Monday, January 31, 2011

Snow day 2.0

Today while I was nursing my birthday hangover at work, cruising various blogs and news outlets to pass the time I came across something interesting. My main man Tom Skilling, possibly the world's second wealthiest weatherman was predicting about 2 feet of snow in Chicago. Initially I was excited, because like the death of a celebrity, or some sort of athlete being charged with triple rape homicide it made my day interesting. Don't get me wrong I don't go out and buy party favors every time there is a miniature national tragedy but it does take away from the monotony of a Monday in corporate sales.

I quickly decided to take the rest of the day to research the blizzard or as all the uncreative iditos I follow on twitter were calling it..."Snowmageddon" (I was going to invent my own catch phrase but I thought drawing attention to the fact that snow rhymes with bro would have been too easy.) Turns out Chicago is basically fucked, 2 feet + of snow, 50 mps winds and some brand new phenomenon called "Thundersnow" which is basically the most metal form of weather to ever exist. Upon further examination, I found out that Indy was going to be covered with ice, lose power, clean water, plumbing...well some parts of Indy don't have those things on a normal day but ya. IUPUI has already called off classes which means some moron that couldnt get into IU or Purdue is probably going to die of a meth overdose tomorrow. Way to go out on top boss.

Then it hit me. Holy fuck, I bet those lucky bastards in Bloomington will have a snow day tomorrow. I had a Christian Bale business card freak-out and started sweating and I lost the ability to speak. That is the type of FOMO I started going through.
If you weren't present on January 28th, 2009, you missed quite possibly the best day of college. What started out as an email from IU "All classes before 10 A.M. are cancelled." Well who the fuck has classes before 10 A.M. a bunch of nerds that would spend there day off leveling up on World of Warcraft or catching up on some studies. Of course I went back to bed to sleep in until noon per usual since obviously if you're a senior frat guy your day begins at 2:30.

The next thing I know, music is blasting on the Shingles porch, there are several kegs in the snow, Jack is standing over my pitiful couch futon (those of you who were lucky enough to shack there know it was one of the most miserable futons in Bloomington, I apologize...I have a Queen now, come visit...yes, I like in a room with it's not weird, it's like a dorm room...yes college is over, but, Fuck you, don't come visit)
Where was I? Oh yes, Jack is standing over me with a handle of vodka, snow day nucka!! I quickly took 5 shots, texted everyone in my phone book, threw on some clothes and went out to the porch where Paul was already hosting a game of "you got served" and Jake had already taken his shirt off. Within an hour or so the party had blown up to about the size of one of our post tailgate affairs, and I'm sure IU was horrified. On the first snow day in 40 years, the most visible house on campus was throwing a day time rager. Complete with snowball fights, people using said snowballs as chaser and a constant flow of people crossing between shingles and Sigma Chi...and it was like 1pm. Well 3 kegs, a blown speaker and 20 handles of flavored komchatka (remember that shit) army of Bloomington's finest (not the IUPD those dudes were fags, fucking fratstars) stormed Kilroys and I don't remember much after that. It was an awesome day, people took pictures, cars crashed into trees looking at us, it was at that moment that I realized the campus was mine *gets off high horse* sorry about that I got carried away.

But now, the Freshman and Sophomores that were like 12 when this happened and saw it all get a chance to do it all over again, bigger and better. They also have powerful weapons such as four loko and you can find adderall now on any street really isn't fair. I have exhausted all rational options trying to find a way to get to Bloomingon tomorrow, and short of cramming 5 years of Hogwarts knowledge into my cranium in the next 2 hours and learning to apparate, it doesn't look like it's going to happen. But I challenge all of you in the magical quadrant of kirkwood, 10th, fess, walnut to burn the campus to the ground tomorrow, which may sound ironic since you will in the midst of an ice storm. Don't let this magical tradition die. (I never much cared for the 7th and Park crew, overrated house, overrated people suck it Beta...I'm kidding I liked those guys)

Tomorrow or Wednesday, whichever is worse I guess, you WILL get a snow day and it very well may be the best day of your college career. Make it as epic as I have made it sound, take pictures, tag me, rub it in my face. I will be following your antics on twitter, drinking a 24 ounce Joose and crying while I "work from home." And if you do lose power for the love of god, no one name any facebook albums "Blackout in the blackout."

Friday, January 28, 2011

The Truth About Charlie

Thank God Friday is here. Like seriously, one more outlook notification or request from a coworker to buy magazines from their Elementary school child spontaneous combustion will cease to be an urban legend. Today I gained inspiration from Charlie Sheen, who is a lot like me except 20 years older, cooler, richer and more famous. So I'm absolutely nothing like Charlie Sheen, but I bet if I wanted to pull a General Shermanesque March to the Sea tonight and march from Wicker Park eastward burning every neighborhood Chicago bar to the ground until we ended up at North Avenue beach he would have a two word response when invited. Fuck. and yes.

Sidenote, that would be an extremely patriotic barcrawl idea.

Side Sidenote, I'm still confused as to whether being a yank is a good thing or a bad thing...roll tide.

Side Side Sidenote, why isn't every bar in Chicago open until 5 on both Friday and Saturday nights. Were city officials high on glue when they decided that Saturday deserved a bonus hour? Also when you are as popular as me pregames tend to go a little long so I will never make it to many of Chicago's coolest bars because I am still in a Lincoln Park condo ripping Jim Beam shots at 1am when most of the "going out" crowd is about to head in. Obviously the river north Alderman (wtf is an alderman) didn't go to IU.

Speaking of Charlie Sheen...I wonder what different generations think of young Chaz. I'm assuming people my age think he is somewhat of a hero because he does whatever he wants, whenever he wants, hooks up with hot chicks and has made a handful of good movies. I bet I would even like that show if it wasn't for that fucking kid. Yes I'm jealous of that kid. He makes $300,000 an episode. Not even the douchiest I-bankers I know will make that in the next 2 years. On the thought of jealousy I bet that's why the rest of America hates Charlie Sheen. They are jealous that he was born into a famous family, has unlimited money and treats his body like shit. In reality these people are projecting their insecurities onto Charlie. It's not his fault you grew up poor and your dad died of alcoholism, his liver must have been a pussy. What type of life would you have him live? 10% to the church? He already gives 10% to an agent, who probably possesses his soul. Any guy that gets arrested for beating his wife and then gets sentenced to teaching acting classes in Aspen, deserves a fist pound from everyone in the room. I'm not saying that beating women is cool, but a nice fuck you to the American legal system every once in a while is applause worthy.

But whatever, as I sit in the dreaded traffic on I94 tonight, assigning a personal story to every person in every car that passes me by (I'm still a little distraught about blue Ford Taurus woman this morning who lost her pet gerbil in a tragic vaccum cleaner incident last night) I will think of situations in which I will conjur the phrase "What would Charlie Do?" I might make t-shirts, I might make wristbands. But first, I will pull over in a ghetto ass cigar shop run by a half Jew half Indian in Skokie (seriously you aren't allowed to live there if you aren't 1 of the 2) and grab a Can of Joose for the remainder of the drive home, because if I get caught it will provide me a vacation from my job and lots of National attention. Oh, whats that? I'll just be jailed, lose my job and have to fellatiate a plastic tube to start my car for the next 8 years? Eh, worth it.

Thursday, January 27, 2011

Professional non-productivity

If ever my boss were to print out my web history and set it down on my desk, I would know it was time for Moeller's last stand. Because I am going fucking down! Aside from blogging at work, I routinely watch movie trailers, episodes on hulu, I read the grimiest of blogs, some of which take sport in posting nude or objectionable imagery of women. It's almost like I want to subconsciously get fired. I have started openly discussing sexual positions on gchat, i don't even hide my twitter or facebook pages. Once in a while I will throw in a visit but its only because their entertainment section has outstanding then and now photo galleries (seriously check it out.) Sprinkle in about 40 movie reviews I'll read on Rotten Tomatoes and the time it takes me to reload my Grooveshark playlists with more showtunes, glee and mid 90's hip hop (had to throw that in there so i'm only 2/3 gay) I barely have enough time to respond to house emails and call my friends at work. I openly hit on the 3 attractive people in my work place over office communicator, and I spend a good ammount of time photoshopping cats into famous photos and sending them to coworkers to seek encouragement.

So what will my last stand be you ask? I'll probably bust out a bottle of Wild Turkey and run around hurling insults at upper management and insult those more successful than me on issues out of their control like how unattractive their wives are or how their children look like retarted splice creations. One should always have a plan.

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Happy twentysomething

January is the absolute worst. New Years is always a big fucking disappointment in which you spend $200 to drink watered down cocktails in a dark warehouse surrounded by the greasy guidos that you might expect to find in the basement of a Florence nightclub circa 3am on a Tuesday, only to be inevititably cockblocked by some cab driver named Raji, that was too busy barking Swahili at some terrorist 4000 miles away (on some drunk kids cellphone that was left in the back) to notice you and some heinous slampiece trying to hail him down.

"FUCK it! We're taking the god dam el!" you say. To which Goro replies that her feet hurt, and she needs to find her friends. Fine fuck her, you walk to the redline and inevitably get on a train heading the wrong way only to end up at 95th street in a booze covered suit and realize you're out of cash for a bus back up north.

Furthermore in January you will endure endless tweets and facebook posts about your little siblings going back to college, your NFL team gets knocked out of contention, it's cold, your morning commute is tripled by a quarter inch of precipitation and no one wants to go out because all of your friends are a bunch of prissy little bitches.

That and I get one year closer to the real world, one year closer to marriage and one year closer to spending my hard earned money on things like diapers instead of black market adderall. One year closer to having to pursue an actual career and life instead of plugging away at some shitty sales job that pays you enough to cover rent, fast food and occasionally a hundred bucks at a bottle on a Saturday night out in river north.

I think I may start lying about my age like a woman, but not because I think looking young is important, it's because with age comes an inferred responsibility code. I'll be honest when I see engagements on facebook I fucking vomit, and when I see pictures of people I went to high school with that have kids or even worse a profile picture changed to a pregnant belly I sometimes have to self mutilate to get rid of my anxiety. Then I quickly run to the fridge and down one of the many four lokos I stocked up on and throw on an IU tee and everything is better again.

I'm not sure if living in a big city makes life move faster and clearly I live in a world of overexaggeration for comedic effect, but when people at work joke with me that I should move to the suburbs to lighten my commute to work I look for the nearest object to propel at them. Moving to the suburbs is giving up. Why would I throw up the white flag at 24? Talk to someone at work that is 30 and has 2 kids an a wife...I bet they wish they hadn't given up. They could be living with 3 of their old college buds doing crazy shit like going out on Wednesdays. Instead they screen calls to their cell phone from creditors and raid the office closets for free toilet paper.

The white picket fence may have been the American dream in the 50's but the American dream for generation y is senseless hedonism and a strong "I don't give a fuck mentality." When you have the rest of your life to be bored and subscribe to society's plan going to the casino at 4am on a Thursday suddenly doesn't seem like such a bad idea. Because if you don't create these reckless experiences now you are bound to regret your boring existence later as you slowly wait to die. So live my friends, not for anyone else but for yourself.