As promised here is an account of a game my buddy Eric and I invented back in the glory days when we lived down the street from each other. But first here's a little back-story about Eric and my relationship. He and his family moved two houses down from me to live with his grandparents...his dad was stationed at Barksdale. We soon became fast friends and spent pretty much every afternoon and weekend playing together. I was in the 3rd grade, which would put me around 8, and he was in the second grade but was also 8. I was young for my grade. Anyways we played all over the neighborhood and had a hell of a time.
There are many memories that stand out in my mind from those days, the day Eric tried to marry a pair of bumblebees and they ended up chasing him...the day Eric dove into a trashcan to catch a baseball(you can read about that account earlier in my blog)...the day he kicked a basketball into my mother's rear-view mirror...but the particular memory we're looking for is the one about DZ.
Now I have no idea what DZ stood for. We had a play center back in the day called Discovery Zone, which was often abbreviated D.Z., but I don't think it meant discovery zone. Quick question...how awesome were play centers?
Pretty stinking awesome is the answer I was looking for.
Back the the point...I don't even remember how to play DZ. Now I'm going to stop you here because I know what you're thinking. You're thinking Dave, you're pretty awesome but how can you claim the greatest game ever played was a game whose name you don't fully know...and more importantly you couldn't teach me to play for a small fee, unless it's Friday in which case you should probably do it for free.
To which I say you're both right and wrong at the same time.
Yes I am awesome, that has been pretty well established. But you're wrong to assume just because I can't remember the full name of the game or how to play it that it wasn't the greatest game ever invented. I have a theory that had it been properly marketed and word had been given an appropriate amount of time to spread, it would have caught on like Justin Beiber and ousted ever sport in America. I would have been really rich and would have been hooked on cocaine and died of promiscuity...whew! Bullet Dodged!
But I digress...All I can remember of how the game was played was it involved a small little-bit-larger-than-a-softball-sized ball, the driveway of Eric's grandparents and a crack that split said driveway. In reality it was probably some mix of Volleyball and Soccer with maybe a little four-square thrown in...but there's always the chance it was much cooler than all of those things combined. But alas no one will ever know the rules of this mysterious game.
What I do specifically remember however is the genius, get-rick-quick-scheme that corrupted our innocent little creative minds. It sucked up our creative juices like a huge mosquito and used them for its own selfish ambitions. We hurriedly traversed the one yard between our houses, which always turned into a foot race of which I was usually the victor, and rounded ourselves up some poster making supplies. Then we got our business model together and went to work. We decided we needed to share the game with the world, and while we were doing this, why not make a little pocket change? We decided we would charge $5...that's right 5 whole hard earned dollars to teach people how to play DZ and then you would be able to play 1 game for free. I think any other games would cost you a whopping $1 or something. But the kicker is we decided it would be free on Fridays, remember how you were thinking that earlier? Nice! Anyways we would impart our knowledge to people for no charge just because it was friday. Oh the genius! We were little marketing masters. The potential there! Fridays would become Freedays and people would flock to the 200 block of Justin avenue to play the funnest game in the world. We would be the richest 8-year-olds ever!
Unfortunately our brilliant little minds were about to receive a rough tap on the shoulder from Mr. Real World...that douche. We hung our poster up on a tree in my front yard, I think the poster was obnoxious orange which was sure to attract all sorts of attention. All this happened on a Thursday. Our thought process...get a few players today...make a little money and let them tell their friends and colleagues about the fun they had and we would be swamped Friday with eager learners and potential DZers. Then next week would hit and let the money making begin! The main thing we didn't foresee was that no one would drive down the street in the 20 minutes our attention spans could afford to spend on waiting for customers. So we got bored and tried to play DZ on my driveway but it wasn't as fun for some reason. So instead we played at his grandparent's driveway again and kept a vigil watch out for any potential players.
None came and it eventually got dark. I'm sure we ate dinner and played video games or something the rest of the night while silently dreaming of the hoards of people we would have tomorrow. Unfortunately upon waking up the next day neither one of us could really remember how to play DZ. Like I said earlier...government agents must have come in our rooms and zapped our brains MIB style. I didn't say that earlier? Oh well that's what must have happened. So there you have it...I have played the greatest game ever invented...forgotten how to play it...and had my mind zapped from special government agents, which probably means Will Smith has been in my bedroom.
So if anyone is free this Friday let's try and get a game of DZ going.
I know I'm free and fortunately so is DZ.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Life is Good
So I decided it would be a good idea to read over everything I had ever written on this blog, which I did. Now the first thing I thought was...why am I not famous yet? Then I calmed down and decided that things are a lot better now for me than they used to be. I mean I haven't actually had a job I've enjoyed going to in...ever, and I haven't even expressed my gratitude in writing for the job I currently have. For the uninformed I work at Goodwill Industries of North Louisiana in the workforce development side as everyone's favorite lab specialist. This basically means that I help people write their resumes and will eventually teach classes about computers and make sure our virtual stuff is working properly.
I truly love it.
I mean I get to talk with people and help them better their lives by empowering them to find jobs. Plus I work the 10AM - 7PM shift so I don't even have to wake up early. Or course every workplace has faults and drama but I don't think I should discuss those because that teacher recently got suspended or something for writing bad things about her students on her twitter so I'm going to not go into all that...if you haven't heard yet I like my job.
My current satisfaction with my job directly contrasts to my absolute loathing of my last job. It was miserable and if you don't believe me ask someone who knew me at that time or just read my postings from that era of my life.
Since coming to this discovery there are a lot of factors that have increased my level of contentedness with life. For instance being able to sleep properly and being around decent people who aren't focused on face-time on the camera as well as not feeling like I was prostituting my talents. Also I have been able to begin going to church again and have started hanging out with some guys again. It was a lonely road I traveled before this but now I'm finally where I want to be.
It's been weird getting to this point though. Being responsible with money and trying to save for a future. For instance I really want an iPad and could probably afford one if I wasn't trying to save so much dad-gum money. And by afford one I mean I have a Best Buy credit card because I have decent credit. One of the greatest changes I've noticed is in the conversations I now have with my friends, which used to be about video games and music and what kind of adventure we were going to have that evening. Now it's all of those things but with money stuff thrown along with it. I was excited about getting health insurance for Pete's sake. It's the little things that bring us the greatest joy.
Tomorrow I'm going to post something about a game my best friend and I once invented...I for one can't wait to read it.
I truly love it.
I mean I get to talk with people and help them better their lives by empowering them to find jobs. Plus I work the 10AM - 7PM shift so I don't even have to wake up early. Or course every workplace has faults and drama but I don't think I should discuss those because that teacher recently got suspended or something for writing bad things about her students on her twitter so I'm going to not go into all that...if you haven't heard yet I like my job.
My current satisfaction with my job directly contrasts to my absolute loathing of my last job. It was miserable and if you don't believe me ask someone who knew me at that time or just read my postings from that era of my life.
Since coming to this discovery there are a lot of factors that have increased my level of contentedness with life. For instance being able to sleep properly and being around decent people who aren't focused on face-time on the camera as well as not feeling like I was prostituting my talents. Also I have been able to begin going to church again and have started hanging out with some guys again. It was a lonely road I traveled before this but now I'm finally where I want to be.
It's been weird getting to this point though. Being responsible with money and trying to save for a future. For instance I really want an iPad and could probably afford one if I wasn't trying to save so much dad-gum money. And by afford one I mean I have a Best Buy credit card because I have decent credit. One of the greatest changes I've noticed is in the conversations I now have with my friends, which used to be about video games and music and what kind of adventure we were going to have that evening. Now it's all of those things but with money stuff thrown along with it. I was excited about getting health insurance for Pete's sake. It's the little things that bring us the greatest joy.
Tomorrow I'm going to post something about a game my best friend and I once invented...I for one can't wait to read it.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Staring down the barrell at some bro time
This weekend I got the chance to have a little bro time in honor of the joining of two friends in the bonds of holy matrimony and everything that goes along with that...hehehe...see what I did there?
Sex
Anyways apparently when a bro gets marries it's only natural to have a throw on some camo...grab a gun that shoots little plastic balls of pain at fast-enough-to-leave-welts-speed and pretend you're at war. Paintball, while being pretty epic, is also a good team-building exercise and a good way to get really really really sore. But it truly was a blast of yellow paint...I know right?
Anyways after paintball I made the trek to Ruston, my old college town and had some more bro time, which included but wasn't limited to video games, good food, beer and rides on motorized two wheeled vehicles. While all that stuff was incredible and a great time...the conversations and just general being around guys that know me and genuinely care about my well-being was truly refreshing. The conversation hit every range that makes times like that so special to me...and also so very missed. There was a lot of laughing...some reminiscing...some seriousness...and the right amount of sarcasm, which is somewhere in the shit-ton category. All-in-all it really made me miss what I had in college. I consider myself indebted to a lot of those guys for passing along knowledge and wisdom and generally being so willing to make the sacrifices that friendship requires. I have learned so much from so many people and truly wouldn't be who I am today without them, and I am more grateful than I can show. Not to go into this woe-is-me-type-thing but it's not something that I've had in large quantities for a long time. Intentional conversations about the things that aren't always easy answers or fun topics but are essential to growth. Not saying that I don't have friends in Shreveport, I mean I've got a few and a girlfriend who is supportive of every spontaneous thought and ambition that jump into my head. But what I don't have is that sense of accountability and brotherhood that I was once surrounded by.
Life truly is and has been a journey and I am excited for what is to come. I think I'm finally beginning to accept this whole growing up thing. Sometimes it's easy to get consumed by current predicaments and the stresses of everyday life...but this weekend was a refresher that let me know that bros are for life and they won't forget about you...no matter what may come between you at certain times.
Sex
Anyways apparently when a bro gets marries it's only natural to have a throw on some camo...grab a gun that shoots little plastic balls of pain at fast-enough-to-leave-welts-speed and pretend you're at war. Paintball, while being pretty epic, is also a good team-building exercise and a good way to get really really really sore. But it truly was a blast of yellow paint...I know right?
Anyways after paintball I made the trek to Ruston, my old college town and had some more bro time, which included but wasn't limited to video games, good food, beer and rides on motorized two wheeled vehicles. While all that stuff was incredible and a great time...the conversations and just general being around guys that know me and genuinely care about my well-being was truly refreshing. The conversation hit every range that makes times like that so special to me...and also so very missed. There was a lot of laughing...some reminiscing...some seriousness...and the right amount of sarcasm, which is somewhere in the shit-ton category. All-in-all it really made me miss what I had in college. I consider myself indebted to a lot of those guys for passing along knowledge and wisdom and generally being so willing to make the sacrifices that friendship requires. I have learned so much from so many people and truly wouldn't be who I am today without them, and I am more grateful than I can show. Not to go into this woe-is-me-type-thing but it's not something that I've had in large quantities for a long time. Intentional conversations about the things that aren't always easy answers or fun topics but are essential to growth. Not saying that I don't have friends in Shreveport, I mean I've got a few and a girlfriend who is supportive of every spontaneous thought and ambition that jump into my head. But what I don't have is that sense of accountability and brotherhood that I was once surrounded by.
Life truly is and has been a journey and I am excited for what is to come. I think I'm finally beginning to accept this whole growing up thing. Sometimes it's easy to get consumed by current predicaments and the stresses of everyday life...but this weekend was a refresher that let me know that bros are for life and they won't forget about you...no matter what may come between you at certain times.
Monday, February 7, 2011
Dear Upstairs Neighbor
First of all what up?
Second of all could you think about not being a douche sometimes?
I mean...I realize that you really like your music and all, but don't you think that when I'm trying to do important things like watch the Harry Potter movies, one of the various television shows I repeatedly watch because I can't afford cable or...you know...sleep, that I don't want to feel your sub woofer pulsate in every orifice of my body. And when I bang on the ceiling with a wooden samurai sword that I keep by my bed in case there's a zombie-pocalypse to get you to shut the hell up, that doesn't mean that when you get home from IHOP or some bar that you can let the tunes blare again. Even in the rare occasion that you listen to something that doesn't sound like someone painted pictures of rabbits doing backflips using all the colors of the wind onto an old VHS tapes of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, I still generally don't want to hear it.
Granted our floors are the approximate thickness of shopping cart wheels made out of wood, so there is virtually no insulation, but that's not enough of an excuse for your shenanigans that generally succeed in pissing me off to no end.
Also the other morning when you were yelling at whoever left their alarm clock set causing it to try and wake the missing person up for 2 and a half hours, I could hear you yelling better than the person who was clearly not sleeping through their alarm clock because they weren't there. Also you have done that at least 27 times and it never gets any less annoying. Modern day alarm clocks are scientifically engineered to pierce through every conscious and unconscious thought until it makes it's presence known.
But I have some good news for you upstairs neighbor...if we ever meet outside of the apartment I won't immediately hate you because I have no idea what you look like due to the fact that I have always been to scared to go tell you to shut the hell up. Not that I am scared of you...mainly just the entire confrontation. Also I won't be living there much longer so you might have a whole empty apartment to used as a sub woofer box. At least until someone new moves in. I really hope it's a huge MMA fighter who will promptly kick your ass at the first note of bad music. I also hope he steals your dog Maddison and takes care of it better than you do.
P.S. remember when you got the new Kid Cuddi album and you listened to "Day and Night" on repeat for at least 5 times in a row?
You do?
Yeah...that sucked!
Second of all could you think about not being a douche sometimes?
I mean...I realize that you really like your music and all, but don't you think that when I'm trying to do important things like watch the Harry Potter movies, one of the various television shows I repeatedly watch because I can't afford cable or...you know...sleep, that I don't want to feel your sub woofer pulsate in every orifice of my body. And when I bang on the ceiling with a wooden samurai sword that I keep by my bed in case there's a zombie-pocalypse to get you to shut the hell up, that doesn't mean that when you get home from IHOP or some bar that you can let the tunes blare again. Even in the rare occasion that you listen to something that doesn't sound like someone painted pictures of rabbits doing backflips using all the colors of the wind onto an old VHS tapes of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, I still generally don't want to hear it.
Granted our floors are the approximate thickness of shopping cart wheels made out of wood, so there is virtually no insulation, but that's not enough of an excuse for your shenanigans that generally succeed in pissing me off to no end.
Also the other morning when you were yelling at whoever left their alarm clock set causing it to try and wake the missing person up for 2 and a half hours, I could hear you yelling better than the person who was clearly not sleeping through their alarm clock because they weren't there. Also you have done that at least 27 times and it never gets any less annoying. Modern day alarm clocks are scientifically engineered to pierce through every conscious and unconscious thought until it makes it's presence known.
But I have some good news for you upstairs neighbor...if we ever meet outside of the apartment I won't immediately hate you because I have no idea what you look like due to the fact that I have always been to scared to go tell you to shut the hell up. Not that I am scared of you...mainly just the entire confrontation. Also I won't be living there much longer so you might have a whole empty apartment to used as a sub woofer box. At least until someone new moves in. I really hope it's a huge MMA fighter who will promptly kick your ass at the first note of bad music. I also hope he steals your dog Maddison and takes care of it better than you do.
P.S. remember when you got the new Kid Cuddi album and you listened to "Day and Night" on repeat for at least 5 times in a row?
You do?
Yeah...that sucked!
Friday, January 28, 2011
Motorcycles and Mustaches
*This is a post from my tumblr which I have wholeheartedly decided to stop using
As of Thursday, October 298, 2010, I officially joined motorcycle riders everywhere by bringing home my very own Kawasaki Vulcan 500. Friday I was initiated into the club by exchanging “the wave” with another of the two-wheeled persuasion. For those of you who have no idea what I’m talking about, “the wave” is a form of greeting motorcyclists use to acknowledge each other when passing. A feeling of excitement and pride filled my body and soul as I shot a peace sign at the ground. The wave was promptly returned and thus began the first day of the rest of my life. Since that moment, all I’ve wanted to do is drive the blasted thing around, I get anxious when 3-o-clock rolls around because it means the work day is almost over and I can go riding. I feel like a stupid little kid with a new toy but I can’t help it.
I’ve just gotten to where I can go above 25 and not freak out because I’ve convinced myself my speedometer is wrong and I’m really traveling at least 95 down a neighborhood street. It really is a different experience though, and there are a lot of things I’m going to have to get used to. The main thing being the mentality that if someone hits me, oh well, my car is a piece of junk anyways so no harm-no foul. But now it’s a big-time foul because being hit means instant death, or at least a whole lot of pain. But as I’ve been stuck in my 4-wheeled cage it’s given me a lot of time to think about the benefits of being out in the open air, not surrounded by strong, protective steel specifically engineered to keep me safe in even the worst of collisions. For one thing it will force me to slow down and take my time when traveling places. I won’t be able to tail people who piss me off and I’ll have to drive defensively again. This should remove a large portion of anxiety and stress from my life because the majority of people seem to be awful drivers and I’ll have to stay on my toes to keep out of their way.
So in addition to slowing down my lifestyle, it’s also giving me the cool factor that I’ve been needing. While I’ll be the first person to admit, I’m pretty awesome. Allow me to take a second to list my best qualities. First I’m the funniest guy I know, second I’m a real charmer, third I’m a good test-taker, fourth I don’t have a ridiculous amount of body hair, and fifth I’m just plain awesome. So you might be asking yourself…self, I just don’t think he needs a cool factor; in fact he sounds pretty awesome to me. Well you’re right and you’re wrong. I am awesome but I’m just not that cool. I drive a 99 Oldsmobile Alero with scratches and dents all over it, and I can’t grow a proper beard. So along with adding the coolness of riding a motorcycle, I also grew a mustache, only to learn that I can’t actually grow a mustache very well. My father, on the other hand, who also rides a motorcycle, can grow a sweet-ass mustache and I figured, hey…I’m my father’s son so let’s give this a go.
Epic fail.
So I’m just going to have to take the points I get from the motorcycle and hope that it makes up for my quirkiness, inherent geekiness and lack of sufficient facial hair. So to all you motorcyclists out there…deuces to the ground and keep the rubber side down…to everyone else…please don’t run in to me!
As of Thursday, October 298, 2010, I officially joined motorcycle riders everywhere by bringing home my very own Kawasaki Vulcan 500. Friday I was initiated into the club by exchanging “the wave” with another of the two-wheeled persuasion. For those of you who have no idea what I’m talking about, “the wave” is a form of greeting motorcyclists use to acknowledge each other when passing. A feeling of excitement and pride filled my body and soul as I shot a peace sign at the ground. The wave was promptly returned and thus began the first day of the rest of my life. Since that moment, all I’ve wanted to do is drive the blasted thing around, I get anxious when 3-o-clock rolls around because it means the work day is almost over and I can go riding. I feel like a stupid little kid with a new toy but I can’t help it.
I’ve just gotten to where I can go above 25 and not freak out because I’ve convinced myself my speedometer is wrong and I’m really traveling at least 95 down a neighborhood street. It really is a different experience though, and there are a lot of things I’m going to have to get used to. The main thing being the mentality that if someone hits me, oh well, my car is a piece of junk anyways so no harm-no foul. But now it’s a big-time foul because being hit means instant death, or at least a whole lot of pain. But as I’ve been stuck in my 4-wheeled cage it’s given me a lot of time to think about the benefits of being out in the open air, not surrounded by strong, protective steel specifically engineered to keep me safe in even the worst of collisions. For one thing it will force me to slow down and take my time when traveling places. I won’t be able to tail people who piss me off and I’ll have to drive defensively again. This should remove a large portion of anxiety and stress from my life because the majority of people seem to be awful drivers and I’ll have to stay on my toes to keep out of their way.
So in addition to slowing down my lifestyle, it’s also giving me the cool factor that I’ve been needing. While I’ll be the first person to admit, I’m pretty awesome. Allow me to take a second to list my best qualities. First I’m the funniest guy I know, second I’m a real charmer, third I’m a good test-taker, fourth I don’t have a ridiculous amount of body hair, and fifth I’m just plain awesome. So you might be asking yourself…self, I just don’t think he needs a cool factor; in fact he sounds pretty awesome to me. Well you’re right and you’re wrong. I am awesome but I’m just not that cool. I drive a 99 Oldsmobile Alero with scratches and dents all over it, and I can’t grow a proper beard. So along with adding the coolness of riding a motorcycle, I also grew a mustache, only to learn that I can’t actually grow a mustache very well. My father, on the other hand, who also rides a motorcycle, can grow a sweet-ass mustache and I figured, hey…I’m my father’s son so let’s give this a go.
Epic fail.
So I’m just going to have to take the points I get from the motorcycle and hope that it makes up for my quirkiness, inherent geekiness and lack of sufficient facial hair. So to all you motorcyclists out there…deuces to the ground and keep the rubber side down…to everyone else…please don’t run in to me!
Thursday, January 27, 2011
New Blogs
So I tried to like and use tumblr...I even went as far as to try and convince myself that if I used an outlet that was hip and streamlined I would blog more.
Needless to say it didn't happen.
I also tell myself I would blog more if I had the internet at my apartment...but if I was honest it probably wouldn't make a lick of difference.
I just avoided going on a tangent about how the hell a lick could ever be a unit of measurement because I'm sure it's been done a million times before.
So I just got into this new blog thanks to my boss called hyperbole and a half, which is written by this chick who has no real job but somehow makes enough money by blogging to live on. She's effing hilarious.
More to come I promise!
Needless to say it didn't happen.
I also tell myself I would blog more if I had the internet at my apartment...but if I was honest it probably wouldn't make a lick of difference.
I just avoided going on a tangent about how the hell a lick could ever be a unit of measurement because I'm sure it's been done a million times before.
So I just got into this new blog thanks to my boss called hyperbole and a half, which is written by this chick who has no real job but somehow makes enough money by blogging to live on. She's effing hilarious.
More to come I promise!
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Dissapointment Rings so very Loud
During my daily perusing of the internet in the span between when I finish my show and when I make the sad, pitiful trek upstairs to actually booth my show, I came across this article from this online satirical web site that I like to keep up-to-date on about how awesome it is to work at Google. So I wondered to myself after reading the article...how awesome is it to work at Google?
I really wish I never knew the answer to that question...because it's freaking awesome!!!
Last week was a week of disappointment in the job search area. Things started with a call from a recruiter who excitedly wanted to tell me about an opportunity available in my area with the company she works for. So after the routine sending my resume and it slipping her mind that we had a phone call scheduled to further discuss the opportunity the next day...I got turned down for the job I hadn't even really applied for. It's almost like she went out of her way to get my hopes riding high on a group of balloons before hurling a handful of glass shards into their midst sending my hopes plummeting back down to depths in which they consistently stay these days. Then it seemed like fate when I met some people from another company, who was "hiring" and seemed to be an almost unbelievably good opportunity...turns out of course it was unbelievably good. After emailing my new acquaintances my resume with the promise to pass it along with good recommendations...the email from hr came saying they were not currently hiring but would keep my resume on file in case they needed some extra paper to wipe their butts with.
To top it all off the hiring agency I met with has been giving me the runaround for the past month so things are naturally looking pretty bleak. And to make matters worse Google's employees get to eat meals prepared by 5 star chefs for free and can play ping pong at work. While I can't even enjoy things like benefits and the accruing of vacation days. Some people get all the luck right. Even looking at my friends who have so far been fairly successful while I struggle away not to hope I get into an incapacitating car accident every morning on my way to work.
But a wise man once said the stone won't grind itself...or something like that...so I guess I'll just sit here and grind away at my pathetic stone until something better comes along...or until Google somehow discovers my brilliance and gives me job. Option B...become the second barefoot bandit but with my own gimmick of course...like maybe the ass-less chap outlaw or something.
It's always good to have a plan B...or so I've been told.
So here's my message to Google...I'm ready to hired but I won't pose naked. You know where to find me and if you don't...just look me up on...well...google.
I really wish I never knew the answer to that question...because it's freaking awesome!!!
Last week was a week of disappointment in the job search area. Things started with a call from a recruiter who excitedly wanted to tell me about an opportunity available in my area with the company she works for. So after the routine sending my resume and it slipping her mind that we had a phone call scheduled to further discuss the opportunity the next day...I got turned down for the job I hadn't even really applied for. It's almost like she went out of her way to get my hopes riding high on a group of balloons before hurling a handful of glass shards into their midst sending my hopes plummeting back down to depths in which they consistently stay these days. Then it seemed like fate when I met some people from another company, who was "hiring" and seemed to be an almost unbelievably good opportunity...turns out of course it was unbelievably good. After emailing my new acquaintances my resume with the promise to pass it along with good recommendations...the email from hr came saying they were not currently hiring but would keep my resume on file in case they needed some extra paper to wipe their butts with.
To top it all off the hiring agency I met with has been giving me the runaround for the past month so things are naturally looking pretty bleak. And to make matters worse Google's employees get to eat meals prepared by 5 star chefs for free and can play ping pong at work. While I can't even enjoy things like benefits and the accruing of vacation days. Some people get all the luck right. Even looking at my friends who have so far been fairly successful while I struggle away not to hope I get into an incapacitating car accident every morning on my way to work.
But a wise man once said the stone won't grind itself...or something like that...so I guess I'll just sit here and grind away at my pathetic stone until something better comes along...or until Google somehow discovers my brilliance and gives me job. Option B...become the second barefoot bandit but with my own gimmick of course...like maybe the ass-less chap outlaw or something.
It's always good to have a plan B...or so I've been told.
So here's my message to Google...I'm ready to hired but I won't pose naked. You know where to find me and if you don't...just look me up on...well...google.
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