good times

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

-Greg

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.

A lesson learned

I've been desperate for a job for roughly a month and a half now. I quit my last job at bath and body works because they weren't giving me enough hours. Plus the place was starting to suck my life away. I worked as a runner so I never really sold stuff and affirm my quite possibly absurd notion that I'm a good salesman, and when I did, I found out way too many old women shopped there. They would come in and stock up on anti-aging lotions, and I'd be in the background pointing at stuff saying, "yeah that's good... my mom uses it". This is got boring quick.

And I've loved the time off. Most of it at least. Mainly the week after I got my last check. All the weeks after that have sucked. Cuz I blew all my money, if you didn't catch that.

Which is the worst feeling in the world to me, being broke. It's one of the top things I hate, right next to taking the bus, waking up, and some might even say movement in general (most of my laziness is motor laziness. I have ambitious thoughts though). It occured to that I'd make a good living as a waiter. I think I have a good waiter look. This of course, could just be another one of my positive delusions, but I'd like to believe of have a certain aura of zen-like patience.

Now in reality, I'm not patient. But I've had enough customer service experience to know that I can at least deal. Quite well actually. I'd argue I need at least 10 more years of customer service experience to take a gun to work (even then I'd only shoot the men). And thats if I laid off smoking marijuana. Which probably won't happen. So I guess I can make that 15 years. I'll be successful by then, and the only human I'll have to deal with will be my manager. And I won't be selling him shit. So I'll be set.

I went for an interview at Islands down by the marina. I really wanted to work by the beach, and there was definate potential there for drinking on the job. They made me take this quiz on all the burgers there, which i actually studied for, and they hired me. The guy who hired me told me to come in that Saturday at 8:00 for orientation. He told me to buy black shoes, which mean I was set.

Friday 2:00am: I am still drinking. Anyone who knows me would have forecasted this. The only thing unpredictable would be me getting up in the morning, but I was feeling pretty confident I would pull it off. After 4 hours of sleep I figured I'd still be drunk and wake up gracefully without a hangover, which would ultimately come later but at least I got through the hard part.

What followed was roughly 20 minutes playing with the snooze button and roughly 30 minutes of presumably deep sleep while my buzzer blared right next to my eardrum. When i finally woke up to shut it off, it was 8:20, and there was no way I could make it on time. I called later that day, asking if I could make an orientation some other time, and they told me my position had been "refilled".

So I learned a valuable lesson. Besides not trusting myself to wake up drunk, I learned I could still sleep soundly even if what sounded like a an oscar meyer weiner whistled went off repeatedly by my head. I do not know how long I will remember this lesson. Luckily they can't fire me if they never hired me. Right?

Fat people

It's always painful seeing something you can't laugh at. A fat girl just tried to sit down in front of me but missed the chair. Half her ass planted and the rest of her body toppled over and hit the floor like a large steak being thrown on the ground by someone really angry. I wanted to laugh with everything I had, but instead I sat here and acted concerned. For the floor. Just kidding. Maybe some of you would have laughed and that just makes you an asshole. You should really work on your manners.

And I know its a sensitive topic, fat people are hard to tackle (get it? But really, you'd think they're top heavy but they go down like tequila made by a guy named Hector). Obesity kills and philosophically speaking, her fatness isn't even entirely relevant. What does it matter that she was fat? Her fatness doesn't MAKE her. Why couldn't I just say "a chic tried to sit down but missed the chair"? Deep below all the fat she's skinny too. So u know, why I gotta be like dat?

And the answer is: because I'm not fat and I don't believe in Jesus. Although I shouldn't be too proud. I am lucky to have a good set of genes. Everyone agrees that a large part of obesity is genetic. Everyone's metabolism is different and if you're going to blame people for being overweight go ahead and blame skinny people for being skinny. Because we all know at least one person who eats like a lawnmower and still manages to look like a heroine addict. They can't help it either. But then there are fat people who just gave up. And I think they're fair game.

Even though they apparently had to be a bit on the big side to give up in the first place. And then you know, the whole vicious cycle starts. Where they eat because they're fat, blah blah blah. But leading up to that there are precautionary measures to take. Like,

1. Not eating so much.
2. Eating less
3. Lowering caloric intake
4. Lessening eating
5. Eating not so much
6. Not so much, the eating
7. Exercise

And thats about it. With those simple measures, a profound portion of the obese population could be much healthier and better looking. Or at least good enough for above the shoulder photography. Eating well really isn't that hard.

I've trained myself to eat well and its pretty easy. I like it. For starters it keeps me feeling good and secondly it helps me shit. When I eat crappy food my shit reeks and it wants to come out at the most inopportune times. Then I have to shit in public restrooms because I'm hardly ever home, and wipe my ass with abrasive toilet paper that never makes me feel "clean" enough. And nothing disturbs me more than thinking I have an unclean asshole. It scares me of sweating because I feel like any sweat down there might mix in with shit, and trickle down my leg or something. So I eat well and drop one all-encompassing shit in the morning where I can wipe well and go about my day.

So I really don't see what the big deal is. I'm not going to give the whole "if I can do it you can do it" argument, but we only get one body and if you're going to destroy it, and least do it by something a bit more fun than eating like doing drugs. Food is the dumbest thing someone could screw up their body over. It doesn't enhance music, it doesn't make you more sociable, it doesn't give better orgasms or make you want to suck of a pacifier. It's food, it serves a purpose. Get enough of it in your body and go throughout the day.

That being said I still eat like a fatass all the time. What did you think I was some health freak or something? Hey If I don't chew my food does it become time released? Should I just stop chewing, like snakes? Is that how they're so skinny? I dunno, whatever.

So anyways, if you're getting fat. Eat less. Unless it's because of birth control and I direct that towards the ladies. If it is, keep taking it - it shows your man you care. And if you don't have a man then I don't why you're on it, unless you like to play a game called "I'll let you go just the tip. Oops you fell. Repeatedly".