The Drunken Blog

[update: the picture wasn’t showing in IE for some reason, I have obviously fixed it, but sorry for any confusion.]

I work in one of the main buildings for a rather large consulting firm. We don’t have the entire building, but we do have our name on the outside of it, which means that we pay the most rent and have the majority of the building. There are 18 floors and I work on the fifth.

Now, I mentioned that I work for a consulting firm, but just like any other consulting firm, they do other things as well. But the fact that we are mainly consultants makes for a certain work environment. Most of the people working here are young professionals, recently graduated from college and pretty bright. The problem is, all of these cats work on the client site as opposed to the home office. That means that all of the kids my age don’t actually work in my building, for the most part.

The people that work in my building are generally accountants, HR, senior executives, etc. Basically an older crowd; a crowd you would expect to be more professional than the young guns going out getting plastered every night and crawling their way into work the next day. The people that you see around the office are pretty much the stereotypical people you would expect to see when you think of “the business world”.

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Super Bowls hardly ever interest me. The Redskins haven’t made it to one in over 15 years and the way they are playing it looks like it will be another 15 years before they make it back to one. The commercials are getting worse and worse (though this year was a marked improvement over last year), and generally I could care less about the teams involved.

This year was different. The Patriots went into the game 18-0, all they needed to do was win one more game to make meaning of their undefeated season up to that point. With every fiber of my being I wanted the Patriots to lose. Normally I wouldn’t care about an AFC team, and as much as I like the ’72 Dolphins, I don’t really care about their record remaining intact. But after what the Patriots did to the Redskins, running up the score 52-7, converting twice on fourth down when they were already up by 20+ points, I lost all respect for Bill Belichick and wanted nothing more than to see the Patriots go down.
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I would hardly call my self a philanthropist; I hardly have enough money to be a me-anthropist, but I like to give when I can. So on MLK day my work sponsored a company wide day of service. Their pitch was “Make it a day on, not a day off.” Of course, the option was to do my normal job for the day or do the volunteer work. Although, I’m hesitant to even call it volunteer work, since I was paid my normal rate for it.

The day of service began with a four hour brainwashing meeting to get us in the mood for the day. We basically learned how good MLK was and how good my company is, then we learned how good we all could be if we just did more things for our community.
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I know my mom reads my blog, but I don’t think my grandma does, so I should be OK in writing this. This past weekend (please note, this was originally written back in August) it was my grandfather’s 80th birthday, which means that his children and grandchildren from across the country congregated to celebrate this calculated event. But as with most birthday parties, there was an ulterior motive for their gathering – deciding whether or not my grandmother (who divorced my grandfather years and years ago) and who lives alone, should continue to live alone, or if they should put her in a home.

Apparently cooking steak in a toaster oven isn’t considered normal.
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I was in DC recently for Lisa’s birthday party. The plan initially was to start at Rumor’s and barhop. I had a feeling the barhopping wouldn’t happen because it’s hard to coordinate a large group of people leaving one bar and going to another bar.

We stayed at Rumor’s the entire night, and through the process I become somewhat intoxicated, so much so, in fact, that I decided to lower my standards. I spotted two girls that weren’t ugly by any means, but they weren’t exactly Perfect 10s, and they might have been a bit on the “meatier” side, although I wouldn’t go so far as to call them fat, despite the fact that I called one of them “Fat Tina Fey.”

I got Will to come with me, since there were two of them and we started dancing. The one girl didn’t want anything to do with Will, which was odd, since Will was out of her league. But I continued dancing with my girl, who I quickly dubbed Fat Tina Fey. Tina Fey, of course, was one of the lead writers for SNL, she also did the Daily Update, and most recently she is on the show 30 Rock, which happens to be one of my favorites.
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If you’ll recall, Ghost Writer was a pedophilic ghost who would help middle school kids solve mysteries in a twisted game of hangman by revealing only certain words or letters and making the kids guess who the deviant was. You can basically think of Ghost Writer as the live action version of Scooby Doo, where the ghost would be Scooby Doo, except replace “stoner” with “pedifiliac”.

You might have assumed that a ghost did not actually write this because I’m not in middle school, and therefore Ghost Writer wouldn’t waste his time with me, but what you may not have guessed is that I have a team of real live writers dedicated to making me look good through the written word.

I fired them.

Really, it was about hygiene, keeping a room full of monkeys with typewriters is downright disgusting. Too often they would start arguing over the phrasing of a particular sentence and before you know it the feces flinging would begin. I was spending half of my ad revenue on bleach and toothbrushes (don’t ask). I figure that while my writing may be less entertaining now and therefore garner less income for me, the drop won’t be 50% and I’ll still be ahead of my monkey-poo depleted net income.
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Jake and Jules had a combined birthday party recently. It made sense, they went to high school together, they have a lot of the same friends, why not combine their resources to make one cool party, as opposed to two mediocre-to-cool parties?

The plan was simple; since everybody was tired of the Ballroom, find a new location for the party. That new location happened to be very convenient for Jake and me; that new location was our building. Not our apartment, mind you, but the two rooms that we rented out in our building for this specific event.

One of the rooms was a game room. It had several TVs, a pool table, a foosball table, a dart board, several tables and a chic couch. It was a pretty swanky place to have a party. But Jake was afraid that it would be too cramped in there and/or there would not be enough entertainment for everybody.

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Recently I’ve been playing Scrabble on Facebook. It’s a great way to pass the time when I’m bored at work. I don’t exactly have the giganticist vocabulary, but one of the things I’ve found out is that there are a lot of words out there that I didn’t realize were words until I tried to make them work playing scrabble.

For instance, I was about to play the word “HOUR.” Since the H was on a triple letter score I would have gotten 15 points for the word. But directly following the R was a double word score. All I had to do was add on an S and I would have 32 points instead of 15. But I didn’t have an S, all I had was a bunch of I’s. So, blindly I added an I to the end of HOUR to make the word HOURI.

HOURI is a real word. I didn’t realize it was a real word until Scrabble told me it was. I guessed that it was pronounced “HOUR-EE,” like the word hour plus the letter E. I then went and looked up the definition of the word because I knew the person I was playing against would try to call me out.

It turns out if you are Muslim and you go on a suicide bombing run, each of your 72 virgins is called a houri. The alternate definition is “a voluptuous and alluring woman.”

After reading the definition of the word, my pronunciation instantly changed to “WHORE-EE,” it’s amazing what a little context will do to your vocabulary.

I don’t really think of myself as a good writer. I’m very critical of what I write to the point that it becomes tedious and arduous to read, so generally I don’t read what I write. If I’m lucky I’ll proofread a story to make sure that while I was changing thoughts mid-sentence that I remembered to go back and make the rest of the sentence cohesive. Recently, however, I was forced to go back and read a story that I had written.

The story was about a housewarming party and it apparently made me some enemies. Somebody disliked that story enough to give me a mild death threat in the comments section. The reason that I went back to read that story is because I randomly ran into the person that sent me the death threat. Let me explain.
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Halloween is a magical time of year. It’s a chance for guys to show their creativity by coming up with humorous and/or grotesque and/or ironic costumes, and it’s a chance for girls to show off their “creativity” by dressing as slutily as possible. Really everybody wins. Since guys typically like girls based solely on their looks it makes it even easier for guys to pick out girls; of course, just because it’s easier to pick them out doesn’t mean that it’s any easier to pick them up.

It’s not just the guys that make out on Halloween, although I’m sure that is what all girls think that don’t dress up slutily. If anything, girls have even more of an advantage in terms of choosing winners during Halloween than do guys. You see, often times a costume will reflect a person’s personality. If you see a guy that has a T-shirt that says “Free breathalyzer” and has an arrow pointing at his crotch, you can be pretty sure that in addition to being unoriginal, he is probably a douche.
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