El Prez yells at him "quit checking out my next ex-wife!" Awesome. So the Pony people had a table and all, but there wasn't anywhere for us to sit with them so we got our own table closer to the stage. We were there for about 20 minutes or so when the people I was with decided to catch a cab back to the hotel. I had a sot girl that was a little taken with so we were fine chatting for a while and she wanted to hang out. That was cool. So I hadn't kept track of the Pony people when one of them walks by and says "Geo Metro, everyone is upstairs, take her up there!" Well, when she heard that she grabbed my hand and we were off. I had never been upstairs at (h)Oasis, so I was looking forward to a treat.

Now I'm no prude, far from it I think, but the site of 15 people simultaneously getting lapdances... I don't know. On one hand I was proud, and on the other hand it looked like I gad stepped into something perverted from ancient Rome. Either way, it was cool. There was nowhere for the shot girl and I, plus El Prez started haggling with the waitress as soon asI got up there, so we left pretty soon after. Well, we end up going to the private VIP for some alone time, which was excellent, and after that I go back out to the club (shot girl staying with me) and there are only a few Pony people left. I actually find a table and those guys join us for a bit and then leave. I end up staying for a while and the shot girl ends up giving me her address because she wants me to stay in touch (no joke, and completely unsolicited). I get back to the hotel around 3:30 am, about an hour after everyone else. Well played sir.

While we were out at the strip club apparently one of the Charleston guys (the mens room guy, not the threeway in the washing machine guy) fell outside the front door and had to be taken to the hospital when he fell and his glass smashed and cut up his head and arm. Awesome!

Saturday:

Saturday was more of the same with each of the branch managers talking about performance and then some corporate division managers giving a talk. During the corporate division manager talk there were people passing out everywhere. Later that night there was a poolside cookout and another open bar. So apparently I'm the on;y retard who hears "Poolside Barbeque" and actually went up to my room to change into trunks and a T-shirt. I'm the only one who got in the pool, and I stood out like a sore thumb the entire time. I'm not bitter or anything.

The best part about this was our branch manager screaming at me from across the pool that I needed to wait half an hour after eating so I wouldn't drown. I've always considered myself to be a loud person. I can't really help that. My branch manager puts me to shame. He's constantly like three decibles louder than me at all times. Those of you who know me know whow amazing this is.

Actually I did get to hang out with a group doing drinking games poolside. I was immediately a hit when I walk up and said "Are you guys playing drunk driver?" I did get everyone to play the game where everyone gets super fucked up (I don't know what it's called but if you want to forget your evening, it's the game for you). Everyone ended up getting super fucked up. I was definitely on my game. Our payroll coordinator was lounging in a chair; "Hey sweetheart how bout you go throw on your best two piece and join me in the pool." In my defense that was a joke, and she knew it, but it was still damn funny. Some guy from a different branch out in the midwest said something about a person who works for the company that wasn't there and apparently I thought this was jsut cause to be an asshole to him (Later as I was heading up for the night I ran into him and he said "Dude, I'm sorry about what I said earlier, I hope your not mad at me" and I replied "No dude, I'm drunk. I'm an idiot, you're awesome" so at least I admit to being an idiot while drunk).

So I came in from the pool and acted like I was going to wander up to the bar in my wet trunks with my towle over my shoulders when the Branch Manager starts yelling and laughing for me to go change. This was exactly the response I was looking for so I start laughing hysterically which makes him laugh even more. I'm pretty sure everyone I work with thinks I'm retarded. I go change, head back down and get ridiculous with everyone I see. I end up hanging with Maurice and meeting the people at the branch I'm transferring too, which was awesome. Apparently at some point during the conversation though the HR Manager said something about someone being a fat bastard, at which point I did the voice so everyone made me do the fat bastard impression over and over that night (and by "make" I mean someone said "do it again!") I didn't really remember this until I saw photo and video proof. My favorite part of the evening that is crystal clear in my head: I sit down for a second with the payroll coordinator, my boss, and my boss' husband. My boss leans over and says to me that her husband (who doesn't work for us) is going to be taking someone's place in the golf tournament and wasn't that such a great thing. Now I know my boss wants me to say yes, I think it'd be wonderful. She wanted her husband around for part of the weekend, but like any guy hanging around with a bunch of people he doesn't know, he wasn't really down with that (I'd feel the exact same way). So do I say "Yeah that'd be great if Mr. Boss plays?" This is my respoonse and I'm pretty sure these were the exavt words I used: "Fuck no. He's a really good golfer! We don't need more good golfers we need a shitty golfer to take down another team! Look, I am in it to win it!" She looked at me like I was retarded and said "But don't you think it'd be good for him to get out there with y'all?" Not getting the hint I continued, "No! Why does he care about us, you're the one who has to put up with us. I am in it to win it!" The payroll coordinator was laughing the entire time.

I wasnt quite this bad, but at this point it's all relative.

Sunday:

Sunday nothing out of the ordinary happened. We had a golf tournament. The only reason I bring up Sunday is becasue I woke up about a half hour before the tournament was supposed to start, threw on semi-clean clothes and checked out of the hotel. On the drive up to the golf course I realized "I don't know how I got back to my bed last night, and the TV was still on... huh, isn't that weird?" That's how you can tell if it's been a bad night with me, the TV is still on. Anyway, I get to the course and I immediately sweet talk the girl into making me breakfast. It helps when you walk in right as they're clearing the free breakfast. I walk out to the first tee box and one of the guys I definitely don't know (but works with us and was apparently there every step of the night before) yells "Now this guy knows how to party!!!"Combine that with my reputation for the time I painted the town with Special K and those weren't quite the words I needed everyone to hear, but screw it. I do know how to party!

The night of the deer

Ok, so this actually happened a while ago, but going back through the myspace blog I was shocked that I hadn't posted anything about this.

So back in February (the night of the 16th actually) I went down to Atlanta to hang out with the summer roomates for a weekend. On the way down I got a killer headache. I mean it was so bad I almost puked on myself. So I got some Excedrin in Spartanburg, SC and took 6 of them immediately and 2 more when I got outside of Lawrenceville. I'm going to blame the headache medicine for the events of the evening. So only roomate 1 could go out because roomate 2 was out with some random girl. Roomate 1 and one of our friends and I went to Wild Wings. Apparently I started out ok, was macking on a few ladies and even danced with our waitress when she got off of her shift. Things were going pretty well until I decided to start buying Roomate 1 and our friend jaeger bombs. I do remember we lost our table and I had to put my coat on a chair at another table. I wasn't feeling really good about that, but whatever, I was drunk and hot.

So last call rolls around and my coat is gone. This doesn't make me happy, and the liquor in my belly is making me positively charming to those charged with getting me out of the bar. The guys get me out of the bar fine, but turn for like two seconds and I'm charging my way back in there. I get get about halfway down the bar when a cop grabs me and asks me what I'm doing, "I'm trying to find my coat is there some sort of problem with that?" Yeah, it's after last call and I need you to leave. "Well quit being such an asshole and let me get my fucking coat, then I'll leave." Needless to say the bracelets came out for just a few minutes. I didn't wear the bracelets, thanks to roomate 1 who did some quick talking on my behalf.

So on the way out I see the group of people I left my coat with (let me say at this point too that these people assured me my coat was going to be fine). So I start mouthing off. Something along the lines of "Did you really need a coat and cash that badly you fucking whore?" "Is your pimp not watching out for you?" So then the ladies come over to the truck and start yelling at me, hitting the truck. Roomate 1 is driving and telling them not to listen to me, that I'm drunk. I lean over and according to roomate 1, I say "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to call you guys whores. I'm really sorry you fucking dirty whores." Some blows were exchanged, but we get out of there. Roomate 1 got jacked becasue of me, so that wasn't cool.

We get to the apartment where roomate 2 was hanging with some girls he knew, and just like clockwork, get me beligerent and I jump on the fat one. Now I'm not being mean and saying that there were no redeeming qualities to her, it's just that I have no memory of this point of the night and that's how she was described to me later. I madea point to ask the next day "Well was she cool or something?" and all I got back was "dude, she was HUGE." Apparently my friends thought I was having a great time and were content to sit back and watch me entertain for the evening. Apparently the best part of everyone's night was when I asked the girl "Hey, so will you go make out with me in the cornerfor like 10, 15 minutes?"Unbelievable.

The night took a turn for the worst when we got out of the apartment and Roomate 1 and our friend decided that I needed to drive becasue they were both too inebriated to do it themselves. Please take a minute to reread the last three paragraphs and figure out whether or not this was a good idea. Needless to say I really don't remember much of this except for being out in the woods somewhere, completely stopped, watching the deer walk around int eh headlights. At that point I woke roomate 1 and our friend up with "Guys! Look at the deer!" That was followed up with a quick "Shaughn, where are we?" Not only did I not know, but we weren't even on a road. our friend had to call his brother and get him to figure out where we were on mapquest in order to get home. We were somwhere outside of Athens. We were over 60 miles from the house and two and half hours the opposite direction from where we were supposed to go.

But Patrick Swayze was a no-show! (originally written 4/8/07)

So anyway, for those of you who haven't heard, my job ha taken me to the mecca of redneck civilization in North Carolina (or at least it seems that way. work is going well. I love my job and especially the company I work for. I'm working at a plant in Semora, NC, which is just about on the border of NC and Virginia. My original plan when I relocated here was to live in durham and then commute every day. I had found a great apartment complex in Chapel Hill, but the commute was jsut too much to do every day (about 45 to an hour each way). So I moved to Roxboo, which is only about ten minutes away from work.
the only problem with this is the town is byond small. And just like so many small towns, the ones who still live here are the ones that couldn't get out. All of the women here who are in their mid to early twenties are either married, or not something I'm interested in (redneck women, no matter what Gretchen Wilson sings, are not hot; country girls are - I realize that this may seem contradictory, but it's a very fine line). for the life of me I've been trying to figure out what, other than agriculture, maintains the economy of the area, and nfortunately last weekend I found out exactly what.
We had a poker ame at the house (I'm living with three other guys from the plant). Actually, I'm getting ahead of myself; right now i'm living in a house with three other guys. This is better stuation than the last place, which was a goat farm. while the goat farm was a little closer to work and the hosue was a bit dilapidated, I always had a date in the backyard (sorry, that's an old joke about people from Kentucky "where the men are men and the goats are scared!"). so last weekend we decided to have a poker game at the house, and afterward we were going to the only decent barin town. Everyone but the two survey guys Tyson and Tim deided at the last minute not go.
i do have to say that on the way to the bar Tim decided to bust out a freestyle with the musi on the radio and he definitely rhyed "Bumper sticker says I'm goin' fishin'" with "bumpin' that shit in my Ford Expedition" which I still can'tfigure out if tht gets some sort of award for "whitest rap ever." So we get to the bar, and Tim starts dancing with anyone showing at least a litle interest. Best part was the women showig the most interest were the large African american ladies to our right. Highest of high comedy.
So apparently a little later tyson accidentily runs into a guy. no harm, no foul, or apparently not. A few minutes later i'm talking to a girl who tyson knew, and a bottle immediately shatters on the far side of Tyson. By the time I've turned around about thirty people had hit the deck (I grabbed the bar at the last minute)and security is gabbing tyson, Tim and I and hauling us out of the bar. We et outside and group of these Cro-Magnons is standing in the doorway ylling all kinds of shit at us, the cops all pull up, and security still has a hold of the three of us. the cops all get out of their cars and line up a perimeter on the sidewalk, and I walk over to Tim (who lost his shirt in the scrum) and try to get him to calm down. I then walk over to tyson and see all kinds of blood on his left shirt shoulder. He turns his head and there's a piece of beer bottle lodged in his neck.
the cops (who hadn't done anything to this poit) then walk over and tell us how we need to calm down. So i ask what they're going to do about Tyson's neck. This cop then calls an ambulance to take him to the hospial, because the rest of us can't leave the scene. i'm told I ned to go back into the bar 9which I think my first response was "You must be CRAZY!") So I walk into the bar. Tim finds a ride back to his house. I then go into the bar and run into the only hot woman I've met since I've been here. So I flirt wih her for about an hour while while her boyfriend looks on. The worst part was while I was talking to her, her boyfriends friend walks over and tells me i shouldn't be talking to her. So i look at him square in the eyes and say "we're onl talking here. What are you going to do, hit me over the head with a beer bottle?" Needless to say someone get me out of Roxboro.

Things People told me I did last night (originally written 12-2-06)

I'm still drunk this morning and I'm cleaning my pillow and mattress

1) ran and jumped over a wall (don't ask)
2) called Stephanie and rapped H to the Izzo while my roomates stood outside of my truck and yelled "let us in" (don't worry I wasn't driving)
3) Pissed off a table of Puerto Rican women by telling them "The Diminican Republic is so much cooler than Puerto Rico"
4) I apparently asked two girls "Would you fuck an ex-monk" they then asked me to repeat myself, and I said "WOULD YOU FUCK AN EX-MONK?!?!?" (my roomate Ohsang was a Buddhist monk for Halloween, so this sort of makes sense)
5) I tried to go to Club Wal-Mart in a vehicle moving like 50 mph by opening my door and stepping out of the car
6) for the coup-de-gras when I asked the waitress for a drink towards the end of the night she brought me a water. I took the water and threw it on the floor immediately after she brought it. This angered the waitress, then Ryan convinced her to bring me a drink. My friends rock.

Originally written 11-12-06

drunk dials are so much fun. I've been meaning to transcribe what could possibly be the greatest drunk dial of all time that I got about a month and a half ago from John. Honestly any drunk dialness I could try from now on would never compare. So here it is in all of it's majesty:
Making movies making shows and fightin' round the worldMaking movies making shows and fightin' round the worldRussell Crowe was fightin' round the world!!!!
What's up *****-a-licious!?!? How's it goin ma friend? I know it's the crack of dawn at fucking 2 o'clock there in the morning there in Atlanta town, but um, yeah, wake your ass up! It's a fucking school night here at San Luis Obispo, and um, yeah, you know? You should be waking ready to receive some drunk dial messages from your friend John-a-than! So, Shaughn-athan, wake up! Wakeupwakeupwakeup! Hahahaha
(to his girlfriend): Why are you doing laundry Banna? (angry girlfrend in backround yeling inaudibles with "I need to get this fucking shit out!" - I found out later from John it was because he threw up all over her)
Anyway man, (more laughing) Shaugh-athan, Shaughn-athan, wake your your little butt up! (girlfriend yells something else, and John mimics her) Get off of your girl of the hour whoever she is and uh give me a call because (doing a scary dunk impersonation of Joe Namath) I need to kiss you! (more girlfrienddisust in background) Hey Hey! I want to kiss you, you're so pretty! You and your little Suzy Kolber vein... rahrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
Girlfriend (in background) Did you really just do that?
Yeah, I really just did that! What the fuck are you going to do about it you fuggin' whore!?!? You fuckin bitch, go fucking run away! Yuh... you wanna fuckin fight! Let's fuckin go! Alright, Shaughn you're going to be on the phone while I fuckin fight this bitch!
girlfriend: (sarcastically) "Yeah"
John (with an English accent for the first sentence, then no accent): UNLOCK THE FUGGIN DOOR YOU FUGGIN WHORE! Unlock the door so I can kick your... rahhhhhhhhh... Well, Shaughn that's realy bad. you've heard the best and the wors**END OF MESSAGE, TO DELETE PRESS 9...
**OFFICIAL DISCLAIMER: John does not really beat his woman, and I do not condone domestic violence. Please understand that this is a joke. And for the love of God, don't send me messags or leave me comments saying that I am some sort of mysoganist (sp?) and don't take life so seriously.

Atlanta drunkenness... (originally written 6/25/06)

So if you didn't get a phone call Friday night you probably are worse off for it. Why do I have to be friends with the one Asian person on the planet who can actually drink. My night included 5 Pina Coladas (which had almost no alcohol in them), a dozen Jaeger bombs and a shot of liquid cocaine just for good measure. I didn't drin until I got sick, which may say more for my tolerance of alcohol than my actual ability to pace myself. I have to give some props to the bartender at Wild Wings who defintely poured the last bomb for Doug and myself a good 20 minutes after last call.
OK, so one lesson learned after we left the bar was that it is never a good idea to call one of your good friends who happens to be the opposite sex and say, "you know, I want to make you arch your back." Which I thought would be a better line than the old Kevin Yao "Mike gave me multiple organisms" line (this is an inside joke from calculus class). So anyway, babbling to a friend about the whole arching of the back is never a good thing, especially when you have to sober up and answer a phone call from said friend the next day. But looking back on the call, it was completely hilarious.
Waffle House coffee is the best coffee in the world when you are drunk. And you will feeel compelled to tell the one waitress that it's awesome about a thousand times before your food is actually served.
Drinking 8 cups of coffee especially after a night of mixing Red Bull made me get a whole 2 hours of sleep Friday morning, and another 5 hours of sleep last night. The combination of that much Red Bull and coffee was the equivalent of Tony Montana sticking his head in that pile of coke at the end of Scarface. Had columbian contras invaded our home, I think I could have taken about 6 or 7 bullets before actually going down. "YOU WANNA PLAY ROUGH? OK! OK!"
So about the most PG-13 thing that happened Friday night was I went out to this girl's car and made out with her (just kisssing for you prudes out there) for a few minutes before she realized that she needed to go back inside and get her boyfriend (so you can be a mistake in life more than once!). Well, when she and her boyfriend came back outside they walked by my friends and I, and the boyfriended yelled "Hey, she's going home with me tonight!" I was intoxicated, and thought of the most spiteful response I could think of, and yelled "Oh yeah? Well my penis was just in her mouth!" Son of Geo Metro, ending relationships one couple at a time.

If you can't respect that... (originally written 5/28/06)

... your whole perspective is whack. Random thoughts while recovering from what could be the craziest night of the year so far.
OK, so last night, Son of Geo Metro once again was set up with an opportunity to get down with some southern ladies, and instead of doing the damn thing, I decided to drink until I couldn't stand. Can you be a stereotypical nationality without actually being that nationality? I would fit in well in Ireland.
My brush with intoxication led me to put a new video up on my profile in the about me. I felt like both Chris and Paulie this morning. Fun times.
Growing the beard out again. Might have to shave if I actually hear back from potential employers this week. I figure I'll grow it out and that way I will have a fall-back job. I'll just have to go down to the Carribean and start looting and pirating. People can then call me Redbeard. It works. I like being a little scruffy. The hair is pretty long too. I realized today I like the Kurt Cobain, Christian Slater pre-coke habit look.
One day there's going to be a Rodney King level beatdown, and let's just say I won't be on the side of the doughnut eaters. If you want more details, please call. Note: If your name rhymes with Yebra, or you are related to me in any way I will not tell you what happened. If you want to apply to be the person following me around with a camera I won't be able to pay you until I get out of the hospital.
One thing from last night that was fun, and I can tell everyone about: so we pulled up to where the bar was, and it was in a strip mall. So I tell the girl with us she needs to pull up to the wal-mart, because there was something in the Wal-Mart we needed. Everyone looked at me like I was on crack. I then proceeded to walk tot he back of the store, turn on 4 stereos, turn one all the way up and strat dancing in the back fo the store. I even asked a few ladies walking by to join me. Didn't get any takers.
I think the best reaction to last night was from Doug. You see, I hooked Ohsang up with a 30 year old fine MILF with two kids. How did I do this? I have no idea, but I did. Anyway, Ohsang had fun last night with this woman for a while becasue I set that shit up. I can't stress that enough. Anwyay, one little nugget of info I did not mention: lady was married. So I tell Doug all of this, and his first reaction "OK, this is why I'll never get married. If I ever found out my wife fucked someone like Ohsang, not only would I kill her, but I'd go on a multi-state killing spree." Hear hear.
Son of Geo Metro, man of few words, master of fantasy baseball, Wal-Mart playa.