Cmon baby... just the tip

After a good 1 1/2 month long hiatus from working I've finally got a job. This time I'm doing something completely different from my supermarket gig, which turned out to be too hectic. They always wanted me on time and shit. So I went to Nordstroms to pick up an application. I figured I'd use my boyish charm and charismatic sales approach to sell large amounts of shoes to women who were preferably very very hot and soaking like maple covered pancakes in the nubility of their sexual prime. I really wanted that.

HOT WOMAN: Excuse me sir... you... the strapping young lad with the large pectorial muscles and arms - would you happen to have these in a size 8?
ME: Anything for you my dear. I shall return quickly...
(Returns quickly)
ME: I'm sorry my beautiful, beautiful cherryblossom of muse-like inspiration and bliss, but we do not have that shoe in a size eight.
HOT WOMAN: Oh, you charming young prospect of sexual desire and late night masturbation, the way you walked into that backroom turned me on so much, I nearly forgot about the shoes... Take me, take me young stallion, let me jump upon your harness and take me to a place where I will forget about my husband and four children. I want your horse cock inside me.

I felt I'd be a shoe-in for the job. (Look left, look right, OOH but it hits you anyways...)

So like, I walk into Nordstroms and I'm immediately turned off by the whole vibe. Everything feels so "proper" in a department store. White walls, silver racks, black cashiers with long press-on fingernails that makes it hard for them to pick up my change off the counter, where is my diversity? Where is my color? People tend to work well when surrounded by lots of color. I know I sure do. Most people don't know this but in kindergarten I actually translated the entire Bible from English to Latin, then I did some progressive work on the unification of gravity and electromagnetism. On the contrary, college professors don't decorate their rooms much, and this is why I suck at college.

So I leave and I'm walking by Bath and Body Works when a chic outside asks me if I needed a job. I tell her as a matter of factly I did. I fill out an application, take my interview, and get hired on the spot. Yeah... Bath and Body Works people. Can I get a hell fucking yeah for fragranced lotions?

The sweet part is, I've only been working there for a week and already everybody loves me. I work with a bunch of black and mexican girls, and my management loves me. They treat me like I’m indispensable, and in part I am. It's always good to have a couple straight guys around in a chic store. You never want to be that store where the boyfriend hangs outside while the girl goes in. It's bad for business. Straight guys make other straight guys feel welcome in chic stores.

But all that straight talk aside, I gotta say, my hands and lips have never felt this soft. I think the only time they were this soft, is when I popped out of my mother's womb, because nothing moisturizes better than amniotic fluid. Other than that, I've never felt this soft. My favorite product so far is the C.O Bigelow Mentha Lip Buffer, which has little beads in a cream that you rub between your lips to get rid of dead skin, then you wipe it off and I swear, your lips will never feel softer. I usually follow this up with a Propolene chapstick. I'm still experimenting with my hands.

So the verdict is that I like B&BW way better than Trader Joes. They respect the good work that I do, they pay me 50 cents more, and all I really do is stand around with and smile and make sure everything is stocked. And the one obligatory gay guy that works there turns out to be my and he's really cool. He's one of those happy gays. But not in a queer way, more like a happy way. He must get alot of butt-sex and I say more power to him. I'm all about people having sex.

Wait, I totally just thought of something... Without sex, none of us would be here... Wooah... Wooooah.... Have seeex... Haaave seeeex...

Put it in her buuuttt...

hopped on the bull

Every once in a while I like to get super hopped up on energy drinks for no reason whatsoever. Maybe it's because I'm c-c-c-razy, I'm not one to tell. The point is, this is what I do.

I figured today I'd get all hopped up. It'd been a while and I totally deserved it because I haven't touched any drugs in a while. Like days. And while I'm currently doubting how much journalistic substance there is in writing about getting hopped up on the bull, I'll write about it anyways, because I'm hopped up on the bull.

Which is, by the way, the one and only. Monster is pretty damn good and so is Rockstar, but nothing says "drink two of me and I'll give you awesome erections" quite like the Red Bull. Two is, by the way, all I need to be considered fully "hopped up". Drank roughly 1 hour apart. I pee neon and it dissolves porcelin but the buzz is totally worth it.

I drank my first Red Bull at around 5:00 pm Pacific Central Time. I downed it quickly and smoked. I love doing this, it feels awesome. As a matter of fact, it feels so awesome there should be street terminology for doing this. I'd call it "smoking the bull" but that sounds like a double entendre for something very very wrong and homosexual. So I'll leave you all to think of something.

One hour later I was feeling awake and abnormally randy. I attribute this to the red bull. Usually by 6:00 pm I'm either sleepy or horny, but never both. Before six I can be both, but by six I'm low on fuel and my body tells me I can only feel one thing at a time. What I actually feel depends on how many dead animal parts I've eaten throughout the course of the day. Red Bull is like dead animal parts in a can, so needless to say by this point I'm feeling pretty good, and thinking about lesbians.

I decide to drink my second Red Bull at about this time. I smoke again. I jizz a little. But I have to admit, after smoking the bull (no homo) the second time around I could literally feel the limits of my heart being tested.

I have a bit of a sensitive heart, you see. I can only have caffeine on days where I feel my heart is "up to it". When I used to run track, it was common that I threw up after I did my 100 yard sprint, because it was such a load on my body. I mean, I guess that's what happens when god takes the speed of a cheetah and injects it into two very lean and muscular legs, then calls their owner "Greg", but I'm basically like a fat guy in a healthy body who doesn't smell or have sweat stains wherever his clothes touch his body.

Ten minutes after my second Red Bull I felt like a sweaty fat chic was sitting on top of my heart and bouncing at an irregular pace. I was regretting what I did. It wasn't even that I couldn't sit still. That I could do, easily. I felt fucked up. Like I didn't want to get up. I sat in front of the library at school and drank water. Lots of water. And I could feel it go straight to my bladder almost immediately. Water almost never gets digested that quickly. Usually it takes on a bit of color before it decides to bail ship. Not this water. I think it came out exactly the same.

Two hours later and its about 8:00 pm Pacific Central Time. I find myself sitting at an open mic poetry recital with the rest of my creative writing class (hence the random poem, sorry about that) with my heart still spazzing violently. I watched as some old mexican lady talked about violence in Oaxaca. Pronounced "Waa-Haa-Kaa" - I know its so unexpected - sort of like how Jorge is pronounced "Hor-Hay". What's next from those crazy Mexicans, birth control*? While I thought about how little I cared about any violence that takes place outside a 25 mile radius from my house, I started to experience a tingling sensation all throughout my body.

Then I fell asleep.

Which is utter bullshit. Red Bull shouldn't make me fall asleep like that. How am I supposed to shake that sleepiness? Drink another Red Bull? Insidiously genius and perhaps intentional, or maybe its just my body. I knocked out hard though. And I think I might have snored because when I woke up some people were looking at me, and I have the tendancy to wake myself up with my own snoring and not even know it, especially when I go from wide fucking awake to REM in seconds, as I did today. So that was probably embarassing.

Sometimes I'll wake up to the tail end of one of my snores. It's really rare but it happens. Where I'll actually wake myself up with a snore, and still hear the end of that snore. It's trippy, almost spiritual.

Anyways, after the old mexican lady left the stage, I left too and went home. Since my spontaneous power nap I haven't felt tired in the slightest. It's 3:00 in the morning right now and I still feel the effects of the red bull. I just cleaned up my desktop and I sort of feel like dancing. But that's about it to report. This thing was really long. So that's it for my chronicle. I am going to attempt sleep. If I can't, I'll be dailing around for phone sex. Please pickup.

*To all my mexicans out there, don't be offended. I'm half Mexican, I can say that. George Lopez would do it. Besides, I'm totally down with you guys. I love your strawberries. For la raza, simon.