It's been a while since I've written anything. Bite me I've been busy. I started to write something about my birthday last month but didn't get to finish, and when I could I felt it had been too long. I didn't want people to think I was a douchebag writing about my birthday three weeks later as if it happened the day before. And if I edited it, I would have had to change tenses and that would have led to all sorts of grammatical incorrecteses that I can't have because I respect grammar far, far, far to much. Far to much.
But to be brief I was super smashed on my birthday. Thank you to everybody who came out and had a good time. Even bigger thanks to everyone who bought me a drink. Which was practically everyone. I apologize now if you bought me a drink and I didn't thank you at the time. I don't remember anything after riding the bull so there's the possibility I snatched the drink out of your hand and pounded it saying, "Greggie drunk" then patted you on the head. I honestly don't know.
For people who weren't there, which are the ones who read me anyways, we went barhopping at the universal studios city walk. It's a cool place to hop and I've never done it there before. We stopped by a spot called the Sattle Ranch at the end of the night where they have an electronic bull. I named him Timothy because he didn't frighten me. Now, I had never actually ridden a bull - metaphorically and physically -but just like, hang on u know? Wtf?
Yet it was that simple i wouldn't have been hanging on the side of the bull 2-3 seconds later flailing around with my socks showing. And goddamnit, if I had known my socks would be showing I would have worn my gold toes. In my defense, I did bet the switch guy 5 bucks I wouldn't fall off so he really let me have it... and I was using one hand... So the bull's name is still fucking Timothy.
Good times apparently. And I got a job at this place called Bubba Gump's Shrimphouse on the Santa Monica pier. So I'm happy to be back on the force. Like an A-dult. Right now I'm a host but hopefully by the time summer comes around they'll make me a server. I can't wait to spit on people's food. The amount power I have at a resturaunt turns me on immensely. I've got to boss people around at my last job, that was whatever. I'd rather spit in people's food, so guests better treat me with respect. That's why they're called guests and not customers. They're in my house. And I'm an asthma victim. I know how to hawk a loogie. It may feel like there nothing's in my throat, but oh I can always find something. I got time and patience. I'll jerk off in it. I'll put some extra calories in someone's food.
Don't need to work at El Pollo Loco
To be Loco
I'll choke the chicken on your chicken
Then sip on some SoCo
The only catch is that as a server you have to lead a happy birthday song. Not THE happy birthday song but A happy birthday song. Bubba Gump Shrimphouse's birthday song. It goes like this:
This is your birthday song
This is your birthday song
I don't know what I've been told
Someone here is getting old
I don't know what has been said
Someone's face is getting red
And all the servers echo the lines. Then they do some corny soundoff that I forget and everybody leaves. The point is, I contain about as much pep as black tar heroin. And don't get me wrong, it's not that I'm dull or lack energy. Pep to me is different. It is Panglossian. It is the happiness of the unrelenting optimist. Pep to me is what people who love Jesus a little bit too much have. And I have a hard time being that person. For example, I would have no problem singing something like, "This is your birthday song" then holding up a raisin and being like, "now this is your dong", but without the loving insults to balance things out it feels so OC (Out of Character).
Trader Joes would always get on my case for not being peppy enough. But that's my complaint for now and its not a really big one. All my co-workers are pretty chill and I don't think my managers are going to hate me this time around. Yes, I dare say I sense some like with them. This is rare for me to say because I'm lazy like a plague.
Other than that, things are normal. Nothing spectacular to report. I'm going to coachella in a week and a half and I couldn't be more excited. Coachella, if you haven't heard, well... Look it up. It's going to be amazing. It is a concert. And it will be the awesomeness. I can't wait to see the Arcade Fire after a pot brownie and a couple beers. As long as I pace myself with drinking, and carry a little canister to urinate in so I don't lose my spot in the crowd, it will be good times. Good times. Like sex. If sex played loud music for large crowds to rock out to.